original short stories. volume iii

7/28/2019 Original Short Stories. Volume III

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Original ShortStories

Voleme III

Guy de Maupassant

W o r k r e r o d

u c e d w i t h n o

e d i t o r i a l r e s

o n s i b i l i t



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MISS HARRIET

There were seven of us on a drag, four womeand three men; one of the latter sat on the boseat beside the coachman. We were ascendinat a snail's pace, the winding road up the steecliff along the coast.

Setting out from Etretat at break of day in ordeto visit the ruins of Tancarville, we were stihalf asleep, benumbed by the fresh air of thmorning. The women especially, who werlittle accustomed to these early excursions, haopened and closed their eyes every momennodding their heads or yawning, quite insensble to the beauties of the dawn.

It was autumn. On both sides of the road streched the bare fields, yellowed by the stubble owheat and oats which covered the soil like beard that had been badly shaved. The moi

earth seemed to steam. Larks were singing hig



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

The sun rose at length in front of us, bright reon the plane of the horizon, and in proportioas it ascended, growing clearer from minute tminute, the country seemed to awake, to smilto shake itself like a young girl leaving her be

in her white robe of vapor. The Comte d'Etralle, who was seated on the box, cried:

"Look! look! a hare!" and he extended his armtoward the left, pointing to a patch of clove

The animal scurried along, almost hidden bthe clover, only its large ears showing. Then swerved across a furrow, stopped, started oagain at full speed, changed its course, stoppe

anew, uneasy, spying out every danger, uncetain what route to take, when suddenly it began to run with great bounds, disappearinfinally in a large patch of beet-root. All the mehad waked up to watch the course of the an

mal.



Rene Lamanoir exclaimed:

"We are not at all gallant this morning," andregarding his neighbor, the little Baroness dSerennes, who struggled against sleep, he saito her in a low tone: "You are thinking of youhusband, baroness. Reassure yourself; he winot return before Saturday, so you have sti

four days."

She answered with a sleepy smile:

"How stupid you are!" Then, shaking off he

torpor, she added: "Now, let somebody sasomething to make us laugh. You, MonsieuChenal, who have the reputation of having hamore love affairs than the Due de Richelieu, teus a love story in which you have played

part; anything you like."

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



took his long white beard in his hand ansmiled. Then, after a few moments' reflectionhe suddenly became serious.

"Ladies, it will not be an amusing tale, for I amgoing to relate to you the saddest love affair omy life, and I sincerely hope that none of mfriends may ever pass through a similar exper

ence.

"I was twenty-five years of age and was pillaging along the coast of Normandy. I call 'pillaging' wandering about, with a knapsack on one

back, from inn to inn, under the pretext of mking studies and sketching landscapes. I knewnothing more enjoyable than that happy-golucky wandering life, in which one is perfectl

free, without shackles of any kind, withoucare, without preoccupation, without thinkineven of the morrow. One goes in any directioone pleases, without any guide save his fancywithout any counsellor save his eyes. One stop

because a running brook attracts one, becaus



the smell of potatoes frying tickles one's olfatories on passing an inn. Sometimes it is thperfume of clematis which decides one in h

choice or the roguish glance of the servant at ainn. Do not despise me for my affection fothese rustics. These girls have a soul as well asenses, not to mention firm cheeks and freslips; while their hearty and willing kisses hav

the flavor of wild fruit. Love is always lovcome whence it may. A heart that beats at youapproach, an eye that weeps when you gaway are things so rare, so sweet, so preciou

that they must never be despised.

"I have had rendezvous in ditches full of primroses, behind the cow stable and in barnamong the straw, still warm from the heat o

the day. I have recollections of coarse gray clotcovering supple peasant skin and regrets fosimple, frank kisses, more delicate in their unaffected sincerity than the subtle favors ocharming and distinguished women.



"But what one loves most amid all these varieadventures is the country, the woods, the risinof the sun, the twilight, the moonlight. Thes

are, for the painter, honeymoon trips with Nature. One is alone with her in that long anquiet association. You go to sleep in the fieldamid marguerites and poppies, and when yoopen your eyes in the full glare of the sunligh

you descry in the distance the little village witits pointed clock tower which sounds the houof noon.

"You sit down by the side of a spring whicgushes out at the foot of an oak, amid a growtof tall, slender weeds, glistening with life. Yogo down on your knees, bend forward andrink that cold, pellucid water which wets you

mustache and nose; you drink it with a physcal pleasure, as though you kissed the springlip to lip. Sometimes, when you find a deehole along the course of these tiny brooks, yoplunge in quite naked, and you feel on you



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

"You are gay on the hills, melancholy on thedge of ponds, inspired when the sun is settinin an ocean of blood-red clouds and casts rereflections or the river. And at night, under th

moon, which passes across the vault of heavenyou think of a thousand strange things whicwould never have occurred to your mind undethe brilliant light of day.

"So, in wandering through the same countrwhere we, are this year, I came to the little vilage of Benouville, on the cliff between Ypoand Etretat. I came from Fecamp, following th

coast, a high coast as straight as a wall, with iprojecting chalk cliffs descending perpendicularly into the sea. I had walked since early moning on the short grass, smooth and yielding aa carpet, that grows on the edge of the clif

And, singing lustily, I walked with long stride



looking sometimes at the slow circling flight oa gull with its white curved wings outlined othe blue sky, sometimes at the brown sails of

fishing bark on the green sea. In short, I hapassed a happy day, a day of liberty and ofreedom from care.

"A little farmhouse where travellers were lod

ged was pointed out to me, a kind of inn, kepby a peasant woman, which stood in the centrof a Norman courtyard surrounded by a doubrow of beeches.

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

"She was an old, wrinkled and stern peasan

woman, who seemed always to receive cutomers under protest, with a kind of defiance.

"It was the month of May. The spreading apptrees covered the court with a shower of blo



soms which rained unceasingly both upon people and upon the grass.

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

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

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

"In five minutes we had come to an agreemen

and I deposited my bag upon the earthen flooof a rustic room, furnished with a bed, twchairs, a table and a washbowl. The room looked into the large, smoky kitchen, where thlodgers took their meals with the people of th

farm and the landlady, who was a widow.

"I washed my hands, after which I went ouThe old woman was making a chicken fricasse



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

"'You have travellers, then, at the present timesaid I to her.

"She answered in an offended tone of voice:

"'I have a lady, an English lady, who has reached years of maturity. She occupies the otheroom.'

"I obtained, by means of an extra five sous

day, the privilege of dining alone out in thyard when the weather was fine.

"My place was set outside the door, and I wabeginning to gnaw the lean limbs of the No

mandy chicken, to drink the clear cider and tmunch the hunk of white bread, which wafour days old but excellent.

"Suddenly the wooden gate which gave on th

highway was opened, and a strange lady d



rected her steps toward the house. She wavery thin, very tall, so tightly enveloped in red Scotch plaid shawl that one might hav

supposed she had no arms, if one had not seea long hand appear just above the hips, holdina white tourist umbrella. Her face was like thaof a mummy, surrounded with curls of grahair, which tossed about at every step she too

and made me think, I know not why, of a pickled herring in curl papers. Lowering her eyeshe passed quickly in front of me and enterethe house.

"That singular apparition cheered me. She undoubtedly was my neighbor, the English ladof mature age of whom our hostess had spoken.

"I did not see her again that day. The next daywhen I had settled myself to commence paining at the end of that beautiful valley whicyou know and which extends as far as Etretat,

perceived, on lifting my eyes suddenly, some



thing singular standing on the crest of the clifone might have said a pole decked out witflags. It was she. On seeing me, she suddenl

disappeared. I reentered the house at middafor lunch and took my seat at the general tablso as to make the acquaintance of this odcharacter. But she did not respond to my politadvances, was insensible even to my little a

tentions. I poured out water for her persitently, I passed her the dishes with great eageness. A slight, almost imperceptible, movemenof the head and an English word, murmured s

low that I did not understand it, were her onlacknowledgments.

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

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

"She was called Miss Harriet. Seeking out

secluded village in which to pass the summe



she had been attracted to Benouville some smonths before and did not seem disposed tleave it. She never spoke at table, ate rapidly

reading all the while a small book of the Protetant propaganda. She gave a copy of it to everybody. The cure himself had received no lesthan four copies, conveyed by an urchin twhom she had paid two sous commission. Sh

said sometimes to our hostess abruptly, without preparing her in the least for the declaration:

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

"And she would immediately present the ol

woman with one of her tracts which were detined to convert the universe.

"In, the village she was not liked. In fact, thschoolmaster having pronounced her an athe

ist, a kind of stigma attached to her. The cur



who had been consulted by Madame Lcacheur, responded:

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

"These words, 'atheist,' 'heretic,' words whic

no one can precisely define, threw doubts intsome minds. It was asserted, however, that thEnglish woman was rich and that she had pased her life in travelling through every countrin the world because her family had cast he

off. Why had her family cast her off? Because oher impiety, of course!

"She was, in fact, one of those people of exalteprinciples; one of those opinionated puritan

of which England produces so many; one othose good and insupportable old maids whhaunt the tables d'hote of every hotel iEurope, who spoil Italy, poison Switzerland

render the charming cities of the Mediterranea



uninhabitable, carry everywhere their fantastmanias their manners of petrified vestals, theindescribable toilets and a certain odor of india

rubber which makes one believe that at nighthey are slipped into a rubber casing.

"Whenever I caught sight of one of these indviduals in a hotel I fled like the birds who see

scarecrow in a field.

"This woman, however, appeared so very singular that she did not displease me.

"Madame Lecacheur, hostile by instinct to everything that was not rustic, felt in her narrowsoul a kind of hatred for the ecstatic declarations of the old maid. She had found a phrasby which to describe her, a term of contemp

that rose to her lips, called forth by I know nowhat confused and mysterious mental ratiocnation. She said: 'That woman is a demoniacThis epithet, applied to that austere and sent

mental creature, seemed to me irresistibly drol



I myself never called her anything now but 'thdemoniac,' experiencing a singular pleasure ipronouncing aloud this word on perceivin

her.

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

"To which my rustic friend replied with a shoked air:

"'What do you think, sir? She picked up a toawhich had had its paw crushed and carried it t

her room and has put it in her washbasin anbandaged it as if it were a man. If that is noprofanation I should like to know what is!'

"On another occasion, when walking along th

shore she bought a large fish which had jubeen caught, simply to throw it back into thsea again. The sailor from whom she habought it, although she paid him handsomelynow began to swear, more exasperated, indeed



than if she had put her hand into his pockand taken his money. For more than a monthe could not speak of the circumstance withou

becoming furious and denouncing it as an ourage. Oh, yes! She was indeed a demoniac, thMiss Harriet, and Mother Lecacheur must havhad an inspiration in thus christening her.

"The stable boy, who was called Sapeur, because he had served in Africa in his youth, entertained other opinions. He said with a roguish air: 'She is an old hag who has seen life.'

"If the poor woman had but known!

"The little kind-hearted Celeste did not waupon her willingly, but I was never able to understand why. Probably her only reason wa

that she was a stranger, of another race; of different tongue and of another religion. Shwas, in fact, a demoniac!



"She passed her time wandering about thcountry, adoring and seeking God in nature.found her one evening on her knees in a cluste

of bushes. Having discovered something rethrough the leaves, I brushed aside thbranches, and Miss Harriet at once rose to hefeet, confused at having been found thus, fixinon me terrified eyes like those of an owl su

prised in open day.

"Sometimes, when I was working among throcks, I would suddenly descry her on the edgof the cliff like a lighthouse signal. She woulbe gazing in rapture at the vast sea glittering ithe sunlight and the boundless sky with its goden tints. Sometimes I would distinguish her athe end of the valley, walking quickly with he

elastic English step, and I would go toward heattracted by I know not what, simply to see heilluminated visage, her dried-up, ineffable features, which seemed to glow with inward anprofound happiness.



"I would often encounter her also in the corneof a field, sitting on the grass under the shadowof an apple tree, with her little religious bookle

lying open on her knee while she gazed out athe distance.

"I could not tear myself away from that quicountry neighborhood, to which I was attache

by a thousand links of love for its wide anpeaceful landscape. I was happy in this sequetered farm, far removed from everything, but itouch with the earth, the good, beautiful, greeearth. And—must I avow it?—there was, besides, a little curiosity which retained me at thresidence of Mother Lecacheur. I wished tbecome acquainted a little with this strangMiss Harriet and to know what transpires i

the solitary souls of those wandering old English women.

"We became acquainted in a rather singulamanner. I had just finished a study which ap

peared to me to be worth something, and so



was, as it sold for ten thousand francs fifteeyears later. It was as simple, however, as twand two make four and was not according t

academic rules. The whole right side of mcanvas represented a rock, an enormous rockcovered with sea-wrack, brown, yellow anred, across which the sun poured like a streamof oil. The light fell upon the rock as though

were aflame without the sun, which was at mback, being visible. That was all. A first bewidering study of blazing, gorgeous light.

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

"I was so pleased with my work that I dance

from sheer delight as I carried it back to the innI would have liked the whole world to see it aonce. I can remember that I showed it to a cowthat was browsing by the wayside, exclaiminas I did so: 'Look at that, my old beauty; yo

will not often see its like again.'



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

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

"The rustic approached and looked at my wor

with her stupid eyes which distinguished nothing and could not even tell whether the picturrepresented an ox or a house.

"Miss Harriet just then came home, and sh

passed behind me just as I was holding out mcanvas at arm's length, exhibiting it to our landlady. The demoniac could not help but see ifor I took care to exhibit the thing in such a wathat it could not escape her notice. She stoppe

abruptly and stood motionless, astonished. was her rock which was depicted, the onwhich she climbed to dream away her timundisturbed.



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

"'This is my latest study, mademoiselle.'

"She murmured rapturously, comically antenderly:

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

"I colored and was more touched by that com

pliment than if it had come from a queen. I wacaptured, conquered, vanquished. I could havembraced her, upon my honor.

"I took my seat at table beside her as usual. Fo

the first time she spoke, thinking aloud:

"'Oh! I do love nature.'

"I passed her some bread, some water, som

wine. She now accepted these with a little smil



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

"After the meal we rose from the table togetheand walked leisurely across the courtyardthen, attracted doubtless by the fiery glowwhich the setting sun cast over the surface othe sea, I opened the gate which led to the clif

and we walked along side by side, as contenteas two persons might be who have just learneto understand and penetrate each other's motives and feelings.

"It was one of those warm, soft evenings whicimpart a sense of ease to flesh and spirit alikAll is enjoyment, everything charms. Thbalmy air, laden with the perfume of grasse

and the smell of seaweed, soothes the olfactorsense with its wild fragrance, soothes the palatwith its sea savor, soothes the mind with ipervading sweetness.



"We were now walking along the edge of thcliff, high above the boundless sea which rolleits little waves below us at a distance of a hun

dred metres. And we drank in with opemouth and expanded chest that fresh breezbriny from kissing the waves, that came fromthe ocean and passed across our faces.

"Wrapped in her plaid shawl, with a look oinspiration as she faced the breeze, the Engliswoman gazed fixedly at the great sun ball as descended toward the horizon. Far off in thdistance a three-master in full sail was outlineon the blood-red sky and a steamship, somewhat nearer, passed along, leaving behind it trail of smoke on the horizon. The red suglobe sank slowly lower and lower and pre

ently touched the water just behind the motionless vessel, which, in its dazzling effugence, looked as though framed in a flame ofire. We saw it plunge, grow smaller and diappear, swallowed up by the ocean.



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

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

"She remained standing as I had often beforseen her, perched on the cliff, her face as red aher shawl. I should have liked to have sketcheher 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 hav

done to a fellow artist, using the technical termcommon among the devotees of the professionShe listened attentively, eagerly seeking to dvine the meaning of the terms, so as to unde



stand my thoughts. From time to time shwould exclaim:

"'Oh! I understand, I understand. It is very interesting.'

"We returned home.

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

"She was a good creature who had a kind o

soul on springs, which became enthusiastic at bound. She lacked equilibrium like all womewho are spinsters at the age of fifty. Shseemed to be preserved in a pickle of innocence, but her heart still retained somethin

very youthful and inflammable. She loved botnature and animals with a fervor, a love likold wine fermented through age, with a sensuous love that she had never bestowed on men.



