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D'Albon had just taken up his rifle when the Colonel put out a hand to stop him, and pointed out the mysterious woman who had aroused such lively curiosity in them. She seemed to be absorbed in deep thought, as she went along a green alley some little distance away, so slowly that the friends had time to take a good look at her.
The mine being sprung, the rock opened under their feet, and they falling into the chasm, it instantly closed, and crushed them to death. Notwithstanding this dreadful incident, colonel d'Albon, who succeeded to the command, resolved to defend the place to the last extremity.
"She is a Comtesse de Vandieres; she is said to be mad; but as she has only been here for two months, I cannot vouch for the truth of all this hearsay talk." M. d'Albon thanked M. and Mme. de Grandville, and they set out for Cassan. "It is she!" cried Philip, coming to himself. "She? who?" asked d'Albon. "Stephanie.... Ah! dead and yet living still; still alive, but her mind is gone!
"Farewell!" she said in low, musical tones, but they could not discover the least trace of feeling, the least idea in the sweet sounds that they had awaited impatiently. M. d'Albon admired the long lashes, the thick, dark eyebrows, the dazzling fairness of skin untinged by any trace of red. Only the delicate blue veins contrasted with that uniform whiteness.
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