Original ShortStories

Voleme III

Guy de Maupassant

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MISS HARRIET

There were seven of us on a drag, four womenand three men; one of the latter sat on the boxseat beside the coachman. We were ascending,at a snail's pace, the winding road up the steepcliff along the coast.

Setting out from Etretat at break of day in orderto visit the ruins of Tancarville, we were stillhalf asleep, benumbed by the fresh air of themorning. The women especially, who werelittle accustomed to these early excursions, halfopened and closed their eyes every moment,nodding their heads or yawning, quite insensi-ble to the beauties of the dawn.

It was autumn. On both sides of the road stret-ched the bare fields, yellowed by the stubble ofwheat and oats which covered the soil like abeard that had been badly shaved. The moistearth seemed to steam. Larks were singing high

up in the air, while other birds piped in thebushes.

The sun rose at length in front of us, bright redon the plane of the horizon, and in proportionas it ascended, growing clearer from minute tominute, the country seemed to awake, to smile,to shake itself like a young girl leaving her bedin her white robe of vapor. The Comte d'Etrai-lle, who was seated on the box, cried:

"Look! look! a hare!" and he extended his armtoward the left, pointing to a patch of clover.The animal scurried along, almost hidden bythe clover, only its large ears showing. Then itswerved across a furrow, stopped, started offagain at full speed, changed its course, stoppedanew, uneasy, spying out every danger, uncer-tain what route to take, when suddenly it be-gan to run with great bounds, disappearingfinally in a large patch of beet-root. All the menhad waked up to watch the course of the ani-mal.

Rene Lamanoir exclaimed:

"We are not at all gallant this morning," and;regarding his neighbor, the little Baroness deSerennes, who struggled against sleep, he saidto her in a low tone: "You are thinking of yourhusband, baroness. Reassure yourself; he willnot return before Saturday, so you have stillfour days."

She answered with a sleepy smile:

"How stupid you are!" Then, shaking off hertorpor, she added: "Now, let somebody saysomething to make us laugh. You, MonsieurChenal, who have the reputation of having hadmore love affairs than the Due de Richelieu, tellus a love story in which you have played apart; anything you like."

Leon Chenal, an old painter, who had oncebeen very handsome, very strong, very proudof his physique and very popular with women,

took his long white beard in his hand andsmiled. Then, after a few moments' reflection,he suddenly became serious.

"Ladies, it will not be an amusing tale, for I amgoing to relate to you the saddest love affair ofmy life, and I sincerely hope that none of myfriends may ever pass through a similar experi-ence.

"I was twenty-five years of age and was pillag-ing along the coast of Normandy. I call 'pillag-ing' wandering about, with a knapsack on one'sback, from inn to inn, under the pretext of ma-king studies and sketching landscapes. I knewnothing more enjoyable than that happy-go-lucky wandering life, in which one is perfectlyfree, without shackles of any kind, withoutcare, without preoccupation, without thinkingeven of the morrow. One goes in any directionone pleases, without any guide save his fancy,without any counsellor save his eyes. One stopsbecause a running brook attracts one, because

the smell of potatoes frying tickles one's olfac-tories on passing an inn. Sometimes it is theperfume of clematis which decides one in hischoice or the roguish glance of the servant at aninn. Do not despise me for my affection forthese rustics. These girls have a soul as well assenses, not to mention firm cheeks and freshlips; while their hearty and willing kisses havethe flavor of wild fruit. Love is always love,come whence it may. A heart that beats at yourapproach, an eye that weeps when you goaway are things so rare, so sweet, so preciousthat they must never be despised.

"I have had rendezvous in ditches full of prim-roses, behind the cow stable and in barnsamong the straw, still warm from the heat ofthe day. I have recollections of coarse gray clothcovering supple peasant skin and regrets forsimple, frank kisses, more delicate in their un-affected sincerity than the subtle favors ofcharming and distinguished women.

"But what one loves most amid all these variedadventures is the country, the woods, the risingof the sun, the twilight, the moonlight. Theseare, for the painter, honeymoon trips with Na-ture. One is alone with her in that long andquiet association. You go to sleep in the fields,amid marguerites and poppies, and when youopen your eyes in the full glare of the sunlightyou descry in the distance the little village withits pointed clock tower which sounds the hourof noon.

"You sit down by the side of a spring whichgushes out at the foot of an oak, amid a growthof tall, slender weeds, glistening with life. Yougo down on your knees, bend forward anddrink that cold, pellucid water which wets yourmustache and nose; you drink it with a physi-cal pleasure, as though you kissed the spring,lip to lip. Sometimes, when you find a deephole along the course of these tiny brooks, youplunge in quite naked, and you feel on your

skin, from head to foot, as it were, an icy anddelicious caress, the light and gentle quiveringof the stream.

"You are gay on the hills, melancholy on theedge of ponds, inspired when the sun is settingin an ocean of blood-red clouds and casts redreflections or the river. And at night, under themoon, which passes across the vault of heaven,you think of a thousand strange things whichwould never have occurred to your mind underthe brilliant light of day.

"So, in wandering through the same countrywhere we, are this year, I came to the little vil-lage of Benouville, on the cliff between Yportand Etretat. I came from Fecamp, following thecoast, a high coast as straight as a wall, with itsprojecting chalk cliffs descending perpendicu-larly into the sea. I had walked since early mor-ning on the short grass, smooth and yielding asa carpet, that grows on the edge of the cliff.And, singing lustily, I walked with long strides,

looking sometimes at the slow circling flight ofa gull with its white curved wings outlined onthe blue sky, sometimes at the brown sails of afishing bark on the green sea. In short, I hadpassed a happy day, a day of liberty and offreedom from care.

"A little farmhouse where travellers were lod-ged was pointed out to me, a kind of inn, keptby a peasant woman, which stood in the centreof a Norman courtyard surrounded by a doublerow of beeches.

"Leaving the coast, I reached the hamlet, whichwas hemmed in by great trees, and I presentedmyself at the house of Mother Lecacheur.

"She was an old, wrinkled and stern peasantwoman, who seemed always to receive cus-tomers under protest, with a kind of defiance.

"It was the month of May. The spreading appletrees covered the court with a shower of blos-

soms which rained unceasingly both upon peo-ple and upon the grass.

"I said: 'Well, Madame Lecacheur, have you aroom for me?'

"Astonished to find that I knew her name, sheanswered:

"'That depends; everything is let, but all thesame I can find out."

"In five minutes we had come to an agreement,and I deposited my bag upon the earthen floorof a rustic room, furnished with a bed, twochairs, a table and a washbowl. The room loo-ked into the large, smoky kitchen, where thelodgers took their meals with the people of thefarm and the landlady, who was a widow.

"I washed my hands, after which I went out.The old woman was making a chicken fricassee

for dinner in the large fireplace in which hungthe iron pot, black with smoke.

"'You have travellers, then, at the present time?'said I to her.

"She answered in an offended tone of voice:

"'I have a lady, an English lady, who has rea-ched years of maturity. She occupies the otherroom.'

"I obtained, by means of an extra five sous aday, the privilege of dining alone out in theyard when the weather was fine.

"My place was set outside the door, and I wasbeginning to gnaw the lean limbs of the Nor-mandy chicken, to drink the clear cider and tomunch the hunk of white bread, which wasfour days old but excellent.

"Suddenly the wooden gate which gave on thehighway was opened, and a strange lady di-

rected her steps toward the house. She wasvery thin, very tall, so tightly enveloped in ared Scotch plaid shawl that one might havesupposed she had no arms, if one had not seena long hand appear just above the hips, holdinga white tourist umbrella. Her face was like thatof a mummy, surrounded with curls of grayhair, which tossed about at every step she tookand made me think, I know not why, of a pick-led herring in curl papers. Lowering her eyes,she passed quickly in front of me and enteredthe house.

"That singular apparition cheered me. She un-doubtedly was my neighbor, the English ladyof mature age of whom our hostess had spo-ken.

"I did not see her again that day. The next day,when I had settled myself to commence paint-ing at the end of that beautiful valley whichyou know and which extends as far as Etretat, Iperceived, on lifting my eyes suddenly, some-

thing singular standing on the crest of the cliff,one might have said a pole decked out withflags. It was she. On seeing me, she suddenlydisappeared. I reentered the house at middayfor lunch and took my seat at the general table,so as to make the acquaintance of this oddcharacter. But she did not respond to my politeadvances, was insensible even to my little at-tentions. I poured out water for her persis-tently, I passed her the dishes with great eager-ness. A slight, almost imperceptible, movementof the head and an English word, murmured solow that I did not understand it, were her onlyacknowledgments.

"I ceased occupying myself with her, althoughshe had disturbed my thoughts.

"At the end of three days I knew as much abouther as did Madame Lecacheur herself.

"She was called Miss Harriet. Seeking out asecluded village in which to pass the summer,

she had been attracted to Benouville some sixmonths before and did not seem disposed toleave it. She never spoke at table, ate rapidly,reading all the while a small book of the Protes-tant propaganda. She gave a copy of it to eve-rybody. The cure himself had received no lessthan four copies, conveyed by an urchin towhom she had paid two sous commission. Shesaid sometimes to our hostess abruptly, with-out preparing her in the least for the declara-tion:

"'I love the Saviour more than all. I admire himin all creation; I adore him in all nature; I carryhim always in my heart.'

"And she would immediately present the oldwoman with one of her tracts which were des-tined to convert the universe.

"In, the village she was not liked. In fact, theschoolmaster having pronounced her an athe-ist, a kind of stigma attached to her. The cure,

who had been consulted by Madame Le-cacheur, responded:

"'She is a heretic, but God does not wish thedeath of the sinner, and I believe her to be aperson of pure morals.'

"These words, 'atheist,' 'heretic,' words whichno one can precisely define, threw doubts intosome minds. It was asserted, however, that thisEnglish woman was rich and that she had pas-sed her life in travelling through every countryin the world because her family had cast heroff. Why had her family cast her off? Because ofher impiety, of course!

"She was, in fact, one of those people of exaltedprinciples; one of those opinionated puritans,of which England produces so many; one ofthose good and insupportable old maids whohaunt the tables d'hote of every hotel inEurope, who spoil Italy, poison Switzerland,render the charming cities of the Mediterranean

uninhabitable, carry everywhere their fantasticmanias their manners of petrified vestals, theirindescribable toilets and a certain odor of india-rubber which makes one believe that at nightthey are slipped into a rubber casing.

"Whenever I caught sight of one of these indi-viduals in a hotel I fled like the birds who see ascarecrow in a field.

"This woman, however, appeared so very sin-gular that she did not displease me.

"Madame Lecacheur, hostile by instinct to eve-rything that was not rustic, felt in her narrowsoul a kind of hatred for the ecstatic declara-tions of the old maid. She had found a phraseby which to describe her, a term of contemptthat rose to her lips, called forth by I know notwhat confused and mysterious mental ratioci-nation. She said: 'That woman is a demoniac.'This epithet, applied to that austere and senti-mental creature, seemed to me irresistibly droll.

I myself never called her anything now but 'thedemoniac,' experiencing a singular pleasure inpronouncing aloud this word on perceivingher.

"One day I asked Mother Lecacheur: 'Well,what is our demoniac about to-day?'

"To which my rustic friend replied with a shoc-ked air:

"'What do you think, sir? She picked up a toadwhich had had its paw crushed and carried it toher room and has put it in her washbasin andbandaged it as if it were a man. If that is notprofanation I should like to know what is!'

"On another occasion, when walking along theshore she bought a large fish which had justbeen caught, simply to throw it back into thesea again. The sailor from whom she hadbought it, although she paid him handsomely,now began to swear, more exasperated, indeed,

than if she had put her hand into his pocketand taken his money. For more than a monthhe could not speak of the circumstance withoutbecoming furious and denouncing it as an out-rage. Oh, yes! She was indeed a demoniac, thisMiss Harriet, and Mother Lecacheur must havehad an inspiration in thus christening her.

"The stable boy, who was called Sapeur, be-cause he had served in Africa in his youth, en-tertained other opinions. He said with a ro-guish air: 'She is an old hag who has seen life.'

"If the poor woman had but known!

"The little kind-hearted Celeste did not waitupon her willingly, but I was never able to un-derstand why. Probably her only reason wasthat she was a stranger, of another race; of adifferent tongue and of another religion. Shewas, in fact, a demoniac!

"She passed her time wandering about thecountry, adoring and seeking God in nature. Ifound her one evening on her knees in a clusterof bushes. Having discovered something redthrough the leaves, I brushed aside thebranches, and Miss Harriet at once rose to herfeet, confused at having been found thus, fixingon me terrified eyes like those of an owl sur-prised in open day.

"Sometimes, when I was working among therocks, I would suddenly descry her on the edgeof the cliff like a lighthouse signal. She wouldbe gazing in rapture at the vast sea glittering inthe sunlight and the boundless sky with its gol-den tints. Sometimes I would distinguish her atthe end of the valley, walking quickly with herelastic English step, and I would go toward her,attracted by I know not what, simply to see herilluminated visage, her dried-up, ineffable fea-tures, which seemed to glow with inward andprofound happiness.

"I would often encounter her also in the cornerof a field, sitting on the grass under the shadowof an apple tree, with her little religious bookletlying open on her knee while she gazed out atthe distance.

"I could not tear myself away from that quietcountry neighborhood, to which I was attachedby a thousand links of love for its wide andpeaceful landscape. I was happy in this seques-tered farm, far removed from everything, but intouch with the earth, the good, beautiful, greenearth. And—must I avow it?—there was, be-sides, a little curiosity which retained me at theresidence of Mother Lecacheur. I wished tobecome acquainted a little with this strangeMiss Harriet and to know what transpires inthe solitary souls of those wandering old Eng-lish women.

"We became acquainted in a rather singularmanner. I had just finished a study which ap-peared to me to be worth something, and so it

was, as it sold for ten thousand francs fifteenyears later. It was as simple, however, as twoand two make four and was not according toacademic rules. The whole right side of mycanvas represented a rock, an enormous rock,covered with sea-wrack, brown, yellow andred, across which the sun poured like a streamof oil. The light fell upon the rock as though itwere aflame without the sun, which was at myback, being visible. That was all. A first bewil-dering study of blazing, gorgeous light.

"On the left was the sea, not the blue sea, theslate-colored sea, but a sea of jade, greenish,milky and solid beneath the deep-colored sky.

"I was so pleased with my work that I dancedfrom sheer delight as I carried it back to the inn.I would have liked the whole world to see it atonce. I can remember that I showed it to a cowthat was browsing by the wayside, exclaimingas I did so: 'Look at that, my old beauty; youwill not often see its like again.'

"When I had reached the house I immediatelycalled out to Mother Lecacheur, shouting withall my might:

"'Hullo, there! Mrs. Landlady, come here andlook at this.'

"The rustic approached and looked at my workwith her stupid eyes which distinguished noth-ing and could not even tell whether the picturerepresented an ox or a house.

"Miss Harriet just then came home, and shepassed behind me just as I was holding out mycanvas at arm's length, exhibiting it to our land-lady. The demoniac could not help but see it,for I took care to exhibit the thing in such a waythat it could not escape her notice. She stoppedabruptly and stood motionless, astonished. Itwas her rock which was depicted, the onewhich she climbed to dream away her timeundisturbed.

"She uttered a British 'Aoh,' which was at onceso accentuated and so flattering that I turnedround to her, smiling, and said:

"'This is my latest study, mademoiselle.'

"She murmured rapturously, comically andtenderly:

"'Oh! monsieur, you understand nature as aliving thing.'

"I colored and was more touched by that com-pliment than if it had come from a queen. I wascaptured, conquered, vanquished. I could haveembraced her, upon my honor.

"I took my seat at table beside her as usual. Forthe first time she spoke, thinking aloud:

"'Oh! I do love nature.'

"I passed her some bread, some water, somewine. She now accepted these with a little smile

of a mummy. I then began to talk about thescenery.

"After the meal we rose from the table togetherand walked leisurely across the courtyard;then, attracted doubtless by the fiery glowwhich the setting sun cast over the surface ofthe sea, I opened the gate which led to the cliff,and we walked along side by side, as contentedas two persons might be who have just learnedto understand and penetrate each other's mo-tives and feelings.

"It was one of those warm, soft evenings whichimpart a sense of ease to flesh and spirit alike.All is enjoyment, everything charms. Thebalmy air, laden with the perfume of grassesand the smell of seaweed, soothes the olfactorysense with its wild fragrance, soothes the palatewith its sea savor, soothes the mind with itspervading sweetness.

"We were now walking along the edge of thecliff, high above the boundless sea which rolledits little waves below us at a distance of a hun-dred metres. And we drank in with openmouth and expanded chest that fresh breeze,briny from kissing the waves, that came fromthe ocean and passed across our faces.

"Wrapped in her plaid shawl, with a look ofinspiration as she faced the breeze, the Englishwoman gazed fixedly at the great sun ball as itdescended toward the horizon. Far off in thedistance a three-master in full sail was outlinedon the blood-red sky and a steamship, some-what nearer, passed along, leaving behind it atrail of smoke on the horizon. The red sunglobe sank slowly lower and lower and pres-ently touched the water just behind the mo-tionless vessel, which, in its dazzling efful-gence, looked as though framed in a flame offire. We saw it plunge, grow smaller and dis-appear, swallowed up by the ocean.

"Miss Harriet gazed in rapture at the lastgleams of the dying day. She seemed longing toembrace the sky, the sea, the whole landscape.

"She murmured: 'Aoh! I love—I love' I saw atear in her eye. She continued: 'I wish I were alittle bird, so that I could mount up into thefirmament.'

"She remained standing as I had often beforeseen her, perched on the cliff, her face as red asher shawl. I should have liked to have sketchedher in my album. It would have been a carica-ture of ecstasy.

"I turned away so as not to laugh.

"I then spoke to her of painting as I would havedone to a fellow artist, using the technical termscommon among the devotees of the profession.She listened attentively, eagerly seeking to di-vine the meaning of the terms, so as to under-

stand my thoughts. From time to time shewould exclaim:

"'Oh! I understand, I understand. It is very in-teresting.'

"We returned home.

"The next day, on seeing me, she approachedme, cordially holding out her hand; and we atonce became firm friends.

"She was a good creature who had a kind ofsoul on springs, which became enthusiastic at abound. She lacked equilibrium like all womenwho are spinsters at the age of fifty. Sheseemed to be preserved in a pickle of inno-cence, but her heart still retained somethingvery youthful and inflammable. She loved bothnature and animals with a fervor, a love likeold wine fermented through age, with a sensu-ous love that she had never bestowed on men.

"One thing is certain, that the sight of a bitchnursing her puppies, a mare roaming in a mea-dow with a foal at its side, a bird's nest full ofyoung ones, screaming, with their open mouthsand their enormous heads, affected her percep-tibly.

"Poor, solitary, sad, wandering beings! I loveyou ever since I became acquainted with MissHarriet.

"I soon discovered that she had something shewould like to tell me, but dare not, and I wasamused at her timidity. When I started out inthe morning with my knapsack on my back,she would accompany me in silence as far asthe end of the village, evidently struggling tofind words with which to begin a conversation.Then she would leave me abruptly and walkaway quickly with her springy step.

"One day, however, she plucked up courage:

"I would like to see how you paint pictures. Areyou willing? I have been very curious.'

"And she blushed as if she had said somethingvery audacious.

"I conducted her to the bottom of the Petit-Val,where I had begun a large picture.

"She remained standing behind me, followingall my gestures with concentrated attention.Then, suddenly, fearing perhaps that she wasdisturbing me, she said: 'Thank you,' and wal-ked away.

"But she soon became more friendly, and ac-companied me every day, her countenance ex-hibiting visible pleasure. She carried her campstool under her arm, not permitting me to carryit. She would remain there for hours, silent andmotionless, following with her eyes the point ofmy brush, in its every movement. When I ob-tained unexpectedly just the effect I wanted by

a dash of color put on with the palette knife,she involuntarily uttered a little 'Ah!' of aston-ishment, of joy, of admiration. She had the mosttender respect for my canvases, an almost reli-gious respect for that human reproduction of apart of nature's work divine. My studies ap-peared to her a kind of religious pictures, andsometimes she spoke to me of God, with theidea of converting me.

"Oh, he was a queer, good-natured being, thisGod of hers! He was a sort of village philoso-pher without any great resources and withoutgreat power, for she always figured him to her-self as inconsolable over injustices committedunder his eyes, as though he were powerless toprevent them.

"She was, however, on excellent terms withhim, affecting even to be the confidante of hissecrets and of his troubles. She would say:

"'God wills' or 'God does not will,' just like asergeant announcing to a recruit: 'The colonelhas commanded.'

"At the bottom of her heart she deplored myignorance of the intentions of the Eternal,which she endeavored to impart to me.

"Almost every day I found in my pockets, inmy hat when I lifted it from the ground, in mypaintbox, in my polished shoes, standing infront of my door in the morning, those littlepious tracts which she no doubt, received di-rectly from Paradise.

"I treated her as one would an old friend, withunaffected cordiality. But I soon perceived thatshe had changed somewhat in her manner,though, for a while, I paid little attention to it.

"When I was painting, whether in my valley orin some country lane, I would see her suddenlyappear with her rapid, springy walk. She

would then sit down abruptly, out of breath, asthough she had been running or were over-come by some profound emotion. Her facewould be red, that English red which is deniedto the people of all other countries; then, with-out any reason, she would turn ashy pale andseem about to faint away. Gradually, however,her natural color would return and she wouldbegin to speak.

"Then, without warning, she would break off inthe middle of a sentence, spring up from herseat and walk away so rapidly and so strangelythat I was at my wits' ends to discover whetherI had done or said anything to displease orwound her.

"I finally came to the conclusion that those wereher normal manners, somewhat modified nodoubt in my honor during the first days of ouracquaintance.

"When she returned to the farm, after walkingfor hours on the windy coast, her long curlsoften hung straight down, as if their springshad been broken. This had hitherto seldomgiven her any concern, and she would come todinner without embarrassment all dishevelledby her sister, the breeze.

"But now she would go to her room and ar-range the untidy locks, and when I would say,with familiar gallantry, which, however, al-ways offended her:

"'You are as beautiful as a star to-day, MissHarriet,' a blush would immediately rise to hercheeks, the blush of a young girl, of a girl offifteen.

"Then she would suddenly become quite re-served and cease coming to watch me paint. Ithought, 'This is only a fit of temper; it willblow over.' But it did not always blow over,and when I spoke to her she would answer me

either with affected indifference or with sullenannoyance.

"She became by turns rude, impatient and ner-vous. I never saw her now except at meals, andwe spoke but little. I concluded at length that Imust have offended her in some way, and, ac-cordingly, I said to her one evening:

"'Miss Harriet, why is it that you do not acttoward me as formerly? What have I done todisplease you? You are causing me much pain!'

"She replied in a most comical tone of anger:

"'I am just the same with you as formerly. It isnot true, not true,' and she ran upstairs andshut herself up in her room.

"Occasionally she would look at me in a pecu-liar manner. I have often said to myself sincethen that those who are condemned to deathmust look thus when they are informed that

their last day has come. In her eye there lurkeda species of insanity, an insanity at once mysti-cal and violent; and even more, a fever, an ag-gravated longing, impatient and impotent, forthe unattained and unattainable.

"Nay, it seemed to me there was also going onwithin her a struggle in which her heart wres-tled with an unknown force that she sought tomaster, and even, perhaps, something else. Butwhat do I know? What do I know?

"It was indeed a singular revelation.

"For some time I had commenced to work, assoon as daylight appeared, on a picture thesubject of which was as follows:

"A deep ravine, enclosed, surmounted by twothickets of trees and vines, extended into thedistance and was lost, submerged in that milkyvapor, in that cloud like cotton down thatsometimes floats over valleys at daybreak. And

at the extreme end of that heavy, transparentfog one saw, or, rather, surmised, that a coupleof human beings were approaching, a humancouple, a youth and a maiden, their arms inter-laced, embracing each other, their heads in-clined toward each other, their lips meeting.

"A first ray of the sun, glistening through thebranches, pierced that fog of the dawn, illumi-nated it with a rosy reflection just behind therustic lovers, framing their vague shadows in asilvery background. It was well done; yes, in-deed, well done.

"I was working on the declivity which led tothe Valley of Etretat. On this particular morn-ing I had, by chance, the sort of floating vaporwhich I needed. Suddenly something rose up infront of me like a phantom; it was Miss Harriet.On seeing me she was about to flee. But I calledafter her, saying: 'Come here, come here, ma-demoiselle. I have a nice little picture for you.'

"She came forward, though with seeming reluc-tance. I handed her my sketch. She said noth-ing, but stood for a long time, motionless, look-ing at it, and suddenly she burst into tears. Shewept spasmodically, like men who have strivenhard to restrain their tears, but who can do sono longer and abandon themselves to grief,though still resisting. I sprang to my feet,moved at the sight of a sorrow I did not com-prehend, and I took her by the hand with animpulse of brusque affection, a true French im-pulse which acts before it reflects.

"She let her hands rest in mine for a few sec-onds, and I felt them quiver as if all her nerveswere being wrenched. Then she withdrew herhands abruptly, or, rather, snatched themaway.

"I recognized that tremor, for I had felt it, and Icould not be deceived. Ah! the love tremor of awoman, whether she be fifteen or fifty years ofage, whether she be of the people or of society,

goes so straight to my heart that I never haveany hesitation in understanding it!