"One thing is certain, that the sight of a bitcnursing her puppies, a mare roaming in a meadow with a foal at its side, a bird's nest full o

young ones, screaming, with their open mouthand their enormous heads, affected her perceptibly.

"Poor, solitary, sad, wandering beings! I lov

you ever since I became acquainted with MisHarriet.

"I soon discovered that she had something shwould like to tell me, but dare not, and I wa

amused at her timidity. When I started out ithe morning with my knapsack on my backshe would accompany me in silence as far athe end of the village, evidently struggling t

find words with which to begin a conversationThen she would leave me abruptly and walaway quickly with her springy step.

"One day, however, she plucked up courage:



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

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

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

"She remained standing behind me, followinall my gestures with concentrated attentionThen, suddenly, fearing perhaps that she wadisturbing me, she said: 'Thank you,' and wa

ked away.

"But she soon became more friendly, and accompanied me every day, her countenance exhibiting visible pleasure. She carried her cam

stool under her arm, not permitting me to carrit. She would remain there for hours, silent anmotionless, following with her eyes the point omy brush, in its every movement. When I obtained unexpectedly just the effect I wanted b



a dash of color put on with the palette knifshe involuntarily uttered a little 'Ah!' of astonishment, of joy, of admiration. She had the mo

tender respect for my canvases, an almost relgious respect for that human reproduction of part of nature's work divine. My studies appeared to her a kind of religious pictures, ansometimes she spoke to me of God, with th

idea of converting me.

"Oh, he was a queer, good-natured being, thGod of hers! He was a sort of village philosopher without any great resources and withougreat power, for she always figured him to heself as inconsolable over injustices committeunder his eyes, as though he were powerless tprevent them.

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



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

"At the bottom of her heart she deplored mignorance of the intentions of the Eternawhich she endeavored to impart to me.

"Almost every day I found in my pockets, imy hat when I lifted it from the ground, in mpaintbox, in my polished shoes, standing ifront of my door in the morning, those littpious tracts which she no doubt, received d

rectly from Paradise.

"I treated her as one would an old friend, witunaffected cordiality. But I soon perceived thshe had changed somewhat in her manne

though, for a while, I paid little attention to it.

"When I was painting, whether in my valley oin some country lane, I would see her suddenlappear with her rapid, springy walk. Sh



would then sit down abruptly, out of breath, athough she had been running or were ovecome by some profound emotion. Her fac

would be red, that English red which is denieto the people of all other countries; then, without any reason, she would turn ashy pale anseem about to faint away. Gradually, howeveher natural color would return and she woul

begin to speak.

"Then, without warning, she would break off ithe middle of a sentence, spring up from heseat and walk away so rapidly and so strangelthat I was at my wits' ends to discover whetheI had done or said anything to displease owound her.

"I finally came to the conclusion that those werher normal manners, somewhat modified ndoubt in my honor during the first days of ouacquaintance.



"When she returned to the farm, after walkinfor hours on the windy coast, her long curoften hung straight down, as if their spring

had been broken. This had hitherto seldomgiven her any concern, and she would come tdinner without embarrassment all dishevelleby her sister, the breeze.

"But now she would go to her room and arange the untidy locks, and when I would saywith familiar gallantry, which, however, aways offended her:

"'You are as beautiful as a star to-day, MisHarriet,' a blush would immediately rise to hecheeks, the blush of a young girl, of a girl ofifteen.

"Then she would suddenly become quite reserved and cease coming to watch me paint.thought, 'This is only a fit of temper; it wiblow over.' But it did not always blow ove

and when I spoke to her she would answer m



either with affected indifference or with sulleannoyance.

"She became by turns rude, impatient and nevous. I never saw her now except at meals, anwe spoke but little. I concluded at length thatmust have offended her in some way, and, acordingly, I said to her one evening:

"'Miss Harriet, why is it that you do not atoward me as formerly? What have I done tdisplease 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 not true, not true,' and she ran upstairs anshut herself up in her room.

"Occasionally she would look at me in a peculiar manner. I have often said to myself sincthen that those who are condemned to deatmust look thus when they are informed tha



their last day has come. In her eye there lurkea species of insanity, an insanity at once mystcal and violent; and even more, a fever, an ag

gravated longing, impatient and impotent, fothe unattained and unattainable.

"Nay, it seemed to me there was also going owithin her a struggle in which her heart wre

tled with an unknown force that she sought tmaster, and even, perhaps, something else. Buwhat do I know? What do I know?

"It was indeed a singular revelation.

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

"A deep ravine, enclosed, surmounted by twthickets of trees and vines, extended into thdistance and was lost, submerged in that milkvapor, in that cloud like cotton down thasometimes floats over valleys at daybreak. An



at the extreme end of that heavy, transparenfog one saw, or, rather, surmised, that a coupof human beings were approaching, a huma

couple, a youth and a maiden, their arms intelaced, embracing each other, their heads inclined toward each other, their lips meeting.

"A first ray of the sun, glistening through th

branches, pierced that fog of the dawn, illumnated it with a rosy reflection just behind thrustic lovers, framing their vague shadows in silvery background. It was well done; yes, indeed, well done.

"I was working on the declivity which led tthe Valley of Etretat. On this particular morning I had, by chance, the sort of floating vapo

which I needed. Suddenly something rose up ifront of me like a phantom; it was Miss HarrieOn seeing me she was about to flee. But I calleafter her, saying: 'Come here, come here, mademoiselle. I have a nice little picture for you.'



"She came forward, though with seeming relutance. I handed her my sketch. She said nothing, but stood for a long time, motionless, look

ing at it, and suddenly she burst into tears. Shwept spasmodically, like men who have strivehard to restrain their tears, but who can do sno longer and abandon themselves to griethough still resisting. I sprang to my fee

moved at the sight of a sorrow I did not comprehend, and I took her by the hand with aimpulse of brusque affection, a true French impulse which acts before it reflects.

"She let her hands rest in mine for a few seconds, and I felt them quiver as if all her nervewere being wrenched. Then she withdrew hehands abruptly, or, rather, snatched them

away.

"I recognized that tremor, for I had felt it, andcould not be deceived. Ah! the love tremor of woman, whether she be fifteen or fifty years o

age, whether she be of the people or of society



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

"Her whole frail being had trembled, vibratedbeen overcome. I knew it. She walked awabefore I had time to say a word, leaving me asurprised as if I had witnessed a miracle and atroubled as if I had committed a crime.

"I did not go in to breakfast. I went to take turn on the edge of the cliff, feeling that would just as lief weep as laugh, looking on thadventure as both comic and deplorable an

my position as ridiculous, believing her unhappy enough to go insane.

"I asked myself what I ought to do. It seemebest for me to leave the place, and I immed

ately resolved to do so.

"Somewhat sad and perplexed, I wandereabout until dinner time and entered the farmhouse just when the soup had been served up.



"I sat down at the table as usual. Miss Harriwas there, eating away solemnly, without speaking to any one, without even lifting her eye

Her manner and expression were, however, thsame as usual.

"I waited patiently till the meal had been finished, when, turning toward the landlady,

said: 'Well, Madame Lecacheur, it will not blong now before I shall have to take my leave oyou.'

"The good woman, at once surprised and trou

bled, replied in her drawling voice: 'My deasir, what is it you say? You are going to leavus after I have become so accustomed to you?'

"I glanced at Miss Harriet out of the corner o

my eye. Her countenance did not change in thleast. But Celeste, the little servant, looked uat me. She was a fat girl, of about eighteeyears of age, rosy, fresh, as strong as a hors

and possessing the rare attribute of cleanlines



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

"The dinner being at length over, I went tsmoke my pipe under the apple trees, walkinup and down from one end of the enclosure tthe other. All the reflections which I had mad

during the day, the strange discovery of thmorning, that passionate and grotesque atachment for me, the recollections which tharevelation had suddenly called up, recollectionat once charming and perplexing, perhaps alsthat look which the servant had cast on me athe announcement of my departure—all thesthings, mixed up and combined, put me now ia reckless humor, gave me a tickling sensatio

of kisses on the lips and in my veins a somthing which urged me on to commit some folly

"Night was coming on, casting its dark shadows under the trees, when I descried Celest

who had gone to fasten up the poultry yard a



the other end of the enclosure. I darted towarher, running so noiselessly that she heard nothing, and as she got up from closing the sma

trapdoor by which the chickens got in and ouI clasped her in my arms and rained on hecoarse, fat face a shower of kisses. She struggled, laughing all the time, as she was accutomed to do in such circumstances. Why did

suddenly loose my grip of her? Why did I once experience a shock? What was it that heard behind me?

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

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

"I slept badly that night. I was completely un

nerved and haunted by sad thoughts. I seeme



to hear loud weeping, but in this I was ndoubt deceived. Moreover, I thought severtimes that I heard some one walking up an

down in the house and opening the hall door.

"Toward morning I was overcome by fatiguand fell asleep. I got up late and did not gdownstairs until the late breakfast, being still i

a bewildered state, not knowing what kind oexpression to put on.

"No one had seen Miss Harriet. We waited foher at table, but she did not appear. At lengt

Mother Lecacheur went to her room. The English woman had gone out. She must have sout at break of day, as she was wont to do, iorder to see the sun rise.

"Nobody seemed surprised at this, and we began to eat in silence.

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



table had been placed out of doors, under aapple tree, and from time to time Sapeur hagone to the cellar to draw a jug of cider, every

body was so thirsty. Celeste brought the dishefrom the kitchen, a ragout of mutton with potatoes, a cold rabbit and a salad. Afterward shplaced before us a dish of strawberries, the firof the season.

"As I wished to wash and freshen these, I begged the servant to go and draw me a pitcher ocold water.

"In about five minutes she returned, declarinthat the well was dry. She had lowered the picher to the full extent of the cord and had touched the bottom, but on drawing the pitcher u

again it was empty. Mother Lecacheur, anxiouto examine the thing for herself, went and looked down the hole. She returned, announcinthat one could see clearly something in thwell, something altogether unusual. But this n



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

"I wished to look down the well also, hopingmight be able to clear up the mystery, and perched myself close to the brink. I perceiveindistinctly a white object. What could it be?then conceived the idea of lowering a lantern a

the end of a cord. When I did so the yellowflame danced on the layers of stone and gradually became clearer. All four of us were leaninover the opening, Sapeur and Celeste havinnow joined us. The lantern rested on a blackand-white indistinct mass, singular, incomprhensible. Sapeur exclaimed:

"'It is a horse. I see the hoofs. It must have go

out of the meadow during the night and fallein headlong.'

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



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

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

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

Harriet!'

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

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

"But it was necessary to recover the corpse othe dead woman. I attached the young ma

securely by the waist to the end of the pullerope and lowered him very slowly, watchinhim disappear in the darkness. In one hand hheld the lantern and a rope in the other. Soon



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

"'Stop!'

"I then saw him fish something out of the water. It was the other leg. He then bound the twfeet together and shouted anew:

"'Haul up!'

"I began to wind up, but I felt my arms crackmy muscles twitch, and I was in terror lest

should let the man fall to the bottom. When hhead 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 othe well and from opposite sides we began thaul up the body.



"Mother Lecacheur and Celeste watched ufrom a distance, concealed from view behinthe wall of the house. When they saw issuin

from the hole the black slippers and white stokings of the drowned person they disappeared

"Sapeur seized the ankles, and we drew up thbody of the poor woman. The head was shock

ing to look at, being bruised and lacerated, anthe long gray hair, out of curl forevermorhanging down tangled and disordered.

"'In the name of all that is holy! how lean sh

is,' exclaimed Sapeur in a contemptuous tone.

"We carried her into the room, and as the women did not put in an appearance I, with thassistance of the stable lad, dressed the corps

for burial.

"I washed her disfigured face. Under the toucof my finger an eye was slightly opened anregarded me with that pale, cold look, that te



rible look of a corpse which seems to comfrom the beyond. I braided as well as I coulher dishevelled hair and with my clumsy hand

arranged on her head a novel and singular coifure. Then I took off her dripping wet gaments, baring, not without a feeling of shamas though I had been guilty of some profanation, her shoulders and her chest and her lon

arms, as slim as the twigs of a tree.

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

"I then had to go through the usual formalitieas I was alone to attend to everything. A lettefound in her pocket, written at the last momen

requested that her body be buried in the villagin which she had passed the last days of helife. A sad suspicion weighed on my heart. Wait not on my account that she wished to be laito rest in this place?



"Toward evening all the female gossips of thlocality came to view the remains of the dfunct, but I would not allow a single person t

enter. I wanted to be alone, and I watched beside her all night.

"I looked at the corpse by the flickering light othe candles, at this unhappy woman, unknow

to us all, who had died in such a lamentabmanner and so far away from home. Had shleft no friends, no relations behind her? Whahad her infancy been? What had been her lifeWhence had she come thither alone, a wanderer, lost like a dog driven from home? Whasecrets of sufferings and of despair were sealeup in that unprepossessing body, in that poobody whose outward appearance had drive

from her all affection, all love?

"How many unhappy beings there are! I fethat there weighed upon that human creaturthe eternal injustice of implacable nature! It wa

all over with her, without her ever having ex



perienced, perhaps, that which sustains thgreatest outcasts to wit, the hope of being loveonce! Otherwise why should she thus have con

cealed herself, fled from the face of othersWhy did she love everything so tenderly and spassionately, everything living that was not man?

"I recognized the fact that she believed in God, and that she hoped to receive compensation from the latter for all the miseries she haendured. She would now disintegrate and bcome, in turn, a plant. She would blossom ithe sun, the cattle would browse on her leavethe birds would bear away the seeds, anthrough these changes she would become agaihuman flesh. But that which is called the sou

had been extinguished at the bottom of thdark well. She suffered no longer. She had gven her life for that of others yet to come.

"Hours passed away in this silent and siniste

communion with the dead. A pale light a



length announced the dawn of a new day; thea red ray streamed in on the bed, making a baof light across the coverlet and across he

hands. This was the hour she had so much loved. The awakened birds began to sing in thtrees.

"I opened the window to its fullest extent an

drew back the curtains that the whole heavenmight look in upon us, and, bending over thicy corpse, I took in my hands the mutilatehead and slowly, without terror or disgust, imprinted a kiss, a long kiss, upon those lipwhich had never before been kissed."

Leon Chenal remained silent. The womewept. We heard on the box seat the Count d'A

traille blowing his nose from time to time. Thcoachman alone had gone to sleep. The horsewho no longer felt the sting of the whip, haslackened their pace and moved along slowlyThe drag, hardly advancing at all, seemed sud



denly torpid, as if it had been freighted witsorrow.

[Miss Harriet appeared in Le Gaulois, July

1883, under the titleof Miss Hastings. The story was later revised

enlarged; and partlyreconstructed. This is what De Maupassan

wrote to Editor HavardMarch 15, 1884, in an unedited letter, in regard to the title of the

story that was to give its name to the volume

"I do not believe that Hastings is a bad naminasmuch as it is

known all over the world, and recalls thgreatest facts in English

history. Besides, Hastings is as much a namas Duval is with us.

"The name Cherbuliez selected, Miss Revel, no more like an



English name than like a Turkish name. Buhere is another name as

English as Hastings, and more euphonious;

is Miss Harriet.I will ask you therefore to substitute Harrie

for Hastings."

It was in regard to this very tittle that D

Maupassant had adisagreement with Audran and Bouchero

director of the BouffesParisiens in October, 1890 They had given th

title to an operettaabout to be played at the Bouffes. It endehowever, by their

ceding to De Maupassant, and the title of thoperetta was changed

to Miss Helyett.]



LITTLE LOUISE ROQUE

The former soldier, Mederic Rompel, familiarlcalled Mederic by the country folks, left thpost office of Roily-le-Tors at the usual houAfter passing through the village with his lonstride, he cut across the meadows of Villaum

and reached the bank of the Brindille, followinthe path along the water's edge to the village oCarvelin, where he commenced to deliver hletters. He walked quickly, following the cours

of the narrow river, which frothed, murmureand boiled in its grassy bed beneath an arch owillows.

Mederic went on without stopping, with onl

this thought in his mind: "My first letter is fothe Poivron family, then I have one for Monsieur Renardet; so I must cross the wood."

His blue blouse, fastened round his waist by

black leather belt, moved in a quick, regula



fashion above the green hedge of willow treeand his stout stick of holly kept time with hsteady tread.

He crossed the Brindille on a bridge consistinof a tree trunk, with a handrail of rope, fatened at either end to a stake driven into thground.

