Upon her return to the Chateau, she found Octave awaiting her. His eyes put the question that his lips did not dare to utter; and, placing her hand in his with a gentle inclination of her head, she assented to his prayer. This act on her part would, she believed, free her from the past; but she was in error. Upon hearing that his dastardly attempt at murder had failed, the Counsellor was for the time utterly overwhelmed with terror, but the news that he had gained from M. de Puymandour calmed his mind in a great measure. He was not, however, completely reassured until he heard for certain that the Duke had become a helpless maniac, and that the doctor, having given up all hopes of his patient’s recovery, had discontinued his visits to the Chateau. As soon as he had heard that Norbert’s marriage had been so soon followed by his father’s death, he imagined that every cloud had disappeared from the sky. All danger now seemed at an end, and he recalled with glee that he had in his strong box the promissory notes, signed by Norbert, to the amount of twenty thousand francs, which he could demand at any moment, now that Norbert was the reigning lord of Champdoce. The first step he took was to hang about the neighborhood of Laurebourg, for he thought that some lucky chance would surely favor him with an opportunity for a little conversation with Mademoiselle Diana. For several days in succession he was unsuccessful, but at last he was delighted at seeing her alone, walking in the direction of Bevron. Without her suspecting it, he followed her until the road passed through a small plantation, when he came up and addressed her. “What do you want with me?” asked she angrily. He made no direct reply; but after apologizing for his boldness, he began to offer his congratulations upon her approaching marriage, which was now the talk of the whole neighborhood, and which pleased him much, as M. de Mussidan was in every way superior to-- “Is that all you have to say to me?” asked Diana, interrupting his string of words. As she turned from him, he had the audacity to lay his hand upon the edge of her jacket. “I have more to say,” said he, “if you will honor me with your attention. Something about--you can guess what.” “About whom or what?” asked she, making no effort to hide her supreme contempt. He smiled, glanced around to see that no one was within hearing, and then said in a low voice,-- “It is about the bottle of poison.” She recoiled, as though some venomous reptile had started up in front of her. “What do you mean?” cried she. “How dare you speak to me thus?”