The livid countenance of the old soldier became purple; transported with anger at this insult, he threw himself upon Erebus, saying, “Lord, thy will be done!” Then ensued a parricidal struggle. And the darkness suddenly fell upon the scene, as if nature herself revolted at the sight. Thunderbolts rent the clouds, the tempest let loose its fury, and the very rocks trembled upon their foundations. The parricidal combat continued with undiminished rage. [Illustration: This parricidal combat continued ] With clasped hands, Pog, with ferocious eagerness, enjoyed the frightful spectacle. “At last, after twenty years, I taste one moment of true, ineffable happiness. Roll, O thunder! Burst forth, O tempest! All nature takes part in my vengeance!” cried he, in savage joy. Honorât, unable to account for his own feelings, cried in dismay: “Enough! enough!” and tried to separate Erebus and Pierre des Anbiez. Pog, endowed for the moment with superhuman strength, seized Honorât, paralysed his efforts, and said, in a low voice, trembling with rage and excitement, “My vengeance!” Erebus fell. “Pierre des Anbiez, you have killed your son! Here are your letters, here are the portraits, you can see them,” cried Pog, in a voice that rose above the storm, and he threw at the feet of the commander the casket which Hadji had stolen from Peyrou. Suddenly a thunderbolt struck with a noise impossible to describe. The heavens, the bay, the ruins, the rocks, and the sea, appeared to be on fire. A terrible explosion followed, and the very earth trembled; a part of the ruins of the abbey fell away, while a blast of wind, breaking and driving everything in its path, enveloped the entire bay in its irresistible and tremendous whirlpool. CHAPTER XLII. CONCLUSION. Three days after the dreadful combat between Pierre des Anbiez and Erebus, the black galley and the polacre of Luquin were anchored in the port of La Ciotat. The great clock in the hall of Maison-Forte had just struck nine. Captain Trinquetaille was walking softly on tiptoe through the gallery where the Christmas ceremonies had taken place, directing his steps toward the apartment of Mlle. des Anbiez. He knocked at the little door of the oratory. Stephanette soon came out of the door. “Ah, well, Luquin,” said the young girl, anxiously, “how has he passed the night?” “Badly, Stephanette, very badly; the abbé says there is no hope for him.” “Poor child!” said the young girl, “and how is M. Commander?” “Always in the same state, seated at the youth’s bedside like a statue; he never moves or speaks or sees or hears. Father Elzear says if M. Commander could only weep, he might be saved, if not--” “Well?” “If not, he fears his head,” and Luquin made a gesture indicating the alarm felt for the commander’s mind. “Ah, my God, if that misfortune should be added to all the others!” “And how is Mlle. Reine?” asked Luquin.