The wood, which belonged to Monsieur Renadet, the mayor of Carvelin and the largest landowner in the district, consisted of huge oltrees, straight as pillars and extending for abou

half a league along the left bank of the streamwhich served as a boundary to this immensdome of foliage. Alongside the water largshrubs had grown up in the sunlight, but unde

the trees one found nothing but moss, thicksoft and yielding, from which arose, in the stiair, an odor of dampness and of dead wood.

Mederic slackened his pace, took off his blac

cap adorned with red lace and wiped his fore



head, for it was by this time hot in the meadows, though it was not yet eight o'clock in thmorning.

He had just recovered from the effects of thheat and resumed his quick pace when he noticed at the foot of a tree a knife, a child's smaknife. When he picked it up he discovered

thimble and also a needlecase not far away.

Having taken up these objects, he thought: "Ientrust them to the mayor," and he resumed hjourney, but now he kept his eyes open, expec

ing to find something else.

All of a sudden he stopped short, as if he hastruck against a wooden barrier. Ten paces ifront of him lay stretched on her back on th

moss a little girl, perfectly nude, her face covered with a handkerchief. She was about twelvyears old.



Meredic advanced on tiptoe, as if he apprhended some danger, and he glanced towarthe spot uneasily.

What was this? No doubt she was asleep. Thehe reflected that a person does not go to sleenaked at half-past seven in the morning undethe cool trees. So, then, she must be dead, an

he must be face to face with a crime. At ththought a cold shiver ran through his framalthough he was an old soldier. And then murder was such a rare thing in the countryand, above all, the murder of a child, that hcould not believe his eyes. But she had nwound-nothing save a spot of blood on her leHow, then, had she been killed?

He stopped close to her and gazed at her, whihe leaned on his stick. Certainly he must knowher, for he knew all the inhabitants of the ditrict; but, not being able to get a look at her face, he could not guess her name. He stoope

forward in order to take off the handkerchi



which covered her face, then paused, with oustretched hand, restrained by an idea that ocurred to him.

Had he the right to disarrange anything in thcondition of the corpse before the official invetigation? He pictured justice to himself as kind of general whom nothing escapes an

who attaches as much importance to a lost buton as to the stab of a knife in the stomach. Pehaps under this handkerchief evidence coulbe found to sustain a charge of murder; in facif such proof were there it might lose its value touched by an awkward hand.

Then he raised himself with the intention ohastening toward the mayor's residence, bu

again another thought held him back. If thlittle girl were still alive, by any chance, hcould not leave her lying there in this way. Hsank on his knees very gently, a little distancfrom her, through precaution, and extended h

hand toward her foot. It was icy cold, with th



terrible coldness of death which leaves us nlonger in doubt. The letter carrier, as he touched her, felt his heart in his mouth, as he sai

himself afterward, and his mouth parched. Riing up abruptly, he rushed off under the treetoward Monsieur Renardet's house.

He walked on faster than ever, with his stic

under his arm, his hands clenched and his heathrust forward, while his leathern bag, fillewith letters and newspapers, kept flapping ahis side.

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

It was a big square house of gray stone, ver

old, and had stood many a siege in formedays, and at the end of it was a huge towetwenty metres high, rising out of the water.



From the top of this fortress one could formerlsee all the surrounding country. It was callethe Fox's tower, without any one knowing ex

actly why; and from this appellation, no doubhad come the name Renardet, borne by thowners of this fief, which had remained in thsame family, it was said, for more than twhundred years. For the Renardets formed pa

of the upper middle class, all but noble, to bmet with so often in the province before thRevolution.

The postman dashed into the kitchen, wherthe servants were taking breakfast, and exclaimed:

"Is the mayor up? I want to speak to him a

once."Mederic was recognized as a man of standinand authority, and they understood that somthing serious had happened.



As soon as word was brought to Monsieur Rnardet, he ordered the postman to be sent up thim. Pale and out of breath, with his cap in h

hand, Mederic found the mayor seated at long table covered with scattered papers.

He was a large, tall man, heavy and red-facedstrong as an ox, and was greatly liked in th

district, although of an excessively violent diposition. Almost forty years old and a widowefor the past six months, he lived on his estalike a country gentleman. His choleric temperament had often brought him into troubfrom which the magistrates of Roily-le-Torlike indulgent and prudent friends, had extrcated him. Had he not one day thrown the conductor of the diligence from the top of his sea

because he came near running over his retriever, Micmac? Had he not broken the ribs oa gamekeeper who abused him for having, guin hand, passed through a neighbor's propertyHad he not even caught by the collar the sub



prefect, who stopped over in the village durinan administrative circuit, called by MonsieuRenardet an electioneering circuit, for he wa

opposed to the government, in accordance witfamily 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 o

brick."What do you say—a little girl?"

"Yes, m'sieu, a little girl, quite naked, on heback, 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 RoquI have just learned that she did not go home ther mother last night. Where did you find her?

The postman described the spot, gave full details and offered to conduct the mayor to thplace.

But Renardet became brusque:

"No, I don't need you. Send the watchman, thmayor's secretary and the doctor to me at oncand resume your rounds. Quick, quick, go an

tell them to meet me in the wood."

The letter carrier, a man used to discipline, obeyed and withdrew, angry and grieved at nobeing able to be present at the investigation.

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



large beds of flowers in full bloom, one facinthe house and the others at either side of iFarther on the outlying trees of the wood ros

skyward, while at the left, beyond the Brindillwhich at that spot widened into a pond, coulbe seen long meadows, an entirely green flasweep of country, intersected by trenches anhedges of pollard willows.

To the right, behind the stables, the outhouseand all the buildings connected with the property, might be seen the village, which wawealthy, being mainly inhabited by cattle breeders.

Renardet slowly descended the steps in front ohis house, and, turning to the left, gained th

water's edge, which he followed at a slow pachis hand behind his back. He walked on, witbent head, and from time to time glanceround in search of the persons he had sent for.



When he stood beneath the trees he stoppedtook off his hat and wiped his forehead as Mederic had done, for the burning sun was dar

ing its fiery rays on the earth. Then the mayoresumed his journey, stopped once more anretraced his steps. Suddenly, stooping downhe steeped his handkerchief in the stream thaglided along at his feet and spread it over h

head, under his hat. Drops of water flowedown his temples over his ears, which weralways purple, over his strong red neck, anmade their way, one after the other, under h

white shirt collar.

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

"Hello! Hello!"A voice at his right answered:

"Hello! Hello!"



And the doctor appeared under the trees. Hwas a thin little man, an ex-military surgeonwho passed in the neighborhood for a ver

skillful practitioner. He limped, having beewounded while in the service, and had to usestick to assist him in walking.

Next came the watchman and the mayor's sec

retary, who, having been sent for at the samtime, arrived together. They looked scared, anhurried forward, out of breath, walking anrunning alternately to hasten their progresand moving their arms up and down so vigoously that they seemed to do more work witthem 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 Mederic."



"That's quite correct. Come on!"

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

Their steps made no sound on the moss. Theeyes 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 gleame

down through the branches. As they approached they gradually distinguished human form lying there, its head toward thriver, the face covered and the arms extende

as though on a crucifix.

"I am fearfully warm," said the mayor, anstooping down, he again soaked his handkechief in the water and placed it round his fore

head.



The doctor hastened his steps, interested by thdiscovery. As soon as they were near the corpse, he bent down to examine it without touch

ing it. He had put on his pince-nez, as one doein examining some curious object, and turneround very quietly.

He said, without rising:

"Violated and murdered, as we shall prove presently. This little girl, moreover, is almost woman—look at her throat."

The doctor lightly drew away the handkerchiewhich covered her face, which looked blackfrightful, the tongue protruding, the eyebloodshot. He went on:

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

He felt her neck.



"Strangled with the hands without leaving anspecial trace, neither the mark of the nails nothe imprint of the fingers. Quite right. It is litt

Louise Roque, sure enough!"

He carefully replaced the handkerchief.

"There's nothing for me to do. She's been dea

for the last hour at least. We must give notice othe matter to the authorities."

Renardet, standing up, with his hands behinhis back, kept staring with a stony look at th

little body exposed to view on the grass. Hmurmured:

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

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

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



The mayor thereupon gave directions:

"Do you, Principe," (this was his secretary), "gand find those clothes for me along the streamYou, Maxime," (this was the watchman), "hurron toward Rouy-le-Tors and bring with you thmagistrate with the gendarmes. They must bhere within an hour. You understand?"

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

"What miscreant could have done such a dee

in this part of the country?"

The doctor murmured:

"Who knows? Any one is capable of that. Ever

one in particular and nobody in general. Nmatter, it must be some prowler, some workman out of employment. Since we have becoma Republic we meet only this kind of persoalong the roads."



Both of them were Bonapartists.

The mayor went on:

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

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

"And without a wife. Having neither a goosupper nor a good bed, he became recklesYou can't tell how many men there may be i

the world capable of a crime at a given moment. Did you know that this little girl hadisappeared?"

And with the end of his stick he touched on

after the other the stiffened fingers of the corpse, resting on them as on the keys of a piano.

"Yes, the mother came last night to look for mabout nine o'clock, the child not having com

home at seven to supper. We looked for he



along the roads up to midnight, but we did nothink of the wood. However, we needed daylight to carry out a thorough search."

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

"Thanks, I don't care to smoke. This thing afects me so."

They remained standing beside the corpse othe young girl, so pale on the dark moss. A biblue fly was walking over the body with hlively, jerky movements. The two men kep

watching this wandering speck.

The doctor said:

"How pretty it is, a fly on the skin! The ladies o

the last century had good reason to paste themon their faces. Why has this fashion gone out?"

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



But, all of a sudden, he turned round, surpriseby a shrill noise. A woman in a cap and bluapron was running toward them under th

trees. It was the mother, La Roque. As soon ashe saw Renardet she began to shriek:

"My little girl! Where's my little girl?" so ditractedly that she did not glance down at th

ground. Suddenly she saw the corpse, stoppeshort, clasped her hands and raised both hearms while she uttered a sharp, heartrendincry—the cry of a wounded animal. Then shrushed toward the body, fell on her knees ansnatched away the handkerchief that coverethe face. When she saw that frightful countenance, black and distorted, she rose to her fewith a shudder, then sinking to the ground

face downward, she pressed her face againthe ground and uttered frightful, continuouscreams on the thick moss.

Her tall, thin frame, with its close-clingin

dress, was palpitating, shaken with spasm



One could see her bony ankles and her driedup calves covered with coarse blue stockingshaking horribly. She was digging the soil wit

her crooked fingers, as though she were tryinto 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 gavvent to a sort of loud sneeze, and, drawing hhandkerchief from his pocket, he began t

weep internally, coughing, sobbing and blowing his nose noisily.

He stammered:

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

Principe reappeared with his hands empty. Hmurmured:



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

The mayor, alarmed, replied in a thick voicdrowned in tears:

"What is that you could not find?"

"The little girl's clothes."

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

The man, knowing that the mayor would no

brook opposition, set forth again with hesitaing steps, casting a timid side glance at thcorpse.

Distant voices were heard under the trees, confused sound, the noise of an approachincrowd, for Mederic had, in the course of hrounds, carried the news from door to dooThe people of the neighborhood, dazed at firs

had gossiped about it in the street, from on



threshold to another. Then they gathered together. They talked over, discussed and commented on the event for some minutes and ha

now come to see for themselves.

They arrived in groups, a little faltering anuneasy through fear of the first impression osuch a scene on their minds. When they saw th

body they stopped, not daring to advance, anspeaking low. Then they grew bolder, went oa few steps, stopped again, advanced once more, and presently formed around the dead girher mother, the doctor and Renardet a closcircle, restless and noisy, which crowded foward at the sudden impact of newcomers. Annow they touched the corpse. Some of themeven bent down to feel it with their fingers. Th

doctor kept them back. But the mayor, wakinabruptly out of his torpor, flew into a rage, anseizing Dr. Labarbe's stick, flung himself on htownspeople, stammering:



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

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

Mother La Roque had risen to a sitting posturand now remained weeping, with her hand

clasped over her face.

The crowd was discussing the affair, and younlads' eager eyes curiously scrutinized this nudyoung form. Renardet perceived this, and

abruptly taking off his coat, he flung it over thlittle girl, who was entirely hidden from viewbeneath the large garment.

The secretary drew near quietly. The wood wa

filled with people, and a continuous hum ovoices rose up under the tangled foliage of thtall trees.



The mayor, in his shirt sleeves, remained standing, with his stick in his hands, in a fightinattitude. He seemed exasperated by this curio

ity on the part of the people and kept repeating

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

The peasants were greatly afraid of him. Theheld back. Dr. Labarbe, who was smoking, sadown beside La Roque and spoke to her in oder to distract her attention. The old woman aonce removed her hands from her face and r

plied with a flood of tearful words, emptyinher grief in copious talk. She told the whostory of her life, her marriage, the death of heman, a cattle drover, who had been gored t

death, the infancy of her daughter, her wreched existence as a widow without resourceand with a child to support. She had only thone, her little Louise, and the child had beekilled—killed in this wood. Then she felt anx

ious to see her again, and, dragging herself o



her knees toward the corpse, she raised up oncorner of the garment that covered her; theshe let it fall again and began wailing onc

more. The crowd remained silent, eagerly waching all the mother's gestures.

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

Two gendarmes appeared in the distance, advancing at a rapid trot, escorting their captaiand a little gentleman with red whiskers, whwas bobbing up and down like a monkey on

big white mare.

The watchman had just found Monsieur Putoin, the magistrate, at the moment when hwas mounting his horse to take his daily rid

for he posed as a good horseman, to the greamusement of the officers.

He dismounted, along with the captain, anpressed the hands of the mayor and the docto



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

When he was made acquainted with all thfacts, he first gave orders to disperse the crowdwhom the gendarmes drove out of the woodbut who soon reappeared in the meadow anformed a hedge, a big hedge of excited an

moving heads, on the other side of the stream.

The doctor, in his turn, gave explanationwhich Renardet noted down in his memorandum book. All the evidence was given, take

down and commented on without leading tany discovery. Maxime, too, came back withouhaving found any trace of the clothes.

This disappearance surprised everybody; n

one could explain it except on the theory otheft, and as her rags were not worth twentsous, even this theory was inadmissible.



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

Renardet said to the judge:

"How does it happen that this wretch has concealed or carried away the clothes, and has thu

left the body exposed, in sight of every one?"

The other, crafty and sagacious, answered:

"Ha! ha! Perhaps a dodge? This crime has bee

committed either by a brute or by a sly scoundrel. In any case, we'll easily succeed in findinhim."

The noise of wheels made them turn the

heads round. It was the deputy magistrate, thdoctor and the registrar of the court who haarrived in their turn. They resumed thesearch, all chatting in an animated fashion.

Renardet said suddenly:



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

Every one smilingly accepted the invitationand the magistrate, thinking that the case olittle Louise Roque had occupied enough attention for one day, turned toward the mayor.

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

The other became confused and stammered:

"Yes—no—no. To tell the truth, I prefer that should not come into my house on account of—on account of my servants, who are alreadtalking about ghosts in—in my tower, in th

Fox's tower. You know—I could no longer keea single one. No—I prefer not to have it in mhouse."

The magistrate began to smile.



"Good! I will have it taken at once to Roily fothe legal examination." And, turning to his dputy, he said:

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

"Yes, certainly."

They all came back to the place where the corpse lay. Mother La Roque, now seated beside hedaughter, was holding her hand and was staing right before her with a wandering, listleseye.

The two doctors endeavored to lead her awayso that she might not witness the dead girlremoval, but she understood at once what thewanted to do, and, flinging herself on the body

she threw both arms round it. Lying on top othe corpse, she exclaimed:



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

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

"Listen, La Roque, it is necessary, in order tfind out who killed her. Without this, we coulnot find out. We must make a search for thman in order to punish him. When we havfound him we'll give her up to you. I promis

you this."

This explanation bewildered the woman, and feeling of hatred manifested itself in her ditracted glance.

"So then they'll arrest him?"

"Yes, I promise you that."



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

"It is surprising that her clothes were nofound," a new idea, which she had not prevously thought of, abruptly entered her mindand she asked:

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

They explained to her that they had not beefound. Then she demanded them persistently

crying and moaning.