"Her whole frail being had trembled, vibrated,been overcome. I knew it. She walked awaybefore I had time to say a word, leaving me assurprised as if I had witnessed a miracle and astroubled as if I had committed a crime.

"I did not go in to breakfast. I went to take aturn on the edge of the cliff, feeling that Iwould just as lief weep as laugh, looking on theadventure as both comic and deplorable andmy position as ridiculous, believing her un-happy enough to go insane.

"I asked myself what I ought to do. It seemedbest for me to leave the place, and I immedi-ately resolved to do so.

"Somewhat sad and perplexed, I wanderedabout until dinner time and entered the farm-house just when the soup had been served up.

"I sat down at the table as usual. Miss Harrietwas there, eating away solemnly, without spea-king to any one, without even lifting her eyes.Her manner and expression were, however, thesame as usual.

"I waited patiently till the meal had been fin-ished, when, turning toward the landlady, Isaid: 'Well, Madame Lecacheur, it will not belong now before I shall have to take my leave ofyou.'

"The good woman, at once surprised and trou-bled, replied in her drawling voice: 'My dearsir, what is it you say? You are going to leaveus after I have become so accustomed to you?'

"I glanced at Miss Harriet out of the corner ofmy eye. Her countenance did not change in theleast. But Celeste, the little servant, looked upat me. She was a fat girl, of about eighteenyears of age, rosy, fresh, as strong as a horse,and possessing the rare attribute of cleanliness.

I had kissed her at odd times in out-of-the-waycorners, after the manner of travellers—nothingmore.

"The dinner being at length over, I went tosmoke my pipe under the apple trees, walkingup and down from one end of the enclosure tothe other. All the reflections which I had madeduring the day, the strange discovery of themorning, that passionate and grotesque at-tachment for me, the recollections which thatrevelation had suddenly called up, recollectionsat once charming and perplexing, perhaps alsothat look which the servant had cast on me atthe announcement of my departure—all thesethings, mixed up and combined, put me now ina reckless humor, gave me a tickling sensationof kisses on the lips and in my veins a some-thing which urged me on to commit some folly.

"Night was coming on, casting its dark shad-ows under the trees, when I descried Celeste,who had gone to fasten up the poultry yard at

the other end of the enclosure. I darted towardher, running so noiselessly that she heard noth-ing, and as she got up from closing the smalltrapdoor by which the chickens got in and out,I clasped her in my arms and rained on hercoarse, fat face a shower of kisses. She strug-gled, laughing all the time, as she was accus-tomed to do in such circumstances. Why did Isuddenly loose my grip of her? Why did I atonce experience a shock? What was it that Iheard behind me?

"It was Miss Harriet, who had come upon us,who had seen us and who stood in front of usmotionless as a spectre. Then she disappearedin the darkness.

"I was ashamed, embarrassed, more desperateat having been thus surprised by her than if shehad caught me committing some criminal act.

"I slept badly that night. I was completely un-nerved and haunted by sad thoughts. I seemed

to hear loud weeping, but in this I was nodoubt deceived. Moreover, I thought severaltimes that I heard some one walking up anddown in the house and opening the hall door.

"Toward morning I was overcome by fatigueand fell asleep. I got up late and did not godownstairs until the late breakfast, being still ina bewildered state, not knowing what kind ofexpression to put on.

"No one had seen Miss Harriet. We waited forher at table, but she did not appear. At lengthMother Lecacheur went to her room. The Eng-lish woman had gone out. She must have setout at break of day, as she was wont to do, inorder to see the sun rise.

"Nobody seemed surprised at this, and we be-gan to eat in silence.

"The weather was hot, very hot, one of thosebroiling, heavy days when not a leaf stirs. The

table had been placed out of doors, under anapple tree, and from time to time Sapeur hadgone to the cellar to draw a jug of cider, every-body was so thirsty. Celeste brought the dishesfrom the kitchen, a ragout of mutton with pota-toes, a cold rabbit and a salad. Afterward sheplaced before us a dish of strawberries, the firstof the season.

"As I wished to wash and freshen these, I beg-ged the servant to go and draw me a pitcher ofcold water.

"In about five minutes she returned, declaringthat the well was dry. She had lowered the pit-cher to the full extent of the cord and had tou-ched the bottom, but on drawing the pitcher upagain it was empty. Mother Lecacheur, anxiousto examine the thing for herself, went and loo-ked down the hole. She returned, announcingthat one could see clearly something in thewell, something altogether unusual. But this no

doubt was bundles of straw, which a neighborhad thrown in out of spite.

"I wished to look down the well also, hoping Imight be able to clear up the mystery, and Iperched myself close to the brink. I perceivedindistinctly a white object. What could it be? Ithen conceived the idea of lowering a lantern atthe end of a cord. When I did so the yellowflame danced on the layers of stone and gradu-ally became clearer. All four of us were leaningover the opening, Sapeur and Celeste havingnow joined us. The lantern rested on a black-and-white indistinct mass, singular, incompre-hensible. Sapeur exclaimed:

"'It is a horse. I see the hoofs. It must have gotout of the meadow during the night and fallenin headlong.'

"But suddenly a cold shiver froze me to themarrow. I first recognized a foot, then a leg

sticking up; the whole body and the other legwere completely under water.

"I stammered out in a loud voice, trembling soviolently that the lantern danced hither andthither over the slipper:

"'It is a woman! Who-who-can it be? It is MissHarriet!'

"Sapeur alone did not manifest horror. He hadwitnessed many such scenes in Africa.

"Mother Lecacheur and Celeste began to utterpiercing screams and ran away.

"But it was necessary to recover the corpse ofthe dead woman. I attached the young mansecurely by the waist to the end of the pulleyrope and lowered him very slowly, watchinghim disappear in the darkness. In one hand heheld the lantern and a rope in the other. Soon I

recognized his voice, which seemed to comefrom the centre of the earth, saying:

"'Stop!'

"I then saw him fish something out of the wa-ter. It was the other leg. He then bound the twofeet together and shouted anew:

"'Haul up!'

"I began to wind up, but I felt my arms crack,my muscles twitch, and I was in terror lest Ishould let the man fall to the bottom. When hishead appeared at the brink I asked:

"'Well?' as if I expected he had a message fromthe drowned woman.

"We both got on the stone slab at the edge ofthe well and from opposite sides we began tohaul up the body.

"Mother Lecacheur and Celeste watched usfrom a distance, concealed from view behindthe wall of the house. When they saw issuingfrom the hole the black slippers and white stoc-kings of the drowned person they disappeared.

"Sapeur seized the ankles, and we drew up thebody of the poor woman. The head was shock-ing to look at, being bruised and lacerated, andthe long gray hair, out of curl forevermore,hanging down tangled and disordered.

"'In the name of all that is holy! how lean sheis,' exclaimed Sapeur in a contemptuous tone.

"We carried her into the room, and as the wo-men did not put in an appearance I, with theassistance of the stable lad, dressed the corpsefor burial.

"I washed her disfigured face. Under the touchof my finger an eye was slightly opened andregarded me with that pale, cold look, that ter-

rible look of a corpse which seems to comefrom the beyond. I braided as well as I couldher dishevelled hair and with my clumsy handsarranged on her head a novel and singular coif-fure. Then I took off her dripping wet gar-ments, baring, not without a feeling of shame,as though I had been guilty of some profana-tion, her shoulders and her chest and her longarms, as slim as the twigs of a tree.

"I next went to fetch some flowers, poppies,bluets, marguerites and fresh, sweet-smellinggrass with which to strew her funeral couch.

"I then had to go through the usual formalities,as I was alone to attend to everything. A letterfound in her pocket, written at the last moment,requested that her body be buried in the villagein which she had passed the last days of herlife. A sad suspicion weighed on my heart. Wasit not on my account that she wished to be laidto rest in this place?

"Toward evening all the female gossips of thelocality came to view the remains of the de-funct, but I would not allow a single person toenter. I wanted to be alone, and I watched be-side her all night.

"I looked at the corpse by the flickering light ofthe candles, at this unhappy woman, unknownto us all, who had died in such a lamentablemanner and so far away from home. Had sheleft no friends, no relations behind her? Whathad her infancy been? What had been her life?Whence had she come thither alone, a wan-derer, lost like a dog driven from home? Whatsecrets of sufferings and of despair were sealedup in that unprepossessing body, in that poorbody whose outward appearance had drivenfrom her all affection, all love?

"How many unhappy beings there are! I feltthat there weighed upon that human creaturethe eternal injustice of implacable nature! It wasall over with her, without her ever having ex-

perienced, perhaps, that which sustains thegreatest outcasts to wit, the hope of being lovedonce! Otherwise why should she thus have con-cealed herself, fled from the face of others?Why did she love everything so tenderly and sopassionately, everything living that was not aman?

"I recognized the fact that she believed in aGod, and that she hoped to receive compensa-tion from the latter for all the miseries she hadendured. She would now disintegrate and be-come, in turn, a plant. She would blossom inthe sun, the cattle would browse on her leaves,the birds would bear away the seeds, andthrough these changes she would become againhuman flesh. But that which is called the soulhad been extinguished at the bottom of thedark well. She suffered no longer. She had gi-ven her life for that of others yet to come.

"Hours passed away in this silent and sinistercommunion with the dead. A pale light at

length announced the dawn of a new day; thena red ray streamed in on the bed, making a barof light across the coverlet and across herhands. This was the hour she had so much lo-ved. The awakened birds began to sing in thetrees.

"I opened the window to its fullest extent anddrew back the curtains that the whole heavensmight look in upon us, and, bending over theicy corpse, I took in my hands the mutilatedhead and slowly, without terror or disgust, Iimprinted a kiss, a long kiss, upon those lipswhich had never before been kissed."

Leon Chenal remained silent. The womenwept. We heard on the box seat the Count d'A-traille blowing his nose from time to time. Thecoachman alone had gone to sleep. The horses,who no longer felt the sting of the whip, hadslackened their pace and moved along slowly.The drag, hardly advancing at all, seemed sud-

denly torpid, as if it had been freighted withsorrow.

[Miss Harriet appeared in Le Gaulois, July 9,1883, under the title of Miss Hastings. The story was later revised,enlarged; and partly reconstructed. This is what De Maupassantwrote to Editor Havard March 15, 1884, in an unedited letter, in re-gard to the title of the story that was to give its name to the volume:

"I do not believe that Hastings is a bad name,inasmuch as it is known all over the world, and recalls thegreatest facts in English history. Besides, Hastings is as much a nameas Duval is with us.

"The name Cherbuliez selected, Miss Revel, isno more like an

English name than like a Turkish name. Buthere is another name as English as Hastings, and more euphonious; itis Miss Harriet. I will ask you therefore to substitute Harrietfor Hastings."

It was in regard to this very tittle that DeMaupassant had a disagreement with Audran and Boucherondirector of the Bouffes Parisiens in October, 1890 They had given thistitle to an operetta about to be played at the Bouffes. It endedhowever, by their ceding to De Maupassant, and the title of theoperetta was changed to Miss Helyett.]

LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE

The former soldier, Mederic Rompel, familiarlycalled Mederic by the country folks, left thepost office of Roily-le-Tors at the usual hour.After passing through the village with his longstride, he cut across the meadows of Villaumeand reached the bank of the Brindille, followingthe path along the water's edge to the village ofCarvelin, where he commenced to deliver hisletters. He walked quickly, following the courseof the narrow river, which frothed, murmuredand boiled in its grassy bed beneath an arch ofwillows.

Mederic went on without stopping, with onlythis thought in his mind: "My first letter is forthe Poivron family, then I have one for Mon-sieur Renardet; so I must cross the wood."

His blue blouse, fastened round his waist by ablack leather belt, moved in a quick, regular

fashion above the green hedge of willow trees,and his stout stick of holly kept time with hissteady tread.

He crossed the Brindille on a bridge consistingof a tree trunk, with a handrail of rope, fas-tened at either end to a stake driven into theground.

The wood, which belonged to Monsieur Renar-det, the mayor of Carvelin and the largest lan-downer in the district, consisted of huge oldtrees, straight as pillars and extending for abouthalf a league along the left bank of the streamwhich served as a boundary to this immensedome of foliage. Alongside the water largeshrubs had grown up in the sunlight, but underthe trees one found nothing but moss, thick,soft and yielding, from which arose, in the stillair, an odor of dampness and of dead wood.

Mederic slackened his pace, took off his blackcap adorned with red lace and wiped his fore-

head, for it was by this time hot in the mead-ows, though it was not yet eight o'clock in themorning.

He had just recovered from the effects of theheat and resumed his quick pace when he no-ticed at the foot of a tree a knife, a child's smallknife. When he picked it up he discovered athimble and also a needlecase not far away.

Having taken up these objects, he thought: "I'llentrust them to the mayor," and he resumed hisjourney, but now he kept his eyes open, expect-ing to find something else.

All of a sudden he stopped short, as if he hadstruck against a wooden barrier. Ten paces infront of him lay stretched on her back on themoss a little girl, perfectly nude, her face cov-ered with a handkerchief. She was about twelveyears old.

Meredic advanced on tiptoe, as if he appre-hended some danger, and he glanced towardthe spot uneasily.

What was this? No doubt she was asleep. Thenhe reflected that a person does not go to sleepnaked at half-past seven in the morning underthe cool trees. So, then, she must be dead, andhe must be face to face with a crime. At thisthought a cold shiver ran through his frame,although he was an old soldier. And then amurder was such a rare thing in the country,and, above all, the murder of a child, that hecould not believe his eyes. But she had nowound-nothing save a spot of blood on her leg.How, then, had she been killed?

He stopped close to her and gazed at her, whilehe leaned on his stick. Certainly he must knowher, for he knew all the inhabitants of the dis-trict; but, not being able to get a look at her fa-ce, he could not guess her name. He stoopedforward in order to take off the handkerchief

which covered her face, then paused, with out-stretched hand, restrained by an idea that oc-curred to him.

Had he the right to disarrange anything in thecondition of the corpse before the official inves-tigation? He pictured justice to himself as akind of general whom nothing escapes andwho attaches as much importance to a lost but-ton as to the stab of a knife in the stomach. Per-haps under this handkerchief evidence couldbe found to sustain a charge of murder; in fact,if such proof were there it might lose its value iftouched by an awkward hand.

Then he raised himself with the intention ofhastening toward the mayor's residence, butagain another thought held him back. If thelittle girl were still alive, by any chance, hecould not leave her lying there in this way. Hesank on his knees very gently, a little distancefrom her, through precaution, and extended hishand toward her foot. It was icy cold, with the

terrible coldness of death which leaves us nolonger in doubt. The letter carrier, as he tou-ched her, felt his heart in his mouth, as he saidhimself afterward, and his mouth parched. Ris-ing up abruptly, he rushed off under the treestoward Monsieur Renardet's house.

He walked on faster than ever, with his stickunder his arm, his hands clenched and his headthrust forward, while his leathern bag, filledwith letters and newspapers, kept flapping athis side.

The mayor's residence was at the end of thewood which served as a park, and one side of itwas washed by the Brindille.

It was a big square house of gray stone, veryold, and had stood many a siege in formerdays, and at the end of it was a huge tower,twenty metres high, rising out of the water.

From the top of this fortress one could formerlysee all the surrounding country. It was calledthe Fox's tower, without any one knowing ex-actly why; and from this appellation, no doubt,had come the name Renardet, borne by theowners of this fief, which had remained in thesame family, it was said, for more than twohundred years. For the Renardets formed partof the upper middle class, all but noble, to bemet with so often in the province before theRevolution.

The postman dashed into the kitchen, wherethe servants were taking breakfast, and ex-claimed:

"Is the mayor up? I want to speak to him atonce."

Mederic was recognized as a man of standingand authority, and they understood that some-thing serious had happened.

As soon as word was brought to Monsieur Re-nardet, he ordered the postman to be sent up tohim. Pale and out of breath, with his cap in hishand, Mederic found the mayor seated at along table covered with scattered papers.

He was a large, tall man, heavy and red-faced,strong as an ox, and was greatly liked in thedistrict, although of an excessively violent dis-position. Almost forty years old and a widowerfor the past six months, he lived on his estatelike a country gentleman. His choleric tem-perament had often brought him into troublefrom which the magistrates of Roily-le-Tors,like indulgent and prudent friends, had extri-cated him. Had he not one day thrown the con-ductor of the diligence from the top of his seatbecause he came near running over his re-triever, Micmac? Had he not broken the ribs ofa gamekeeper who abused him for having, gunin hand, passed through a neighbor's property?Had he not even caught by the collar the sub-

prefect, who stopped over in the village duringan administrative circuit, called by MonsieurRenardet an electioneering circuit, for he wasopposed to the government, in accordance withfamily traditions.

The mayor asked:

"What's the matter now, Mederic?"

"I found a little girl dead in your wood."

Renardet rose to his feet, his face the color ofbrick.

"What do you say—a little girl?"

"Yes, m'sieu, a little girl, quite naked, on herback, with blood on her, dead—quite dead!"

The mayor gave vent to an oath:

"By God, I'd make a bet it is little Louise Roque!I have just learned that she did not go home toher mother last night. Where did you find her?"

The postman described the spot, gave full de-tails and offered to conduct the mayor to theplace.

But Renardet became brusque:

"No, I don't need you. Send the watchman, themayor's secretary and the doctor to me at once,and resume your rounds. Quick, quick, go andtell them to meet me in the wood."

The letter carrier, a man used to discipline, obe-yed and withdrew, angry and grieved at notbeing able to be present at the investigation.

The mayor, in his turn, prepared to go out, tookhis big soft hat and paused for a few secondson the threshold of his abode. In front of himstretched a wide sward, in which were three

large beds of flowers in full bloom, one facingthe house and the others at either side of it.Farther on the outlying trees of the wood roseskyward, while at the left, beyond the Brindille,which at that spot widened into a pond, couldbe seen long meadows, an entirely green flatsweep of country, intersected by trenches andhedges of pollard willows.

To the right, behind the stables, the outhousesand all the buildings connected with the prop-erty, might be seen the village, which waswealthy, being mainly inhabited by cattle bree-ders.

Renardet slowly descended the steps in front ofhis house, and, turning to the left, gained thewater's edge, which he followed at a slow pace,his hand behind his back. He walked on, withbent head, and from time to time glancedround in search of the persons he had sent for.

When he stood beneath the trees he stopped,took off his hat and wiped his forehead as Me-deric had done, for the burning sun was dart-ing its fiery rays on the earth. Then the mayorresumed his journey, stopped once more andretraced his steps. Suddenly, stooping down,he steeped his handkerchief in the stream thatglided along at his feet and spread it over hishead, under his hat. Drops of water floweddown his temples over his ears, which werealways purple, over his strong red neck, andmade their way, one after the other, under hiswhite shirt collar.

As nobody had appeared, he began tappingwith his foot, then he called out:

"Hello! Hello!"

A voice at his right answered:

"Hello! Hello!"

And the doctor appeared under the trees. Hewas a thin little man, an ex-military surgeon,who passed in the neighborhood for a veryskillful practitioner. He limped, having beenwounded while in the service, and had to use astick to assist him in walking.

Next came the watchman and the mayor's sec-retary, who, having been sent for at the sametime, arrived together. They looked scared, andhurried forward, out of breath, walking andrunning alternately to hasten their progress,and moving their arms up and down so vigor-ously that they seemed to do more work withthem than with their legs.

Renardet said to the doctor:

"You know what the trouble is about?"

"Yes, a child found dead in the wood by Med-eric."

"That's quite correct. Come on!"

They walked along, side by side, followed bythe two men.

Their steps made no sound on the moss. Theireyes were gazing ahead in front of them.

Suddenly the doctor, extending his arm, said:

"See, there she is!"

Far ahead of them under the trees they sawsomething white on which the sun gleameddown through the branches. As they ap-proached they gradually distinguished ahuman form lying there, its head toward theriver, the face covered and the arms extendedas though on a crucifix.

"I am fearfully warm," said the mayor, andstooping down, he again soaked his handker-chief in the water and placed it round his fore-head.

The doctor hastened his steps, interested by thediscovery. As soon as they were near the corp-se, he bent down to examine it without touch-ing it. He had put on his pince-nez, as one doesin examining some curious object, and turnedround very quietly.

He said, without rising:

"Violated and murdered, as we shall prove pre-sently. This little girl, moreover, is almost awoman—look at her throat."

The doctor lightly drew away the handkerchiefwhich covered her face, which looked black,frightful, the tongue protruding, the eyesbloodshot. He went on:

"By heavens! She was strangled the moment thedeed was done."

He felt her neck.

"Strangled with the hands without leaving anyspecial trace, neither the mark of the nails northe imprint of the fingers. Quite right. It is littleLouise Roque, sure enough!"

He carefully replaced the handkerchief.

"There's nothing for me to do. She's been deadfor the last hour at least. We must give notice ofthe matter to the authorities."

Renardet, standing up, with his hands behindhis back, kept staring with a stony look at thelittle body exposed to view on the grass. Hemurmured:

"What a wretch! We must find the clothes."

The doctor felt the hands, the arms, the legs. Hesaid:

"She had been bathing no doubt. They ought tobe at the water's edge."

The mayor thereupon gave directions:

"Do you, Principe," (this was his secretary), "goand find those clothes for me along the stream.You, Maxime," (this was the watchman), "hurryon toward Rouy-le-Tors and bring with you themagistrate with the gendarmes. They must behere within an hour. You understand?"

The two men started at once, and Renardet saidto the doctor:

"What miscreant could have done such a deedin this part of the country?"

The doctor murmured:

"Who knows? Any one is capable of that. Everyone in particular and nobody in general. Nomatter, it must be some prowler, some work-man out of employment. Since we have becomea Republic we meet only this kind of personalong the roads."

Both of them were Bonapartists.

The mayor went on:

"Yes, it can only be a stranger, a passer-by, avagabond without hearth or home."

The doctor added, with the shadow of a smileon his face:

"And without a wife. Having neither a goodsupper nor a good bed, he became reckless.You can't tell how many men there may be inthe world capable of a crime at a given mo-ment. Did you know that this little girl haddisappeared?"

And with the end of his stick he touched oneafter the other the stiffened fingers of the corp-se, resting on them as on the keys of a piano.

"Yes, the mother came last night to look for meabout nine o'clock, the child not having comehome at seven to supper. We looked for her

along the roads up to midnight, but we did notthink of the wood. However, we needed day-light to carry out a thorough search."

"Will you have a cigar?" said the doctor.

"Thanks, I don't care to smoke. This thing af-fects me so."

They remained standing beside the corpse ofthe young girl, so pale on the dark moss. A bigblue fly was walking over the body with hislively, jerky movements. The two men keptwatching this wandering speck.

The doctor said:

"How pretty it is, a fly on the skin! The ladies ofthe last century had good reason to paste themon their faces. Why has this fashion gone out?"

The mayor seemed not to hear, plunged as hewas in deep thought.

But, all of a sudden, he turned round, surprisedby a shrill noise. A woman in a cap and blueapron was running toward them under thetrees. It was the mother, La Roque. As soon asshe saw Renardet she began to shriek:

"My little girl! Where's my little girl?" so dis-tractedly that she did not glance down at theground. Suddenly she saw the corpse, stoppedshort, clasped her hands and raised both herarms while she uttered a sharp, heartrendingcry—the cry of a wounded animal. Then sherushed toward the body, fell on her knees andsnatched away the handkerchief that coveredthe face. When she saw that frightful counte-nance, black and distorted, she rose to her feetwith a shudder, then sinking to the ground,face downward, she pressed her face againstthe ground and uttered frightful, continuousscreams on the thick moss.

Her tall, thin frame, with its close-clingingdress, was palpitating, shaken with spasms.

One could see her bony ankles and her dried-up calves covered with coarse blue stockingsshaking horribly. She was digging the soil withher crooked fingers, as though she were tryingto make a hole in which to hide herself.

The doctor, much affected, said in a low tone:

"Poor old woman!"

Renardet felt a strange sensation. Then he gavevent to a sort of loud sneeze, and, drawing hishandkerchief from his pocket, he began toweep internally, coughing, sobbing and blow-ing his nose noisily.

He stammered:

"Damn—damn—damned pig to do this! Iwould like to seem him guillotined."

Principe reappeared with his hands empty. Hemurmured:

"I have found nothing, M'sieu le Maire, nothingat all anywhere."

The mayor, alarmed, replied in a thick voice,drowned in tears:

"What is that you could not find?"

"The little girl's clothes."

"Well—well—look again, and find them—oryou 'll have to answer to me."

The man, knowing that the mayor would notbrook opposition, set forth again with hesitat-ing steps, casting a timid side glance at thecorpse.

Distant voices were heard under the trees, aconfused sound, the noise of an approachingcrowd, for Mederic had, in the course of hisrounds, carried the news from door to door.The people of the neighborhood, dazed at first,had gossiped about it in the street, from one

threshold to another. Then they gathered to-gether. They talked over, discussed and com-mented on the event for some minutes and hadnow come to see for themselves.

They arrived in groups, a little faltering anduneasy through fear of the first impression ofsuch a scene on their minds. When they saw thebody they stopped, not daring to advance, andspeaking low. Then they grew bolder, went ona few steps, stopped again, advanced once mo-re, and presently formed around the dead girl,her mother, the doctor and Renardet a closecircle, restless and noisy, which crowded for-ward at the sudden impact of newcomers. Andnow they touched the corpse. Some of themeven bent down to feel it with their fingers. Thedoctor kept them back. But the mayor, wakingabruptly out of his torpor, flew into a rage, andseizing Dr. Labarbe's stick, flung himself on histownspeople, stammering:

"Clear out—clear out—you pack of brutes—clear out!"

