Madame de Vaux was speechless from fright. The abbé whom she had been accustomed to see all smiles and compliments, wore the aspect of some malignant demon, as he eagerly scanned the company. His lips were bloodless, his pale face convulsed, while his brother mechanically followed his lead, like one under influence of Mesmer. Angelique, who was bending with solicitude over Gabrielle, turned on the pair, no whit afraid. "The Marquise de Gange," she said, "has been committed to our custody, and for the present will remain under our care." "Not so, not so!" replied the abbé, in vehement haste, "We will bear her home to the chateau. It would be unseemly to permit our sorely-stricken relative to be looked on by the curiosity of strangers. The poor soul raves, suffers from distracting delusions. You can see for yourselves that she is mad." "Mad or sane," returned Angelique, bluntly, "here the marquise stays until my father and the gentlemen return. She is exhausted and unfit to travel." Prudence! It would not do to offer too obstinate a resistance. Time must be gained by parley that the potion might do its work. Resuming with an effort something of his other self, the abbé bowed and bit his lip and scrutinized the patient. Why, what was this? The victim exhibited none of the symptoms that were to be expected. Yet the poison must have circulated long ago. Surrounded by ministering women, Gabrielle had recovered consciousness, and lay, clinging for protection to Angelique, gazing with dread upon her butcher. Inert and numb, her limbs, half paralysed, were moved with difficulty; but it was plain that the intellect was clear. Ere now, she should have been foaming in frenzy, or, that phase past, be plunged in the stertorous slumber from which she would wake no more. Intelligence shone from the haggard eyes of the victim. Had Providence worked a miracle on her behalf? Was she to escape him after all? A vapour as of blood swam before the sight of Pharamond and drenched his brain. With a fierce curse he drew a pistol from his breast, The women shrieked and implored mercy. Angelique, who was nearest to him struck the weapon up and the bullet lodged in the ceiling. In a whirl of frantic unreason he unsheathed his sword, and reckless now of consequences to himself, battled towards the marquise through the group of cowering women. There was that about him which suggested the red-eyed rat at bay that springs at the throat of his tormentor, inflicts what harm he can before he is crushed himself. Pharamond knew he was undone, and cared not, provided he might hack and slash that tender body which never might be his. The brave Angelique closed with him, and her fingers were cut to the bone in the effort to wrest away the sword. At the sight of her daughter bleeding, her aged mother sent up a scream and attacked the abbé with her nails.