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

The more they tried to calm her the more shsobbed and persisted in her demands. She nlonger wanted the body, she insisted on havinthe clothes, as much perhaps through the unconscious cupidity of a wretched being t



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

And when the little body, rolled up in blankewhich had been brought out from Renardethouse, had disappeared in the vehicle, the olwoman standing under the trees, sustained bthe mayor and the captain, exclaimed:

"I have nothing, nothing, nothing in the worldnot even her little cap —her little cap."

The cure, a young priest, had just arrived. H

took it on himself to accompany the motheand they went away together toward the vilage. The mother's grief was modified by thsugary words of the clergyman, who promiseher a thousand compensations. But she kep

repeating: "If I had only her little cap." This idenow dominated every other.

Renardet called from the distance:



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

The priest turned his head round and replied:

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

And they all directed their steps toward thhouse, whose gray front, with the large towebuilt on the edge of the Brindille, could be seethrough the branches.

The meal lasted a long time. They talked abouthe crime. Everybody was of the same opinionIt had been committed by some tramp passinthere by mere chance while the little girl wabathing.

Then the magistrates returned to Rouy, announcing that they would return next day at aearly hour. The doctor and the cure went ttheir respective homes, while Renardet, after



long walk through the meadows, returned tthe wood, where he remained walking tinightfall with slow steps, his hands behind h

back.

He went to bed early and was still asleep nexmorning when the magistrate entered his roomHe was rubbing his hands together with a sel

satisfied air.

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

The mayor sat up in his bed.

"What, pray?"

"Oh! Something strange. You remember we

how the mother clamored yesterday for sommemento of her daughter, especially her littcap? Well, on opening her door this morninshe found on the threshold her child's two littlwooden shoes. This proves that the crime wa



perpetrated by some one from the district, some one who felt pity for her. Besides, the posman, Mederic, brought me the thimble, the kn

fe and the needle case of the dead girl. So, thenthe man in carrying off the clothes to hide themmust have let fall the articles which were in thpocket. As for me, I attach special importancto the wooden shoes, as they indicate a certai

moral culture and a faculty for tenderness othe part of the assassin. We will, therefore, you have no objection, go over together thprincipal inhabitants of your district."

The mayor got up. He rang for his shaving wter and said:

"With pleasure, but it will take some time, an

we may begin at once."M. Putoin sat astride a chair.

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



sharpened his razor on the strop and continued:

"The principal inhabitant of Carvelin bears thname of Joseph Renardet, mayor, a rich landowner, a rough man who beats guards ancoachmen—"

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 landowner, a crafty peasant, very sly, very closfisted on every question of money, buincapable in my opinion of having perpetratesuch a crime."

"Continue," said M. Putoin.

Renardet, while proceeding with his toilet, reviewed the characters of all the inhabitants o

Carvelin. After two hours' discussion their su



picions were fixed on three individuals whhad hitherto borne a shady reputation—a poacher named Cavalle, a fisherman named P

quet, who caught trout and crabs, and a cattdrover named Clovis II.

The search for the perpetrator of the crime lated all summer, but he was not discovered

Those who were suspected and arrested easilproved their innocence, and the authoritiewere compelled to abandon the attempt to capture the criminal.

But this murder seemed to have moved thentire country in a singular manner. There remained in every one's mind a disquietude, vague fear, a sensation of mysterious terro

springing not merely from the impossibility odiscovering any trace of the assassin, but alsand above all from that strange finding of thwooden shoes in front of La Roque's door thday after the crime. The certainty that the mu

derer had assisted at the investigation, that h



was still, doubtless, living in the village, posessed all minds and seemed to brood over thneighborhood like a constant menace.

The wood had also become a dreaded spot, place to be avoided and supposed to be haunted.

Formerly the inhabitants went there to spenevery Sunday afternoon. They used to sit dowon the moss at the feet of the huge tall trees owalk along the water's edge watching the trougliding among the weeds. The boy's used t

play bowls, hide-and-seek and other gamewhere the ground had been cleared and levelled, and the girls, in rows of four or fivwould trip along, holding one another by th

arms and screaming songs with their shrill voces. Now nobody ventured there for fear ofinding some corpse lying on the ground.

Autumn arrived, the leaves began to fall from

the tall trees, whirling round and round to th



ground, and the sky could be seen through thbare branches. Sometimes, when a gust of winswept over the tree tops, the slow, continuou

rain suddenly grew heavier and became rough storm that covered the moss with a thicyellow carpet that made a kind of creakinsound beneath one's feet.

And the sound of the falling leaves seemed lika wail and the leaves themselves like tears sheby these great, sorrowful trees, that wept in thsilence of the bare and empty wood, this dreaded and deserted wood where wandered lonly the soul, the little soul of little Louise Roque

The Brindille, swollen by the storms, rushed omore quickly, yellow and angry, between i

dry banks, bordered by two thin, bare, willowhedges.

And here was Renardet suddenly resuming hwalks under the trees. Every day, at sunset, h

came out of his house, descended the fron



steps slowly and entered the wood in a dreamfashion, with his hands in his pockets, and pced over the damp soft moss, while a legion o

rooks from all the neighboring haunts camthither to rest in the tall trees and then flew olike a black cloud uttering loud, discordancries.

Night came on, and Renardet was still strollinslowly under the trees; then, when the darknesprevented him from walking any longer, hwould go back to the house and sink into harmchair in front of the glowing hearth, stretching his damp feet toward the fire.

One morning an important bit of news wacirculated through the district; the mayor wa

having his wood cut down.Twenty woodcutters were already at workThey had commenced at the corner nearest tthe house and worked rapidly in the master

presence.



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

Renardet no longer walked up, and down. Hremained from morning till night, contemplaing, motionless, with his hands behind hback, the slow destruction of his wood. When

tree fell he placed his foot on it as if it were corpse. Then he raised his eyes to the next wita kind of secret, calm impatience, as if he expected, hoped for something at the end of thslaughter.

Meanwhile they were approaching the placwhere little Louise Roque had been foundThey came to it one evening in the twilight.

As it was dark, the sky being overcast, thwoodcutters wanted to stop their work, puttinoff till next day the fall of an enormous beectree, but the mayor objected to this and insiste



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

When the lopper had laid it bare and the woodcutters had sapped its base, five men commenced hauling at the rope attached to the top

The tree resisted; its powerful trunk, althoug

notched to the centre, was as rigid as iron. Thworkmen, all together, with a sort of simultaneous motion,' strained at the rope, bendinbackward and uttering a cry which timed anregulated their efforts.

Two woodcutters standing close to the gianremained with axes in their grip, like two executioners ready to strike once more, and Renardet, motionless, with his hand on the trunk

awaited the fall with an uneasy, nervous feeing.

One of the men said to him:



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

He did not reply and did not move away. Hseemed ready to catch the beech tree in hopen arms and to cast it on the ground like wrestler.

All at once, at the base of the tall column owood there was a rent which seemed to run tthe top, like a painful shock; it bent slightlyready to fall, but still resisting. The men, in state of excitement, stiffened their arms, r

newed their efforts with greater vigor, and, juas the tree came crashing down, Renardet suddenly made a forward step, then stopped, hshoulders raised to receive the irresistib

shock, the mortal shock which would crushim to the earth.

But the beech tree, having deviated a little, onlrubbed against his loins, throwing him on h

face, five metres away.



The workmen dashed forward to lift him upHe had already arisen to his knees, stupefiedwith bewildered eyes and passing his han

across his forehead, as if he were awaking froman attack of madness.

When he had got to his feet once more the menastonished, questioned him, not being able t

understand what he had done. He replied ifaltering tones that he had been dazed for moment, or, rather, he had been thinking of hchildhood days; that he thought he would havtime to run under the tree, just as street boyrush in front of vehicles driving rapidly pasthat he had played at danger; that for the paeight days he felt this desire growing strongewithin him, asking himself each time a tre

began to fall whether he could pass beneath without being touched. It was a piece of stupidity, he confessed, but every one has these moments of insanity and these temptations to boyish folly.



He made this explanation in a slow tone, seaching for his words, and speaking in a colorlestone.

Then he went off, saying:

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

As soon as he got back to his room he sat dowat his table which his lamp lighted up brightlyand, burying his head in his hands, he began tcry.

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

He thought:

"I have time before dinner."

And he went to the door and locked it. He thecame back, and, sitting down at his table, pu

lled out the middle drawer. Taking from it



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

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

He walked from one end of the apartment tthe other, stopping from time to time, only tpace up and down again a moment afterwardSuddenly he opened the door of his dressingroom, steeped a towel in the water pitcher an

moistened his forehead, as he had done on thmorning of the crime.

Then he, began walking up and down againEach time he passed the table the gleamin

revolver attracted his glance, tempted his handbut he kept watching the clock and reflected:

"I have still time."



It struck half-past six. Then he took up the rvolver, opened his mouth wide with a frightfugrimace and stuck the barrel into it as if h

wanted to swallow it. He remained in this postion for some seconds without moving, his finger on the trigger. Then, suddenly seized withshudder of horror, he dropped the pistol on thcarpet.

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, bewildered. A servant said:

"Monsieur's dinner is ready."

He replied:

"All right. I'm coming down."



Then he picked up the revolver, locked it uagain in the drawer and looked at himself ithe mirror over the mantelpiece to see whethe

his face did not look too much troubled. It waas red as usual, a little redder perhaps. Thawas all. He went down and seated himself atable.

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

Then he smoked several pipes in the hall whithe table was being cleared. After that he wen

back to his room.

As soon as he had locked himself in he lookedunder the bed, opened all the closets, exploreevery corner, rummaged through all the furn

ture. Then he lighted the candles on the mantelpiece, and, turning round several times, rahis eye all over the apartment with an anguisof terror that distorted his face, for he knew

well that he would see her, as he did ever



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

Every night the odious vision came back againFirst he seemed to hear a kind of roaring soundsuch as is made by a threshing machine or thdistant passage of a train over a bridge. Thehe commenced to gasp, to suffocate, and he ha

to unbutton his collar and his belt. He moveabout to make his blood circulate, he tried tread, he attempted to sing. It was in vain. Hthoughts, in spite of himself, went back to thday of the murder and made him begin it aover again in all its most secret details, with athe violent emotions he had experienced fromthe first minute to the last.

He had felt on rising that morning, the morninof the horrible day, a little dizziness and headache, which he attributed to the heat, so that hremained in his room until breakfast time.



After the meal he had taken a siesta, then, toward the close of the afternoon, he had gonout to breathe the fresh, soothing breeze unde

the trees in the wood.

But, as soon as he was outside, the heavy, scoching air of the plain oppressed him still morThe sun, still high in the heavens, poured dow

on the parched soil waves of burning light. Noa breath of wind stirred the leaves. Every beaand bird, even the grasshoppers, were silenRenardet reached the tall trees and began twalk over the moss where the Brindille produced a slight freshness of the air beneath thimmense roof of branches. But he felt ill at easIt seemed to him that an unknown, invisibhand was strangling him, and he scarcel

thought of anything, having usually few ideain his head. For the last three months only onthought haunted him, the thought of marryinagain. He suffered from living alone, sufferefrom it morally and physically. Accustomed fo



ten years past to feeling a woman near himhabituated to her presence every moment, hhad need, an imperious and perplexing need o

such association. Since Madame Renardetdeath he had suffered continually withouknowing why, he had suffered at not feelinher dress brushing past him, and, above alfrom no longer being able to calm and rest him

self in her arms. He had been scarcely smonths a widower and he was already lookinabout in the district for some young girl or some widow he might marry when his period o

mourning was at an end.

He had a chaste soul, but it was lodged in powerful, herculean body, and carnal imaginings began to disturb his sleep and his vigil

He drove them away; they came back againand he murmured from time to time, smiling ahimself:

"Here I am, like St. Anthony."



Having this special morning had several othese visions, the desire suddenly came into hbreast to bathe in the Brindille in order to r

fresh himself and cool his blood.

He knew of a large deep pool, a little farthedown, where the people of the neighborhoocame sometimes to take a dip in summer. H

went there.

Thick willow trees hid this clear body of watewhere the current rested and went to sleep for while before starting on its way again. Rena

det, as he appeared, thought he heard a lighsound, a faint plashing which was not that othe stream on the banks. He softly put aside thleaves and looked. A little girl, quite naked i

the transparent water, was beating the watewith both hands, dancing about in it and dipping herself with pretty movements. She wanot a child nor was she yet a woman. She waplump and developed, while preserving an a

of youthful precocity, as of one who had grow



rapidly. He no longer moved, overcome witsurprise, with desire, holding his breath with strange, poignant emotion. He remained ther

his heart beating as if one of his sensuoudreams had just been realized, as if an impurfairy had conjured up before him this youncreature, this little rustic Venus, rising from theddies of the stream as the real Venus ros

from the waves of the sea.

Suddenly the little girl came out of the wateand, without seeing him, came over to wherhe stood, looking for her clothes in order tdress herself. As she approached gingerly, oaccount of the sharp-pointed stones, he fehimself pushed toward her by an irresistibforce, by a bestial transport of passion, whic

stirred his flesh, bewildered his mind and madhim tremble from head to foot.

She remained standing some seconds behinthe willow tree which concealed him from

view. Then, losing his reason entirely, he pu



hed aside the branches, rushed on her and sezed her in his arms. She fell, too terrified toffer any resistance, too terror-stricken to cr

out. He seemed possessed, not understandinwhat he was doing.

He woke from his crime as one wakes from nightmare. 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 youtongue! Keep quiet!" he continued.

She kept shrieking as she tried to free hersel

He suddenly realized that he was ruined, anhe caught her by the neck to stop her moutfrom uttering these heartrending, dreadfuscreams. As she continued to struggle with thdesperate strength of a being who is seeking t



fly from death, he pressed his enormous handon the little throat swollen with screaming, anin a few seconds he had strangled her, so fur

ously did he grip her. He had not intended tkill her, but only to make her keep quiet.

Then he stood up, overwhelmed with horror.

She lay before him, her face bleeding and blakened. He was about to rush away when thersprang up in his agitated soul the mysteriouand undefined instinct that guides all beings ithe hour of danger.

He was going to throw the body into the watebut another impulse drove him toward the clohes, which he made into a small package. Thenas he had a piece of twine in his pocket, he tie

it up and hid it in a deep portion of the streambeneath the trunk of a tree that overhung thBrindille.



Then he went off at a rapid pace, reached thmeadows, took a wide turn in order to showhimself to some peasants who dwelt some di

tance away at the opposite side of the districand came back to dine at the usual hour, tellinhis servants all that was supposed to have happened during his walk.

He slept, however, that night; he slept with heavy, brutish sleep like the sleep of certaipersons condemned to death. He did not opehis eyes until the first glimmer of dawn, and hwaited till his usual hour for riding, so as texcite no suspicion.

Then he had to be present at the inquiry as tthe cause of death. He did so like a somnambu

list, in a kind of vision which showed him meand things as in a dream, in a cloud of intoxication, with that sense of unreality which peplexes the mind at the time of the greatest catastrophes.



But the agonized cry of Mother Roque piercehis heart. At that moment he had felt inclineto cast himself at the old woman's feet and t

exclaim:

"I am the guilty one!"

But he had restrained himself. He went bac

however, during the night to fish up the deagirl's wooden shoes, in order to place them oher mother's threshold.

As long as the inquiry lasted, as long as it wa

necessary to lead justice astray he was calmmaster of himself, crafty and smiling. He dicussed quietly with the magistrates all the suppositions that passed through their mindcombated their opinions and demolished the

arguments. He even took a keen and mournfupleasure in disturbing their investigations, iembroiling their ideas, in showing the innocence of those whom they suspected.