And in a second the crowd of sightseers hadfallen back two hundred paces.

Mother La Roque had risen to a sitting postureand now remained weeping, with her handsclasped over her face.

The crowd was discussing the affair, and younglads' eager eyes curiously scrutinized this nudeyoung form. Renardet perceived this, and,abruptly taking off his coat, he flung it over thelittle girl, who was entirely hidden from viewbeneath the large garment.

The secretary drew near quietly. The wood wasfilled with people, and a continuous hum ofvoices rose up under the tangled foliage of thetall trees.

The mayor, in his shirt sleeves, remained stand-ing, with his stick in his hands, in a fightingattitude. He seemed exasperated by this curios-ity on the part of the people and kept repeating:

"If one of you come nearer I'll break his headjust as I would a dog's."

The peasants were greatly afraid of him. Theyheld back. Dr. Labarbe, who was smoking, satdown beside La Roque and spoke to her in or-der to distract her attention. The old woman atonce removed her hands from her face and re-plied with a flood of tearful words, emptyingher grief in copious talk. She told the wholestory of her life, her marriage, the death of herman, a cattle drover, who had been gored todeath, the infancy of her daughter, her wret-ched existence as a widow without resourcesand with a child to support. She had only thisone, her little Louise, and the child had beenkilled—killed in this wood. Then she felt anx-ious to see her again, and, dragging herself on

her knees toward the corpse, she raised up onecorner of the garment that covered her; thenshe let it fall again and began wailing oncemore. The crowd remained silent, eagerly wat-ching all the mother's gestures.

But suddenly there was a great commotion atthe cry of "The gendarmes! the gendarmes!"

Two gendarmes appeared in the distance, ad-vancing at a rapid trot, escorting their captainand a little gentleman with red whiskers, whowas bobbing up and down like a monkey on abig white mare.

The watchman had just found Monsieur Pu-toin, the magistrate, at the moment when hewas mounting his horse to take his daily ride,for he posed as a good horseman, to the greatamusement of the officers.

He dismounted, along with the captain, andpressed the hands of the mayor and the doctor,

casting a ferret-like glance on the linen coatbeneath which lay the corpse.

When he was made acquainted with all thefacts, he first gave orders to disperse the crowd,whom the gendarmes drove out of the wood,but who soon reappeared in the meadow andformed a hedge, a big hedge of excited andmoving heads, on the other side of the stream.

The doctor, in his turn, gave explanations,which Renardet noted down in his memoran-dum book. All the evidence was given, takendown and commented on without leading toany discovery. Maxime, too, came back withouthaving found any trace of the clothes.

This disappearance surprised everybody; noone could explain it except on the theory oftheft, and as her rags were not worth twentysous, even this theory was inadmissible.

The magistrate, the mayor, the captain and thedoctor set to work searching in pairs, puttingaside the smallest branch along the water.

Renardet said to the judge:

"How does it happen that this wretch has con-cealed or carried away the clothes, and has thusleft the body exposed, in sight of every one?"

The other, crafty and sagacious, answered:

"Ha! ha! Perhaps a dodge? This crime has beencommitted either by a brute or by a sly scoun-drel. In any case, we'll easily succeed in findinghim."

The noise of wheels made them turn theirheads round. It was the deputy magistrate, thedoctor and the registrar of the court who hadarrived in their turn. They resumed theirsearch, all chatting in an animated fashion.

Renardet said suddenly:

"Do you know that you are to take luncheonwith me?"

Every one smilingly accepted the invitation,and the magistrate, thinking that the case oflittle Louise Roque had occupied enough atten-tion for one day, turned toward the mayor.

"I can have the body brought to your house,can I not? You have a room in which you cankeep it for me till this evening?"

The other became confused and stammered:

"Yes—no—no. To tell the truth, I prefer that itshould not come into my house on account of—on account of my servants, who are alreadytalking about ghosts in—in my tower, in theFox's tower. You know—I could no longer keepa single one. No—I prefer not to have it in myhouse."

The magistrate began to smile.

"Good! I will have it taken at once to Roily forthe legal examination." And, turning to his de-puty, he said:

"I can make use of your trap, can I not?"

"Yes, certainly."

They all came back to the place where the corp-se lay. Mother La Roque, now seated beside herdaughter, was holding her hand and was star-ing right before her with a wandering, listlesseye.

The two doctors endeavored to lead her away,so that she might not witness the dead girl'sremoval, but she understood at once what theywanted to do, and, flinging herself on the body,she threw both arms round it. Lying on top ofthe corpse, she exclaimed:

"You shall not have it—it's mine—it's minenow. They have killed her for me, and I want tokeep her—you shall not have her——"

All the men, affected and not knowing how toact, remained standing around her. Renardetfell on his knees and said to her:

"Listen, La Roque, it is necessary, in order tofind out who killed her. Without this, we couldnot find out. We must make a search for theman in order to punish him. When we havefound him we'll give her up to you. I promiseyou this."

This explanation bewildered the woman, and afeeling of hatred manifested itself in her dis-tracted glance.

"So then they'll arrest him?"

"Yes, I promise you that."

She rose up, deciding to let them do as theyliked, but when the captain remarked:

"It is surprising that her clothes were notfound," a new idea, which she had not previ-ously thought of, abruptly entered her mind,and she asked:

"Where are her clothes? They're mine. I wantthem. Where have they been put?"

They explained to her that they had not beenfound. Then she demanded them persistently,crying and moaning.

"They're mine—I want them. Where are they? Iwant them!"

The more they tried to calm her the more shesobbed and persisted in her demands. She nolonger wanted the body, she insisted on havingthe clothes, as much perhaps through the un-conscious cupidity of a wretched being to

whom a piece of silver represents a fortune asthrough maternal tenderness.

And when the little body, rolled up in blanketswhich had been brought out from Renardet'shouse, had disappeared in the vehicle, the oldwoman standing under the trees, sustained bythe mayor and the captain, exclaimed:

"I have nothing, nothing, nothing in the world,not even her little cap —her little cap."

The cure, a young priest, had just arrived. Hetook it on himself to accompany the mother,and they went away together toward the vil-lage. The mother's grief was modified by thesugary words of the clergyman, who promisedher a thousand compensations. But she keptrepeating: "If I had only her little cap." This ideanow dominated every other.

Renardet called from the distance:

"You will lunch with us, Monsieur l'Abbe—inan hour's time."

The priest turned his head round and replied:

"With pleasure, Monsieur le Maire. I'll be withyou at twelve."

And they all directed their steps toward thehouse, whose gray front, with the large towerbuilt on the edge of the Brindille, could be seenthrough the branches.

The meal lasted a long time. They talked aboutthe crime. Everybody was of the same opinion.It had been committed by some tramp passingthere by mere chance while the little girl wasbathing.

Then the magistrates returned to Rouy, an-nouncing that they would return next day at anearly hour. The doctor and the cure went totheir respective homes, while Renardet, after a

long walk through the meadows, returned tothe wood, where he remained walking tillnightfall with slow steps, his hands behind hisback.

He went to bed early and was still asleep nextmorning when the magistrate entered his room.He was rubbing his hands together with a self-satisfied air.

"Ha! ha! You are still sleeping! Well, my dearfellow, we have news this morning."

The mayor sat up in his bed.

"What, pray?"

"Oh! Something strange. You remember wellhow the mother clamored yesterday for somememento of her daughter, especially her littlecap? Well, on opening her door this morningshe found on the threshold her child's two littlewooden shoes. This proves that the crime was

perpetrated by some one from the district, so-me one who felt pity for her. Besides, the post-man, Mederic, brought me the thimble, the kni-fe and the needle case of the dead girl. So, then,the man in carrying off the clothes to hide themmust have let fall the articles which were in thepocket. As for me, I attach special importanceto the wooden shoes, as they indicate a certainmoral culture and a faculty for tenderness onthe part of the assassin. We will, therefore, ifyou have no objection, go over together theprincipal inhabitants of your district."

The mayor got up. He rang for his shaving wa-ter and said:

"With pleasure, but it will take some time, andwe may begin at once."

M. Putoin sat astride a chair.

Renardet covered his chin with a white latherwhile he looked at himself in the glass. Then he

sharpened his razor on the strop and contin-ued:

"The principal inhabitant of Carvelin bears thename of Joseph Renardet, mayor, a rich land-owner, a rough man who beats guards andcoachmen—"

The examining magistrate burst out laughing.

"That's enough. Let us pass on to the next."

"The second in importance is Pelledent, his de-puty, a cattle breeder, an equally rich land-owner, a crafty peasant, very sly, very close-fisted on every question of money, butincapable in my opinion of having perpetratedsuch a crime."

"Continue," said M. Putoin.

Renardet, while proceeding with his toilet, re-viewed the characters of all the inhabitants ofCarvelin. After two hours' discussion their sus-

picions were fixed on three individuals whohad hitherto borne a shady reputation—a poa-cher named Cavalle, a fisherman named Pa-quet, who caught trout and crabs, and a cattledrover named Clovis II.

The search for the perpetrator of the crime las-ted all summer, but he was not discovered.Those who were suspected and arrested easilyproved their innocence, and the authoritieswere compelled to abandon the attempt to cap-ture the criminal.

But this murder seemed to have moved theentire country in a singular manner. There re-mained in every one's mind a disquietude, avague fear, a sensation of mysterious terror,springing not merely from the impossibility ofdiscovering any trace of the assassin, but alsoand above all from that strange finding of thewooden shoes in front of La Roque's door theday after the crime. The certainty that the mur-derer had assisted at the investigation, that he

was still, doubtless, living in the village, pos-sessed all minds and seemed to brood over theneighborhood like a constant menace.

The wood had also become a dreaded spot, aplace to be avoided and supposed to be haun-ted.

Formerly the inhabitants went there to spendevery Sunday afternoon. They used to sit downon the moss at the feet of the huge tall trees orwalk along the water's edge watching the troutgliding among the weeds. The boy's used toplay bowls, hide-and-seek and other gameswhere the ground had been cleared and lev-elled, and the girls, in rows of four or five,would trip along, holding one another by thearms and screaming songs with their shrill voi-ces. Now nobody ventured there for fear offinding some corpse lying on the ground.

Autumn arrived, the leaves began to fall fromthe tall trees, whirling round and round to the

ground, and the sky could be seen through thebare branches. Sometimes, when a gust of windswept over the tree tops, the slow, continuousrain suddenly grew heavier and became arough storm that covered the moss with a thickyellow carpet that made a kind of creakingsound beneath one's feet.

And the sound of the falling leaves seemed likea wail and the leaves themselves like tears shedby these great, sorrowful trees, that wept in thesilence of the bare and empty wood, this drea-ded and deserted wood where wandered lone-ly the soul, the little soul of little Louise Roque.

The Brindille, swollen by the storms, rushed onmore quickly, yellow and angry, between itsdry banks, bordered by two thin, bare, willowhedges.

And here was Renardet suddenly resuming hiswalks under the trees. Every day, at sunset, hecame out of his house, descended the front

steps slowly and entered the wood in a dreamyfashion, with his hands in his pockets, and pa-ced over the damp soft moss, while a legion ofrooks from all the neighboring haunts camethither to rest in the tall trees and then flew offlike a black cloud uttering loud, discordantcries.

Night came on, and Renardet was still strollingslowly under the trees; then, when the darknessprevented him from walking any longer, hewould go back to the house and sink into hisarmchair in front of the glowing hearth, stretch-ing his damp feet toward the fire.

One morning an important bit of news wascirculated through the district; the mayor washaving his wood cut down.

Twenty woodcutters were already at work.They had commenced at the corner nearest tothe house and worked rapidly in the master'spresence.

And each day the wood grew thinner, losing itstrees, which fell down one by one, as an armyloses its soldiers.

Renardet no longer walked up, and down. Heremained from morning till night, contemplat-ing, motionless, with his hands behind hisback, the slow destruction of his wood. When atree fell he placed his foot on it as if it were acorpse. Then he raised his eyes to the next witha kind of secret, calm impatience, as if he ex-pected, hoped for something at the end of thisslaughter.

Meanwhile they were approaching the placewhere little Louise Roque had been found.They came to it one evening in the twilight.

As it was dark, the sky being overcast, thewoodcutters wanted to stop their work, puttingoff till next day the fall of an enormous beechtree, but the mayor objected to this and insisted

that they should at once lop and cut down thisgiant, which had sheltered the crime.

When the lopper had laid it bare and the wood-cutters had sapped its base, five men com-menced hauling at the rope attached to the top.

The tree resisted; its powerful trunk, althoughnotched to the centre, was as rigid as iron. Theworkmen, all together, with a sort of simulta-neous motion,' strained at the rope, bendingbackward and uttering a cry which timed andregulated their efforts.

Two woodcutters standing close to the giantremained with axes in their grip, like two exe-cutioners ready to strike once more, and Re-nardet, motionless, with his hand on the trunk,awaited the fall with an uneasy, nervous feel-ing.

One of the men said to him:

"You are too near, Monsieur le Maire. When itfalls it may hurt you."

He did not reply and did not move away. Heseemed ready to catch the beech tree in hisopen arms and to cast it on the ground like awrestler.

All at once, at the base of the tall column ofwood there was a rent which seemed to run tothe top, like a painful shock; it bent slightly,ready to fall, but still resisting. The men, in astate of excitement, stiffened their arms, re-newed their efforts with greater vigor, and, justas the tree came crashing down, Renardet sud-denly made a forward step, then stopped, hisshoulders raised to receive the irresistibleshock, the mortal shock which would crushhim to the earth.

But the beech tree, having deviated a little, onlyrubbed against his loins, throwing him on hisface, five metres away.

The workmen dashed forward to lift him up.He had already arisen to his knees, stupefied,with bewildered eyes and passing his handacross his forehead, as if he were awaking froman attack of madness.

When he had got to his feet once more the men,astonished, questioned him, not being able tounderstand what he had done. He replied infaltering tones that he had been dazed for amoment, or, rather, he had been thinking of hischildhood days; that he thought he would havetime to run under the tree, just as street boysrush in front of vehicles driving rapidly past;that he had played at danger; that for the pasteight days he felt this desire growing strongerwithin him, asking himself each time a treebegan to fall whether he could pass beneath itwithout being touched. It was a piece of stupid-ity, he confessed, but every one has these mo-ments of insanity and these temptations to boy-ish folly.

He made this explanation in a slow tone, sear-ching for his words, and speaking in a colorlesstone.

Then he went off, saying:

"Till to-morrow, my friends-till to-morrow."

As soon as he got back to his room he sat downat his table which his lamp lighted up brightly,and, burying his head in his hands, he began tocry.

He remained thus for a long time, then wipedhis eyes, raised his head and looked at theclock. It was not yet six o'clock.

He thought:

"I have time before dinner."

And he went to the door and locked it. He thencame back, and, sitting down at his table, pu-lled out the middle drawer. Taking from it a

revolver, he laid it down on his papers in fullview. The barrel of the firearm glittered, givingout gleams of light.

Renardet gazed at it for some time with theuneasy glance of a drunken man. Then he roseand began to pace up and down the room.

He walked from one end of the apartment tothe other, stopping from time to time, only topace up and down again a moment afterward.Suddenly he opened the door of his dressing-room, steeped a towel in the water pitcher andmoistened his forehead, as he had done on themorning of the crime.

Then he, began walking up and down again.Each time he passed the table the gleamingrevolver attracted his glance, tempted his hand,but he kept watching the clock and reflected:

"I have still time."

It struck half-past six. Then he took up the re-volver, opened his mouth wide with a frightfulgrimace and stuck the barrel into it as if hewanted to swallow it. He remained in this posi-tion for some seconds without moving, his fin-ger on the trigger. Then, suddenly seized with ashudder of horror, he dropped the pistol on thecarpet.

He fell back on his armchair, sobbing:

"I cannot. I dare not! My God! my God! Howcan I have the courage to kill myself?'"

There was a knock at the door. He rose up, be-wildered. A servant said:

"Monsieur's dinner is ready."

He replied:

"All right. I'm coming down."

Then he picked up the revolver, locked it upagain in the drawer and looked at himself inthe mirror over the mantelpiece to see whetherhis face did not look too much troubled. It wasas red as usual, a little redder perhaps. Thatwas all. He went down and seated himself attable.

He ate slowly, like a man who wants to prolongthe meal, who does not want to be alone.

Then he smoked several pipes in the hall whilethe table was being cleared. After that he wentback to his room.

As soon as he had locked himself in he looked,under the bed, opened all the closets, exploredevery corner, rummaged through all the furni-ture. Then he lighted the candles on the man-telpiece, and, turning round several times, ranhis eye all over the apartment with an anguishof terror that distorted his face, for he knewwell that he would see her, as he did every

night—little Louise Roque, the little girl he hadattacked and afterward strangled.

Every night the odious vision came back again.First he seemed to hear a kind of roaring sound,such as is made by a threshing machine or thedistant passage of a train over a bridge. Thenhe commenced to gasp, to suffocate, and he hadto unbutton his collar and his belt. He movedabout to make his blood circulate, he tried toread, he attempted to sing. It was in vain. Histhoughts, in spite of himself, went back to theday of the murder and made him begin it allover again in all its most secret details, with allthe violent emotions he had experienced fromthe first minute to the last.

He had felt on rising that morning, the morningof the horrible day, a little dizziness and head-ache, which he attributed to the heat, so that heremained in his room until breakfast time.

After the meal he had taken a siesta, then, to-ward the close of the afternoon, he had goneout to breathe the fresh, soothing breeze underthe trees in the wood.

But, as soon as he was outside, the heavy, scor-ching air of the plain oppressed him still more.The sun, still high in the heavens, poured downon the parched soil waves of burning light. Nota breath of wind stirred the leaves. Every beastand bird, even the grasshoppers, were silent.Renardet reached the tall trees and began towalk over the moss where the Brindille pro-duced a slight freshness of the air beneath theimmense roof of branches. But he felt ill at ease.It seemed to him that an unknown, invisiblehand was strangling him, and he scarcelythought of anything, having usually few ideasin his head. For the last three months only onethought haunted him, the thought of marryingagain. He suffered from living alone, sufferedfrom it morally and physically. Accustomed for

ten years past to feeling a woman near him,habituated to her presence every moment, hehad need, an imperious and perplexing need ofsuch association. Since Madame Renardet'sdeath he had suffered continually withoutknowing why, he had suffered at not feelingher dress brushing past him, and, above all,from no longer being able to calm and rest him-self in her arms. He had been scarcely sixmonths a widower and he was already lookingabout in the district for some young girl or so-me widow he might marry when his period ofmourning was at an end.

He had a chaste soul, but it was lodged in apowerful, herculean body, and carnal imagin-ings began to disturb his sleep and his vigils.He drove them away; they came back again;and he murmured from time to time, smiling athimself:

"Here I am, like St. Anthony."

Having this special morning had several ofthese visions, the desire suddenly came into hisbreast to bathe in the Brindille in order to re-fresh himself and cool his blood.

He knew of a large deep pool, a little fartherdown, where the people of the neighborhoodcame sometimes to take a dip in summer. Hewent there.

Thick willow trees hid this clear body of waterwhere the current rested and went to sleep for awhile before starting on its way again. Renar-det, as he appeared, thought he heard a lightsound, a faint plashing which was not that ofthe stream on the banks. He softly put aside theleaves and looked. A little girl, quite naked inthe transparent water, was beating the waterwith both hands, dancing about in it and dip-ping herself with pretty movements. She wasnot a child nor was she yet a woman. She wasplump and developed, while preserving an airof youthful precocity, as of one who had grown

rapidly. He no longer moved, overcome withsurprise, with desire, holding his breath with astrange, poignant emotion. He remained there,his heart beating as if one of his sensuousdreams had just been realized, as if an impurefairy had conjured up before him this youngcreature, this little rustic Venus, rising from theeddies of the stream as the real Venus rosefrom the waves of the sea.

Suddenly the little girl came out of the water,and, without seeing him, came over to wherehe stood, looking for her clothes in order todress herself. As she approached gingerly, onaccount of the sharp-pointed stones, he felthimself pushed toward her by an irresistibleforce, by a bestial transport of passion, whichstirred his flesh, bewildered his mind and madehim tremble from head to foot.

She remained standing some seconds behindthe willow tree which concealed him fromview. Then, losing his reason entirely, he pus-

hed aside the branches, rushed on her and sei-zed her in his arms. She fell, too terrified tooffer any resistance, too terror-stricken to cryout. He seemed possessed, not understandingwhat he was doing.

He woke from his crime as one wakes from anightmare. The child burst out weeping.

"Hold your tongue! Hold your tongue!" he said."I'll give you money."

But she did not hear him and went on sobbing.

"Come now, hold your tongue! Do hold yourtongue! Keep quiet!" he continued.

She kept shrieking as she tried to free herself.He suddenly realized that he was ruined, andhe caught her by the neck to stop her mouthfrom uttering these heartrending, dreadfulscreams. As she continued to struggle with thedesperate strength of a being who is seeking to

fly from death, he pressed his enormous handson the little throat swollen with screaming, andin a few seconds he had strangled her, so furi-ously did he grip her. He had not intended tokill her, but only to make her keep quiet.

Then he stood up, overwhelmed with horror.

She lay before him, her face bleeding and blac-kened. He was about to rush away when theresprang up in his agitated soul the mysteriousand undefined instinct that guides all beings inthe hour of danger.

He was going to throw the body into the water,but another impulse drove him toward the clot-hes, which he made into a small package. Then,as he had a piece of twine in his pocket, he tiedit up and hid it in a deep portion of the stream,beneath the trunk of a tree that overhung theBrindille.

Then he went off at a rapid pace, reached themeadows, took a wide turn in order to showhimself to some peasants who dwelt some dis-tance away at the opposite side of the district,and came back to dine at the usual hour, tellinghis servants all that was supposed to have hap-pened during his walk.

He slept, however, that night; he slept with aheavy, brutish sleep like the sleep of certainpersons condemned to death. He did not openhis eyes until the first glimmer of dawn, and hewaited till his usual hour for riding, so as toexcite no suspicion.

Then he had to be present at the inquiry as tothe cause of death. He did so like a somnambu-list, in a kind of vision which showed him menand things as in a dream, in a cloud of intoxica-tion, with that sense of unreality which per-plexes the mind at the time of the greatest ca-tastrophes.

But the agonized cry of Mother Roque piercedhis heart. At that moment he had felt inclinedto cast himself at the old woman's feet and toexclaim:

"I am the guilty one!"

But he had restrained himself. He went back,however, during the night to fish up the deadgirl's wooden shoes, in order to place them onher mother's threshold.

As long as the inquiry lasted, as long as it wasnecessary to lead justice astray he was calm,master of himself, crafty and smiling. He dis-cussed quietly with the magistrates all the sup-positions that passed through their minds,combated their opinions and demolished theirarguments. He even took a keen and mournfulpleasure in disturbing their investigations, inembroiling their ideas, in showing the inno-cence of those whom they suspected.

But as soon as the inquiry was abandoned hebecame gradually nervous, more excitable thanhe had been before, although he mastered hisirritability. Sudden noises made him start withfear; he shuddered at the slightest thing andtrembled sometimes from head to foot when afly alighted on his forehead. Then he was sei-zed with an imperious desire for motion, whichimpelled him to take long walks and to remainup whole nights pacing up and down his room.

It was not that he was goaded by remorse. Hisbrutal nature did not lend itself to any shade ofsentiment or of moral terror. A man of energyand even of violence, born to make war, to rav-age conquered countries and to massacre thevanquished, full of the savage instincts of thehunter and the fighter, he scarcely took countof human life. Though he respected the Churchoutwardly, from policy, he believed neither inGod nor the devil, expecting neither chastise-ment nor recompense for his acts in another

life. His sole belief was a vague philosophydrawn from all the ideas of the encyclopedistsof the last century, and he regarded religion asa moral sanction of the law, the one and theother having been invented by men to regulatesocial relations. To kill any one in a duel, or inwar, or in a quarrel, or by accident, or for thesake of revenge, or even through bravadowould have seemed to him an amusing andclever thing and would not have left more im-pression on his mind than a shot fired at a hare;but he had experienced a profound emotion atthe murder of this child. He had, in the firstplace, perpetrated it in the heat of an irresistiblegust of passion, in a sort of tempest of the sen-ses that had overpowered his reason. And hehad cherished in his heart, in his flesh, on hislips, even to the very tips of his murderous fin-gers a kind of bestial love, as well as a feeling ofterrified horror, toward this little girl surprisedby him and basely killed. Every moment histhoughts returned to that horrible scene, and,

though he endeavored to drive this picturefrom his mind, though he put it aside with ter-ror, with disgust, he felt it surging through hissoul, moving about in him, waiting incessantlyfor the moment to reappear.

Then, as evening approached, he was afraid ofthe shadow falling around him. He did not yetknow why the darkness seemed frightful tohim, but he instinctively feared it, he felt that itwas peopled with terrors. The bright daylightdid not lend itself to fears. Things and beingswere visible then, and only natural things andbeings could exhibit themselves in the light ofday. But the night, the impenetrable night,thicker than walls and empty; the infinite night,so black, so vast, in which one might brushagainst frightful things; the night, when onefeels that a mysterious terror is wandering,prowling about, appeared to him to conceal anunknown threatening danger, close beside him.

