“Here is an instance which I was bound to accept, seeing it happened to myself.  I was then twenty, and my mother lived in the neighbourhood of Tours, whilst I was at the seminary of Montpellier.  After several years of separation, I had obtained permission to go and see her.  I wrote, telling her of this good news, and I received her answer—­full of joy and tenderness.  My brother and sister were to be informed, it was to be a family meeting, a real festivity; and I started with a light and joyous heart.  My impatience was so great, that, having stopped for supper at a village inn some ten leagues from Tours, I would not wait till the next morning for the coach which went that way, but continued the journey on foot and walked all night.  It was a long and difficult road, but happiness redoubled my strength.  About an hour after sunrise I saw distinctly the smoke and the village roofs, and I hurried on to surprise my family a little sooner.  I never felt more active, more light-hearted and gay; everything seemed to smile before and around me.  Turning a corner of the hedge, I met a peasant whom I recognised.  All at once it seemed as if a veil spread over my sight, all my hopes and joy suddenly vanished, a funereal idea took possession of me, and I said, taking the hand of the man, who had not yet spoken—­

“‘My mother is dead, I am convinced my mother is dead!’

“He hung down his head and answered—­

“‘She is to be buried this morning!’

“Now whence came this revelation?  I had seen no one, spoken to no one; a moment before I had no idea of it!”

Derues made a gesture of surprise.  Monsieur de Lamotte put his hand to his eyes, and said to the cure—­

“Your presentiments were true; mine, happily, are unfounded.  But listen, and tell me if in the state of anxiety which oppressed me I had not good reason for alarm and for fearing some fatal misfortune.”

His eyes again sought Derues.  “Towards the middle of last night I at length fell asleep, but, interrupted every moment, this sleep was more a fatigue than a rest; I seemed to hear confused noises all round me.  I saw brilliant lights which dazzled me, and then sank back into silence and darkness.  Sometimes I heard someone weeping near my bed; again plaintive voices called to me out of the darkness.  I stretched out my arms, but nothing met them, I fought with phantoms; at length a cold hand grasped mine and led me rapidly forward.  Under a dark and damp vault a woman lay on the ground, bleeding, inanimate—­it was my wife!  At the same moment, a groan made me look round, and I beheld a man striking my son with a dagger.  I cried out and awoke, bathed in cold perspiration, panting under this terrible vision.  I was obliged to get up, walk about, and speak aloud, in order to convince myself it was only a dream.  I tried to go to sleep again, but the same visions still pursued me.  I saw always the same man armed with two daggers streaming with blood; I heard always the cries of his two victims.  When day came, I felt utterly broken, worn-out; and this morning, you, my father, could see by my despondency what an impression this awful night had made upon me.”