But as soon as the inquiry was abandoned hbecame gradually nervous, more excitable thahe had been before, although he mastered h

irritability. Sudden noises made him start witfear; he shuddered at the slightest thing antrembled sometimes from head to foot when fly alighted on his forehead. Then he was sezed with an imperious desire for motion, whic

impelled him to take long walks and to remaiup whole nights pacing up and down his room

It was not that he was goaded by remorse. Hbrutal nature did not lend itself to any shade osentiment or of moral terror. A man of energand even of violence, born to make war, to ravage conquered countries and to massacre thvanquished, full of the savage instincts of th

hunter and the fighter, he scarcely took counof human life. Though he respected the Churcoutwardly, from policy, he believed neither iGod nor the devil, expecting neither chastisment nor recompense for his acts in anothe



life. His sole belief was a vague philosophdrawn from all the ideas of the encyclopedisof the last century, and he regarded religion a

a moral sanction of the law, the one and thother having been invented by men to regulasocial relations. To kill any one in a duel, or iwar, or in a quarrel, or by accident, or for thsake of revenge, or even through bravad

would have seemed to him an amusing anclever thing and would not have left more impression on his mind than a shot fired at a harbut he had experienced a profound emotion a

the murder of this child. He had, in the firplace, perpetrated it in the heat of an irresistibgust of passion, in a sort of tempest of the senses that had overpowered his reason. And hhad cherished in his heart, in his flesh, on h

lips, even to the very tips of his murderous fingers a kind of bestial love, as well as a feeling oterrified horror, toward this little girl surpriseby him and basely killed. Every moment hthoughts returned to that horrible scene, and



though he endeavored to drive this picturfrom his mind, though he put it aside with teror, with disgust, he felt it surging through h

soul, moving about in him, waiting incessantlfor the moment to reappear.

Then, as evening approached, he was afraid othe shadow falling around him. He did not ye

know why the darkness seemed frightful thim, but he instinctively feared it, he felt that was peopled with terrors. The bright daylighdid not lend itself to fears. Things and beingwere visible then, and only natural things anbeings could exhibit themselves in the light oday. But the night, the impenetrable nighthicker than walls and empty; the infinite nighso black, so vast, in which one might brus

against frightful things; the night, when onfeels that a mysterious terror is wanderingprowling about, appeared to him to conceal aunknown threatening danger, close beside him

What was it?



He knew ere long. As he sat in his armchairather late one evening when he could nosleep, he thought he saw the curtain of h

window move. He waited, uneasily, with beaing heart. The drapery did not stir; then, all of sudden, it moved once more. He did not venture to rise; he no longer ventured to breathand yet he was brave. He had often fought, an

he would have liked to catch thieves in hhouse.

Was it true that this curtain did move? he askehimself, fearing that his eyes had deceived himIt was, moreover, such a slight thing, a gentflutter of drapery, a kind of trembling in ifolds, less than an undulation caused by thwind.

Renardet sat still, with staring eyes and oustretched neck. He sprang to his feet abruptlyashamed of his fear, took four steps, seized thdrapery with both hands and pulled it wid

apart. At first he saw nothing but darkene



glass, resembling plates of glittering ink. Thnight, the vast, impenetrable night, stretchebeyond as far as the invisible horizon. He r

mained standing in front of this illimitable shadow, and suddenly he perceived a light, a moving light, which seemed some distance away.

Then he put his face close to the window pan

thinking that a person looking for crabs mighbe poaching in the Brindille, for it was pamidnight, and this light rose up at the edge othe stream, under the trees. As he was not yable to see clearly, Renardet placed his handover his eyes, and suddenly this light becaman illumination, and he beheld little LouisRoque naked and bleeding on the moss. Hrecoiled, frozen with horror, knocked over h

chair and fell over on his back. He remainethere some minutes in anguish of mind; then hsat up and began to reflect. He had had a hallucination—that was all, a hallucination due tthe fact that a night marauder was walkin



with a lantern in his hand near the water's edge. What was there astonishing, besides, in thcircumstance that the recollection of his crim

should sometimes bring before him the visioof the dead girl?

He rose from the ground, swallowed a glass owine 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 iAlready his glance was drawn toward the win

dow; it called him; it attracted him. In order tavoid looking at it, he turned his chair roundThen he took a book and tried to read, but seemed to him that he presently heard somthing stirring behind him, and he swung roun

his armchair on one foot.

The curtain was moving again; unquestionablyit moved this time. He could no longer havany doubt about it.



He rushed forward and grasped it so violentlthat he pulled it down with its pole. Then heagerly glued his face to the glass. He saw no

hing. All was black outside, and he breathewith the joy of a man whose life has just beesaved.

Then he went back to his chair and sat dow

again, but almost immediately he felt a longinto look out once more through the windowSince the curtain had fallen down, the windowmade a sort of gap, fascinating and terrible, othe dark landscape. In order not to yield to thdangerous temptation, he undressed, blew outhe light and closed his eyes.

Lying on his back motionless, his skin warm

and moist, he awaited sleep. Suddenly a greagleam of light flashed across his eyelids. Hopened them, believing that his dwelling waon fire. All was black as before, and he leaneon his elbow to try to distinguish the window

which had still for him an unconquerable a



traction. By dint of, straining his eyes he coulperceive some stars, and he rose, groped hway across the room, discovered the pane

with his outstretched hands, and placed hforehead close to them. There below, under thtrees, lay the body of the little girl gleaming likphosphorus, lighting up the surrounding darkness.

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

From that moment his life became intolerablHe passed his days in apprehension of eacsucceeding night, and each night the visiocame back again. As soon as he had locke

himself up in his room he strove to resist it, buin vain. An irresistible force lifted him up anpushed him against the window, as if to call thphantom, and he saw it at once, lying first ithe spot where the crime was committed in th

position in which it had been found.



Then the dead girl rose up and came towarhim with little steps just as the child had donwhen she came out of the river. She advance

quietly, passing straight across the grass anover the bed of withered flowers. Then she rosup in the air toward Renardet's window. Shcame toward him as she had come on the daof the crime. And the man recoiled before th

apparition—he retreated to his bed and sandown upon it, knowing well that the little onhad entered the room and that she now wastanding behind the curtain, which presentl

moved. And until daybreak he kept staring this curtain with a fixed glance, ever waiting tsee his victim depart.

But she did not show herself any more; sh

remained there behind the curtain, which quivered tremulously now and then.

And Renardet, his fingers clutching the clothesqueezed them as he had squeezed the throat o

little Louise Roque.



He heard the clock striking the hours, and ithe stillness the pendulum kept ticking in timwith the loud beating of his heart. And he su

fered, the wretched man, more than any mahad ever suffered before.

Then, as soon as a white streak of light on thceiling announced the approaching day, he fe

himself free, alone at last, alone in his roomand he went to sleep. He slept several hours—restless, feverish sleep in which he retraced idreams the horrible vision of the past night.

When he went down to the late breakfast he feexhausted as after unusual exertion, and hscarcely ate anything, still haunted as he waby the fear of what he had seen the night be

fore.He knew well, however, that it was not an apparition, that the dead do not come back, anthat his sick soul, his soul possessed by on

thought alone, by an indelible remembranc



was the only cause of his torture, was whbrought the dead girl back to life and raised heform before his eyes, on which it was inefface

ably imprinted. But he knew, too, that therwas no cure, that he would never escape fromthe savage persecution of his memory, and hresolved to die rather than to endure these totures any longer.

Then he thought of how he would kill himselIt must be something simple and naturawhich would preclude the idea of suicide. Fohe clung to his reputation, to the name bequeathed to him by his ancestors; and if hdeath awakened any suspicion peoplethoughts might be, perhaps, directed towarthe mysterious crime, toward the murdere

who could not be found, and they would nohesitate to accuse him of the crime.

A strange idea came into his head, that of alowing himself to be crushed by the tree at th

foot of which he had assassinated little Louis



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

Returning to his house, a prey to utter despaihe had snatched up his revolver, and then dinot dare to fire it.

The dinner bell summoned him. He could eanothing, and he went upstairs again. And hdid not know what to do. Now that he had ecaped the first time, he felt himself a cowardPresently he would be ready, brave, decided

master of his courage and of his resolutionnow he was weak and feared death as much ahe did the dead girl.

He faltered:

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



Then he glanced with terror, first at the revolver on the table and next at the curtaiwhich hid his window. It seemed to him

moreover, that something horrible would occuas soon as his life was ended. SomethingWhat? A meeting with her, perhaps. She wawatching for him; she was waiting for him; shwas calling him; and it was in order to seiz

him in her turn, to draw him toward the doomthat would avenge her, and to lead him to dithat she appeared thus every night.

He began to cry like a child, repeating:

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

Then he fell on his knees and murmured:

"My God! my God!" without believing, nevetheless, in God. And he no longer dared, in facto look at his window, where he knew the apparition was hiding, nor at his table, where h



revolver gleamed. When he had risen up hsaid:

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

The sound of his voice in the silent room mada chill of fear pass through his limbs, but as hcould not bring himself to come to a determin

tion, as he felt certain that his finger would aways refuse to pull the trigger of his revolvehe turned round to hide his head under thbedclothes and began to reflect.

He would have to find some way in which hcould force himself to die, to play some trick ohimself which would not permit of any hesitation on his part, any delay, any possible regretHe envied condemned criminals who are led t

the scaffold surrounded by soldiers. Oh! if hcould only beg of some one to shoot him; after confessing his crime to a true friend whwould never divulge it he could procure deat

at his hand. But from whom could he ask th



terrible service? From whom? He thought of athe people he knew. The doctor? No, he woultalk about it afterward, most probably. An

suddenly a fantastic idea entered his mind. Hwould write to the magistrate, who was oterms of close friendship with him, and wouldenounce himself as the perpetrator of the crme. He would in this letter confess everything

revealing how his soul had been tortured, howhe had resolved to die, how he had hesitateabout carrying out his resolution and whameans he had employed to strengthen his fai

ing courage. And in the name of their olfriendship he would implore of the other tdestroy the letter as soon as he had ascertainethat the culprit had inflicted justice on himselRenardet could rely on this magistrate; h

knew him to be true, discreet, incapable of evean idle word. He was one of those men whhave an inflexible conscience, governed, drected, regulated by their reason alone.



Scarcely had he formed this project when strange feeling of joy took possession of hheart. He was calm now. He would write h

letter slowly, then at daybreak he would deposit it in the box nailed to the outside wall ohis office; then he would ascend his tower twatch for the postman's arrival; and when thman in the blue blouse had gone away, h

would cast himself head foremost on the rockon which the foundations rested, He woultake care to be seen first by the workmen whhad cut down his wood. He could climb to th

projecting stone which bore the flagstadisplayed on festivals, He would smash thpole with a shake and carry it along with himas he fell.Who would suspect that it was not an acciden

And he would be killed outright, owing to hweight and the height of the tower.

Presently he got out of bed, went over to thtable 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 endeby announcing that he had passed sentence ohimself, that he was going to execute the crim

nal, and begged his friend, his old friend, to bcareful that there should never be any stain ohis memory.

When he had finished this letter he saw that th

day had dawned.

He closed, sealed it and wrote the addresThen he descended with light steps, hurrietoward the little white box fastened to the ou

side wall in the corner of the farmhouse, anwhen he had thrown into it this letter, whicmade his hand tremble, he came back quicklydrew the bolts of the great door and climbed u

to his tower to wait for the passing of the posman, who was to bear away his death sentence

He felt self-possessed now. Liberated! Saved!



A cold dry wind, an icy wind passed across hface. He inhaled it eagerly with open mouthdrinking in its chilling kiss. The sky was red,

wintry red, and all the plain, whitened witfrost, glistened under the first rays of the sunas if it were covered with powdered glass.

Renardet, standing up, his head bare, gazed a

the vast tract of country before him, the meadows to the left and to the right the villagwhose chimneys were beginning to smoke ipreparation for the morning meal. At his feehe saw the Brindille flowing amid the rockwhere he would soon be crushed to death. Hfelt new life on that beautiful frosty morninThe light bathed him, entered his being like new-born hope. A thousand recollections a

sailed him, recollections of similar mornings, orapid walks on the hard earth which rang bneath his footsteps, of happy days of shootinon the edges of pools where wild ducks sleepAll the good things that he loved, the goo



things of existence, rushed to his memory, penetrated him with fresh desires, awakened athe vigorous appetites of his active, powerfu

body.

And he was about to die! Why? He was gointo kill himself stupidly because he was afraid oa shadow-afraid of nothing! He was still ric

and in the prime of life. What folly! All he neded was distraction, absence, a voyage in ordeto forget.

This night even he had not seen the little gi

because his mind was preoccupied and hawandered toward some other subject. Perhaphe would not see her any more? And even she still haunted him in this house, certainl

she would not follow him elsewhere! The eartwas wide, the future was long.

Why should he die?



His glance travelled across the meadows, anhe perceived a blue spot in the path whicwound alongside the Brindille. It was Meder

coming to bring letters from the town and tcarry away those of the village.

Renardet gave a start, a sensation of pain shothrough his breast, and he rushed down th

winding staircase to get back his letter, to dmand it back from the postman. Little did matter to him now whether he was seen, Hhurried across the grass damp from the lighfrost of the previous night and arrived in fronof the box in the corner of the farmhouse exactly at the same time as the letter carrier.

The latter had opened the little wooden doo

and drew forth the four papers deposited therby 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 thI want back again. I came to ask you to give back to me."

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

And the postman raised his eyes. He stood perified at the sight of Renardet's face. The mayor's cheeks were purple, his eyes were anxiouand sunken, with black circles round them, h

hair was unbrushed, his beard untrimmed, hnecktie unfastened. It was evident that he hanot been in bed.

The postman asked:

"Are you ill, Monsieur le Maire?"

The other, suddenly comprehending that happearance must be unusual, lost countenanc

and faltered:



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

He said in reply:

"What letter?"

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

Mederic now began to hesitate. The mayorattitude did not strike him as natural. Therwas perhaps a secret in that letter, a politica

secret. He knew Renardet was not a Republcan, and he knew all the tricks and chicaneremployed at elections.

He asked:

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

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



The postman searched through the papers anfound the one asked for. Then he began lookinat it, turning it round and round between h

fingers, much perplexed, much troubled by thfear of either committing a grave offence or omaking an enemy of the mayor.

Seeing his hesitation, Renardet made a mov

ment for the purpose of seizing the letter ansnatching it away from him. This abrupt actioconvinced Mederic that some important secrwas at stake and made him resolve to do hduty, cost what it may.

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

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

for the magistrate, I can't."

A dreadful pang wrung Renardet's heart anhe murmured:



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

"I can't."

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

"No, I can't."

A tremor of rage passed through Renardetsoul.

"Damn it all, take care! You know that I nevetrifle and that I could get you out of your jobmy good fellow, and without much delay, ether, And then, I am the mayor of the distric

after all; and I now order you to give me bacthat paper."

The postman answered firmly:

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



Thereupon Renardet, losing his head, caughhold of the postman's arms in order to takaway his bag; but, freeing himself by a stron

effort, and springing backward, the letter carier raised his big holly stick. Without losing htemper, he said emphatically:

"Don't touch me, Monsieur le Maire, or I'll str

ke. Take care, I'm only doing my duty!"

Feeling that he was lost, Renardet suddenlbecame humble, gentle, appealing to him like whimpering child:

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

The postman turned on his heel and started ohis journey.



Renardet followed him, out of breath, stammeing:

"Mederic, Mederic, listen! I'll give you a thousand francs, you understand—a thousanfrancs."

The postman still went on without giving an

answer.

Renardet went on:

"I'll make your fortune, you understand—

whatever you wish—fifty thousand francs—fifty thousand francs for that letter! What doeit matter to you? You won't? Well, a hundrethousand—I say—a hundred thousand francDo you understand? A hundred thousan

francs—a hundred thousand francs."

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



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

Renardet stopped abruptly. It was all over. Hturned back and rushed toward his house, running like a hunted animal.

Then, in his turn, Mederic stopped and wa

ched his flight with stupefaction. He saw thmayor reenter his house, and he waited still, aif something astonishing were about to happen

In fact, presently the tall form of Renardet ap

peared on the summit of the Fox's tower. Hran round the platform like a madman. Then hseized the flagstaff and shook it furiously without succeeding in breaking it; then, all of sudden, like a diver, with his two hands befor

him, he plunged into space.

Mederic rushed forward to his assistance. Hsaw the woodcutters going to work and calleout to them, telling them an accident had o



curred. At the foot of the walls they found bleeding body, its head crushed on a rock. ThBrindille surrounded this rock, and over i

clear, calm waters could be seen a long rethread of mingled brains and blood.

THE DONKEY

There was not a breath of air stirring; a heavmist was lying over the river. It was like a layeof cotton placed on the water. The banks themselves were indistinct, hidden behind strangfogs. But day was breaking and the hill wabecoming visible. In the dawning light of dathe plaster houses began to appear like whitspots. Cocks were crowing in the barnyard.



On the other side of the river, hidden behinthe fogs, just opposite Frette, a slight noise fromtime to time broke the dead silence of the quie

morning. At times it was an indistinct plashinlike the cautious advance of a boat, then again sharp noise like the rattle of an oar and then thsound of something dropping in the wateThen silence.

