Medical men who have given especial attention to the subject of mental aberrations are well aware that periodical madness is of not unfrequent occurrence.  In some cases the illness appears several times in the year, in others at only particular seasons of the year.  I know at Fribourg an old lady who for thirty years past has regularly presented herself at the door of the asylum.  At her own request they place her in confinement; then the unhappy woman every night passes through the terrible scenes of the French Revolution, of which she was a witness in her youth.  She trembles in the hands of the executioner; she fancies herself drenched with the blood of the victims; she weeps and cries aloud incessantly.  In the course of a few weeks the mind returns to its wonted seat, and she is restored to liberty with the full expectation that she will return again in a year.

“The Count of Nideck is suffering from a similar attack,” I said; “unknown chains unite his fate with that of the Black Plague.  Who can tell?” thought I; “that woman once was young, perhaps beautiful!”

And my imagination, once launched, carried me into the interesting regions of romance; but I was careful to tell no one what I thought.  If I had opened out those conjectures to Sperver he would never have forgiven me for imagining that there could have been any intimacy between his master and the Black Plague; and as for Mademoiselle Odile, I dared not suggest insanity to her.

The poor young lady was evidently most unhappy.  Her refusal to marry had so embittered the count against her that he could scarcely endure to have her in his presence.  He bitterly reproached her with her ingratitude and disobedience, and expatiated upon the cruelty of ungrateful children.  Sometimes even violent curses followed his daughter’s visits.  Things at last were so bad that I thought myself obliged to interfere.  I therefore waited one evening on the countess in the antechamber and entreated her to relinquish her personal attendance upon her father.  But here arose, contrary to all expectations, quite an unforeseen obstacle.  In spite of all my entreaties she steadily insisted on watching by her father and nursing him as she had done hitherto.

“It is my duty,” she repeated, “and no arguments will shake my purpose,” she said firmly.

“Madam,” I replied as a last effort, “the medical profession, too, has its duties, and an honourable man must fulfil them even to harshness and cruelty; your presence is killing your father.”

I shall remember all my life the sudden change in the expression of the face of Odile.

My solemn words of warning seemed to cause the blood to flow back to the heart; her face became white as marble, and her large blue eyes, fixed steadily upon mine, seemed to read into the most secret recesses of my soul.

“Is that possible, sir?” she stammered; “upon your honour, do you declare this?  Tell me truly!”