What was it?

He knew ere long. As he sat in his armchair,rather late one evening when he could notsleep, he thought he saw the curtain of hiswindow move. He waited, uneasily, with beat-ing heart. The drapery did not stir; then, all of asudden, it moved once more. He did not ven-ture to rise; he no longer ventured to breathe,and yet he was brave. He had often fought, andhe would have liked to catch thieves in hishouse.

Was it true that this curtain did move? he askedhimself, fearing that his eyes had deceived him.It was, moreover, such a slight thing, a gentleflutter of drapery, a kind of trembling in itsfolds, less than an undulation caused by thewind.

Renardet sat still, with staring eyes and out-stretched neck. He sprang to his feet abruptly,ashamed of his fear, took four steps, seized thedrapery with both hands and pulled it wideapart. At first he saw nothing but darkened

glass, resembling plates of glittering ink. Thenight, the vast, impenetrable night, stretchedbeyond as far as the invisible horizon. He re-mained standing in front of this illimitable sha-dow, and suddenly he perceived a light, a mov-ing light, which seemed some distance away.

Then he put his face close to the window pane,thinking that a person looking for crabs mightbe poaching in the Brindille, for it was pastmidnight, and this light rose up at the edge ofthe stream, under the trees. As he was not yetable to see clearly, Renardet placed his handsover his eyes, and suddenly this light becamean illumination, and he beheld little LouiseRoque naked and bleeding on the moss. Herecoiled, frozen with horror, knocked over hischair and fell over on his back. He remainedthere some minutes in anguish of mind; then hesat up and began to reflect. He had had a hallu-cination—that was all, a hallucination due tothe fact that a night marauder was walking

with a lantern in his hand near the water's ed-ge. What was there astonishing, besides, in thecircumstance that the recollection of his crimeshould sometimes bring before him the visionof the dead girl?

He rose from the ground, swallowed a glass ofwine and sat down again. He was thinking:

"What am I to do if this occurs again?"

And it would occur; he felt it; he was sure of it.Already his glance was drawn toward the win-dow; it called him; it attracted him. In order toavoid looking at it, he turned his chair round.Then he took a book and tried to read, but itseemed to him that he presently heard some-thing stirring behind him, and he swung roundhis armchair on one foot.

The curtain was moving again; unquestionably,it moved this time. He could no longer haveany doubt about it.

He rushed forward and grasped it so violentlythat he pulled it down with its pole. Then heeagerly glued his face to the glass. He saw not-hing. All was black outside, and he breathedwith the joy of a man whose life has just beensaved.

Then he went back to his chair and sat downagain, but almost immediately he felt a longingto look out once more through the window.Since the curtain had fallen down, the windowmade a sort of gap, fascinating and terrible, onthe dark landscape. In order not to yield to thisdangerous temptation, he undressed, blew outthe light and closed his eyes.

Lying on his back motionless, his skin warmand moist, he awaited sleep. Suddenly a greatgleam of light flashed across his eyelids. Heopened them, believing that his dwelling wason fire. All was black as before, and he leanedon his elbow to try to distinguish the windowwhich had still for him an unconquerable at-

traction. By dint of, straining his eyes he couldperceive some stars, and he rose, groped hisway across the room, discovered the paneswith his outstretched hands, and placed hisforehead close to them. There below, under thetrees, lay the body of the little girl gleaming likephosphorus, lighting up the surrounding dark-ness.

Renardet uttered a cry and rushed toward hisbed, where he lay till morning, his head hiddenunder the pillow.

From that moment his life became intolerable.He passed his days in apprehension of eachsucceeding night, and each night the visioncame back again. As soon as he had lockedhimself up in his room he strove to resist it, butin vain. An irresistible force lifted him up andpushed him against the window, as if to call thephantom, and he saw it at once, lying first inthe spot where the crime was committed in theposition in which it had been found.

Then the dead girl rose up and came towardhim with little steps just as the child had donewhen she came out of the river. She advancedquietly, passing straight across the grass andover the bed of withered flowers. Then she roseup in the air toward Renardet's window. Shecame toward him as she had come on the dayof the crime. And the man recoiled before theapparition—he retreated to his bed and sankdown upon it, knowing well that the little onehad entered the room and that she now wasstanding behind the curtain, which presentlymoved. And until daybreak he kept staring atthis curtain with a fixed glance, ever waiting tosee his victim depart.

But she did not show herself any more; sheremained there behind the curtain, which quiv-ered tremulously now and then.

And Renardet, his fingers clutching the clothes,squeezed them as he had squeezed the throat oflittle Louise Roque.

He heard the clock striking the hours, and inthe stillness the pendulum kept ticking in timewith the loud beating of his heart. And he suf-fered, the wretched man, more than any manhad ever suffered before.

Then, as soon as a white streak of light on theceiling announced the approaching day, he felthimself free, alone at last, alone in his room;and he went to sleep. He slept several hours—arestless, feverish sleep in which he retraced indreams the horrible vision of the past night.

When he went down to the late breakfast he feltexhausted as after unusual exertion, and hescarcely ate anything, still haunted as he wasby the fear of what he had seen the night be-fore.

He knew well, however, that it was not an ap-parition, that the dead do not come back, andthat his sick soul, his soul possessed by onethought alone, by an indelible remembrance,

was the only cause of his torture, was whatbrought the dead girl back to life and raised herform before his eyes, on which it was inefface-ably imprinted. But he knew, too, that therewas no cure, that he would never escape fromthe savage persecution of his memory, and heresolved to die rather than to endure these tor-tures any longer.

Then he thought of how he would kill himself,It must be something simple and natural,which would preclude the idea of suicide. Forhe clung to his reputation, to the name be-queathed to him by his ancestors; and if hisdeath awakened any suspicion people'sthoughts might be, perhaps, directed towardthe mysterious crime, toward the murdererwho could not be found, and they would nothesitate to accuse him of the crime.

A strange idea came into his head, that of al-lowing himself to be crushed by the tree at thefoot of which he had assassinated little Louise

Roque. So he determined to have the wood cutdown and to simulate an accident. But thebeech tree refused to crush his ribs.

Returning to his house, a prey to utter despair,he had snatched up his revolver, and then didnot dare to fire it.

The dinner bell summoned him. He could eatnothing, and he went upstairs again. And hedid not know what to do. Now that he had es-caped the first time, he felt himself a coward.Presently he would be ready, brave, decided,master of his courage and of his resolution;now he was weak and feared death as much ashe did the dead girl.

He faltered:

"I dare not venture it again—I dare not ventureit."

Then he glanced with terror, first at the re-volver on the table and next at the curtainwhich hid his window. It seemed to him,moreover, that something horrible would occuras soon as his life was ended. Something?What? A meeting with her, perhaps. She waswatching for him; she was waiting for him; shewas calling him; and it was in order to seizehim in her turn, to draw him toward the doomthat would avenge her, and to lead him to die,that she appeared thus every night.

He began to cry like a child, repeating:

"I will not venture it again—I will not ventureit."

Then he fell on his knees and murmured:

"My God! my God!" without believing, never-theless, in God. And he no longer dared, in fact,to look at his window, where he knew the ap-parition was hiding, nor at his table, where his

revolver gleamed. When he had risen up hesaid:

"This cannot last; there must be an end of it."

The sound of his voice in the silent room madea chill of fear pass through his limbs, but as hecould not bring himself to come to a determina-tion, as he felt certain that his finger would al-ways refuse to pull the trigger of his revolver,he turned round to hide his head under thebedclothes and began to reflect.

He would have to find some way in which hecould force himself to die, to play some trick onhimself which would not permit of any hesita-tion on his part, any delay, any possible regrets.He envied condemned criminals who are led tothe scaffold surrounded by soldiers. Oh! if hecould only beg of some one to shoot him; ifafter confessing his crime to a true friend whowould never divulge it he could procure deathat his hand. But from whom could he ask this

terrible service? From whom? He thought of allthe people he knew. The doctor? No, he wouldtalk about it afterward, most probably. Andsuddenly a fantastic idea entered his mind. Hewould write to the magistrate, who was onterms of close friendship with him, and woulddenounce himself as the perpetrator of the cri-me. He would in this letter confess everything,revealing how his soul had been tortured, howhe had resolved to die, how he had hesitatedabout carrying out his resolution and whatmeans he had employed to strengthen his fail-ing courage. And in the name of their oldfriendship he would implore of the other todestroy the letter as soon as he had ascertainedthat the culprit had inflicted justice on himself.Renardet could rely on this magistrate; heknew him to be true, discreet, incapable of evenan idle word. He was one of those men whohave an inflexible conscience, governed, di-rected, regulated by their reason alone.

Scarcely had he formed this project when astrange feeling of joy took possession of hisheart. He was calm now. He would write hisletter slowly, then at daybreak he would de-posit it in the box nailed to the outside wall ofhis office; then he would ascend his tower towatch for the postman's arrival; and when theman in the blue blouse had gone away, hewould cast himself head foremost on the rockson which the foundations rested, He wouldtake care to be seen first by the workmen whohad cut down his wood. He could climb to theprojecting stone which bore the flagstaffdisplayed on festivals, He would smash thispole with a shake and carry it along with himas he fell.Who would suspect that it was not an accident?And he would be killed outright, owing to hisweight and the height of the tower.

Presently he got out of bed, went over to thetable and began to write. He omitted nothing,not a single detail of the crime, not a single de-

tail of the torments of his heart, and he endedby announcing that he had passed sentence onhimself, that he was going to execute the crimi-nal, and begged his friend, his old friend, to becareful that there should never be any stain onhis memory.

When he had finished this letter he saw that theday had dawned.

He closed, sealed it and wrote the address.Then he descended with light steps, hurriedtoward the little white box fastened to the out-side wall in the corner of the farmhouse, andwhen he had thrown into it this letter, whichmade his hand tremble, he came back quickly,drew the bolts of the great door and climbed upto his tower to wait for the passing of the post-man, who was to bear away his death sentence.

He felt self-possessed now. Liberated! Saved!

A cold dry wind, an icy wind passed across hisface. He inhaled it eagerly with open mouth,drinking in its chilling kiss. The sky was red, awintry red, and all the plain, whitened withfrost, glistened under the first rays of the sun,as if it were covered with powdered glass.

Renardet, standing up, his head bare, gazed atthe vast tract of country before him, the mead-ows to the left and to the right the villagewhose chimneys were beginning to smoke inpreparation for the morning meal. At his feethe saw the Brindille flowing amid the rocks,where he would soon be crushed to death. Hefelt new life on that beautiful frosty morning.The light bathed him, entered his being like anew-born hope. A thousand recollections as-sailed him, recollections of similar mornings, ofrapid walks on the hard earth which rang be-neath his footsteps, of happy days of shootingon the edges of pools where wild ducks sleep.All the good things that he loved, the good

things of existence, rushed to his memory, pe-netrated him with fresh desires, awakened allthe vigorous appetites of his active, powerfulbody.

And he was about to die! Why? He was goingto kill himself stupidly because he was afraid ofa shadow-afraid of nothing! He was still richand in the prime of life. What folly! All he nee-ded was distraction, absence, a voyage in orderto forget.

This night even he had not seen the little girlbecause his mind was preoccupied and hadwandered toward some other subject. Perhapshe would not see her any more? And even ifshe still haunted him in this house, certainlyshe would not follow him elsewhere! The earthwas wide, the future was long.

Why should he die?

His glance travelled across the meadows, andhe perceived a blue spot in the path whichwound alongside the Brindille. It was Medericcoming to bring letters from the town and tocarry away those of the village.

Renardet gave a start, a sensation of pain shotthrough his breast, and he rushed down thewinding staircase to get back his letter, to de-mand it back from the postman. Little did itmatter to him now whether he was seen, Hehurried across the grass damp from the lightfrost of the previous night and arrived in frontof the box in the corner of the farmhouse ex-actly at the same time as the letter carrier.

The latter had opened the little wooden doorand drew forth the four papers deposited thereby the inhabitants of the locality.

Renardet said to him:

"Good-morrow, Mederic."

"Good-morrow, Monsieur le Maire."

"I say, Mederic, I threw a letter into the box thatI want back again. I came to ask you to give itback to me."

"That's all right, Monsieur le Maire—you'll getit."

And the postman raised his eyes. He stood pet-rified at the sight of Renardet's face. The ma-yor's cheeks were purple, his eyes were anxiousand sunken, with black circles round them, hishair was unbrushed, his beard untrimmed, hisnecktie unfastened. It was evident that he hadnot been in bed.

The postman asked:

"Are you ill, Monsieur le Maire?"

The other, suddenly comprehending that hisappearance must be unusual, lost countenanceand faltered:

"Oh! no-oh! no. Only I jumped out of bed to askyou for this letter. I was asleep. You under-stand?"

He said in reply:

"What letter?"

"The one you are going to give back to me."

Mederic now began to hesitate. The mayor'sattitude did not strike him as natural. Therewas perhaps a secret in that letter, a politicalsecret. He knew Renardet was not a Republi-can, and he knew all the tricks and chicaneryemployed at elections.

He asked:

"To whom is it addressed, this letter of yours?"

"To Monsieur Putoin, the magistrate—youknow, my friend, Monsieur Putoin!"

The postman searched through the papers andfound the one asked for. Then he began lookingat it, turning it round and round between hisfingers, much perplexed, much troubled by thefear of either committing a grave offence or ofmaking an enemy of the mayor.

Seeing his hesitation, Renardet made a move-ment for the purpose of seizing the letter andsnatching it away from him. This abrupt actionconvinced Mederic that some important secretwas at stake and made him resolve to do hisduty, cost what it may.

So he flung the letter into his bag and fastenedit up, with the reply:

"No, I can't, Monsieur le Maire. As long as it isfor the magistrate, I can't."

A dreadful pang wrung Renardet's heart andhe murmured:

"Why, you know me well. You are even able torecognize my handwriting. I tell you I wantthat paper."

"I can't."

"Look here, Mederic, you know that I'm inca-pable of deceiving you—I tell you I want it."

"No, I can't."

A tremor of rage passed through Renardet'ssoul.

"Damn it all, take care! You know that I nevertrifle and that I could get you out of your job,my good fellow, and without much delay, ei-ther, And then, I am the mayor of the district,after all; and I now order you to give me backthat paper."

The postman answered firmly:

"No, I can't, Monsieur le Maire."

Thereupon Renardet, losing his head, caughthold of the postman's arms in order to takeaway his bag; but, freeing himself by a strongeffort, and springing backward, the letter car-rier raised his big holly stick. Without losing histemper, he said emphatically:

"Don't touch me, Monsieur le Maire, or I'll stri-ke. Take care, I'm only doing my duty!"

Feeling that he was lost, Renardet suddenlybecame humble, gentle, appealing to him like awhimpering child:

"Look here, look here, my friend, give me backthat letter and I'll recompense you—I'll giveyou money. Stop! stop! I'll give you a hundredfrancs, you understand—a hundred francs!"

The postman turned on his heel and started onhis journey.

Renardet followed him, out of breath, stammer-ing:

"Mederic, Mederic, listen! I'll give you a thou-sand francs, you understand—a thousandfrancs."

The postman still went on without giving anyanswer.

Renardet went on:

"I'll make your fortune, you understand—whatever you wish—fifty thousand francs—fifty thousand francs for that letter! What doesit matter to you? You won't? Well, a hundredthousand—I say—a hundred thousand francs.Do you understand? A hundred thousandfrancs—a hundred thousand francs."

The postman turned back, his face hard, his eyesevere:

"Enough of this, or else I'll repeat to the magis-trate everything you have just said to me."

Renardet stopped abruptly. It was all over. Heturned back and rushed toward his house, run-ning like a hunted animal.

Then, in his turn, Mederic stopped and wat-ched his flight with stupefaction. He saw themayor reenter his house, and he waited still, asif something astonishing were about to happen.

In fact, presently the tall form of Renardet ap-peared on the summit of the Fox's tower. Heran round the platform like a madman. Then heseized the flagstaff and shook it furiously with-out succeeding in breaking it; then, all of asudden, like a diver, with his two hands beforehim, he plunged into space.

Mederic rushed forward to his assistance. Hesaw the woodcutters going to work and calledout to them, telling them an accident had oc-

curred. At the foot of the walls they found ableeding body, its head crushed on a rock. TheBrindille surrounded this rock, and over itsclear, calm waters could be seen a long redthread of mingled brains and blood.

THE DONKEY

There was not a breath of air stirring; a heavymist was lying over the river. It was like a layerof cotton placed on the water. The banks them-selves were indistinct, hidden behind strangefogs. But day was breaking and the hill wasbecoming visible. In the dawning light of daythe plaster houses began to appear like whitespots. Cocks were crowing in the barnyard.

On the other side of the river, hidden behindthe fogs, just opposite Frette, a slight noise fromtime to time broke the dead silence of the quietmorning. At times it was an indistinct plashing,like the cautious advance of a boat, then again asharp noise like the rattle of an oar and then thesound of something dropping in the water.Then silence.

Sometimes whispered words, coming perhapsfrom a distance, perhaps from quite near, pier-ced through these opaque mists. They passedby like wild birds which have slept in the rus-hes and which fly away at the first light of day,crossing the mist and uttering a low and timidsound which wakes their brothers along theshores.

Suddenly along the bank, near the village, abarely perceptible shadow appeared on thewater. Then it grew, became more distinct and,coming out of the foggy curtain which hung

over the river, a flatboat, manned by two men,pushed up on the grass.

The one who was rowing rose and took a pail-ful of fish from the bottom of the boat, then hethrew the dripping net over his shoulder. Hiscompanion, who had not made a motion, ex-claimed: "Say, Mailloche, get your gun and seeif we can't land some rabbit along the shore."

The other one answered: "All right. I'll be withyou in a minute." Then he disappeared, in or-der to hide their catch.

The man who had stayed in the boat slowlyfilled his pipe and lighted it. His name wasLabouise, but he was called Chicot, and was inpartnership with Maillochon, commonly calledMailloche, to practice the doubtful and unde-fined profession of junk-gatherers along theshore.

They were a low order of sailors and they navi-gated regularly only in the months of famine.The rest of the time they acted as junk-gatherers. Rowing about on the river day andnight, watching for any prey, dead or alive,poachers on the water and nocturnal hunters,sometimes ambushing venison in the Saint-Germain forests, sometimes looking for drow-ned people and searching their clothes, pickingup floating rags and empty bottles; thus didLabouise and Maillochon live easily.

At times they would set out on foot about noonand stroll along straight ahead. They woulddine in some inn on the shore and leave againside by side. They would remain away for acouple of days; then one morning they wouldbe seen rowing about in the tub which theycalled their boat.

At Joinville or at Nogent some boatman wouldbe looking for his boat, which had disappearedone night, probably stolen, while twenty or

thirty miles from there, on the Oise, someshopkeeper would be rubbing his hands, con-gratulating himself on the bargain he had madewhen he bought a boat the day before for fiftyfrancs, which two men offered him as they we-re passing.

Maillochon reappeared with his gun wrappedup in rags. He was a man of forty or fifty, talland thin, with the restless eye of people whoare worried by legitimate troubles and of hun-ted animals. His open shirt showed his hairychest, but he seemed never to have had anymore hair on his face than a short brush of amustache and a few stiff hairs under his lowerlip. He was bald around the temples. When hetook off the dirty cap that he wore his scalpseemed to be covered with a fluffy down, likethe body of a plucked chicken.

Chicot, on the contrary, was red, fat, short andhairy. He looked like a raw beefsteak. He con-tinually kept his left eye closed, as if he were

aiming at something or at somebody, and whenpeople jokingly cried to him, "Open your eye,Labouise!" he would answer quietly: "Neverfear, sister, I open it when there's cause to."

He had a habit of calling every one "sister,"even his scavenger companion.

He took up the oars again, and once more theboat disappeared in the heavy mist, which wasnow turned snowy white in the pink-tintedsky.

"What kind of lead did you take, Maillochon?"Labouise asked.

"Very small, number nine; that's the best forrabbits."

They were approaching the other shore soslowly, so quietly that no noise betrayed them.This bank belongs to the Saint-Germain forestand is the boundary line for rabbit hunting. It is

covered with burrows hidden under the rootsof trees, and the creatures at daybreak friskabout, running in and out of the holes.

Maillochon was kneeling in the bow, watching,his gun hidden on the floor. Suddenly he seizedit, aimed, and the report echoed for some timethroughout the quiet country.

Labouise, in a few strokes, touched the beach,and his companion, jumping to the ground,picked up a little gray rabbit, not yet dead.

Then the boat once more disappeared into thefog in order to get to the other side, where itcould keep away from the game wardens.

The two men seemed to be riding easily on thewater. The weapon had disappeared under theboard which served as a hiding place and therabbit was stuffed into Chicot's loose shirt.

After about a quarter of an hour Labouise as-ked: "Well, sister, shall we get one more?"

"It will suit me," Maillochon answered.

The boat started swiftly down the current. Themist, which was hiding both shores, was be-ginning to rise. The trees could be barely per-ceived, as through a veil, and the little clouds offog were floating up from the water. When theydrew near the island, the end of which is oppo-site Herblay, the two men slackened their paceand began to watch. Soon a second rabbit waskilled.

Then they went down until they were half wayto Conflans. Here they stopped their boat, tiedit to a tree and went to sleep in the bottom of it.

From time to time Labouise would sit up andlook over the horizon with his open eye. Thelast of the morning mist had disappeared and

the large summer sun was climbing in the bluesky.

On the other side of the river the vineyard-covered hill stretched out in a semicircle. Onehouse stood out alone at the summit. Every-thing was silent.

Something was moving slowly along the tow-path, advancing with difficulty. It was a wo-man dragging a donkey. The stubborn, stiff-jointed beast occasionally stretched out a leg inanswer to its companion's efforts, and it pro-ceeded thus, with outstretched neck and earslying flat, so slowly that one could not tellwhen it would ever be out of sight.

The woman, bent double, was pulling, turninground occasionally to strike the donkey with astick.

As soon as he saw her, Labouise exclaimed:"Say, Mailloche!"

Mailloche answered: "What's the matter?"

"Want to have some fun?"

"Of course!"

"Then hurry, sister; we're going to have alaugh."

Chicot took the oars. When he had crossed theriver he stopped opposite the woman and ca-lled:

"Hey, sister!"

The woman stopped dragging her donkey andlooked.

Labouise continued: "What are you doing—going to the locomotive show?"

The woman made no reply. Chicot continued:

"Say, your trotter's prime for a race. Where areyou taking him at that speed?"

At last the woman answered: "I'm going toMacquart, at Champioux, to have him killed.He's worthless."

Labouise answered: "You're right. How muchdo you think Macquart will give you for him?"

The woman wiped her forehead on the back ofher hand and hesitated, saying: "How do Iknow? Perhaps three francs, perhaps four."

Chicot exclaimed: "I'll give you five francs andyour errand's done! How's that?"

The woman considered the matter for a secondand then exclaimed: "Done!"

The two men landed. Labouise grasped theanimal by the bridle. Maillochon asked in sur-prise:

"What do you expect to do with that carcass?"

Chicot this time opened his other eye in orderto express his gaiety. His whole red face wasgrinning with joy. He chuckled: "Don't worry,sister. I've got my idea."

He gave five francs to the woman, who then satdown by the road to see what was going tohappen. Then Labouise, in great humor, got thegun and held it out to Maillochon, saying:"Each one in turn; we're going after big game,sister. Don't get so near or you'll kill it rightaway! You must make the pleasure last a little."

He placed his companion about forty pacesfrom the victim. The ass, feeling itself free, wastrying to get a little of the tall grass, but it wasso exhausted that it swayed on its legs as if itwere about to fall.

Maillochon aimed slowly and said: "A littlepepper for the ears; watch, Ghicot!" And hefired.

The tiny shot struck the donkey's long ears andhe began to shake them in order to get rid ofthe stinging sensation. The two men were dou-bled up with laughter and stamped their feetwith joy. The woman, indignant, rushed for-ward; she did not want her donkey to be tor-tured, and she offered to return the five francs.Labouise threatened her with a thrashing andpretended to roll up his sleeves. He had paid,hadn't he? Well, then, he would take a shot ather skirts, just to show that it didn't hurt. Shewent away, threatening to call the police. Theycould hear her protesting indignantly and curs-ing as she went her way.

Maillochon held out the gun to his comrade,saying: "It's your turn, Chicot."

Labouise aimed and fired. The donkey receivedthe charge in his thighs, but the shot was sosmall and came from such a distance that hethought he was being stung by flies, for he be-gan to thrash himself with his tail.

Labouise sat down to laugh more comfortably,while Maillochon reloaded the weapon, so hap-py that he seemed to sneeze into the barrel. Hestepped forward a few paces, and, aiming atthe same place that his friend had shot at, hefired again. This time the beast started, tried tokick and turned its head. At last a little bloodwas running. It had been wounded and felt asharp pain, for it tried to run away with a slow,limping, jerky gallop.

Both men darted after the beast, Maillochonwith a long stride, Labouise with the short,breathless trot of a little man. But the donkey,tired out, had stopped, and, with a bewilderedlook, was watching his two murderers ap-

proach. Suddenly he stretched his neck andbegan to bray.

Labouise, out of breath, had taken the gun. Thistime he walked right up close, as he did notwish to begin the chase over again.