Sometimes whispered words, coming perhapfrom a distance, perhaps from quite near, pieced through these opaque mists. They passeby like wild birds which have slept in the ruhes and which fly away at the first light of daycrossing the mist and uttering a low and timisound which wakes their brothers along thshores.

Suddenly along the bank, near the village, barely perceptible shadow appeared on thwater. Then it grew, became more distinct andcoming out of the foggy curtain which hun



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

The one who was rowing rose and took a paiful of fish from the bottom of the boat, then hthrew the dripping net over his shoulder. Hcompanion, who had not made a motion, exclaimed: "Say, Mailloche, get your gun and se

if we can't land some rabbit along the shore."

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

The man who had stayed in the boat slowlfilled his pipe and lighted it. His name waLabouise, but he was called Chicot, and was ipartnership with Maillochon, commonly calle

Mailloche, to practice the doubtful and undefined profession of junk-gatherers along thshore.



They were a low order of sailors and they navgated regularly only in the months of faminThe rest of the time they acted as junk

gatherers. Rowing about on the river day annight, watching for any prey, dead or alivpoachers on the water and nocturnal huntersometimes ambushing venison in the SainGermain forests, sometimes looking for drow

ned people and searching their clothes, pickinup floating rags and empty bottles; thus diLabouise and Maillochon live easily.

At times they would set out on foot about nooand stroll along straight ahead. They wouldine in some inn on the shore and leave agaiside by side. They would remain away for couple of days; then one morning they woul

be seen rowing about in the tub which thecalled their boat.

At Joinville or at Nogent some boatman woulbe looking for his boat, which had disappeare

one night, probably stolen, while twenty o



thirty miles from there, on the Oise, somshopkeeper would be rubbing his hands, congratulating himself on the bargain he had mad

when he bought a boat the day before for fiftfrancs, which two men offered him as they were passing.

Maillochon reappeared with his gun wrappe

up in rags. He was a man of forty or fifty, taand thin, with the restless eye of people whare worried by legitimate troubles and of hunted animals. His open shirt showed his hairchest, but he seemed never to have had anmore hair on his face than a short brush of mustache and a few stiff hairs under his lowelip. He was bald around the temples. When htook off the dirty cap that he wore his scal

seemed to be covered with a fluffy down, likthe body of a plucked chicken.

Chicot, on the contrary, was red, fat, short anhairy. He looked like a raw beefsteak. He con

tinually kept his left eye closed, as if he wer



aiming at something or at somebody, and whepeople jokingly cried to him, "Open your eyLabouise!" he would answer quietly: "Neve

fear, sister, I open it when there's cause to."

He had a habit of calling every one "sistereven his scavenger companion.

He took up the oars again, and once more thboat disappeared in the heavy mist, which wanow turned snowy white in the pink-tintesky.

"What kind of lead did you take, MaillochonLabouise asked.

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

They were approaching the other shore sslowly, so quietly that no noise betrayed themThis bank belongs to the Saint-Germain foreand is the boundary line for rabbit hunting. It



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

Maillochon was kneeling in the bow, watchinhis gun hidden on the floor. Suddenly he seizeit, aimed, and the report echoed for some timthroughout the quiet country.

Labouise, in a few strokes, touched the beachand his companion, jumping to the groundpicked up a little gray rabbit, not yet dead.

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

The two men seemed to be riding easily on th

water. The weapon had disappeared under thboard which served as a hiding place and thrabbit was stuffed into Chicot's loose shirt.



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

"It will suit me," Maillochon answered.

The boat started swiftly down the current. Thmist, which was hiding both shores, was beginning to rise. The trees could be barely pe

ceived, as through a veil, and the little clouds ofog were floating up from the water. When thedrew near the island, the end of which is opposite Herblay, the two men slackened their pacand began to watch. Soon a second rabbit wa

killed.

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

From time to time Labouise would sit up anlook over the horizon with his open eye. Thlast of the morning mist had disappeared an



the large summer sun was climbing in the blusky.

On the other side of the river the vineyardcovered hill stretched out in a semicircle. Onhouse stood out alone at the summit. Everything was silent.

Something was moving slowly along the towpath, advancing with difficulty. It was a woman dragging a donkey. The stubborn, stifjointed beast occasionally stretched out a leg ianswer to its companion's efforts, and it pro

ceeded thus, with outstretched neck and earlying flat, so slowly that one could not tewhen it would ever be out of sight.

The woman, bent double, was pulling, turnin

round occasionally to strike the donkey with stick.

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 laugh."

Chicot took the oars. When he had crossed thriver he stopped opposite the woman and called:

"Hey, sister!"

The woman stopped dragging her donkey anlooked.

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 aryou taking him at that speed?"

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

Labouise answered: "You're right. How muc

do you think Macquart will give you for him?"

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

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

The woman considered the matter for a secon

and then exclaimed: "Done!"

The two men landed. Labouise grasped thanimal by the bridle. Maillochon asked in suprise:



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

Chicot this time opened his other eye in ordeto express his gaiety. His whole red face wagrinning with joy. He chuckled: "Don't worrysister. I've got my idea."

He gave five francs to the woman, who then sa

down by the road to see what was going thappen. Then Labouise, in great humor, got thgun and held it out to Maillochon, saying"Each one in turn; we're going after big gamsister. Don't get so near or you'll kill it righ

away! You must make the pleasure last a little.

He placed his companion about forty pacefrom the victim. The ass, feeling itself free, watrying to get a little of the tall grass, but it wa

so exhausted that it swayed on its legs as if were about to fall.



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

The tiny shot struck the donkey's long ears anhe began to shake them in order to get rid othe stinging sensation. The two men were doubled up with laughter and stamped their fe

with joy. The woman, indignant, rushed foward; she did not want her donkey to be totured, and she offered to return the five francLabouise threatened her with a thrashing anpretended to roll up his sleeves. He had paidhadn't he? Well, then, he would take a shot aher skirts, just to show that it didn't hurt. Shwent away, threatening to call the police. Thecould hear her protesting indignantly and cur

ing as she went her way.

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



Labouise aimed and fired. The donkey receivethe charge in his thighs, but the shot was ssmall and came from such a distance that h

thought he was being stung by flies, for he began to thrash himself with his tail.

Labouise sat down to laugh more comfortablywhile Maillochon reloaded the weapon, so hap

py that he seemed to sneeze into the barrel. Hstepped forward a few paces, and, aiming athe same place that his friend had shot at, hfired again. This time the beast started, tried tkick and turned its head. At last a little bloowas running. It had been wounded and felt sharp pain, for it tried to run away with a slowlimping, jerky gallop.

Both men darted after the beast, Maillochowith a long stride, Labouise with the shorbreathless trot of a little man. But the donkeytired out, had stopped, and, with a bewilderelook, was watching his two murderers ap



proach. Suddenly he stretched his neck anbegan to bray.

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

When the poor beast had finished its mournfu

cry, like a last call for help, the man called"Hey, Mailloche! Come here, sister; I'm going tgive him some medicine." And while the otheman was forcing the animal's mouth open, Chcot stuck the barrel of his gun down its throa

as if he were trying to make it drink a potionThen he said: "Look out, sister, here she goes!"

He pressed the trigger. The donkey stumbleback a few steps, fell down, tried to get u

again and finally lay on its side and closed ieyes: The whole body was trembling, its legwere kicking as if it were, trying to run. stream of blood was oozing through its teeth

Soon it stopped moving. It was dead.



The two men went along, laughing. It was ovetoo quickly; they had not had their moneyworth. Maillochon asked: "Well, what are w

going to do now?"

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

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

Toward noon Labouise drew a bottle of winsome bread and butter and raw onions from hiding place in their muddy, worm-eaten boaand they began to eat.

When the meal was over they once more streched out on the dead donkey and slept. Anightfall Labouise awoke and shook his com



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

Maillochon began to row. As they had plenty otime they went up the Seine slowly. They coated along the reaches covered with water-lilieand the heavy, mud-covered boat slipped ovethe lily pads and bent the flowers, which stoo

up again as soon as they had passed.

When they reached the wall of the Eperonwhich separates the Saint-Germain forest fromthe Maisons-Laffitte Park, Labouise stopped h

companion and explained his idea to him. Mailochon was moved by a prolonged, silenlaugh.

They threw into the water the grass which ha

covered the body, took the animal by the feand hid it behind some bushes. Then they gointo their boat again and went to MaisonLaffitte.



The night was perfectly black when they reached the wine shop of old man Jules. As sooas the dealer saw them he came up, shoo

hands with them and sat down at their tablThey began to talk of one thing and another. Beleven o'clock the last customer had left anold man Jules winked at Labouise and asked"Well, have you got any?"

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

The dealer insisted: "Perhaps you've not noth

ing but gray ones?"

Chicot dug his hands into his flannel shirdrew out the ears of a rabbit and declared"Three francs a pair!"

Then began a long discussion about the pricTwo francs sixty-five and the two rabbits werdelivered. As the two men were getting up t



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

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

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

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

Labouise, who seemed perplexed, pretended tconsult Maillochon with a glance. Then he answered in a slow voice: "This is how it is. Wwere in the bushes at Eperon when somethinpassed right near us, to the left, at the end o

the wall. Mailloche takes a shot and it dropWe skipped on account of the game people.can't tell you what it is, because I don't knowBut it's big enough. But what is it? If I told yo



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

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

Labouise answered: "Might be and then again might not! Venison?—uh! uh!—might be a littbig for that! Mind you, I don't say it's a do

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 havseen the horns. No, it's not a buck!"

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

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



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

Labouise once more raised his hand and said:

"He's there, I swear!—first bush to the lefWhat it is, I don't know. But it's not a buck, I'mpositive. It's for you to find out what it i

Twenty-five francs, cash down!"

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

Maillochon exclaimed: "No, indeed! You know

our price! Take it or leave it!"The dealer decided: "It's a bargain for twentfrancs!"

And they shook hands over the deal.

Then he took out four big five-franc pieces fromthe cash drawer, and the two friends pocketethe money. Labouise arose, emptied his glas

and left. As he was disappearing in the shad



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

And he disappeared in the darkness. Maillochon, who was following him, kept punchinhim in the back to express his joy.

MOIRON

As we were still talking about Pranzini, M. Maloureau, who had been attorney general undethe Empire, said: "Oh! I formerly knew a ver

curious affair, curious for several reasons, ayou will see.

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



has remained famous under the name of thMoiron case.

"Monsieur Moiron, who was a teacher in thnorth of France, enjoyed an excellent reputatiothroughout the whole country. He was a peson of intelligence, quiet, very religious, a litttaciturn; he had married in the district of Boi

linot, where he exercised his profession. He hahad three children, who had died of consumption, one after the other. From this time he semed to bestow upon the youngsters confided this care all the tenderness of his heart. With hown money he bought toys for his best scholarand for the good boys; he gave them little dinners and stuffed them with delicacies, candand cakes: Everybody loved this good ma

with his big heart, when suddenly five of hpupils died, in a strange manner, one after thother. It was supposed that there was an epdemic due to the condition of the water, resuling from drought; they looked for the cause



without being able to discover them, the morso that the symptoms were so peculiar. Thchildren seemed to be attacked by a feeling o

lassitude; they would not eat, they complaineof pains in their stomachs, dragged along for short time, and died in frightful suffering.

"A post-mortem examination was held over th

last one, but nothing was discovered. The vitawere sent to Paris and analyzed, and they revealed the presence of no toxic substance.

"For a year nothing new developed; then tw

little boys, the best scholars in the class, Moron's favorites, died within four days of eacother. An examination of the bodies was agaiordered, and in both of them were discovere

tiny fragments of crushed glass. The conclusioarrived at was that the two youngsters muimprudently have eaten from some carelesslcleaned receptacle. A glass broken over a paof milk could have produced this frightful acc

dent, and the affair would have been pushe



no further if Moiron's servant had not beetaken sick at this time. The physician who wacalled in noticed the same symptoms he ha

seen in the children. He questioned her anobtained the admission that she had stolen aneaten some candies that had been bought bthe teacher for his scholars.

"On an order from the court the schoolhouswas searched, and a closet was found whicwas full of toys and dainties destined for thchildren. Almost all these delicacies containebits of crushed glass or pieces of broken needles!

"Moiron was immediately arrested; but he seemed so astonished and indignant at the susp

cion hanging over him that he was almost released. How ever, indications of his guilt kepappearing, and baffled in my mind my firconviction, based on his excellent reputationon his whole life, on the complete absence o

any motive for such a crime.



"Why should this good, simple, religious mahave killed little children, and the very childrewhom he seemed to love the most, whom h

spoiled and stuffed with sweet things, fowhom he spent half his salary in buying toyand bonbons?

"One must consider him insane to believe him

guilty of this act. Now, Moiron seemed so nomal, so quiet, so rational and sensible that seemed impossible to adjudge him insane.

"However, the proofs kept growing! In none o

the candies that were bought at the places whre the schoolmaster secured his provisioncould the slightest trace of anything suspicioube found.

"He then insisted that an unknown enemy muhave opened his cupboard with a false key iorder to introduce the glass and the needleinto the eatables. And he made up a whole sto

ry of an inheritance dependent on the death o



a child, determined on and sought by sompeasant, and promoted thus by casting suspcions on the schoolmaster. This brute, he cla

med, did not care about the other children whwere forced to die as well.

"The story was possible. The man appeared tbe so sure of himself and in such despair tha

we should undoubtedly have acquitted himnotwithstanding the charges against him, if twcrushing discoveries had not been made, onafter the other.

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

"He explained this new find in an acceptab

manner, as the ruse of the real unknown crimnal. But a mercer from Saint-Marlouf came tthe presiding judge and said that a gentlemahad several times come to his store to buy som

needles; and he always asked for the thinne



needles he could find, and would break them tsee whether they pleased him. The man wabrought forward in the presence of a dozen o

more persons, and immediately recognizeMoiron. The inquest revealed that the schoomaster had indeed gone into Saint-Marlouf othe days mentioned by the tradesman.

"I will pass over the terrible testimony of chidren on the choice of dainties and the carwhich he took to have them eat the things in hpresence, and to remove the slightest traces.

"Public indignation demanded capital punishment, and it became more and more insistenoverturning all objections.

"Moiron was condemned to death, and his ap

peal was rejected. Nothing was left for him buthe imperial pardon. I knew through my fathethat the emperor would not grant it.



"One morning, as I was working in my studythe visit of the prison almoner was announcedHe was an old priest who knew men well an

understood the habits of criminals. He seemetroubled, ill at ease, nervous. After talking forfew minutes about one thing and another, harose and said suddenly: 'If Moiron is executedmonsieur, you will have put an innocent ma

to death.'

"Then he left without bowing, leaving me behind with the deep impression made by hwords. He had pronounced them in such a sincere and solemn manner, opening those lipclosed and sealed by the secret of confession, iorder to save a life.

"An hour later I left for Paris, and my fatheimmediately asked that I be granted an audence with the emperor.

"The following day I was received. His majest

was working in a little reception room whe



we were introduced. I described the whole case, and I was just telling about the priest's viswhen a door opened behind the sovereign

chair and the empress, who supposed he waalone, appeared. His majesty, Napoleon, consulted her. As soon as she had heard the mater, she exclaimed: 'This man must be padoned. He must, since he is innocent.'

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

"Until then I had ardently desired a change o

sentence. And now I suddenly felt myself thtoy, the dupe of a cunning criminal who haemployed the priest and confession as a lameans of defence.

"I explained my hesitancy to their majestieThe emperor remained undecided, urged oone side by his natural kindness and held bacon the other by the fear of being deceived by

criminal; but the empress, who was convince



that the priest had obeyed a divine inspirationkept repeating: 'Never mind! It is better to spare a criminal than to kill an innocent man!' He

advice was taken. The death sentence wacommuted to one of hard labor.

"A few years later I heard that Moiron haagain been called to the emperor's attention o

account of his exemplary conduct in the prisoat Toulon and was now employed as a servanby the director of the penitentiary.

"For a long time I heard nothing more of th

man. But about two years ago, while I waspending a summer near Lille with my cousinDe Larielle, I was informed one evening, just awe were sitting down to dinner, that a youn

priest wished to speak to me."I had him shown in and he begged me to comto a dying man who desired absolutely to seme. This had often happened to me in my lon

career as a magistrate, and, although I had bee



set aside by the Republic, I was still often calleupon in similar circumstances. I therefore folowed the priest, who led me to a miserabl

little room in a large tenement house.

