She felt that some mystery lay beneath it all, and vowed that she would fathom it to its nethermost depths.  What was it that had taken place at Champdoce?  Had the Duke, contrary to Daumon’s prognostications, recovered?  Had he discovered his son’ insidious attack upon his life, and only pardoned it upon a blind compliance being given to his will?  She passed away the whole day in these vain suppositions, and tried to think of every plan to stay the celebration of this union, for she had not given up her hopes, nor did she yet despair of ultimate success.  Her new and unlooked-for fortune placed a fresh weapon at her disposal, and she felt that the victory would yet be hers if she could but see Norbert again, were it but for a single instant.  Was she not certain of the absolute power that she exercised over him, for had she not by a few words induced him to enter upon the terrible path of crime?  She must see him, and that without a moment’s delay, for the danger was imminent.  A day now would be worth a year hereafter.  She determined that, upon that very night, she would visit Champdoce.  A little after midnight, when the inhabitants of the Chateau were wrapped in slumber, she crept on tiptoe down the grand staircase, and made her exit by a side door.  She had arranged her plan as to how she would find Norbert, for he had often described the interior arrangements of the Chateau to her.  She knew that his room was on the ground floor, with two windows looking on to the courtyard.  When, however, she reached the old Chateau, she hesitated.  Suppose that she should go to the wrong window.  But she had gone too far to recede, and determined that if any one else than Norbert should open the window, she would turn and fly.  She tapped at the window softly, and then more loudly.  She had made no mistake.  Norbert threw open the window, with the words,—­

“Who is there?”

“It is I, Norbert; I, Diana.”

“What do you want?” asked Norbert in an agitated tone of voice.  “What do you want to do here?”

She looked at him anxiously and hardly recognized his face, so great was the change that had come over it.  It absolutely terrified her.

“Are you going to marry Mademoiselle de Puymandour?” asked she.

“Yes I am.”

“And yet you pretended to love me?”

“Yes, I loved you ardently, devotedly, with a love that drove me to crime; but you had no love; you cared but for rank and fortune.”

Diana raised her hands to heaven in an agony of despair.

“Should I be here at this hour if what you say is true?” asked she wildly.  “My brother is dead, and I am as wealthy as you are, Norbert, and yet I am here.  You accuse me of being mercenary, and for what reason?  Was it because I refused to fly with you from my father’s house?  Oh, Norbert, it was but the happiness of our future life that I strove to protect.  It was——­”

Her speech failed her, and her eyes dilated with horror, for the door behind Norbert opened, and the Duke de Champdoce entered the room, uttering a string of meaningless words, and laughing with that mirthless laugh which is so sure a sign of idiotcy.