After dinner I went for a stroll in the park of the bathing establishment.  This led toward the little Auvergnese station of Chatel-Guyon, hidden in a gorge at the foot of the high mountain, from which flowed so many boiling springs, arising from the deep bed of extinct volcanoes.  Over yonder, above our heads, the domes of extinct craters lifted their ragged peaks above the rest in the long mountain chain.  For Chatel-Guyon is situated at the entrance to the land of mountain domes.

Beyond it stretches out the region of peaks, and, farther on again the region of precipitous summits.

The “Puy de Dome” is the highest of the domes, the Peak of Sancy is the loftiest of the peaks, and Cantal is the most precipitous of these mountain heights.

It was a very warm evening, and I was walking up and down a shady path, listening to the opening, strains of the Casino band, which was playing on an elevation overlooking the park.

And I saw the father and the daughter advancing slowly in my direction.  I bowed as one bows to one’s hotel companions at a watering place; and the man, coming to a sudden halt, said to me: 

“Could you not, monsieur, tell us of a nice walk to take, short, pretty, and not steep; and pardon my troubling you?”

I offered to show them the way toward the valley through which the little river flowed, a deep valley forming a gorge between two tall, craggy, wooded slopes.

They gladly accepted my offer.

And we talked, naturally, about the virtue of the waters.

“Oh,” he said, “my daughter has a strange malady, the seat of which is unknown.  She suffers from incomprehensible nervous attacks.  At one time the doctors think she has an attack of heart disease, at another time they imagine it is some affection of the liver, and at another they declare it to be a disease of the spine.  To-day this protean malady, that assumes a thousand forms and a thousand modes of attack, is attributed to the stomach, which is the great caldron and regulator of the body.  This is why we have come here.  For my part, I am rather inclined to think it is the nerves.  In any case it is very sad.”

Immediately the remembrance of the violent spasmodic movement of his hand came back to my mind, and I asked him: 

“But is this not the result of heredity?  Are not your own nerves somewhat affected?”

He replied calmly: 

“Mine?  Oh, no-my nerves have always been very steady.”

Then, suddenly, after a pause, he went on: 

“Ah!  You were alluding to the jerking movement of my hand every time I try to reach for anything?  This arises from a terrible experience which I had.  Just imagine, this daughter of mine was actually buried alive!”

I could only utter, “Ah!” so great were my astonishment and emotion.

He continued: 

“Here is the story.  It is simple.  Juliette had been subject for some time to serious attacks of the heart.  We believed that she had disease of that organ, and were prepared for the worst.