"There I found a strange-looking man on a beof straw, sitting with his back against the walin order to get his breath. He was a sort of ske

leton, with dark, gleaming eyes.

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

"'No.'

"'I am Moiron.'

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

schoolmaster?'

"'Yes.'

"'How do you happen to be here?'



"'The story is too long. I haven't time to tell it.was going to die —and that priest was broughto me—and as I knew that you were here I sen

for you. It is to you that I wish to confess—since you were the one who once saved mlife.'

"His hands clutched the straw of his be

through the sheet and he continued in a hoarsforcible and low tone: 'You see—I owe you thtruth—I owe it to you—for it must be told tsome one before I leave this earth.

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

"'Listen. I was an honest, straightforward, purman—adoring God—this good Father—th

Master who teaches us to love, and not the falsGod, the executioner, the robber, the murderewho governs the earth. I had never done anharm; I had never committed an evil act. I wa

as good as it is possible to be, monsieur.



"'I married and had children, and I loved themas no father or mother ever loved their chidren. I lived only for them. I was wild abou

them. All three of them died! Why? why? Whahad I done? I was rebellious, furious; and suddenly my eyes were opened as if I were wakinup out of a sleep. I understood that God is badWhy had He killed my children? I opened m

eyes and saw that He loves to kill. He loveonly that, monsieur. He gives life but to destroit! God, monsieur, is a murderer! He needdeath every day. And He makes it of every va

riety, in order the better to be amused. He hainvented sickness and accidents in order to givHim diversion all through the months and thyears; and when He grows tired of this, He haepidemics, the plague, cholera, diphtheri

smallpox, everything possible! But this does nosatisfy Him; all these things are too similar; anso from time to time He has wars, in order tsee two hundred thousand soldiers killed aonce, crushed in blood and in the mud, blow



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

"'But this is not all. He has made men who eaeach other. And then, as men become bettethan He, He has made beasts, in order to semen hunt them, kill them and eat them. That

not all. He has made tiny little animals whiclive one day, flies who die by the millions ione hour, ants which we are continually crushing under our feet, and so many, many otherthat we cannot even imagine. And all thesthings are continually killing each other andying. And the good Lord looks on and is amused, for He sees everything, the big ones as weas the little ones, those who are in the drops o

water and those in the other firmaments. Hwatches them and is amused. Wretch!

"'Then, monsieur, I began to kill children played a trick on Him. He did not get those. It wa



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

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

"'Now, all is over. I can no longer escape from

Him. I no longer fear Him, monsieur; I despisHim too much.'

"This poor wretch was frightful to see as he lathere gasping, opening an enormous mouth i

order to utter words which could scarcely bheard, his breath rattling, picking at his beand moving his thin legs under a grimy sheas 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 daroutline stood out against the wall, and asked'Are you going to stay here, Monsieur l'Abbe?'

"'Yes.'

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

"I had had enough of this. I opened the doo

and ran away."



THE DISPENSER OF HOLY WATER

We lived formerly in a little house beside thhigh road outside the village. He had set up ibusiness as a wheelwright, after marrying thdaughter of a farmer of the neighborhood, anas they were both industrious, they managed t

save up a nice little fortune. But they had nchildren, and this caused them great sorrowFinally a son was born, whom they nameJean. They both loved and petted him, enfold

ing him with their affection, and were unwiling to let him be out of their sight.

When he was five years old some mountebankpassed through the country and set up the

tent in the town hall square.

Jean, who had seen them pass by, made hescape from the house, and after his father hamade a long search for him, he found him

among the learned goats and trick dogs, utte



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

Three days later, just as they were sitting dowto dinner, the wheelwright and his wife noticethat their son was not in the house. They looked for him in the garden, and as they did nofind him, his father went out into the road an

shouted at the top of his voice, "Jean!"

Night came on. A brown vapor arose makindistant objects look still farther away and giving them a dismal, weird appearance. Three ta

pines, close at hand, seemed to be weepinStill there was no reply, but the air appeared tbe full of indistinct sighing. The father listenefor some time, thinking he heard a sound fir

in one direction, then in another, and, almobeside himself, he ran, out into the night, caling incessantly "Jean! Jean!"

He ran along thus until daybreak, filling th

darkness with his shouts, terrifying stray an



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

They did not find their son. They both agerapidly in their inconsolable sorrow. Finallthey sold their house and set out to search together.

They inquired of the shepherds on the hillsideof the tradesmen passing by, of the peasants ithe villages and of the authorities in the townBut their boy had been lost a long time and n

one knew anything about him. He had probably forgotten his own name by this time analso the name of his village, and his parenwept in silence, having lost hope.

Before long their money came to an end, anthey worked out by the day in the farms aninns, doing the most menial work, eating whwas left from the tables, sleeping on the groun

and suffering from cold. Then as they becam



enfeebled by hard work no one would emplothem any longer, and they were forced to bealong the high roads. They accosted passers-b

in an entreating voice and with sad, discouaged faces; they begged a morsel of bread fromthe harvesters who were dining around a trein the fields at noon, and they ate in silencseated on the edge of a ditch. An innkeeper t

whom they told their story said to them onday:

"I know some one who had lost their daughteand they found her in Paris."

They at once set out for Paris.

When they entered the great city they werbewildered by its size and by the crowds tha

they saw. But they knew that Jean must be ithe midst of all these people, though they dinot know how to set about looking for himThen they feared that they might not recogniz



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

They visited every place, went through all thstreets, stopping whenever they saw a group opeople, hoping for some providential meetingsome extraordinary luck, some compassionatfate.

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

They spent every Sunday at the doors of thchurches, watching the crowds entering anleaving, trying to distinguish among the faceone that might be familiar. Several times the

thought they recognized him, but always founthey had made a mistake.

In the vestibule of one of the churches whicthey visited the most frequently there was a



old dispenser of holy Water who had becomtheir friend. He also had a very sad history, antheir sympathy for him had established a bon

of close friendship between them. It ended bthem all three living together in a poor lodginon the top floor of a large house situated at some distance, quite on the outskirts of the cityand the wheelwright would sometimes take h

new friend's place at the church when the lattewas ill.

Winter came, a very severe winter. The pooholy water sprinkler died and the parish prieappointed the wheelwright, whose misfortunehad come to his knowledge, to replace him. Hwent every morning and sat in the same placon the same chair, wearing away the old ston

pillar by continually leaning against it. Hwould gaze steadily at every man who enterethe church and looked forward to Sunday witas much impatience as a schoolboy, for on tha



day the church was filled with people frommorning till night.

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

He now knew by sight all the people who cam

to the services; he knew their hours, their manners, could distinguish their step on the stonpavement.

His interests had become so contracted that th

entrance of a stranger in the church was for hima great event. One day two ladies came in; onwas old, the other young—a mother andaughter probably. Behind them came a mawho was following them. He bowed to them a

they came out, and after offering them somholy water, he took the arm of the elder lady.

"That must be the fiance of the younger onethought the wheelwright. And until evening h



kept trying to recall where he had formerlseen a young man who resembled this one. Buthe one he was thinking of must be an old ma

by this time, for it seemed as if he had knowhim down home in his youth.

The same man frequently came again to walhome with the ladies, and this vague, distan

familiar resemblance which he could not placworried the old man so much that he made hwife come with him to see if she could help himpaired memory.

One evening as it was growing dusk the threstrangers entered together. When they had pased the old man said:

"Well, do you know him?"

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



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

The old man started violently.

It was true. He looked like himself and also likhis brother who was dead, and like his fathe

whom he remembered while he was yet younThe old couple were so affected that they coulnot speak. The three persons came out and were about to leave the church.

The man touched his finger to the holy watesprinkler. Then the old man, whose hand watrembling so that he was fairly sprinkling thground 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 undestanding.

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

"Jean!"

The man stooped down, with his face close tthe old man's, and as a memory of his childhood dawned on him he replied:

"Papa Pierre, Mamma Jeanne!"

He had forgotten everything, his father's suname and the name of his native place, but halways remembered those two words that hhad so often repeated: "Papa Pierre, MammJeanne."

He sank to the floor, his face on the old man

knees, and he wept, kissing now his father an



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

The two ladies also wept, understanding athey did that some great happiness had come tpass.

Then they all went to the young man's hous

and he told them his history. The circus peophad carried him off. For three years he travelewith them in various countries. Then the troupdisbanded, and one day an old lady in a chateau had paid to have him stay with her be

cause she liked his appearance. As he waintelligent, he was sent to school, then tcollege, and the old lady having no childrenhad left him all her money. He, for his part, ha

tried to find his parents, but as he coulremember only the two names, "Papa PierrMamma Jeanne," he had been unable to do soNow he was about to be married, and hintroduced his fiancee, who was very good an

very pretty.



When the two old people had told their story itheir turn he kissed them once more. They saup very late that night, not daring to retire le

the happiness they had so long sought shoulescape them again while they were asleep.

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

A PARRICIDE

The lawyer had presented a plea of insanityHow could anyone explain this strange crim

otherwise?

One morning, in the grass near Chatou, twbodies had been found, a man and a womanwell known, rich, no longer young and marrie



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

They were not known to have enemies; thehad not been robbed. They seemed to havbeen thrown from the roadside into the riveafter having been struck, one after the othewith a long iron spike.

The investigation revealed nothing. The boamen, who had been questioned, knew nothingThe matter was about to be given up, when young carpenter from a neighboring villag

Georges Louis, nicknamed "the Bourgeoisgave himself up.

To all questions he only answered this:

"I had known the man for two years, the woman for six months. They often had me repaold furniture for them, because I am a cleveworkman."



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 illegitimatchild, put out to nurse and then abandoned. Hhad no other name than Georges Louis, but aon growing up he became particularly intell

gent, with the good taste and native refinemenwhich his acquaintances did not have, he wanicknamed "the Bourgeois," and he was nevecalled otherwise. He had become remarkabl

clever in the trade of a carpenter, which he hataken up. He was also said to be a socialist fanatic, a believer in communistic and nihilistdoctrines, a great reader of bloodthirsty novelan influential political agitator and a cleve



orator in the public meetings of workmen or ofarmers.

His lawyer had pleaded insanity.

Indeed, how could one imagine that this workman should kill his best customers, rich angenerous (as he knew), who in two years ha

enabled him to earn three thousand francs (hbooks showed it)? Only one explanation coulbe offered: insanity, the fixed idea of the unclassed individual who reeks vengeance on twbourgeois, on all the bourgeoisie, and the law

yer made a clever allusion to this nickname o"The Bourgeois," given throughout the neighborhood to this poor wretch. He exclaimed:

"Is this irony not enough to unbalance the min

of this poor wretch, who has neither father nomother? He is an ardent republican. What amsaying? He even belongs to the same politicaparty, the members of which, formerly shot o

exiled by the government, it now welcome



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

"These gloomy doctrines, now applauded ipublic meetings, have ruined this man. He haheard republicans—even women, yes, women—ask for the blood of M. Gambetta, thblood of M. Grevy; his weakened mind gav

way; he wanted blood, the blood of a bougeois!

"It is not he whom you should condemn, gentlemen; it is the Commune!"

Everywhere could be heard murmurs of assenEveryone felt that the lawyer had won his casThe prosecuting attorney did not oppose him.

Then the presiding judge asked the accused thcustomary question:

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



The man stood up.

He was a short, flaxen blond, with calm, cleagray eyes. A strong, frank, sonorous voice camfrom this frail-looking boy and, at the firwords, quickly changed the opinion which habeen formed of him.

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

"Your honor, as I do not wish to go to an insan

asylum, and as I even prefer death to that, I witell everything.

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

"Now, listen, and judge me.

"A woman, having given birth to a boy, senhim out, somewhere, to a nurse. Did she eve

know where her accomplice carried this inno



cent little being, condemned to eternal miseryto the shame of an illegitimate birth; to morthan that—to death, since he was abandone

and the nurse, no longer receiving the monthlpension, might, as they often do, let him die ohunger and neglect!

"The woman who nursed me was honest, be

ter, more noble, more of a mother than my owmother. She brought me up. She did wrong idoing her duty. It is more humane to let themdie, these little wretches who are cast away isuburban villages just as garbage is throwaway.

"I grew up with the indistinct impression thatwas carrying some burden of shame. One da

the other children called me a 'b——-'. They dinot know the meaning of this word, which onof them had heard at home. I was also ignoranof its meaning, but I felt the sting all the same.



"I was, I may say, one of the cleverest boys ithe school. I would have been a good manyour honor, perhaps a man of superior intellec

if my parents had not committed the crime oabandoning me.

"This crime was committed against me. I wathe victim, they were the guilty ones. I was de

fenseless, they were pitiless. Their duty was tlove me, they rejected me.

"I owed them life—but is life a boon? To me, any rate, it was a misfortune. After their shame

ful desertion, I owed them only vengeancThey committed against me the most inhumanthe most infamous, the most monstrous crimwhich can be committed against a human crea

ture."A man who has been insulted, strikes; a mawho has been robbed, takes back his own bforce. A man who has been deceived, playe

upon, tortured, kills; a man who has been slap



ped, kills; a man who has been dishonoredkills. I have been robbed, deceived, torturedmorally slapped, dishonored, all this to a grea

ter degree than those whose anger you excuse.

"I revenged myself, I killed. It was my legitmate right. I took their happy life in exchangfor the terrible one which they had forced o

me."You will call me parricide! Were these peopmy parents, for whom I was an abominabburden, a terror, an infamous shame; for whommy birth was a calamity and my life a threat o

disgrace? They sought a selfish pleasure; thegot an unexpected child. They suppressed thchild. My turn came to do the same for them.

"And yet, up to quite recently, I was ready t

love them.

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



found out, later on, that, under the seal of secrecy, naturally, he had sought informatiofrom the priest.

"He returned often. He gave me a lot of worand paid me well. Sometimes he would evetalk to me of one thing or another. I felt a growing affection for him.

"At the beginning of this year he brought withim his wife, my mother. When she entered shwas trembling so that I thought her to be sufering from some nervous disease. Then sh

asked for a seat and a glass of water. She sainothing; she looked around abstractedly at mwork and only answered 'yes' and 'no,' at random, to all the questions which he asked he

When she had left I thought her a little unbaanced.

"The following month they returned. She wacalm, self-controlled. That day they chattere

for a long time, and they left me a rather larg



order. I saw her three more times, without supecting anything. But one day she began to talto me of my life, of my childhood, of my pa

ents. I answered: 'Madame, my parents werwretches who deserted me.' Then she clutcheat her heart and fell, unconscious. I immedately thought: 'She is my mother!' but I toocare not to let her notice anything. I wished t

observe her.

"I, in turn, sought out information about themlearned that they had been married since laJuly, my mother having been a widow for onlthree years. There had been rumors that thehad loved each other during the lifetime of thfirst husband, but there was no proof of it.was the proof—the proof which they had a

first hidden and then hoped to destroy.

"I waited. She returned one evening, escorteas usual by my father. That day she seemedeeply moved, I don't know why. Then, as sh

was leaving, she said to me: 'I wish you su



cess, because you seem to me to be honest ana hard worker; some day you will undoubtedlthink of getting married. I have come to hel

you to choose freely the woman who may suyou. I was married against my inclination oncand I know what suffering it causes. Now I amrich, childless, free, mistress of my fortunHere 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 iher hands so as not to see me. He, the man, mfather, supported her in his arms and cried outo me: 'You must be crazy!'

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



"He retreated towards the door, still supportinhis wife who was beginning to sob. Quicklylocked the door, put the key in my pocket an

continued: 'Look at her and dare to deny thashe is my mother.'

"Then he flew into a passion, very pale, terrfied at the thought that the scandal, which ha

so far been avoided, might suddenly break outhat their position, their good name, their honomight all at once be lost. He stammered ou'You are a rascal, you wish to get money fromus! That's the thanks we get for trying to helsuch common people!'

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

"Then, when he found the door locked, he exclaimed: 'If you do not open this door immedately, I will have you thrown into prison foblackmail and assault!'



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

"Then I seemed to have been suddenly ophaned, deserted, pushed to the wall. I waseized with an overwhelming sadness, minglewith anger, hatred, disgust; my whole beinseemed to rise up in revolt against the injustic

the meanness, the dishonor, the rejected love.began to run, in order to overtake them alonthe Seine, which they had to follow in order treach the station of Chaton.

