"Is it you, André?" asked she, as she perceived that her horse seemed to be obeying a well-known hand. And as there was no answer and she could distinguish nothing of the clothes worn by the person confronting her, she added, quickly and anxiously, "Is it you, your Grace the Duke? Why do you stop me?" She received no reply; the man had disappeared; the horse was free. She was overcome by a vague fear, and, not daring to turn round, she urged Jacquet forward, and returned to the house on a gallop without seeing any one. The Duke was ten paces off when this singular encounter took place. He saw nothing, but heard the frightened voice of Mlle de Saint-Geneix at the moment of the horse's sudden stop. He sprang forward, and finding himself face to face with an unknown person, he seized him by the collar, demanding, "Who are you?" The unknown person struggled vigorously to escape from this investigation; but the Duke, who was a very powerful man, dragged his adversary out of the wood into the path. There, what was his ineffable surprise to recognize his brother? "Heavens! Urbain," cried he, "did I not strike you? It seems to me that I did. But why didn't you answer me?" "I don't know," replied M. de Villemer, much agitated. "I did not recognize your voice! Did you speak to me? Whom did you take me for, then?" "For a robber, in sober earnest! Did you not frighten Mlle de Saint-Geneix just now?" "I perhaps frightened her horse, unintentionally. Where is she?" "Why, she was afraid and took to flight. Did you not hear her riding off toward the house?" "And why should she have been afraid of me?" rejoined the Marquis, with singular bitterness. "I did not wish to offend her." And then, weary of deception, he added, "I merely wanted to speak to her!" "About whom? About me?" "Yes, perhaps. I wanted to know whether she loved you." "And why did n't you speak to her?" "I do not know. I could not say a word to her." "Are you in pain?" "Yes. I am ill, very ill, to-day." "Let us go in, brother," said the Duke. "I see that you are in a fever, and the dew is falling." "No matter!" said the Marquis, seating himself on a block at the edge of the walk. "I wish I was dead!" "Urbain!" cried the Duke, a sudden light striking him at last; "it is you who are in love with Mlle de Saint-Geneix!" "I in love with her? Is she not,--is she not yours?" "Never, since you love her! On my part it was only a caprice, an idle, selfish vanity; but, as truly as I am my father's son, she has not the least inclination toward me; she has just simply understood nothing of my artifices; she is as pure, as free, and as proud as on the day she came among us." "Why did you leave her alone in this wood after you had brought her out into it?" "Ah! you suspect me after the solemn assertion that I have just made! Can it be that love is making you insane?"