When the poor beast had finished its mournfulcry, like a last call for help, the man called:"Hey, Mailloche! Come here, sister; I'm going togive him some medicine." And while the otherman was forcing the animal's mouth open, Chi-cot stuck the barrel of his gun down its throat,as if he were trying to make it drink a potion.Then he said: "Look out, sister, here she goes!"

He pressed the trigger. The donkey stumbledback a few steps, fell down, tried to get upagain and finally lay on its side and closed itseyes: The whole body was trembling, its legswere kicking as if it were, trying to run. Astream of blood was oozing through its teeth.Soon it stopped moving. It was dead.

The two men went along, laughing. It was overtoo quickly; they had not had their money'sworth. Maillochon asked: "Well, what are wegoing to do now?"

Labouise answered: "Don't worry, sister. Getthe thing on the boat; we're going to have somefun when night comes."

They went and got the boat. The animal's bodywas placed on the bottom, covered with freshgrass, and the two men stretched out on it andwent to sleep.

Toward noon Labouise drew a bottle of wine,some bread and butter and raw onions from ahiding place in their muddy, worm-eaten boat,and they began to eat.

When the meal was over they once more stret-ched out on the dead donkey and slept. Atnightfall Labouise awoke and shook his com-

rade, who was snoring like a buzzsaw. "Comeon, sister," he ordered.

Maillochon began to row. As they had plenty oftime they went up the Seine slowly. They coas-ted along the reaches covered with water-lilies,and the heavy, mud-covered boat slipped overthe lily pads and bent the flowers, which stoodup again as soon as they had passed.

When they reached the wall of the Eperon,which separates the Saint-Germain forest fromthe Maisons-Laffitte Park, Labouise stopped hiscompanion and explained his idea to him. Mail-lochon was moved by a prolonged, silentlaugh.

They threw into the water the grass which hadcovered the body, took the animal by the feetand hid it behind some bushes. Then they gotinto their boat again and went to Maisons-Laffitte.

The night was perfectly black when they rea-ched the wine shop of old man Jules. As soonas the dealer saw them he came up, shookhands with them and sat down at their table.They began to talk of one thing and another. Byeleven o'clock the last customer had left andold man Jules winked at Labouise and asked:"Well, have you got any?"

Labouise made a motion with his head andanswered: "Perhaps so, perhaps not!"

The dealer insisted: "Perhaps you've not noth-ing but gray ones?"

Chicot dug his hands into his flannel shirt,drew out the ears of a rabbit and declared:"Three francs a pair!"

Then began a long discussion about the price.Two francs sixty-five and the two rabbits weredelivered. As the two men were getting up to

go, old man Jules, who had been watchingthem, exclaimed:

"You have something else, but you won't saywhat."

Labouise answered: "Possibly, but it is not foryou; you're too stingy."

The man, growing eager, kept asking: "What isit? Something big? Perhaps we might make adeal."

Labouise, who seemed perplexed, pretended toconsult Maillochon with a glance. Then he an-swered in a slow voice: "This is how it is. Wewere in the bushes at Eperon when somethingpassed right near us, to the left, at the end ofthe wall. Mailloche takes a shot and it drops.We skipped on account of the game people. Ican't tell you what it is, because I don't know.But it's big enough. But what is it? If I told you

I'd be lying, and you know, sister, between useverything's above-board."

Anxiously the man asked: "Think it's venison?"

Labouise answered: "Might be and then again itmight not! Venison?—uh! uh!—might be a littlebig for that! Mind you, I don't say it's a doe,because I don't know, but it might be."

Still the dealer insisted: "Perhaps it's a buck?"

Labouise stretched out his hand, exclaiming:"No, it's not that! It's not a buck. I should haveseen the horns. No, it's not a buck!"

"Why didn't you bring it with you?" asked theman.

"Because, sister, from now on I sell from whereI stand. Plenty of people will buy. All you haveto do is to take a walk over there, find the thingand take it. No risk for me."

The innkeeper, growing suspicious, exclaimed"Supposing he wasn't there!"

Labouise once more raised his hand and said:

"He's there, I swear!—first bush to the left.What it is, I don't know. But it's not a buck, I'mpositive. It's for you to find out what it is.Twenty-five francs, cash down!"

Still the man hesitated: "Couldn't you bring it?"

Maillochon exclaimed: "No, indeed! You knowour price! Take it or leave it!"

The dealer decided: "It's a bargain for twentyfrancs!"

And they shook hands over the deal.

Then he took out four big five-franc pieces fromthe cash drawer, and the two friends pocketedthe money. Labouise arose, emptied his glassand left. As he was disappearing in the shad-

ows he turned round to exclaim: "It isn't a buck.I don't know what it is!—but it's there. I'll giveyou back your money if you find nothing!"

And he disappeared in the darkness. Maillo-chon, who was following him, kept punchinghim in the back to express his joy.

MOIRON

As we were still talking about Pranzini, M. Ma-loureau, who had been attorney general underthe Empire, said: "Oh! I formerly knew a verycurious affair, curious for several reasons, asyou will see.

"I was at that time imperial attorney in one ofthe provinces. I had to take up the case which

has remained famous under the name of theMoiron case.

"Monsieur Moiron, who was a teacher in thenorth of France, enjoyed an excellent reputationthroughout the whole country. He was a per-son of intelligence, quiet, very religious, a littletaciturn; he had married in the district of Bois-linot, where he exercised his profession. He hadhad three children, who had died of consump-tion, one after the other. From this time he see-med to bestow upon the youngsters confided tohis care all the tenderness of his heart. With hisown money he bought toys for his best scholarsand for the good boys; he gave them little din-ners and stuffed them with delicacies, candyand cakes: Everybody loved this good manwith his big heart, when suddenly five of hispupils died, in a strange manner, one after theother. It was supposed that there was an epi-demic due to the condition of the water, result-ing from drought; they looked for the causes

without being able to discover them, the moreso that the symptoms were so peculiar. Thechildren seemed to be attacked by a feeling oflassitude; they would not eat, they complainedof pains in their stomachs, dragged along for ashort time, and died in frightful suffering.

"A post-mortem examination was held over thelast one, but nothing was discovered. The vitalswere sent to Paris and analyzed, and they re-vealed the presence of no toxic substance.

"For a year nothing new developed; then twolittle boys, the best scholars in the class, Moi-ron's favorites, died within four days of eachother. An examination of the bodies was againordered, and in both of them were discoveredtiny fragments of crushed glass. The conclusionarrived at was that the two youngsters mustimprudently have eaten from some carelesslycleaned receptacle. A glass broken over a pailof milk could have produced this frightful acci-dent, and the affair would have been pushed

no further if Moiron's servant had not beentaken sick at this time. The physician who wascalled in noticed the same symptoms he hadseen in the children. He questioned her andobtained the admission that she had stolen andeaten some candies that had been bought bythe teacher for his scholars.

"On an order from the court the schoolhousewas searched, and a closet was found whichwas full of toys and dainties destined for thechildren. Almost all these delicacies containedbits of crushed glass or pieces of broken nee-dles!

"Moiron was immediately arrested; but he see-med so astonished and indignant at the suspi-cion hanging over him that he was almost re-leased. How ever, indications of his guilt keptappearing, and baffled in my mind my firstconviction, based on his excellent reputation,on his whole life, on the complete absence ofany motive for such a crime.

"Why should this good, simple, religious manhave killed little children, and the very childrenwhom he seemed to love the most, whom hespoiled and stuffed with sweet things, forwhom he spent half his salary in buying toysand bonbons?

"One must consider him insane to believe himguilty of this act. Now, Moiron seemed so nor-mal, so quiet, so rational and sensible that itseemed impossible to adjudge him insane.

"However, the proofs kept growing! In none ofthe candies that were bought at the places whe-re the schoolmaster secured his provisionscould the slightest trace of anything suspiciousbe found.

"He then insisted that an unknown enemy musthave opened his cupboard with a false key inorder to introduce the glass and the needlesinto the eatables. And he made up a whole sto-ry of an inheritance dependent on the death of

a child, determined on and sought by somepeasant, and promoted thus by casting suspi-cions on the schoolmaster. This brute, he clai-med, did not care about the other children whowere forced to die as well.

"The story was possible. The man appeared tobe so sure of himself and in such despair thatwe should undoubtedly have acquitted him,notwithstanding the charges against him, if twocrushing discoveries had not been made, oneafter the other.

"The first one was a snuffbox full of crushedglass; his own snuffbox, hidden in the deskwhere he kept his money!

"He explained this new find in an acceptablemanner, as the ruse of the real unknown crimi-nal. But a mercer from Saint-Marlouf came tothe presiding judge and said that a gentlemanhad several times come to his store to buy someneedles; and he always asked for the thinnest

needles he could find, and would break them tosee whether they pleased him. The man wasbrought forward in the presence of a dozen ormore persons, and immediately recognizedMoiron. The inquest revealed that the school-master had indeed gone into Saint-Marlouf onthe days mentioned by the tradesman.

"I will pass over the terrible testimony of chil-dren on the choice of dainties and the carewhich he took to have them eat the things in hispresence, and to remove the slightest traces.

"Public indignation demanded capital punish-ment, and it became more and more insistent,overturning all objections.

"Moiron was condemned to death, and his ap-peal was rejected. Nothing was left for him butthe imperial pardon. I knew through my fatherthat the emperor would not grant it.

"One morning, as I was working in my study,the visit of the prison almoner was announced.He was an old priest who knew men well andunderstood the habits of criminals. He seemedtroubled, ill at ease, nervous. After talking for afew minutes about one thing and another, hearose and said suddenly: 'If Moiron is executed,monsieur, you will have put an innocent manto death.'

"Then he left without bowing, leaving me be-hind with the deep impression made by hiswords. He had pronounced them in such a sin-cere and solemn manner, opening those lips,closed and sealed by the secret of confession, inorder to save a life.

"An hour later I left for Paris, and my fatherimmediately asked that I be granted an audi-ence with the emperor.

"The following day I was received. His majestywas working in a little reception room when

we were introduced. I described the whole ca-se, and I was just telling about the priest's visitwhen a door opened behind the sovereign'schair and the empress, who supposed he wasalone, appeared. His majesty, Napoleon, con-sulted her. As soon as she had heard the mat-ter, she exclaimed: 'This man must be par-doned. He must, since he is innocent.'

"Why did this sudden conviction of a religiouswoman cast a terrible doubt in my mind?

"Until then I had ardently desired a change ofsentence. And now I suddenly felt myself thetoy, the dupe of a cunning criminal who hademployed the priest and confession as a lastmeans of defence.

"I explained my hesitancy to their majesties.The emperor remained undecided, urged onone side by his natural kindness and held backon the other by the fear of being deceived by acriminal; but the empress, who was convinced

that the priest had obeyed a divine inspiration,kept repeating: 'Never mind! It is better to spa-re a criminal than to kill an innocent man!' Heradvice was taken. The death sentence wascommuted to one of hard labor.

"A few years later I heard that Moiron hadagain been called to the emperor's attention onaccount of his exemplary conduct in the prisonat Toulon and was now employed as a servantby the director of the penitentiary.

"For a long time I heard nothing more of thisman. But about two years ago, while I wasspending a summer near Lille with my cousin,De Larielle, I was informed one evening, just aswe were sitting down to dinner, that a youngpriest wished to speak to me.

"I had him shown in and he begged me to cometo a dying man who desired absolutely to seeme. This had often happened to me in my longcareer as a magistrate, and, although I had been

set aside by the Republic, I was still often calledupon in similar circumstances. I therefore fol-lowed the priest, who led me to a miserablelittle room in a large tenement house.

"There I found a strange-looking man on a bedof straw, sitting with his back against the wall,in order to get his breath. He was a sort of ske-leton, with dark, gleaming eyes.

"As soon as he saw me, he murmured: 'Don'tyou recognize me?'

"'No.'

"'I am Moiron.'

"I felt a shiver run through me, and I asked 'Theschoolmaster?'

"'Yes.'

"'How do you happen to be here?'

"'The story is too long. I haven't time to tell it. Iwas going to die —and that priest was broughtto me—and as I knew that you were here I sentfor you. It is to you that I wish to confess—since you were the one who once saved mylife.'

"His hands clutched the straw of his bedthrough the sheet and he continued in a hoarse,forcible and low tone: 'You see—I owe you thetruth—I owe it to you—for it must be told tosome one before I leave this earth.

"'It is I who killed the children—all of them. Idid it—for revenge!

"'Listen. I was an honest, straightforward, pureman—adoring God—this good Father—thisMaster who teaches us to love, and not the falseGod, the executioner, the robber, the murdererwho governs the earth. I had never done anyharm; I had never committed an evil act. I wasas good as it is possible to be, monsieur.

"'I married and had children, and I loved themas no father or mother ever loved their chil-dren. I lived only for them. I was wild aboutthem. All three of them died! Why? why? Whathad I done? I was rebellious, furious; and sud-denly my eyes were opened as if I were wakingup out of a sleep. I understood that God is bad.Why had He killed my children? I opened myeyes and saw that He loves to kill. He lovesonly that, monsieur. He gives life but to destroyit! God, monsieur, is a murderer! He needsdeath every day. And He makes it of every va-riety, in order the better to be amused. He hasinvented sickness and accidents in order to giveHim diversion all through the months and theyears; and when He grows tired of this, He hasepidemics, the plague, cholera, diphtheria,smallpox, everything possible! But this does notsatisfy Him; all these things are too similar; andso from time to time He has wars, in order tosee two hundred thousand soldiers killed atonce, crushed in blood and in the mud, blown

apart, their arms and legs torn off, their headssmashed by bullets, like eggs that fall on theground.

"'But this is not all. He has made men who eateach other. And then, as men become betterthan He, He has made beasts, in order to seemen hunt them, kill them and eat them. That isnot all. He has made tiny little animals whichlive one day, flies who die by the millions inone hour, ants which we are continually crush-ing under our feet, and so many, many othersthat we cannot even imagine. And all thesethings are continually killing each other anddying. And the good Lord looks on and is amu-sed, for He sees everything, the big ones as wellas the little ones, those who are in the drops ofwater and those in the other firmaments. Hewatches them and is amused. Wretch!

"'Then, monsieur, I began to kill children pla-yed a trick on Him. He did not get those. It was

not He, but I! And I would have killed manyothers, but you caught me. There!

"'I was to be executed. I! How He would havelaughed! Then I asked for a priest, and I lied. Iconfessed to him. I lied and I lived.

"'Now, all is over. I can no longer escape fromHim. I no longer fear Him, monsieur; I despiseHim too much.'

"This poor wretch was frightful to see as he laythere gasping, opening an enormous mouth inorder to utter words which could scarcely beheard, his breath rattling, picking at his bedand moving his thin legs under a grimy sheetas though trying to escape.

"Oh! The mere remembrance of it is frightful!

"'You have nothing more to say?' I asked.

"'No, monsieur.'

"'Then, farewell.'

"'Farewell, monsieur, till some day——'

"I turned to the ashen-faced priest, whose darkoutline stood out against the wall, and asked:'Are you going to stay here, Monsieur l'Abbe?'

"'Yes.'

"Then the dying man sneered: 'Yes, yes, Hesends His vultures to the corpses.'

"I had had enough of this. I opened the doorand ran away."

THE DISPENSER OF HOLY WATER

We lived formerly in a little house beside thehigh road outside the village. He had set up inbusiness as a wheelwright, after marrying thedaughter of a farmer of the neighborhood, andas they were both industrious, they managed tosave up a nice little fortune. But they had nochildren, and this caused them great sorrow.Finally a son was born, whom they namedJean. They both loved and petted him, enfold-ing him with their affection, and were unwill-ing to let him be out of their sight.

When he was five years old some mountebankspassed through the country and set up theirtent in the town hall square.

Jean, who had seen them pass by, made hisescape from the house, and after his father hadmade a long search for him, he found himamong the learned goats and trick dogs, utter-

ing shouts of laughter and sitting on the kneesof an old clown.

Three days later, just as they were sitting downto dinner, the wheelwright and his wife noticedthat their son was not in the house. They loo-ked for him in the garden, and as they did notfind him, his father went out into the road andshouted at the top of his voice, "Jean!"

Night came on. A brown vapor arose makingdistant objects look still farther away and giv-ing them a dismal, weird appearance. Three tallpines, close at hand, seemed to be weeping.Still there was no reply, but the air appeared tobe full of indistinct sighing. The father listenedfor some time, thinking he heard a sound firstin one direction, then in another, and, almostbeside himself, he ran, out into the night, call-ing incessantly "Jean! Jean!"

He ran along thus until daybreak, filling thedarkness with his shouts, terrifying stray ani-

mals, torn by a terrible anguish and fearing thathe was losing his mind. His wife, seated on thestone step of their home, sobbed until morning.

They did not find their son. They both agedrapidly in their inconsolable sorrow. Finallythey sold their house and set out to search to-gether.

They inquired of the shepherds on the hillsides,of the tradesmen passing by, of the peasants inthe villages and of the authorities in the towns.But their boy had been lost a long time and noone knew anything about him. He had proba-bly forgotten his own name by this time andalso the name of his village, and his parentswept in silence, having lost hope.

Before long their money came to an end, andthey worked out by the day in the farms andinns, doing the most menial work, eating whatwas left from the tables, sleeping on the groundand suffering from cold. Then as they became

enfeebled by hard work no one would employthem any longer, and they were forced to begalong the high roads. They accosted passers-byin an entreating voice and with sad, discour-aged faces; they begged a morsel of bread fromthe harvesters who were dining around a treein the fields at noon, and they ate in silenceseated on the edge of a ditch. An innkeeper towhom they told their story said to them oneday:

"I know some one who had lost their daughter,and they found her in Paris."

They at once set out for Paris.

When they entered the great city they werebewildered by its size and by the crowds thatthey saw. But they knew that Jean must be inthe midst of all these people, though they didnot know how to set about looking for him.Then they feared that they might not recognize

him, for he was only five years old when theylast saw him.

They visited every place, went through all thestreets, stopping whenever they saw a group ofpeople, hoping for some providential meeting,some extraordinary luck, some compassionatefate.

They frequently walked at haphazard straightahead, leaning one against the other, looking sosad and poverty-stricken that people wouldgive them alms without their asking.

They spent every Sunday at the doors of thechurches, watching the crowds entering andleaving, trying to distinguish among the facesone that might be familiar. Several times theythought they recognized him, but always foundthey had made a mistake.

In the vestibule of one of the churches whichthey visited the most frequently there was an

old dispenser of holy Water who had becometheir friend. He also had a very sad history, andtheir sympathy for him had established a bondof close friendship between them. It ended bythem all three living together in a poor lodgingon the top floor of a large house situated at so-me distance, quite on the outskirts of the city,and the wheelwright would sometimes take hisnew friend's place at the church when the latterwas ill.

Winter came, a very severe winter. The poorholy water sprinkler died and the parish priestappointed the wheelwright, whose misfortuneshad come to his knowledge, to replace him. Hewent every morning and sat in the same place,on the same chair, wearing away the old stonepillar by continually leaning against it. Hewould gaze steadily at every man who enteredthe church and looked forward to Sunday withas much impatience as a schoolboy, for on that

day the church was filled with people frommorning till night.

He became very old, growing weaker each dayfrom the dampness of the church, and his hopeoozed away gradually.

He now knew by sight all the people who cameto the services; he knew their hours, their man-ners, could distinguish their step on the stonepavement.

His interests had become so contracted that theentrance of a stranger in the church was for hima great event. One day two ladies came in; onewas old, the other young—a mother anddaughter probably. Behind them came a manwho was following them. He bowed to them asthey came out, and after offering them someholy water, he took the arm of the elder lady.

"That must be the fiance of the younger one,"thought the wheelwright. And until evening he

kept trying to recall where he had formerlyseen a young man who resembled this one. Butthe one he was thinking of must be an old manby this time, for it seemed as if he had knownhim down home in his youth.

The same man frequently came again to walkhome with the ladies, and this vague, distant,familiar resemblance which he could not placeworried the old man so much that he made hiswife come with him to see if she could help hisimpaired memory.

One evening as it was growing dusk the threestrangers entered together. When they had pas-sed the old man said:

"Well, do you know him?"

His wife anxiously tried to ransack her mem-ory. Suddenly she said in a low tone:

"Yes—yes—but he is darker, taller, stouter andis dressed like a gentleman, but, father, all thesame, it is your face when you were young!"

The old man started violently.

It was true. He looked like himself and also likehis brother who was dead, and like his father,whom he remembered while he was yet young.The old couple were so affected that they couldnot speak. The three persons came out and we-re about to leave the church.

The man touched his finger to the holy watersprinkler. Then the old man, whose hand wastrembling so that he was fairly sprinkling theground with holy water, exclaimed:

"Jean!"

The young man stopped and looked at him.

He repeated in a lower tone:

"Jean!"

The two women looked at them without under-standing.

He then said for the third time, sobbing as hedid so:

"Jean!"

The man stooped down, with his face close tothe old man's, and as a memory of his child-hood dawned on him he replied:

"Papa Pierre, Mamma Jeanne!"

He had forgotten everything, his father's sur-name and the name of his native place, but healways remembered those two words that hehad so often repeated: "Papa Pierre, MammaJeanne."

He sank to the floor, his face on the old man'sknees, and he wept, kissing now his father and

then his mother, while they were almostbreathless from intense joy.

The two ladies also wept, understanding asthey did that some great happiness had come topass.

Then they all went to the young man's houseand he told them his history. The circus peoplehad carried him off. For three years he traveledwith them in various countries. Then the troupedisbanded, and one day an old lady in a cha-teau had paid to have him stay with her be-cause she liked his appearance. As he wasintelligent, he was sent to school, then tocollege, and the old lady having no children,had left him all her money. He, for his part, hadtried to find his parents, but as he couldremember only the two names, "Papa Pierre,Mamma Jeanne," he had been unable to do so.Now he was about to be married, and heintroduced his fiancee, who was very good andvery pretty.

When the two old people had told their story intheir turn he kissed them once more. They satup very late that night, not daring to retire lestthe happiness they had so long sought shouldescape them again while they were asleep.

But misfortune had lost its hold on them andthey were happy for the rest of their lives.

A PARRICIDE

The lawyer had presented a plea of insanity.How could anyone explain this strange crimeotherwise?

One morning, in the grass near Chatou, twobodies had been found, a man and a woman,well known, rich, no longer young and married

since the preceding year, the woman havingbeen a widow for three years before.

They were not known to have enemies; theyhad not been robbed. They seemed to havebeen thrown from the roadside into the river,after having been struck, one after the other,with a long iron spike.

The investigation revealed nothing. The boat-men, who had been questioned, knew nothing.The matter was about to be given up, when ayoung carpenter from a neighboring village,Georges Louis, nicknamed "the Bourgeois,"gave himself up.

To all questions he only answered this:

"I had known the man for two years, the wo-man for six months. They often had me repairold furniture for them, because I am a cleverworkman."

And when he was asked:

"Why did you kill them?"

He would obstinately answer:

"I killed them because I wanted to kill them."

They could get nothing more out of him.

This man was undoubtedly an illegitimatechild, put out to nurse and then abandoned. Hehad no other name than Georges Louis, but ason growing up he became particularly intelli-gent, with the good taste and native refinementwhich his acquaintances did not have, he wasnicknamed "the Bourgeois," and he was nevercalled otherwise. He had become remarkablyclever in the trade of a carpenter, which he hadtaken up. He was also said to be a socialist fa-natic, a believer in communistic and nihilisticdoctrines, a great reader of bloodthirsty novels,an influential political agitator and a clever

orator in the public meetings of workmen or offarmers.

His lawyer had pleaded insanity.

Indeed, how could one imagine that this work-man should kill his best customers, rich andgenerous (as he knew), who in two years hadenabled him to earn three thousand francs (hisbooks showed it)? Only one explanation couldbe offered: insanity, the fixed idea of the un-classed individual who reeks vengeance on twobourgeois, on all the bourgeoisie, and the law-yer made a clever allusion to this nickname of"The Bourgeois," given throughout the neigh-borhood to this poor wretch. He exclaimed:

"Is this irony not enough to unbalance the mindof this poor wretch, who has neither father normother? He is an ardent republican. What am Isaying? He even belongs to the same politicalparty, the members of which, formerly shot orexiled by the government, it now welcomes

with open arms this party to which arson is aprinciple and murder an ordinary occurrence.

"These gloomy doctrines, now applauded inpublic meetings, have ruined this man. He hasheard republicans—even women, yes, wo-men—ask for the blood of M. Gambetta, theblood of M. Grevy; his weakened mind gaveway; he wanted blood, the blood of a bour-geois!

"It is not he whom you should condemn, gen-tlemen; it is the Commune!"

Everywhere could be heard murmurs of assent.Everyone felt that the lawyer had won his case.The prosecuting attorney did not oppose him.

Then the presiding judge asked the accused thecustomary question:

"Prisoner, is there anything that you wish toadd to your defense?"

The man stood up.

He was a short, flaxen blond, with calm, clear,gray eyes. A strong, frank, sonorous voice camefrom this frail-looking boy and, at the firstwords, quickly changed the opinion which hadbeen formed of him.

He spoke loud in a declamatory manner, but sodistinctly that every word could be understoodin the farthest corners of the big hall:

"Your honor, as I do not wish to go to an insaneasylum, and as I even prefer death to that, I willtell everything.

"I killed this man and this woman because theywere my parents.

