"M. Germain did not even give me time to thank him, but ran quickly down-stairs. This morning," continued Louise, "before any one had risen at M. Ferrand's, I came here with the money which M. Germain had given me to save my father; but it was not enough, and but for your generosity, I could not have rescued him from the bailiff's hands. Probably, after I had left, they went into my room and, having suspicions, have now sent to arrest me. One last service, sir," said Louise, taking the rouleau of gold from her pocket, "will you give back this money to M. Germain; I had promised him not to say to any one that he was employed at M. Ferrand's; but, since you know it, I have not broken my confidence. Now, sir, I repeat to you before God, who hears me, that I have not said a word that is not quite true; I have not tried to hide my faults, and--" But, suddenly interrupting herself, Louise exclaimed with alarm: "Sir, sir, look at my father! what can be the matter with him?" Morel had heard the latter part of this narration with a dull indifference, which Rodolph had accounted for by attributing it to the heavy additional misfortune which had occurred to him. After such violent and repeated shocks, his tears must have dried up, his sensibility have become lost; he had not even the strength left to feel anger, as Rodolph thought; but Rodolph was mistaken. As the flame of a candle which is nearly extinguished dies away and recovers, so Morel's reason, already much shaken, wavered for some time, throwing out now and then some small rays of intelligence, and then suddenly all was darkness. Absolutely unconscious of what was said or passing around him, for some time the lapidary had become quite insane. Although his hand-wheel was placed on the other side of his working-table, and he had not in his hands either stones or tools, yet the occupied artisan was feigning the operations of his daily labour, and affecting to use his implements. He accompanied this pantomime with a sort of noise with his tongue against the roof of his mouth, in imitation of the noise of his lathe in its rotatory motions. "But, sir," said Louise again, with increasing fright, "look, pray look at my father!" Then, approaching the artisan, she said to him: "Father! father!" Morel gazed on his daughter with that troubled, vague, distracted, wandering look which characterises the insane, and without discontinuing his assumed labour, he replied, in a low and melancholy tone: "I owe the notary thirteen hundred francs; it is the price of Louise's blood,--so I must work, work, work!--oh, I'll pay, I'll pay, I'll pay!" "Can it be possible? This cannot be,--he is not mad,--no, no!" exclaimed Louise, in a heart-rending voice. "He will recover,--it is but a momentary fit of absence!" "Morel, my good fellow," said Rodolph to him, "we are here. Your daughter is near you,--she is innocent."