A few steps brought him to the door of the vault in which his mother was immured. "And now," she added, with somewhat more composure, "leave me, dear friends, I entreat, for a few minutes to collect my scattered thoughts—to prepare myself for what I have to go through—to pray for my son. The air was sharp and bracing, and the leaves which had taken their autumnal tints were falling from the trees. ‘My God!’ he said, ‘I’ll go after them and kill him. " The attendant did not understand him. He sat up in his chair again, the colour came back to his cheeks. ‘You wish to die?’ ‘Not in the least. .
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