"Now, listen, and judge me.

"A woman, having given birth to a boy, senthim out, somewhere, to a nurse. Did she evenknow where her accomplice carried this inno-

cent little being, condemned to eternal misery,to the shame of an illegitimate birth; to morethan that—to death, since he was abandonedand the nurse, no longer receiving the monthlypension, might, as they often do, let him die ofhunger and neglect!

"The woman who nursed me was honest, bet-ter, more noble, more of a mother than my ownmother. She brought me up. She did wrong indoing her duty. It is more humane to let themdie, these little wretches who are cast away insuburban villages just as garbage is thrownaway.

"I grew up with the indistinct impression that Iwas carrying some burden of shame. One daythe other children called me a 'b——-'. They didnot know the meaning of this word, which oneof them had heard at home. I was also ignorantof its meaning, but I felt the sting all the same.

"I was, I may say, one of the cleverest boys inthe school. I would have been a good man,your honor, perhaps a man of superior intellect,if my parents had not committed the crime ofabandoning me.

"This crime was committed against me. I wasthe victim, they were the guilty ones. I was de-fenseless, they were pitiless. Their duty was tolove me, they rejected me.

"I owed them life—but is life a boon? To me, atany rate, it was a misfortune. After their shame-ful desertion, I owed them only vengeance.They committed against me the most inhuman,the most infamous, the most monstrous crimewhich can be committed against a human crea-ture.

"A man who has been insulted, strikes; a manwho has been robbed, takes back his own byforce. A man who has been deceived, playedupon, tortured, kills; a man who has been slap-

ped, kills; a man who has been dishonored,kills. I have been robbed, deceived, tortured,morally slapped, dishonored, all this to a grea-ter degree than those whose anger you excuse.

"I revenged myself, I killed. It was my legiti-mate right. I took their happy life in exchangefor the terrible one which they had forced onme."You will call me parricide! Were these peoplemy parents, for whom I was an abominableburden, a terror, an infamous shame; for whommy birth was a calamity and my life a threat ofdisgrace? They sought a selfish pleasure; theygot an unexpected child. They suppressed thechild. My turn came to do the same for them.

"And yet, up to quite recently, I was ready tolove them.

"As I have said, this man, my father, came tome for the first time two years ago. I suspectednothing. He ordered two pieces of furniture. I

found out, later on, that, under the seal of se-crecy, naturally, he had sought informationfrom the priest.

"He returned often. He gave me a lot of workand paid me well. Sometimes he would eventalk to me of one thing or another. I felt a grow-ing affection for him.

"At the beginning of this year he brought withhim his wife, my mother. When she entered shewas trembling so that I thought her to be suf-fering from some nervous disease. Then sheasked for a seat and a glass of water. She saidnothing; she looked around abstractedly at mywork and only answered 'yes' and 'no,' at ran-dom, to all the questions which he asked her.When she had left I thought her a little unbal-anced.

"The following month they returned. She wascalm, self-controlled. That day they chatteredfor a long time, and they left me a rather large

order. I saw her three more times, without sus-pecting anything. But one day she began to talkto me of my life, of my childhood, of my par-ents. I answered: 'Madame, my parents werewretches who deserted me.' Then she clutchedat her heart and fell, unconscious. I immedi-ately thought: 'She is my mother!' but I tookcare not to let her notice anything. I wished toobserve her.

"I, in turn, sought out information about them. Ilearned that they had been married since lastJuly, my mother having been a widow for onlythree years. There had been rumors that theyhad loved each other during the lifetime of thefirst husband, but there was no proof of it. Iwas the proof—the proof which they had atfirst hidden and then hoped to destroy.

"I waited. She returned one evening, escortedas usual by my father. That day she seemeddeeply moved, I don't know why. Then, as shewas leaving, she said to me: 'I wish you suc-

cess, because you seem to me to be honest anda hard worker; some day you will undoubtedlythink of getting married. I have come to helpyou to choose freely the woman who may suityou. I was married against my inclination onceand I know what suffering it causes. Now I amrich, childless, free, mistress of my fortune.Here is your dowry.'

"She held out to me a large, sealed envelope.

"I looked her straight in the eyes and then said:'Are you my mother?'

"She drew back a few steps and hid her face inher hands so as not to see me. He, the man, myfather, supported her in his arms and cried outto me: 'You must be crazy!'

"I answered: 'Not in the least. I know that youare my parents. I cannot be thus deceived. Ad-mit it and I will keep the secret; I will bear youno ill will; I will remain what I am, a carpenter.'

"He retreated towards the door, still supportinghis wife who was beginning to sob. Quickly Ilocked the door, put the key in my pocket andcontinued: 'Look at her and dare to deny thatshe is my mother.'

"Then he flew into a passion, very pale, terri-fied at the thought that the scandal, which hadso far been avoided, might suddenly break out;that their position, their good name, their honormight all at once be lost. He stammered out:'You are a rascal, you wish to get money fromus! That's the thanks we get for trying to helpsuch common people!'

"My mother, bewildered, kept repeating: 'Let'sget out of here, let's get out!'

"Then, when he found the door locked, he ex-claimed: 'If you do not open this door immedi-ately, I will have you thrown into prison forblackmail and assault!'

"I had remained calm; I opened the door andsaw them disappear in the darkness.

"Then I seemed to have been suddenly or-phaned, deserted, pushed to the wall. I wasseized with an overwhelming sadness, mingledwith anger, hatred, disgust; my whole beingseemed to rise up in revolt against the injustice,the meanness, the dishonor, the rejected love. Ibegan to run, in order to overtake them alongthe Seine, which they had to follow in order toreach the station of Chaton.

"I soon caught up with them. It was now pitchdark. I was creeping up behind them softly,that they might not hear me. My mother wasstill crying. My father was saying: 'It's all yourown fault. Why did you wish to see him? It wasabsurd in our position. We could have helpedhim from afar, without showing ourselves. Ofwhat use are these dangerous visits, since wecan't recognize him?'

"Then I rushed up to them, beseeching. I cried:

"'You see! You are my parents. You have al-ready rejected me once; would you repulse meagain?'

"Then, your honor, he struck me. I swear it onmy honor, before the law and my country. Hestruck me, and as I seized him by the collar, hedrew from his pocket a revolver.

"The blood rushed to my head, I no longerknew what I was doing, I had my compass inmy pocket; I struck him with it as often as Icould.

"Then she began to cry: 'Help! murder!' and topull my beard. It seems that I killed her also.How do I know what I did then?

"Then, when I saw them both lying on theground, without thinking, I threw them into theSeine.

"That's all. Now sentence me."

The prisoner sat down. After this revelation thecase was carried over to the following session.It comes up very soon. If we were jurymen,what would we do with this parricide?

BERTHA

Dr. Bonnet, my old friend—one sometimes hasfriends older than one's self—had often invitedme to spend some time with him at Riom, and,as I did not know Auvergne, I made up mymind to visit him in the summer of 1876.

I arrived by the morning train, and the firstperson I saw on the platform was the doctor.He was dressed in a gray suit, and wore a soft,

black, wide-brimmed, high-crowned felt hat,narrow at the top like a chimney pot, a hatwhich hardly any one except an Auvergnatwould wear, and which reminded one of acharcoal burner. Dressed like that, the doctorhad the appearance of an old young man, withhis spare body under his thin coat, and his lar-ge head covered with white hair.

He embraced me with that evident pleasurewhich country people feel when they meetlong-expected friends, and, stretching out hisarm, he said proudly:

"This is Auvergne!" I saw nothing before meexcept a range of mountains, whose summits,which resembled truncated cones, must havebeen extinct volcanoes.

Then, pointing to the name of the station, hesaid:

"Riom, the fatherland of magistrates, the prideof the magistracy, and which ought rather to bethe fatherland of doctors."

"Why?" I, asked.

"Why?" he replied with a laugh. "If you trans-pose the letters, you have the Latin word 'mori',to die. That is the reason why I settled here, myyoung friend."

And, delighted at his own joke, he carried meoff, rubbing his hands.

As soon as I had swallowed a cup of coffee, hemade me go and see the town. I admired thedruggist's house, and the other noted houses,which were all black, but as pretty as bric-a-brac, with their facades of sculptured stone. Iadmired the statue of the Virgin, the patronessof butchers, and he told me an amusing storyabout this, which I will relate some other time,and then Dr. Bonnet said to me:

"I must beg you to excuse me for a few minuteswhile I go and see a patient, and then I will takeyou to Chatel-Guyon, so as to show you thegeneral aspect of the town, and all the moun-tain chain of the Puy-de-Dome before lunch.You can wait for me outside; I shall only goupstairs and come down immediately."

He left me outside one of those old, gloomy,silent, melancholy houses, which one sees inthe provinces, and this one appeared to lookparticularly sinister, and I soon discovered thereason. All the large windows on the first floorwere boarded half way up. The upper part ofthem alone could be opened, as if one had wis-hed to prevent the people who were locked upin that huge stone box from looking into thestreet.

When the doctor came down again, I told himhow it struck me, and he replied:

"You are quite right; the poor creature who isliving there must never see what is going onoutside. She is a madwoman, or rather an idiot,what you Normans would call a Niente. It is amiserable story, but a very singular pathologi-cal case at the same time. Shall I tell you?"

I begged him to do so, and he continued:

"Twenty years ago the owners of this house,who were my patients, had a daughter whowas like all other girls, but I soon discoveredthat while her body became admirably devel-oped, her intellect remained stationary.

"She began to walk very early, but she couldnot talk. At first I thought she was deaf, but Isoon discovered that, although she heard per-fectly, she did not understand anything thatwas said to her. Violent noises made her startand frightened her, without her understandinghow they were caused.

"She grew up into a superb woman, but shewas dumb, from an absolute want of intellect. Itried all means to introduce a gleam of intelli-gence into her brain, but nothing succeeded. Ithought I noticed that she knew her nurse,though as soon as she was weaned, she failedto recognize her mother. She could never pro-nounce that word which is the first that chil-dren utter and the last which soldiers murmurwhen they are dying on the field of battle. Shesometimes tried to talk, but she produced noth-ing but incoherent sounds.

"When the weather was fine, she laughed con-tinually, and emitted low cries which might becompared to the twittering of birds; when itrained she cried and moaned in a mournful,terrifying manner, which sounded like thehowling of a dog before a death occurs in ahouse.

"She was fond of rolling on the grass, as younganimals do, and of running about madly, and

she would clap her hands every morning, whenthe sun shone into her room, and would insist,by signs, on being dressed as quickly as possi-ble, so that she might get out.

"She did not appear to distinguish betweenpeople, between her mother and her nurse, orbetween her father and me, or between thecoachman and the cook. I particularly liked herparents, who were very unhappy on her ac-count, and went to see them nearly every day. Idined with them quite frequently, which en-abled me to remark that Bertha (they had calledher Bertha) seemed to recognize the variousdishes, and to prefer some to others. At thattime she was twelve years old, but as fully for-med in figure as a girl of eighteen, and tallerthan I was. Then the idea struck me of develop-ing her greediness, and by this means of culti-vating some slight power of discrimination inher mind, and to force her, by the diversity offlavors, if not to reason, at any rate to arrive at

instinctive distinctions, which would of them-selves constitute a kind of process that was ne-cessary to thought. Later on, by appealing toher passions, and by carefully making use ofthose which could serve our purpose, we mighthope to obtain a kind of reaction on her intel-lect, and by degrees increase the unconsciousaction of her brain.

"One day I put two plates before her, one ofsoup, and the other of very sweet vanillacream. I made her taste each of them succes-sively, and then I let her choose for herself, andshe ate the plate of cream. In a short time I ma-de her very greedy, so greedy that it appearedas if the only idea she had in her head was thedesire for eating. She perfectly recognized thevarious dishes, and stretched out her handstoward those that she liked, and took hold ofthem eagerly, and she used to cry when theywere taken from her. Then I thought I wouldtry and teach her to come to the dining-room

when the dinner bell rang. It took a long time,but I succeeded in the end. In her vacant intel-lect a vague correlation was established be-tween sound and taste, a correspondence be-tween the two senses, an appeal from one to theother, and consequently a sort of connection ofideas—if one can call that kind of instinctivehyphen between two organic functions anidea—and so I carried my experiments further,and taught her, with much difficulty, to recog-nize meal times by the clock.

"It was impossible for me for a long time toattract her attention to the hands, but I suc-ceeded in making her remark the clockworkand the striking apparatus. The means I em-ployed were very simple; I asked them not tohave the bell rung for lunch, and everybody gotup and went into the dining-room when thelittle brass hammer struck twelve o'clock, but Ifound great difficulty in making her learn tocount the strokes. She ran to the door each time

she heard the clock strike, but by degrees shelearned that all the strokes had not the samevalue as far as regarded meals, and she fre-quently fixed her eyes, guided by her ears, onthe dial of the clock.

"When I noticed that, I took care every day attwelve, and at six o'clock, to place my fingerson the figures twelve and six, as soon as themoment she was waiting for had arrived, and Isoon noticed that she attentively followed themotion of the small brass hands, which I hadoften turned in her presence.

"She had understood! Perhaps I ought rather tosay that she had grasped the idea. I had suc-ceeded in getting the knowledge, or, rather, thesensation, of the time into her, just as is the casewith carp, who certainly have no clocks, whenthey are fed every day exactly at the same time.

"When once I had obtained that result all theclocks and watches in the house occupied her

attention almost exclusively. She spent her timein looking at them, listening to them, and inwaiting for meal time, and once something ve-ry funny happened. The striking apparatus of apretty little Louis XVI clock that hung at thehead of her bed having got out of order, shenoticed it. She sat for twenty minutes with hereyes on the hands, waiting for it to strike ten,but when the hands passed the figure she wasastonished at not hearing anything; so stupe-fied was she, indeed, that she sat down, nodoubt overwhelmed by a feeling of violentemotion such as attacks us in the face of someterrible catastrophe. And she had the wonder-ful patience to wait until eleven o'clock in orderto see what would happen, and as she naturallyheard nothing, she was suddenly either seizedwith a wild fit of rage at having been deceivedand imposed upon by appearances, or elseovercome by that fear which some frightenedcreature feels at some terrible mystery, and bythe furious impatience of a passionate individ-

ual who meets with some obstacle; she took upthe tongs from the fireplace and struck theclock so violently that she broke it to pieces in amoment.

"It was evident, therefore, that her, brain did actand calculate, obscurely it is true, and withinvery restricted limits, for I could never succeedin making her distinguish persons as she dis-tinguished the time; and to stir her intellect, itwas necessary to appeal to her passions, in thematerial sense of the word, and we soon hadanother, and alas! a very terrible proof of this!

"She had grown up into a splendid girl, a per-fect type of a race, a sort of lovely and stupidVenus. She was sixteen, and I have rarely seensuch perfection of form, such suppleness andsuch regular features. I said she was a Venus;yes, a fair, stout, vigorous Venus, with large,bright, vacant eyes, which were as blue as theflowers of the flax plant; she had a large mouthwith full lips, the mouth of a glutton, of a sen-

sualist, a mouth made for kisses. Well, onemorning her father came into my consultingroom with a strange look on his face, and, sit-ting down without even replying to my greet-ing, he said:

"'I want to speak to you about a very seriousmatter. Would it be possible—would it be pos-sible for Bertha to marry?'

"'Bertha to marry! Why, it is quite impossible!'

"'Yes, I know, I know,' he replied. 'But reflect,doctor. Don't you think—perhaps—wehoped—if she had children—it would be agreat shock to her, but a great happiness, and—who knows whether maternity might not rouseher intellect?'

"I was in a state of great perplexity. He wasright, and it was possible that such a new situa-tion, and that wonderful instinct of maternity,which beats in the hearts of the lower animals

as it does in the heart of a woman, which ma-kes the hen fly at a dog's jaws to defend herchickens, might bring about a revolution, anutter change in her vacant mind, and set themotionless mechanism of her thoughts in mo-tion. And then, moreover, I immediately re-membered a personal instance. Some yearspreviously I had owned a spaniel bitch whowas so stupid that I could do nothing with her,but when she had had puppies she became, ifnot exactly intelligent, yet almost like manyother dogs who had not been thoroughly bro-ken.

"As soon as I foresaw the possibility of this, thewish to get Bertha married grew in me, not somuch out of friendship for her and her poorparents as from scientific curiosity. Whatwould happen? It was a singular problem. Isaid in reply to her father:

"'Perhaps you are right. You might make theattempt, but you will never find a man to con-sent to marry her.'

"'I have found somebody,' he said, in a low voi-ce.

"I was dumfounded, and said: 'Somebody rea-lly suitable? Some one of your own rank andposition in society?'

"'Decidedly,' he replied.

"'Oh! And may I ask his name?'

"'I came on purpose to tell you, and to consultyou. It is Monsieur Gaston du Boys de Lucel-les.'

"I felt inclined to exclaim: 'The wretch!' but Iheld my tongue, and after a few moments' si-lence I said:

"'Oh! Very good. I see nothing against it.'

"The poor man shook me heartily by the hand.

"'She is to be married next month,' he said.

"Monsieur Gaston du Boys de Lucelles was ascapegrace of good family, who, after havingspent all that he had inherited from his father,and having incurred debts in all kinds ofdoubtful ways, had been trying to discoversome other means of obtaining money, and hehad discovered this method. He was a good-looking young fellow, and in capital health, butfast; one of that odious race of provincial fastmen, and he appeared to me to be as suitable asanyone, and could be got rid of later by makinghim an allowance. He came to the house to payhis addresses and to strut about before the idiotgirl, who, however, seemed to please him. Hebrought her flowers, kissed her hands, sat ather feet, and looked at her with affectionateeyes; but she took no notice of any of his atten-tions, and did not make any distinction be-

tween him and the other persons who wereabout her.

"However, the marriage took place, and youmay guess how my curiosity was aroused. Iwent to see Bertha the next day to try and dis-cover from her looks whether any feelings hadbeen awakened in her, but I found her just thesame as she was every day, wholly taken upwith the clock and dinner, while he, on the con-trary, appeared really in love, and tried to rou-se his wife's spirits and affection by little en-dearments and such caresses as one bestows ona kitten. He could think of nothing better.

"I called upon the married couple pretty fre-quently, and I soon perceived that the youngwoman knew her husband, and gave him thoseeager looks which she had hitherto only be-stowed on sweet dishes.

"She followed his movements, knew his step onthe stairs or in the neighboring rooms, clapped

her hands when he came in, and her face waschanged and brightened by the flames of pro-found happiness and of desire.

"She loved him with her whole body and withall her soul to the very depths of her poor,weak soul, and with all her heart, that poorheart of some grateful animal. It was really adelightful and innocent picture of simple pas-sion, of carnal and yet modest passion, such asnature had implanted in mankind, before manhad complicated and disfigured it by all thevarious shades of sentiment. But he soon grewtired of this ardent, beautiful, dumb creature,and did not spend more than an hour duringthe day with her, thinking it sufficient if he ca-me home at night, and she began to suffer inconsequence. She used to wait for him frommorning till night with her eyes on the clock;she did not even look after the meals now, forhe took all his away from home, Clermont,

Chatel-Guyon, Royat, no matter where, as longas he was not obliged to come home.

"She began to grow thin; every other thought,every other wish, every other expectation, andevery confused hope disappeared from hermind, and the hours during which she did notsee him became hours of terrible suffering toher. Soon he ceased to come home regularly ofnights; he spent them with women at the casinoat Royat and did not come home until day-break. But she never went to bed before he re-turned. She remained sitting motionless in aneasy-chair, with her eyes fixed on the hands ofthe clock, which turned so slowly and regularlyround the china face on which the hours werepainted.

"She heard the trot of his horse in the distanceand sat up with a start, and when he came intothe room she got up with the movements of anautomaton and pointed to the clock, as if to say:'Look how late it is!'

"And he began to be afraid of this amorous andjealous, half-witted woman, and flew into arage, as brutes do; and one night he even wentso far as to strike her, so they sent for me. WhenI arrived she was writhing and screaming in aterrible crisis of pain, anger, passion, how do Iknow what? Can one tell what goes on in suchundeveloped brains?

"I calmed her by subcutaneous injections ofmorphine, and forbade her to see that managain, for I saw clearly that marriage wouldinfallibly kill her by degrees.

"Then she went mad! Yes, my dear friend, thatidiot went mad. She is always thinking of himand waiting for him; she waits for him all dayand night, awake or asleep, at this very mo-ment, ceaselessly. When I saw her getting thin-ner and thinner, and as she persisted in nevertaking her eyes off the clocks, I had them re-moved from the house. I thus made it impossi-ble for her to count the hours, and to try to re-

member, from her indistinct reminiscences, atwhat time he used to come home formerly. Ihope to destroy the recollection of it in time,and to extinguish that ray of thought which Ikindled with so much difficulty.

"The other day I tried an experiment. I offeredher my watch; she took it and looked at it forsome time; then she began to scream terribly, asif the sight of that little object had suddenlyawakened her memory, which was beginningto grow indistinct. She is pitiably thin now,with hollow and glittering eyes, and she walksup and down ceaselessly, like a wild beast in itscage; I have had gratings put on the windows,boarded them up half way, and have had theseats fixed to the floor so as to prevent her fromlooking to see whether he is coming.

"Oh! her poor parents! What a life they mustlead!"

We had got to the top of the hill, and the doctorturned round and said to me:

"Look at Riom from here."

The gloomy town looked like some ancient city.Behind it a green, wooded plain studded withtowns and villages, and bathed in a soft bluehaze, extended until it was lost in the distance.Far away, on my right, there was a range oflofty mountains with round summits, or elsecut off flat, as if with a sword, and the doctorbegan to enumerate the villages, towns andhills, and to give me the history of all of them.But I did not listen to him; I was thinking ofnothing but the madwoman, and I only sawher. She seemed to be hovering over that vastextent of country like a mournful ghost, and Iasked him abruptly:

"What has become of the husband?"

My friend seemed rather surprised, but after afew moments' hesitation, he replied:

"He is living at Royat, on an allowance thatthey made him, and is quite happy; he leads avery fast life."

As we were slowly going back, both of us silentand rather low-spirited, an English dogcart,drawn by a thoroughbred horse, came up be-hind us and passed us rapidly. The doctor tookme by the arm.

"There he is," he said.

I saw nothing except a gray felt hat, cockedover one ear above a pair of broad shoulders,driving off in a cloud of dust.

THE PATRON

We never dreamed of such good fortune! Theson of a provincial bailiff, Jean Marin had come,as do so many others, to study law in the Quar-tier Latin. In the various beer-houses that hehad frequented he had made friends with sev-eral talkative students who spouted politics asthey drank their beer. He had a great admira-tion for them and followed them persistentlyfrom cafe to cafe, even paying for their drinkswhen he had the money.

He became a lawyer and pleaded causes, whichhe lost. However, one morning he read in thepapers that one of his former comrades of theQuartier had just been appointed deputy.

He again became his faithful hound, the friendwho does the drudgery, the unpleasant tasks,for whom one sends when one has need of himand with whom one does not stand on cere-

mony. But it chanced through some parliamen-tary incident that the deputy became a minis-ter. Six months later Jean Marin was appointeda state councillor.

He was so elated with pride at first that he losthis head. He would walk through the streetsjust to show himself off, as though one couldtell by his appearance what position he occu-pied. He managed to say to the shopkeepers assoon as he entered a store, bringing it in some-how in the course of the most insignificant re-marks and even to the news vendors and thecabmen:

"I, who am a state councillor—"

Then, in consequence of his position as well asfor professional reasons and as in duty boundthrough being an influential and generous man,he felt an imperious need of patronizing others.He offered his support to every one on all occa-sions and with unbounded generosity.

When he met any one he recognized on theboulevards he would advance to meet themwith a charmed air, would take their hand, in-quire after their health, and, without waitingfor any questions, remark:

"You know I am state councillor, and I am en-tirely at your service. If I can be of any use toyou, do not hesitate to call on me. In my posi-tion one has great influence."

Then he would go into some cafe with thefriend he had just met and ask for a pen andink and a sheet of paper. "Just one, waiter; it isto write a letter of recommendation."

And he wrote ten, twenty, fifty letters of rec-ommendation a day. He wrote them to the CafeAmericain, to Bignon's, to Tortoni's, to the Mai-son Doree, to the Cafe Riche, to the Helder, tothe Cafe Anglais, to the Napolitain, every-where, everywhere. He wrote them to all theofficials of the republican government, from the

magistrates to the ministers. And he was hap-py, perfectly happy.

One morning as he was starting out to go to thecouncil it began to rain. He hesitated about tak-ing a cab, but decided not to do so and set outon foot.

The rain came down in torrents, swamping thesidewalks and inundating the streets. M. Marinwas obliged to take shelter in a doorway. Anold priest was standing there—an old priestwith white hair. Before he became a councillorM. Marin did not like the clergy. Now he trea-ted them with consideration, ever since a car-dinal had consulted him on an important mat-ter. The rain continued to pour down in floodsand obliged the two men to take shelter in theporter's lodge so as to avoid getting wet. M.Marin, who was always itching to talk so as tolet people know who he was, remarked:

"This is horrible weather, Monsieur l'Abbe."

The old priest bowed:

"Yes indeed, sir, it is very unpleasant when onecomes to Paris for only a few days."

"Ah! You come from the provinces?"

"Yes, monsieur. I am only passing through onmy journey."

"It certainly is very disagreeable to have rainduring the few days one spends in the capital.We officials who stay here the year round, wethink nothing of it."

The priest did not reply. He was looking at thestreet where the rain seemed to be falling lessheavily. And with a sudden resolve he raisedhis cassock just as women raise their skirts instepping across water.

M. Marin, seeing him start away, exclaimed:

"You will get drenched, Monsieur l'Abbe. Waita few moments longer; the rain will be over."

The good man stopped irresistibly and thensaid:

"But I am in a great hurry. I have an importantengagement."

M. Marin seemed quite worried.

"But you will be absolutely drenched. Might Iask in which direction you are going?"

The priest appeared to hesitate. Then he said:

"I am going in the direction of the Palais Royal."

"In that case, if you will allow me, Monsieurl'Abbe, I will offer you the shelter of my um-brella: As for me, I am going to the council. Iam a councillor of state."

The old priest raised his head and looked at hisneighbor and then exclaimed:

"I thank you, monsieur. I shall be glad to acceptyour offer."

M. Marin then took his arm and led him away.He directed him, watched over him and ad-vised him.

"Be careful of that stream, Monsieur l'Abbe.And be very careful about the carriage wheels;they spatter you with mud sometimes fromhead to foot. Look out for the umbrellas of thepeople passing by; there is nothing more dan-gerous to the eyes than the tips of the ribs.Women especially are unbearable; they pay noheed to where they are going and always jabyou in the face with the point of their parasolsor umbrellas. And they never move aside foranybody. One would suppose the town be-longed to them. They monopolize the pave-

ment and the street. It is my opinion that theireducation has been greatly neglected."

And M. Marin laughed.

The priest did not reply. He walked along,slightly bent over, picking his steps carefully soas not to get mud on his boots or his cassock.

M. Marin resumed:

"I suppose you have come to Paris to divertyour mind a little?"

The good man replied:

"No, I have some business to attend to."

"Ali! Is it important business? Might I ventureto ask what it is? If I can be of any service toyou, you may command me."

The priest seemed embarrassed. He murmured:

"Oh, it is a little personal matter; a little diffi-culty with—with my bishop. It would notinterest you. It is a matter of internalregulation—an ecclesiastical affair."

M. Marin was eager.

"But it is precisely the state council that regu-lates all those things. In that case, make use ofme."

"Yes, monsieur, it is to the council that I amgoing. You are a thousand times too kind. Ihave to see M. Lerepere and M. Savon and alsoperhaps M. Petitpas."

M. Marin stopped short.

"Why, those are my friends, Monsieur l'Abbe,my best friends, excellent colleagues, charmingmen. I will speak to them about you, and veryhighly. Count upon me."

The cure thanked him, apologizing for trou-bling him, and stammered out a thousand gra-teful promises.

M. Marin was enchanted.

"Ah, you may be proud of having made a stro-ke of luck, Monsieur l'Abbe. You will see—youwill see that, thanks to me, your affair will goalong swimmingly."

They reached the council hall. M. Marin tookthe priest into his office, offered him a chair infront of the fire and sat down himself at hisdesk and began to write.

"My dear colleague, allow me to recommend toyou most highly a venerable and particularlyworthy and deserving priest, M. L'Abbe——"

He stopped and asked:

"Your name, if you please?"

"L'Abbe Ceinture."

"M. l'Abbe Ceinture, who needs your good of-fice in a little matter which he willcommunicate to you.

"I am pleased at this incident which gives mean opportunity, my dear colleague——"

And he finished with the usual compliments.

When he had written the three letters he han-ded them to his protege, who took his depar-ture with many protestations of gratitude.

M. Marin attended to some business and thenwent home, passed the day quietly, slept well,woke in a good humor and sent for his news-papers.

The first he opened was a radical sheet. He re-ad:

"OUR CLERGY AND OUR GOVERNMENTOFFICIALS

"We shall never make an end of enumeratingthe misdeeds of the clergy. A certain priest,named Ceinture, convicted of conspiracyagainst the present government, accused ofbase actions to which we will not even allude,suspected besides of being a former Jesuit, me-tamorphosed into a simple priest, suspendedby a bishop for causes that are said to be un-mentionable and summoned to Paris to give anexplanation of his conduct, has found an ardentdefender in the man named Marin, a councillorof state, who was not afraid to give this frockedmalefactor the warmest letters of recommenda-tion to all the republican officials, his col-leagues.

"We call the attention of the ministry to the un-heard of attitude of this councillor of state——"

M. Marin bounded out of bed, dressed himselfand hastened to his colleague, Petitpas, whosaid to him:

"How now? You were crazy to recommend tome that old conspirator!"

M. Marin, bewildered, stammered out:

"Why no—you see—I was deceived. He lookedsuch an honest man. He played me a trick—adisgraceful trick! I beg that you will sentencehim severely, very severely. I am going to wri-te. Tell me to whom I should write about hav-ing him punished. I will go and see the attor-ney-general and the archbishop of Paris—yes,the archbishop."

And seating himself abruptly at M. Petitpas'desk, he wrote:

"Monseigneur, I have the honor to bring toyour grace's notice the fact that I have recently

been made a victim of the intrigues and lies of acertain Abbe Ceinture, who imposed on mykind-heartedness.

"Deceived by the representations of this ecclesi-astic, I was led——"

Then, having signed and sealed his letter, heturned to his colleague and exclaimed:

"See here; my dear friend, let this be a warningto you never to recommend any one again."

THE DOOR

"Bah!" exclaimed Karl Massouligny, "the ques-tion of complaisant husbands is a difficult one.I have seen many kinds, and yet I am unable togive an opinion about any of them. I have often

tried to determine whether they are blind,weak or clairvoyant. I believe that there aresome which belong to each of these categories.

"Let us quickly pass over the blind ones. Theycannot rightly be called complaisant, since theydo not know, but they are good creatures whocannot see farther than their nose. It is a curiousand interesting thing to notice the ease withwhich men and women can, be deceived. Weare taken in by the slightest trick of those whosurround us, by our children, our friends, ourservants, our tradespeople. Humanity is credu-lous, and in order to discover deceit in others,we do not display one-tenth the shrewdnesswhich we use when we, in turn, wish to de-ceive some one else.

"Clairvoyant husbands may be divided intothree classes: Those who have some interest,pecuniary, ambitious or otherwise, in their wi-fe's having love affairs. These ask only to safe-

guard appearances as much as possible, andthey are satisfied.

"Next come those who get angry. What a beau-tiful novel one could write about them!

"Finally the weak ones! Those who are afraid ofscandal.

"There are also those who are powerless, or,rather, tired, who flee from the duties of mat-rimony through fear of ataxia or apoplexy, whoare satisfied to see a friend run these risks.

"But I once met a husband of a rare species,who guarded against the common accident in astrange and witty manner.

"In Paris I had made the acquaintance of anelegant, fashionable couple. The woman, nerv-ous, tall, slender, courted, was supposed tohave had many love adventures. She pleasedme with her wit, and I believe that I pleased her

also. I courted her, a trial courting to which sheanswered with evident provocations. Soon wegot to tender glances, hand pressures, all thelittle gallantries which precede the final attack.

"Nevertheless, I hesitated. I consider that, as arule, the majority of society intrigues, howevershort they may be, are not worth the troublewhich they give us and the difficulties whichmay arise. I therefore mentally compared theadvantages and disadvantages which I mightexpect, and I thought I noticed that the hus-band suspected me.

"One evening, at a ball, as I was saying tenderthings to the young woman in a little parlorleading from the big hall where the dancingwas going on, I noticed in a mirror the reflec-tion of some one who was watching me. It washe. Our looks met and then I saw him turn hishead and walk away.

"I murmured: 'Your husband is spying on us.'

"She seemed dumbfounded and asked: 'Myhusband?'

"'Yes, he has been watching us for some time:

"'Nonsense! Are you sure?'

"'Very sure.'

"'How strange! He is usually extraordinarilypleasant to all my friends.'

"'Perhaps he guessed that I love you!'

"'Nonsense! You are not the first one to payattention to me. Every woman who is a little inview drags behind her a herd of admirers.'

"'Yes. But I love you deeply.'

"'Admitting that that is true, does a husbandever guess those things?'

"'Then he is not jealous?'

"'No-no!'

"She thought for an instant and then continued:'No. I do not think that I ever noticed any jeal-ousy on his part.'

"'Has he never-watched you?'

"'No. As I said, he is always agreeable to myfriends.'

"From that day my courting became much mo-re assiduous. The woman did not please meany more than before, but the probable jealousyof her husband tempted me greatly.

"As for her, I judged her coolly and clearly. Shehad a certain worldly charm, due to a quick,gay, amiable and superficial mind, but no real,deep attraction. She was, as I have already said,an excitable little being, all on the surface, withrather a showy elegance. How can I explainmyself? She was an ornament, not a home.

"One day, after taking dinner with her, her hus-band said to me, just as I was leaving: 'My dearfriend' (he now called me 'friend'), 'we soonleave for the country. It is a great pleasure tomy wife and myself to entertain people whomwe like. We would be very pleased to have youspend a month with us. It would be very nice ofyou to do so.'

"I was dumbfounded, but I accepted.

"A month later I arrived at their estate of Vert-cresson, in Touraine. They were waiting for meat the station, five miles from the chateau. The-re were three of them, she, the husband and agentleman unknown to me, the Comte de Mor-terade, to whom I was introduced. He ap-peared to be delighted to make my acquaint-ance, and the strangest ideas passed throughmy mind while we trotted along the beautifulroad between two hedges. I was saying to my-self: 'Let's see, what can this mean? Here is ahusband who cannot doubt that his wife and I

are on more than friendly terms, and yet heinvites me to his house, receives me like an oldfriend and seems to say: "Go ahead, my friend,the road is clear!"'

"Then I am introduced to a very pleasant gen-tleman, who seems already to have settleddown in the house, and—and who is perhapstrying to get out of it, and who seems as plea-sed at my arrival as the husband himself.

"Is it some former admirer who wishes to re-tire? One might think so. But, then, would thesetwo men tacitly have come to one of these in-famous little agreements so common in society?And it is proposed to me that I should quietlyenter into the pact and carry it out. All handsand arms are held out to me. All doors andhearts are open to me.

"And what about her? An enigma. She cannotbe ignorant of everything. However—however—Well, I cannot understand it.

"The dinner was very gay and cordial. On leav-ing the table the husband and his friend beganto play cards, while I went out on the porch tolook at the moonlight with madame. She see-med to be greatly affected by nature, and I jud-ged that the moment for my happiness wasnear. That evening she was really delightful.The country had seemed to make her moretender. Her long, slender waist looked prettyon this stone porch beside a great vase in whichgrew some flowers. I felt like dragging her outunder the trees, throwing myself at her feet andspeaking to her words of love.

"Her husband's voice called 'Louise!'

"'Yes, dear.'

"'You are forgetting the tea.'

"'I'll go and see about it, my friend.'

"We returned to the house, and she gave ussome tea. When the two men had finished play-ing cards, they were visibly tired. I had to go tomy room. I did not get to sleep till late, andthen I slept badly.

"An excursion was decided upon for the fol-lowing afternoon, and we went in an open car-riage to visit some ruins. She and I were in theback of the vehicle and they were opposite us,riding backward. The conversation was sympa-thetic and agreeable. I am an orphan, and itseemed to me as though I had just found myfamily, I felt so at home with them.

"Suddenly, as she had stretched out her footbetween her husband's legs, he murmured re-proachfully: 'Louise, please don't wear out yourold shoes yourself. There is no reason for beingneater in Paris than in the country.'

"I lowered my eyes. She was indeed wearingworn-out shoes, and I noticed that her stock-ings were not pulled up tight.

"She had blushed and hidden her foot underher dress. The friend was looking out in thedistance with an indifferent and unconcernedlook.

"The husband offered me a cigar, which I ac-cepted. For a few days it was impossible for meto be alone with her for two minutes; he waswith us everywhere. He was delightful to me,however.

"One morning he came to get me to take a walkbefore breakfast, and the conversation hap-pened to turn on marriage. I spoke a little aboutsolitude and about how charming life can bemade by the affection of a woman. Suddenly heinterrupted me, saying: 'My friend, don't talkabout things you know nothing about. A wo-man who has no other reason for loving you

will not love you long. All the little coquetrieswhich make them so exquisite when they donot definitely belong to us cease as soon as theybecome ours. And then—the respectable wo-men—that is to say our wives—are—are not—in fact do not understand their profession ofwife. Do you understand?'

"He said no more, and I could not guess histhoughts.

"Two days after this conversation he called meto his room quite early, in order to show me acollection of engravings. I sat in an easy chairopposite the big door which separated hisapartment from his wife's, and behind this doorI heard some one walking and moving, and Iwas thinking very little of the engravings, al-though I kept exclaiming: 'Oh, charming! de-lightful! exquisite!'

"He suddenly said: 'Oh, I have a beautiful spe-cimen in the next room. I'll go and get it.'

"He ran to the door quickly, and both sidesopened as though for a theatrical effect.

"In a large room, all in disorder, in the midst ofskirts, collars, waists lying around on the floor,stood a tall, dried-up creature. The lower partof her body was covered with an old, worn-outsilk petticoat, which was hanging limply on hershapeless form, and she was standing in frontof a mirror brushing some short, sparse blondhairs. Her arms formed two acute angles, andas she turned around in astonishment I sawunder a common cotton chemise a regular ce-metery of ribs, which were hidden from thepublic gaze by well-arranged pads.

"The husband uttered a natural exclamationand came back, closing the doors, and said:'Gracious! how stupid I am! Oh, how thought-less! My wife will never forgive me for that!'

"I already felt like thanking him. I left threedays later, after cordially shaking hands with

the two men and kissing the lady's fingers. Shebade me a cold good-by."

Karl Massouligny was silent. Some one asked:"But what was the friend?"

"I don't know—however—however he lookedgreatly distressed to see me leaving so soon."

A SALE

The defendants, Cesaire-Isidore Brument andProsper-Napoleon Cornu, appeared before theCourt of Assizes of the Seine-Inferieure, on acharge of attempted murder, by drowning, ofMme. Brument, lawful wife of the first of theaforenamed.

The two prisoners sat side by side on the tradi-tional bench. They were two peasants; the firstwas small and stout, with short arms, shortlegs, and a round head with a red pimply face,planted directly on his trunk, which was alsoround and short, and with apparently no neck.He was a raiser of pigs and lived at Cacheville-la-Goupil, in the district of Criquetot.

Cornu (Prosper-Napoleon) was thin, of me-dium height, with enormously long arms. Hishead was on crooked, his jaw awry, and hesquinted. A blue blouse, as long as a shirt, hungdown to his knees, and his yellow hair, whichwas scanty and plastered down on his head,gave his face a worn-out, dirty look, a dilapi-dated look that was frightful. He had beennicknamed "the cure" because he could imitateto perfection the chanting in church, and eventhe sound of the serpent. This talent attracted tohis cafe—for he was a saloon keeper at Crique-

tot—a great many customers who preferred the"mass at Cornu" to the mass in church.

Mme. Brument, seated on the witness bench,was a thin peasant woman who seemed to bealways asleep. She sat there motionless, herhands crossed on her knees, gazing fixedly be-fore her with a stupid expression.

The judge continued his interrogation.

"Well, then, Mme. Brument, they came intoyour house and threw you into a barrel full ofwater. Tell us the details. Stand up."

She rose. She looked as tall as a flag pole withher cap which looked like a white skull cap.She said in a drawling tone:

"I was shelling beans. Just then they came in. Isaid to myself, 'What is the matter with them?They do not seem natural, they seem up to so-me mischief.' They watched me sideways, like

this, especially Cornu, because he squints. I donot like to see them together, for they are twogood-for-nothings when they are in company. Isaid: 'What do you want with me?' They didnot answer. I had a sort of mistrust——"

The defendant Brument interrupted the witnesshastily, saying:

"I was full."

Then Cornu, turning towards his accomplicesaid in the deep tones of an organ:

"Say that we were both full, and you will betelling no lie."

The judge, severely:

"You mean by that that you were both drunk?"

Brument: "There can be no question about it."

Cornu: "That might happen to anyone."

The judge to the victim: "Continue your testi-mony, woman Brument."

"Well, Brument said to me, 'Do you wish toearn a hundred sous?' 'Yes,' I replied, seeingthat a hundred sous are not picked up in a hor-se's tracks. Then he said: 'Open your eyes anddo as I do,' and he went to fetch the large emp-ty barrel which is under the rain pipe in thecorner, and he turned it over and brought itinto my kitchen, and stuck it down in the mid-dle of the floor, and then he said to me: 'Go andfetch water until it is full.'

"So I went to the pond with two pails and car-ried water, and still more water for an hour,seeing that the barrel was as large as a vat, sav-ing your presence, m'sieu le president.

"All this time Brument and Cornu were drink-ing a glass, and then another glass, and thenanother. They were finishing their drinks whenI said to them: 'You are full, fuller than this bar-

rel.' And Brument answered me. 'Do not worry,go on with your work, your turn will come,each one has his share.' I paid no attention towhat he said as he was full.

"When the barrel was full to the brim, I said:'There, that's done.'

"And then Cornu gave me a hundred sous, notBrument, Cornu; it was Cornu gave them tome. And Brument said: 'Do you wish to earn ahundred sous more?' 'Yes,' I said, for I am notaccustomed to presents like that. Then he said:'Take off your clothes!

"'Take off my clothes?'

"'Yes,' he said.

"'How many shall I take off?'

"'If it worries you at all, keep on your chemise,that won't bother us.'

"A hundred sous is a hundred sous, and I haveto undress myself; but I did not fancy undress-ing before those two good-for-nothings. I tookoff my cap, and then my jacket, and then myskirt, and then my sabots. Brument said, 'Keepon your stockings, also; we are good fellows.'

"And Cornu said, too, 'We are good fellows.'

"So there I was, almost like mother Eve. Andthey got up from their chairs, but could notstand straight, they were so full, saving yourpresence, M'sieu le president.

"I said to myself: 'What are they up to?'

"And Brument said: 'Are you ready?'

"And Cornu said: 'I'm ready!'

"And then they took me, Brument by the head,and Cornu by the feet, as one might take, forinstance, a sheet that has been washed. Then Ibegan to bawl.

"And Brument said: 'Keep still, wretched crea-ture!'

"And they lifted me up in the air and put meinto the barrel, which was full of water, so thatI had a check of the circulation, a chill to myvery insides.

"And Brument said: 'Is that all?'

"Cornu said: 'That is all.'

"Brument said: 'The head is not in, that willmake a difference in the measure.'

"Cornu said: 'Put in her head.'

"And then Brument pushed down my head asif to drown me, so that the water ran into mynose, so that I could already see Paradise. Andhe pushed it down, and I disappeared.

"And then he must have been frightened. Hepulled me out and said: 'Go and get dry, car-cass.'

"As for me, I took to my heels and ran as far asM. le cure's. He lent me a skirt belonging to hisservant, for I was almost in a state of nature,and he went to fetch Maitre Chicot, the countrywatchman who went to Criquetot to fetch thepolice who came to my house with me.

"Then we found Brument and Cornu fightingeach other like two rams.

"Brument was bawling: 'It isn't true, I tell youthat there is at least a cubic metre in it. It is themethod that was no good.'

"Cornu bawled: 'Four pails, that is almost half acubic metre. You need not reply, that's what itis.'

"The police captain put them both under arrest.I have no more to tell."

She sat down. The audience in the court roomlaughed. The jurors looked at one another inastonishment. The judge said:

"Defendant Cornu, you seem to have been theinstigator of this infamous plot. What have youto say?"

And Cornu rose in his turn.

"Judge," he replied, "I was full."

The Judge answered gravely:

"I know it. Proceed."

"I will. Well, Brument came to my place aboutnine o'clock, and ordered two drinks, and said:'There's one for you, Cornu.' I sat down oppo-site him and drank, and out of politeness, I of-fered him a glass. Then he returned the com-

pliment and so did I, and so it went on fromglass to glass until noon, when we were full.

"Then Brument began to cry. That touched me.I asked him what was the matter. He said: 'Imust have a thousand francs by Thursday.'That cooled me off a little, you understand.Then he said to me all at once: 'I will sell youmy wife.'

"I was full, and I was a widower. You under-stand, that stirred me up. I did not know hiswife, but she was a woman, wasn't she? I askedhim: 'How much would you sell her for?'

"He reflected, or pretended to reflect. When oneis full one is not very clear-headed, and he re-plied: 'I will sell her by the cubic metre.'

"That did not surprise me, for I was as drunk ashe was, and I knew what a cubic metre is in mybusiness. It is a thousand litres, that suited me.

"But the price remained to be settled. All de-pends on the quality. I said: 'How much do youwant a cubic metre?'

"He answered: 'Two thousand francs.'

"I gave a bound like a rabbit, and then I re-flected that a woman ought not to measuremore than three hundred litres. So I said:'That's too dear.'

"He answered: 'I cannot do it for less. I shouldlose by it.'

"You understand, one is not a dealer in hogs fornothing. One understands one's business. But,if he is smart, the seller of bacon, I am smarter,seeing that I sell them also. Ha, Ha, Ha! So Isaid to him: 'If she were new, I would not sayanything, but she has been married to you forsome time, so she is not as fresh as she was. Iwill give you fifteen hundred francs a cubicmetre, not a sou more. Will that suit you?'

"He answered: 'That will do. That's a bargain!'

"I agreed, and we started out, arm in arm. Wemust help each other in this world.

"But a fear came to me: 'How can you measureher unless you put her into the liquid?'

"Then he explained his idea, not without diffi-culty for he was full. He said to me: 'I take abarrel, and fill it with water to the brim. I puther in it. All the water that comes out we willmeasure, that is the way to fix it.'

"I said: 'I see, I understand. But this water thatoverflows will run away; how are you going togather it up?'

"Then he began stuffing me and explained tome that all we should have to do would be torefill the barrel with the water his wife had dis-placed as soon as she should have left. All thewater we should pour in would be the meas-

ure. I supposed about ten pails; that would be acubic metre. He isn't a fool, all the same, whenhe is drunk, that old horse.

"To be brief, we reached his house and I took alook at its mistress. A beautiful woman shecertainly was not. Anyone can see her, for thereshe is. I said to myself: 'I am disappointed, butnever mind, she will be of value; handsome orugly, it is all the same, is it not, monsieur lepresident?' And then I saw that she was as thinas a rail. I said to myself: 'She will not measurefour hundred litres.' I understand the matter, itbeing in liquids.

"She told you about the proceeding. I even lether keep on her chemise and stockings, to myown disadvantage.

"When that was done she ran away. I said:'Look out, Brument! she is escaping.'

"He replied: 'Do not be afraid. I will catch herall right. She will have to come back to sleep, Iwill measure the deficit.'

"We measured. Not four pailfuls. Ha, Ha, Ha!"

The witness began to laugh so persistently thata gendarme was obliged to punch him in theback. Having quieted down, he resumed:

"In short, Brument exclaimed: 'Nothing doing,that is not enough.' I bawled and bawled, andbawled again, he punched me, I hit back. Thatwould have kept on till the Day of judgment,seeing we were both drunk.

"Then came the gendarmes! They swore at us,they took us off to prison. I want damages."

He sat down.

Brument confirmed in every particular the sta-tements of his accomplice. The jury, in conster-nation, retired to deliberate.

At the end of an hour they returned a verdict ofacquittal for the defendants, with some severestrictures on the dignity of marriage, and estab-lishing the precise limitations of business trans-actions.

Brument went home to the domestic roof ac-companied by his wife.

Cornu went back to his business.

THE IMPOLITE SEX

Madame de X. to Madame de L.

ETRETAT, Friday.My Dear Aunt:

I am coming to see you without anyone know-ing it. I shall be at Les Fresnes on the 2d of Sep-tember, the day before the hunting seasonopens, as I do not want to miss it, so that I maytease these gentlemen. You are too good, aunt,and you will allow them, as you usually dowhen there are no strange guests, to come totable, under pretext of fatigue, without dressingor shaving for the occasion.

They are delighted, of course, when I am notpresent. But I shall be there and will hold a re-view, like a general, at dinner time; and, if Ifind a single one of them at all careless in dress,no matter how little, I mean to send them downto the kitchen with the servants.

The men of to-day have so little considerationfor others and so little good manners that onemust be always severe with them. We live in-deed in an age of vulgarity. When they quarrel,they insult each other in terms worthy of long-shoremen, and, in our presence, they do not

conduct themselves even as well as our ser-vants. It is at the seaside that you see this mostclearly. They are to be found there in battalions,and you can judge them in the lump. Oh! whatcoarse beings they are!

Just imagine, in a train, a gentleman who loo-ked well, as I thought at first sight, thanks tohis tailor, carefully took off his boots in order toput on a pair of old shoes! Another, an old manwho was probably some wealthy upstart (theseare the most ill-bred), while sitting opposite tome, had the delicacy to place his two feet on theseat quite close to me. This is a positive fact.

At the watering-places the vulgarity is unre-strained. I must here make one admission—thatmy indignation is perhaps due to the fact that Iam not accustomed to associate, as a rule, withthe sort of people one comes across here, for Ishould be less shocked by their manners if Ihad the opportunity of observing them oftener.In the office of the hotel I was nearly thrown

down by a young man who snatched the keyover my head. Another knocked against me soviolently without begging my pardon or liftinghis hat, coming away from a ball at the Casino,that it gave me a pain in the chest. It is the sameway with all of them. Watch them addressingladies on the terrace; they scarcely ever bow.They merely raise their hands to their head-gear. But, indeed, as they are all more or lessbald, it is the best plan.

But what exasperates and disgusts me particu-larly is the liberty they take of talking in public,without any kind of precaution, about the mostrevolting adventures. When two men are to-gether, they relate to each other, in the broadestlanguage and with the most abominable com-ments really horrible stories, without caring inthe slightest degree whether a woman's ear iswithin reach of their voices. Yesterday, on thebeach, I was forced to leave the place where Iwas sitting in order not to be any longer the

involuntary confidante of an obscene anecdote,told in such immodest language that I felt justas humiliated as indignant at having heard it.Would not the most elementary good-breedingteach them to speak in a lower tone about suchmatters when we are near at hand. Etretat is,moreover, the country of gossip and scandal.From five to seven o'clock you can see peoplewandering about in quest of scandal, whichthey retail from group to group. As you re-marked to me, my dear aunt, tittle-tattle is themark of petty individuals and petty minds. It isalso the consolation of women who are nolonger loved or sought after. It is enough forme to observe the women who are fondest ofgossiping to be persuaded that you are quiteright.

The other day I was present at a musical eve-ning at the Casino, given by a remarkable artist,Madame Masson, who sings in a truly delight-ful manner. I took the opportunity of applaud-

ing the admirable Coquelin, as well as twocharming vaudeville performers, M——andMeillet. I met, on this occasion, all the batherswho were at the beach. It is no great distinctionthis year.

Next day I went to lunch at Yport. I noticed atall man with a beard, coming out of a largehouse like a castle. It was the painter, Jean PaulLaurens. He is not satisfied apparently withimprisoning the subjects of his pictures, he in-sists on imprisoning himself.

Then I found myself seated on the shingle closeto a man still young, of gentle and refined ap-pearance, who was reading poetry. But he readit with such concentration, with such passion, Imay say, that he did not even raise his eyestowards me. I was somewhat astonished andasked the proprietor of the baths, without ap-pearing to be much concerned, the name of thisgentleman. I laughed to myself a little at thisreader of rhymes; he seemed behind the age,

for a man. This person, I thought, must be asimpleton. Well, aunt, I am now infatuatedabout this stranger. Just fancy, his name is SullyPrudhomme! I went back and sat down besidehim again so as to get a good look at him. Hisface has an expression of calmness and of pene-tration. Somebody came to look for him, and Iheard his voice, which is sweet and almost ti-mid. He would certainly not tell obscene storiesaloud in public or knock up against ladies wit-hout apologizing. He is assuredly a man of re-finement, but his refinement is of an almostmorbid, sensitive character, I will try this win-ter to get an introduction to him.

I have no more news, my dear aunt, and I mustfinish this letter in haste, as the mail will soonclose. I kiss your hands and your cheeks. Yourdevoted niece, BERTHE DE X.

P. S.—I should add, however, by way of justifi-cation of French politeness, that our fellow-countrymen are, when travelling, models of

good manners in comparison with the abomi-nable English, who seem to have been broughtup in a stable, so careful are they not to dis-commode themselves in any way, while theyalways discommode their neighbors.

Madame de L. to Madame de X.

LES FRESNES, Saturday.My Dear Child:

Many of the things you have said to me arevery sensible, but that does not prevent youfrom being wrong. Like you, I used formerly tofeel very indignant at the impoliteness of men,who, as I supposed, constantly treated me withneglect; but, as I grew older and reflected oneverything, putting aside coquetry, and observ-ing things without taking any part in them my-self, I perceived this much—that if men are notalways polite, women are always indescribablyrude.

We imagine that we should be permitted to doanything, my darling, and at the same time weconsider that we have a right to the utmost re-spect, and in the most flagrant manner we com-mit actions devoid of that elementary good-breeding of which you speak so feelingly.

I find, on the contrary, that men consider usmuch more than we consider them. Besides,darling, men must needs be, and are, what wemake them. In a state of society, where womenare all true gentlewomen, all men would be-come gentlemen.

Come now; just observe and reflect.

Look at two women meeting in the street. Whatan attitude each assumes towards the other!What disparaging looks! What contempt theythrow into each glance! How they toss theirheads while they inspect each other to find so-mething to condemn! And, if the footpath isnarrow, do you think one woman would make

room for another, or would beg pardon as shesweeps by? Never! When two men jostle eachother by accident in some narrow lane, each ofthem bows and at the same time gets out of theother's way, while we women press againsteach other stomach to stomach, face to face,insolently staring each other out of counte-nance.

Look at two women who are acquaintancesmeeting on a staircase outside the door of afriend's drawing-room, one of them just leav-ing, the other about to go in. They begin to talkto each other and block up all the landing. Ifanyone happens to be coming up behind them,man or woman, do you imagine that they willput themselves half an inch out of their way?Never! never!

I was waiting myself, with my watch in myhands, one day last winter at a certain drawing-room door. And, behind me, two gentlemenwere also waiting without showing any readi-

ness, as I did, to lose their temper. The reasonwas that they had long grown accustomed toour unconscionable insolence.

The other day, before leaving Paris, I went todine with no less a person than your husband,in the Champs Elysees, in order to enjoy thefresh air. Every table was occupied. The waiterasked us to wait and there would soon be avacant table.

At that moment I noticed an elderly lady ofnoble figure, who, having paid for her dinner,seemed on the point of going away. She sawme, scanned me from head to foot, and did notbudge. For more than a quarter of an hour shesat there, immovable, putting on her gloves,and calmly staring at those who were waitinglike myself. Now, two young men who werejust finishing their dinner, having seen me intheir turn, hastily summoned the waiter, paidwhat they owed, and at once offered me theirseats, even insisting on standing while waiting

for their change. And, bear in mind, my fairniece, that I am no longer pretty, like you, butold and white-haired.

It is we, you see, who should be taught polite-ness, and the task would be such a difficult onethat Hercules himself would not be equal to it.You speak to me about Etretat and about thepeople who indulged in "tittle-tattle" along thebeach of that delightful watering-place. It is aspot now lost to me, a thing of the past, but Ifound much amusement therein days gone by.

There were only a few of us, people in goodsociety, really good society, and a few artists,and we all fraternized. We paid little attentionto gossip in those days.

As we had no monotonous Casino, where peo-ple only gather for show, where they whisper,where they dance stupidly, where they succeedin thoroughly boring one another, we soughtsome other way of passing our evenings pleas-

antly. Now, just guess what came into the headof one of our husbands? Nothing less than to goand dance each night in one of the farm-housesin the neighborhood.

We started out in a group with a street-organ,generally played by Le Poittevin, the painter,with a cotton nightcap on his head. Two mencarried lanterns. We followed in procession,laughing and chattering like a pack of fools.

We woke up the farmer and his servant-maidsand farm hands. We got them to make onionsoup (horror!), and we danced under the appletrees, to the sound of the barrel-organ. Thecocks waking up began to crow in the darknessof the out-houses; the horses began prancing onthe straw of their stables. The cool air of thecountry caressed our cheeks with the smell ofgrass and of new-mown hay.

How long ago it is! How long ago it is! It is thir-ty years since then!

I do not want you, my darling, to come for theopening of the hunting season. Why spoil thepleasure of our friends by inflicting on themfashionable toilettes on this day of vigorousexercise in the country? This is the way, child,that men are spoiled. I embrace you. Your oldaunt, GENEVIEVE DE L.

A WEDDING GIFT

For a long time Jacques Bourdillere had swornthat he would never marry, but he suddenlychanged his mind. It happened suddenly, onesummer, at the seashore.

One morning as he lay stretched out on thesand, watching the women coming out of thewater, a little foot had struck him by its neat-

ness and daintiness. He raised his eyes and wasdelighted with the whole person, although infact he could see nothing but the ankles and thehead emerging from a flannel bathrobe care-fully held closed. He was supposed to be sen-sual and a fast liver. It was therefore by themere grace of the form that he was at first cap-tured. Then he was held by the charm of theyoung girl's sweet mind, so simple and good,as fresh as her cheeks and lips.

He was presented to the family and pleasedthem. He immediately fell madly in love. Whenhe saw Berthe Lannis in the distance, on thelong yellow stretch of sand, he would tingle tothe roots of his hair. When he was near her hewould become silent, unable to speak or evento think, with a kind of throbbing at his heart,and a buzzing in his ears, and a bewildermentin his mind. Was that love?

He did not know or understand, but he hadfully decided to have this child for his wife.

Her parents hesitated for a long time, re-strained by the young man's bad reputation. Itwas said that he had an old sweetheart, one ofthese binding attachments which one alwaysbelieves to be broken off and yet which alwayshold.Besides, for a shorter or longer period, he lovedevery woman who came within reach of hislips.

Then he settled down and refused, even once,to see the one with whom he had lived for solong. A friend took care of this woman's pen-sion and assured her an income. Jacques paid,but he did not even wish to hear of her, pre-tending even to ignore her name. She wrotehim letters which he never opened. Every weekhe would recognize the clumsy writing of theabandoned woman, and every week a greateranger surged within him against her, and hewould quickly tear the envelope and the paper,without opening it, without reading one single

line, knowing in advance the reproaches andcomplaints which it contained.

As no one had much faith in his constancy, thetest was prolonged through the winter, andBerthe's hand was not granted him until thespring. The wedding took place in Paris at thebeginning of May.

The young couple had decided not to take theconventional wedding trip, but after a littledance for the younger cousins, which wouldnot be prolonged after eleven o'clock, in orderthat this day of lengthy ceremonies might notbe too tiresome, the young pair were to spendthe first night in the parental home and then,on the following morning, to leave for thebeach so dear to their hearts, where they hadfirst known and loved each other.

Night had come, and the dance was going on inthe large parlor. 'The two had retired into alittle Japanese boudoir hung with bright silks

and dimly lighted by the soft rays of a largecolored lantern hanging from the ceiling like agigantic egg. Through the open window thefresh air from outside passed over their faceslike a caress, for the night was warm and calm,full of the odor of spring.

They were silent, holding each other's handsand from time to time squeezing them with alltheir might. She sat there with a dreamy look,feeling a little lost at this great change in herlife, but smiling, moved, ready to cry, often alsoalmost ready to faint from joy, believing thewhole world to be changed by what had justhappened to her, uneasy, she knew not why,and feeling her whole body and soul filled withan indefinable and delicious lassitude.

He was looking at her persistently with a fixedsmile. He wished to speak, but found nothingto say, and so sat there, expressing all his ardorby pressures of the hand. From time to time hewould murmur: "Berthe!" And each time she

would raise her eyes to him with a look of ten-derness; they would look at each other for asecond and then her look, pierced and fasci-nated by his, would fall.

They found no thoughts to exchange. They hadbeen left alone, but occasionally some of thedancers would cast a rapid glance at them, asthough they were the discreet and trusty wit-nesses of a mystery.

A door opened and a servant entered, holdingon a tray a letter which a messenger had justbrought. Jacques, trembling, took this paper,overwhelmed by a vague and sudden fear, themysterious terror of swift misfortune.

He looked for a longtime at the envelope, thewriting on which he did not know, not daringto open it, not wishing to read it, with a wilddesire to put it in his pocket and say to himself:"I'll leave that till to-morrow, when I'm faraway!" But on one corner two big words, un-

derlined, "Very urgent," filled him with terror.Saying, "Please excuse me, my dear," he toreopen the envelope. He read the paper, grewfrightfully pale, looked over it again, and, slow-ly, he seemed to spell it out word for word.

When he raised his head his whole expressionshowed how upset he was. He stammered: "Mydear, it's—it's from my best friend, who hashad a very great misfortune. He has need of meimmediately—for a matter of life or death. Willyou excuse me if I leave you for half an hour?I'll be right back."

Trembling and dazed, she stammered: "Go, mydear!" not having been his wife long enough todare to question him, to demand to know. Hedisappeared. She remained alone, listening tothe dancing in the neighboring parlor.

He had seized the first hat and coat he came toand rushed downstairs three steps at a time. Ashe was emerging into the street he stopped un-

der the gas-jet of the vestibule and reread theletter. This is what it said:

SIR: A girl by the name of Ravet, an oldsweetheart of yours, it seems, has just given birth to a child that shesays is yours. The mother is about to die and is begging for you.I take the liberty to write and ask you if you can grant this lastrequest to a woman who seems to be very unhappy and worthy of pi-ty. Yours truly, DR. BONNARD.

When he reached the sick-room the womanwas already on the point of death. He did notrecognize her at first. The doctor and two nur-ses were taking care of her. And everywhere onthe floor were pails full of ice and rags coveredwith blood. Water flooded the carpet; two can-dles were burning on a bureau; behind the bed,in a little wicker crib, the child was crying, and

each time it would moan the mother, in torture,would try to move, shivering under her icebandages.

She was mortally wounded, killed by this birth.Her life was flowing from her, and, notwith-standing the ice and the care, the mercilesshemorrhage continued, hastening her last hour.

She recognized Jacques and wished to raise herarms. They were so weak that she could not doso, but tears coursed down her pallid cheeks.He dropped to his knees beside the bed, seizedone of her hands and kissed it frantically. Then,little by little, he drew close to the thin face,which started at the contact. One of the nurseswas lighting them with a candle, and the doctorwas watching them from the back of the room.

Then she said in a voice which sounded asthough it came from a distance: "I am going todie, dear. Promise to stay to the end. Oh! don't

leave me now. Don't leave me in my last mo-ments!"

He kissed her face and her hair, and, weeping,he murmured: "Do not be uneasy; I will stay."

It was several minutes before she could speakagain, she was so weak. She continued: "Thelittle one is yours. I swear it before God and onmy soul. I swear it as I am dying! I have neverloved another man but you —promise to takecare of the child."

He was trying to take this poor pain-rackedbody in his arms. Maddened by remorse andsorrow, he stammered: "I swear to you that Iwill bring him up and love him. He shall neverleave me."

Then she tried to kiss Jacques. Powerless to lifther head, she held out her white lips in an ap-peal for a kiss. He approached his lips to re-spond to this piteous entreaty.

As soon as she felt a little calmer, she mur-mured: "Bring him here and let me see if youlove him."

He went and got the child. He placed him gen-tly on the bed between them, and the little onestopped crying. She murmured: "Don't moveany more!" And he was quiet. And he stayedthere, holding in his burning hand this otherhand shaking in the chill of death, just as, awhile ago, he had been holding a hand trem-bling with love. From time to time he wouldcast a quick glance at the clock, which markedmidnight, then one o'clock, then two.

The physician had returned. The two nurses,after noiselessly moving about the room for awhile, were now sleeping on chairs. The childwas asleep, and the mother, with eyes shut,appeared also to be resting.

Suddenly, just as pale daylight was creeping inbehind the curtains, she stretched out her arms

with such a quick and violent motion that shealmost threw her baby on the floor. A kind ofrattle was heard in her throat, then she lay onher back motionless, dead.

The nurses sprang forward and declared: "Allis over!"

He looked once more at this woman whom hehad so loved, then at the clock, which pointedto four, and he ran away, forgetting his over-coat, in the evening dress, with the child in hisarms.

After he had left her alone the young wife hadwaited, calmly enough at first, in the little Ja-panese boudoir. Then, as she did not see himreturn, she went back to the parlor with an in-different and calm appearance, but terribly anx-ious. When her mother saw her alone sheasked: "Where is your husband?" She an-swered: "In his room; he is coming right back."

After an hour, when everybody had questionedher, she told about the letter, Jacques' upsetappearance and her fears of an accident.

Still they waited. The guests left; only the near-est relatives remained. At midnight the bridewas put to bed, sobbing bitterly. Her motherand two aunts, sitting around the bed, listenedto her crying, silent and in despair. The fatherhad gone to the commissary of police to see ifhe could obtain some news.

At five o'clock a slight noise was heard in thehall. A door was softly opened and closed.Then suddenly a little cry like the mewing of acat was heard throughout the silent house.

All the women started forward and Berthesprang ahead of them all, pushing her way pasther aunts, wrapped in a bathrobe.

Jacques stood in the middle of the room, paleand out of breath, holding an infant in his arms.

The four women looked at him, astonished; butBerthe, who had suddenly become courageous,rushed forward with anguish in her heart, ex-claiming: "What is it? What's the matter?"

He looked about him wildly and answeredshortly:

"I—I have a child and the mother has just died."

And with his clumsy hands he held out thescreaming infant.

Without saying a word, Berthe seized the child,kissed it and hugged it to her. Then she raisedher tear-filled eyes to him, asking: "Did you saythat the mother was dead?" He answered:"Yes—just now—in my arms. I had broken withher since summer. I knew nothing. The physi-cian sent for me."

Then Berthe murmured: "Well, we will bringup the little one."

THE RELIC

"To the Abbe Louis d'Ennemare, at Sois-sons.

"My Dear Abbe.

"My marriage with your cousin is broken off inthe most stupid way, all on account of an idi-otic trick which I almost involuntarily playedmy intended. In my perplexity I turn to you,my old school chum, for you may be able tohelp me out of the difficulty. If you can, I shallbe grateful to you until I die.

"You know Gilberte, or, rather, you think youknow her, but do we ever understand women?All their opinions, their ideas, their creeds, are

a surprise to us. They are all full of twists andturns, cf the unforeseen, of unintelligible argu-ments, of defective logic and of obstinate ideas,which seem final, but which they alter becausea little bird came and perched on the windowledge.

"I need not tell you that your cousin is veryreligious, as she was brought up by the White(or was it the Black?) Ladies at Nancy. Youknow that better than I do, but what you per-haps do not know is, that she is just as excitableabout other matters as she is about religion.Her head flies away, just as a leaf is whirledaway by the wind; and she is a true woman, or,rather, girl, for she is moved or made angry in amoment, starting off at a gallop in affection,just as she does in hatred, and returning in thesame manner; and she is pretty—as you know,and more charming than I can say—as you willnever know.

"Well, we became engaged, and I adored her, asI adore her still, and she appeared to love me.

"One evening, I received a telegram summon-ing me to Cologne for a consultation, whichmight be followed by a serious and difficultoperation, and as I had to start the next morn-ing, I went to wish Gilberte good-by, and tellher why I could not dine with them on Wed-nesday, but would do so on Friday, the day ofmy return. Ah! Beware of Fridays, for I assureyou they are unlucky!

"When I told her that I had to go to Germany, Isaw that her eyes filled with tears, but when Isaid I should be back very soon, she clappedher hands, and said:

"'I am very glad you are going, then! You mustbring me back something; a mere trifle, just asouvenir, but a souvenir that you have chosenfor me. You must guess what I should like best,

do you hear? And then I shall see whether youhave any imagination.'

"She thought for a few moments, and then ad-ded:

"'I forbid you to spend more than twenty francson it. I want it for the intention, and for a re-membrance of your penetration, and not for itsintrinsic value:

"And then, after another moment's silence, shesaid, in a low voice, and with downcast eyes:

"'If it costs you nothing in money, but is some-thing very ingenious and pretty, I will—I willkiss you.'

"The next day I was in Cologne. It was a case ofa terrible accident, which had plunged a wholefamily into despair, and a difficult amputationwas necessary. They lodged me in the house; Imight say, they almost locked me up, and I saw

nobody but people in tears, who almost deaf-ened me with their lamentations; I operated ona man who appeared to be in a moribund state,and who nearly died under my hands, andwith whom I remained two nights; and then,when I saw that there was a chance of his re-covery, I drove to the station. I had, however,made a mistake in the trains, and I had an hourto wait, and so I wandered about the streets,still thinking of my poor patient, when a manaccosted me. I do not know German, and hewas totally ignorant of French, but at last I ma-de out that he was offering me some relics. Ithought of Gilberte, for I knew her fanaticaldevotion, and here was my present ready tohand, so I followed the man into a shop wherereligious objects were for sale, and I bought asmall piece of a bone of one of the ElevenThousand Virgins.

"The pretended relic was inclosed in a charm-ing old silver box, and that determined my

choice, and, putting my purchase into my poc-ket, I went to the railway station, and so on toParis.

"As soon as I got home, I wished to examinemy purchase again, and on taking hold of it, Ifound that the box was open, and the relicmissing! I searched in vain in my pocket, andturned it inside out; the small bit of bone,which was no bigger than half a pin, had dis-appeared.

"You know, my dear little Abbe, that my faith isnot very fervent, but, as my friend, you aremagnanimous enough to put up with my lu-kewarmness, and to leave me alone, and towait for the future, so you say. But I absolutelydisbelieve in the relics of secondhand dealers inpiety, and you share my doubts in that respect.Therefore, the loss of that bit of sheep's carcassdid not grieve me, and I easily procured a simi-lar fragment, which I carefully fastened inside

my jewel-box, and then I went to see my in-tended.

"As soon as she saw me, she ran up to me, smil-ing and eager, and, said to me:

"'What have you brought me?'

"I pretended to have forgotten, but she did notbelieve me, and I made her beg, and even be-seech me. But when I saw that she was de-voured by curiosity, I gave her the sacred silverbox. She appeared overjoyed.

"'A relic! Oh! A relic!'

"And she kissed the box passionately, so that Iwas ashamed of my deception. She was notquite satisfied, however, and her uneasinesssoon turned to terrible fear, and lookingstraight into my eyes, she said:

"'Are you sure-that it is genuine?'

"'Absolutely certain.'

"'How can you be so certain?'

"I was trapped; for to say that I had bought it ofa man in the streets would be my destruction.What was I to say? A wild idea struck me, and Isaid, in a low, mysterious voice:

"'I stole it for you.'

"She looked at me with astonishment and de-light in her large eyes.

"'Oh! You stole it? Where?'

"'In the cathedral; in the very shrine of the Ele-ven Thousand Virgins.'

"Her heart beat with pleasure, and she mur-mured:

"'Oh! Did you really do that-for me? Tell me-allabout it!'

"That was the climax; I could not retract what Ihad said. I made up a fanciful story; with pre-cise details: I had given the custodian of thebuilding a hundred francs to be allowed to goabout the building by myself; the shrine wasbeing repaired, but I happened to be there atthe breakfast hour of the workmen and clergy;by removing a small panel, I had been enabledto seize a small piece of bone (oh! so small),among a quantity of others (I said a quantity, asI thought of the amount that the remains of theskeletons of eleven thousand virgins must pro-duce). Then I went to a goldsmith's and boughta casket worthy of the relic; and I was not sorryto let her know that the silver box cost me fivehundred francs.

"But she did not think of that; she listened tome, trembling, in an ecstasy, and whispering:'How I love you!' she threw herself into myarms.

"Just note this: I had committed sacrilege forher sake. I had committed a theft; I had violateda church; I had violated a shrine; violated andstolen holy relics, and for that she adored me,thought me perfect, tender, divine. Such iswoman, my dear Abbe, every woman.

"For two months I was the most admirable oflovers. In her room, she had made a kind ofmagnificent chapel in which to keep this bit ofmutton chop, which, as she thought, had mademe commit that divine love-crime, and sheworked up her religious enthusiasm in front ofit every morning and evening. I had asked herto keep the matter secret, for fear, as I said, thatI might be arrested, condemned, and givenover to Germany, and she kept her promise.

"Well, at the beginning of the summer, she wasseized with an irresistible desire to see thescene of my exploit, and she teased her fatherso persistently (without telling him her secretreason), that he took her to Cologne, but with-

out telling me of their trip, according to hisdaughter's wish.

"I need not tell you that I had not seen the inte-rior of the cathedral. I do not know where thetomb (if there be a tomb) of the Eleven Thou-sand Virgins is; and then, it appears, it is unap-proachable, alas!

"A week afterward, I received ten lines, break-ing off our engagement, and then an explana-tory letter from her father, whom she had, so-mewhat late, taken into her confidence.

"At the sight of the shrine, she had suddenlyseen through my trickery and my lie, and at thesame time discovered my real innocence of anycrime. Having asked the keeper of the relicswhether any robbery had been committed, theman began to laugh, and pointed out to themhow impossible such a crime was. But, from themoment that I had not plunged my profane

hand into venerable relics, I was no longer wor-thy of my fair-haired, sensitive betrothed.

"I was forbidden the house; I begged andprayed in vain; nothing could move the fairdevotee, and I became ill from grief. Well, lastweek, her cousin, Madame d'Arville, who isyour cousin also, sent me word that she shouldlike to see me, and when I called, she told meon what conditions I might obtain my pardon,and here they are. I must bring her a relic, areal, authentic relic of some virgin and martyr,certified to be such by our Holy Father, thePope, and I am going mad from embarrassmentand anxiety.

"I will go to Rome, if needful, but I cannot callon the Pope unexpectedly, to tell him my stu-pid misadventure; and, besides, I doubtwhether they allow private individuals to haverelics. Could not you give me an introductionto some cardinal, or even to some French prel-ate who possesses some remains of a female

saint? Or, perhaps, you may have the preciousobject she wants in your collection?

"Help me out of my difficulty, my dear Abbe,and I promise you that I will be converted tenyears sooner than I otherwise should be!

"Madame d'Arville, who takes the matter seri-ously, said to me the other day:

"'Poor Gilberte will never marry.'

"My dear old schoolmate, will you allow yourcousin to die the victim of a stupid piece of sub-terfuge on my part? Pray prevent her from be-ing virgin eleven thousand and one.

"Pardon me, I am unworthy, but I embrace you,and love you with all my heart.

"Your old friend, "HENRI FONTAL."