"I soon caught up with them. It was now pitcdark. I was creeping up behind them softlythat they might not hear me. My mother wastill crying. My father was saying: 'It's all you

own fault. Why did you wish to see him? It waabsurd in our position. We could have helpehim from afar, without showing ourselves. Owhat use are these dangerous visits, since wcan't recognize him?'



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

"'You see! You are my parents. You have aready rejected me once; would you repulse magain?'

"Then, your honor, he struck me. I swear it omy honor, before the law and my country. H

struck me, and as I seized him by the collar, hdrew from his pocket a revolver.

"The blood rushed to my head, I no longeknew what I was doing, I had my compass i

my pocket; I struck him with it as often ascould.

"Then she began to cry: 'Help! murder!' and tpull 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 thground, without thinking, I threw them into thSeine.



"That's all. Now sentence me."

The prisoner sat down. After this revelation thcase was carried over to the following sessionIt comes up very soon. If we were jurymenwhat would we do with this parricide?

BERTHA

Dr. Bonnet, my old friend—one sometimes hafriends older than one's self—had often inviteme to spend some time with him at Riom, andas I did not know Auvergne, I made up m

mind to visit him in the summer of 1876.

I arrived by the morning train, and the firperson I saw on the platform was the doctoHe was dressed in a gray suit, and wore a sof



black, wide-brimmed, high-crowned felt hanarrow at the top like a chimney pot, a hawhich hardly any one except an Auvergna

would wear, and which reminded one of charcoal burner. Dressed like that, the doctohad the appearance of an old young man, withis spare body under his thin coat, and his lage head covered with white hair.

He embraced me with that evident pleasurwhich country people feel when they melong-expected friends, and, stretching out harm, he said proudly:

"This is Auvergne!" I saw nothing before mexcept a range of mountains, whose summitwhich resembled truncated cones, must hav

been extinct volcanoes.Then, pointing to the name of the station, hsaid:



"Riom, the fatherland of magistrates, the pridof the magistracy, and which ought rather to bthe fatherland of doctors."

"Why?" I, asked.

"Why?" he replied with a laugh. "If you tranpose the letters, you have the Latin word 'mor

to die. That is the reason why I settled here, myoung friend."

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

As soon as I had swallowed a cup of coffee, hmade me go and see the town. I admired thdruggist's house, and the other noted housewhich were all black, but as pretty as bric-a

brac, with their facades of sculptured stone.admired the statue of the Virgin, the patronesof butchers, and he told me an amusing storabout this, which I will relate some other timand then Dr. Bonnet said to me:



"I must beg you to excuse me for a few minutewhile I go and see a patient, and then I will takyou to Chatel-Guyon, so as to show you th

general aspect of the town, and all the mountain chain of the Puy-de-Dome before lunchYou can wait for me outside; I shall only gupstairs and come down immediately."

He left me outside one of those old, gloomysilent, melancholy houses, which one sees ithe provinces, and this one appeared to looparticularly sinister, and I soon discovered threason. All the large windows on the first floowere boarded half way up. The upper part othem alone could be opened, as if one had wihed to prevent the people who were locked uin that huge stone box from looking into th

street.

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



"You are quite right; the poor creature who living there must never see what is going ooutside. She is a madwoman, or rather an idio

what you Normans would call a Niente. It is miserable story, but a very singular pathologcal 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 houswho were my patients, had a daughter whwas like all other girls, but I soon discoverethat while her body became admirably deve

oped, her intellect remained stationary.

"She began to walk very early, but she coulnot talk. At first I thought she was deaf, butsoon discovered that, although she heard pe

fectly, she did not understand anything thwas said to her. Violent noises made her staand frightened her, without her understandinhow they were caused.



"She grew up into a superb woman, but shwas dumb, from an absolute want of intellect.tried all means to introduce a gleam of intell

gence into her brain, but nothing succeeded.thought I noticed that she knew her nursthough as soon as she was weaned, she faileto recognize her mother. She could never pronounce that word which is the first that chi

dren utter and the last which soldiers murmuwhen they are dying on the field of battle. Shsometimes tried to talk, but she produced nothing but incoherent sounds.

"When the weather was fine, she laughed continually, and emitted low cries which might bcompared to the twittering of birds; when rained she cried and moaned in a mournfu

terrifying manner, which sounded like thhowling of a dog before a death occurs in house.

"She was fond of rolling on the grass, as youn

animals do, and of running about madly, an



she would clap her hands every morning, whethe sun shone into her room, and would insisby signs, on being dressed as quickly as poss

ble, so that she might get out.

"She did not appear to distinguish betweepeople, between her mother and her nurse, obetween her father and me, or between th

coachman and the cook. I particularly liked heparents, who were very unhappy on her acount, and went to see them nearly every day.dined with them quite frequently, which enabled me to remark that Bertha (they had calleher Bertha) seemed to recognize the varioudishes, and to prefer some to others. At thatime she was twelve years old, but as fully fomed in figure as a girl of eighteen, and talle

than I was. Then the idea struck me of developing her greediness, and by this means of cultvating some slight power of discrimination iher mind, and to force her, by the diversity oflavors, if not to reason, at any rate to arrive a



instinctive distinctions, which would of themselves constitute a kind of process that was ncessary to thought. Later on, by appealing t

her passions, and by carefully making use othose which could serve our purpose, we mighhope to obtain a kind of reaction on her intelect, and by degrees increase the unconsciouaction of her brain.

"One day I put two plates before her, one osoup, and the other of very sweet vanillcream. I made her taste each of them succesively, and then I let her choose for herself, anshe ate the plate of cream. In a short time I made her very greedy, so greedy that it appeareas if the only idea she had in her head was thdesire for eating. She perfectly recognized th

various dishes, and stretched out her handtoward those that she liked, and took hold othem eagerly, and she used to cry when thewere taken from her. Then I thought I woultry and teach her to come to the dining-room



when the dinner bell rang. It took a long timbut I succeeded in the end. In her vacant intelect a vague correlation was established be

tween sound and taste, a correspondence btween the two senses, an appeal from one to thother, and consequently a sort of connection oideas—if one can call that kind of instinctivhyphen between two organic functions a

idea—and so I carried my experiments furtheand taught her, with much difficulty, to recognize meal times by the clock.

"It was impossible for me for a long time tattract her attention to the hands, but I suceeded in making her remark the clockworand the striking apparatus. The means I employed were very simple; I asked them not t

have the bell rung for lunch, and everybody goup and went into the dining-room when thlittle brass hammer struck twelve o'clock, butfound great difficulty in making her learn tcount the strokes. She ran to the door each tim



she heard the clock strike, but by degrees shlearned that all the strokes had not the samvalue as far as regarded meals, and she fre

quently fixed her eyes, guided by her ears, othe dial of the clock.

"When I noticed that, I took care every day atwelve, and at six o'clock, to place my finger

on the figures twelve and six, as soon as thmoment she was waiting for had arrived, andsoon noticed that she attentively followed thmotion of the small brass hands, which I haoften turned in her presence.

"She had understood! Perhaps I ought rather tsay that she had grasped the idea. I had suceeded in getting the knowledge, or, rather, th

sensation, of the time into her, just as is the caswith carp, who certainly have no clocks, whethey are fed every day exactly at the same time

"When once I had obtained that result all th

clocks and watches in the house occupied he



attention almost exclusively. She spent her timin looking at them, listening to them, and iwaiting for meal time, and once something ve

ry funny happened. The striking apparatus ofpretty little Louis XVI clock that hung at thhead of her bed having got out of order, shnoticed it. She sat for twenty minutes with heeyes on the hands, waiting for it to strike ten

but when the hands passed the figure she waastonished at not hearing anything; so stupfied was she, indeed, that she sat down, ndoubt overwhelmed by a feeling of violen

emotion such as attacks us in the face of somterrible catastrophe. And she had the wondeful patience to wait until eleven o'clock in ordeto see what would happen, and as she naturallheard nothing, she was suddenly either seize

with a wild fit of rage at having been deceiveand imposed upon by appearances, or elsovercome by that fear which some frightenecreature feels at some terrible mystery, and bthe furious impatience of a passionate individ



ual who meets with some obstacle; she took uthe tongs from the fireplace and struck thclock so violently that she broke it to pieces in

moment.

"It was evident, therefore, that her, brain did acand calculate, obscurely it is true, and withivery restricted limits, for I could never succee

in making her distinguish persons as she ditinguished the time; and to stir her intellect, was necessary to appeal to her passions, in thmaterial sense of the word, and we soon haanother, and alas! a very terrible proof of this!

"She had grown up into a splendid girl, a pefect type of a race, a sort of lovely and stupiVenus. She was sixteen, and I have rarely see

such perfection of form, such suppleness ansuch regular features. I said she was a Venuyes, a fair, stout, vigorous Venus, with largbright, vacant eyes, which were as blue as thflowers of the flax plant; she had a large mout

with full lips, the mouth of a glutton, of a sen



sualist, a mouth made for kisses. Well, onmorning her father came into my consultinroom with a strange look on his face, and, si

ting down without even replying to my greeing, he said:

"'I want to speak to you about a very serioumatter. Would it be possible—would it be po

sible for Bertha to marry?'

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

"'Yes, I know, I know,' he replied. 'But reflec

doctor. Don't you think—perhaps—whoped—if she had children—it would be great shock to her, but a great happiness, and—who knows whether maternity might not rousher intellect?'

"I was in a state of great perplexity. He waright, and it was possible that such a new situation, and that wonderful instinct of maternitywhich beats in the hearts of the lower anima



as it does in the heart of a woman, which mkes the hen fly at a dog's jaws to defend hechickens, might bring about a revolution, a

utter change in her vacant mind, and set thmotionless mechanism of her thoughts in motion. And then, moreover, I immediately remembered a personal instance. Some yearpreviously I had owned a spaniel bitch wh

was so stupid that I could do nothing with hebut when she had had puppies she became, not exactly intelligent, yet almost like manother dogs who had not been thoroughly bro

ken.

"As soon as I foresaw the possibility of this, thwish to get Bertha married grew in me, not smuch out of friendship for her and her poo

parents as from scientific curiosity. Whawould happen? It was a singular problem. said in reply to her father:



"'Perhaps you are right. You might make thattempt, but you will never find a man to consent to marry her.'

"'I have found somebody,' he said, in a low voce.

"I was dumfounded, and said: 'Somebody re

lly suitable? Some one of your own rank anposition in society?'

"'Decidedly,' he replied.

"'Oh! And may I ask his name?'"'I came on purpose to tell you, and to consuyou. It is Monsieur Gaston du Boys de Luceles.'

"I felt inclined to exclaim: 'The wretch!' but held my tongue, and after a few moments' slence 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 scapegrace of good family, who, after havinspent all that he had inherited from his fatheand having incurred debts in all kinds o

doubtful ways, had been trying to discovesome other means of obtaining money, and hhad discovered this method. He was a goodlooking young fellow, and in capital health, bufast; one of that odious race of provincial fa

men, and he appeared to me to be as suitable aanyone, and could be got rid of later by makinhim an allowance. He came to the house to pahis addresses and to strut about before the idio

girl, who, however, seemed to please him. Hbrought her flowers, kissed her hands, sat aher feet, and looked at her with affectionateyes; but she took no notice of any of his attentions, and did not make any distinction be



tween him and the other persons who werabout her.

"However, the marriage took place, and yomay guess how my curiosity was aroused. went to see Bertha the next day to try and dicover from her looks whether any feelings habeen awakened in her, but I found her just th

same as she was every day, wholly taken uwith the clock and dinner, while he, on the contrary, appeared really in love, and tried to rouse his wife's spirits and affection by little endearments and such caresses as one bestows oa kitten. He could think of nothing better.

"I called upon the married couple pretty frequently, and I soon perceived that the youn

woman knew her husband, and gave him thoseager looks which she had hitherto only bstowed on sweet dishes.

"She followed his movements, knew his step o

the stairs or in the neighboring rooms, clappe



her hands when he came in, and her face wachanged and brightened by the flames of profound happiness and of desire.

"She loved him with her whole body and witall her soul to the very depths of her pooweak soul, and with all her heart, that pooheart of some grateful animal. It was really

delightful and innocent picture of simple pasion, of carnal and yet modest passion, such anature had implanted in mankind, before mahad complicated and disfigured it by all thvarious shades of sentiment. But he soon grewtired of this ardent, beautiful, dumb creaturand did not spend more than an hour durinthe day with her, thinking it sufficient if he came home at night, and she began to suffer i

consequence. She used to wait for him frommorning till night with her eyes on the clockshe did not even look after the meals now, fohe took all his away from home, Clermon



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

"She began to grow thin; every other thoughevery other wish, every other expectation, anevery confused hope disappeared from hemind, and the hours during which she did nosee him became hours of terrible suffering t

her. Soon he ceased to come home regularly onights; he spent them with women at the casinat Royat and did not come home until daybreak. But she never went to bed before he returned. She remained sitting motionless in aeasy-chair, with her eyes fixed on the hands othe clock, which turned so slowly and regularlround the china face on which the hours werpainted.

"She heard the trot of his horse in the distancand sat up with a start, and when he came intthe room she got up with the movements of aautomaton and pointed to the clock, as if to say

'Look how late it is!'



"And he began to be afraid of this amorous anjealous, half-witted woman, and flew into rage, as brutes do; and one night he even wen

so far as to strike her, so they sent for me. WheI arrived she was writhing and screaming in terrible crisis of pain, anger, passion, how doknow what? Can one tell what goes on in sucundeveloped brains?

"I calmed her by subcutaneous injections omorphine, and forbade her to see that maagain, for I saw clearly that marriage woulinfallibly kill her by degrees.

"Then she went mad! Yes, my dear friend, thaidiot went mad. She is always thinking of himand waiting for him; she waits for him all da

and night, awake or asleep, at this very moment, ceaselessly. When I saw her getting thinner and thinner, and as she persisted in nevetaking her eyes off the clocks, I had them rmoved from the house. I thus made it imposs

ble for her to count the hours, and to try to re



member, from her indistinct reminiscences, what time he used to come home formerly. hope to destroy the recollection of it in tim

and to extinguish that ray of thought whichkindled with so much difficulty.

"The other day I tried an experiment. I offereher my watch; she took it and looked at it fo

some time; then she began to scream terribly, aif the sight of that little object had suddenlawakened her memory, which was beginninto grow indistinct. She is pitiably thin nowwith hollow and glittering eyes, and she walkup and down ceaselessly, like a wild beast in icage; I have had gratings put on the windowboarded them up half way, and have had thseats fixed to the floor so as to prevent her from

looking to see whether he is coming.

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



We had got to the top of the hill, and the doctoturned round and said to me:

"Look at Riom from here."

The gloomy town looked like some ancient cityBehind it a green, wooded plain studded wittowns and villages, and bathed in a soft blu

haze, extended until it was lost in the distancFar away, on my right, there was a range olofty mountains with round summits, or elscut off flat, as if with a sword, and the doctobegan to enumerate the villages, towns an

hills, and to give me the history of all of themBut I did not listen to him; I was thinking onothing but the madwoman, and I only sawher. She seemed to be hovering over that va

extent of country like a mournful ghost, andasked him abruptly:

"What has become of the husband?"



My friend seemed rather surprised, but after few moments' hesitation, he replied:

"He is living at Royat, on an allowance thathey made him, and is quite happy; he leads very fast life."

As we were slowly going back, both of us silen

and rather low-spirited, an English dogcardrawn by a thoroughbred horse, came up behind us and passed us rapidly. The doctor toome by the arm.

"There he is," he said.

I saw nothing except a gray felt hat, cockeover one ear above a pair of broad shoulderdriving off in a cloud of dust.



THE PATRON

We never dreamed of such good fortune! Thson of a provincial bailiff, Jean Marin had comas do so many others, to study law in the Quartier Latin. In the various beer-houses that hhad frequented he had made friends with sev

eral talkative students who spouted politics athey drank their beer. He had a great admiration for them and followed them persistentlfrom cafe to cafe, even paying for their drink

when he had the money.

He became a lawyer and pleaded causes, whiche lost. However, one morning he read in thpapers that one of his former comrades of th

Quartier had just been appointed deputy.

He again became his faithful hound, the frienwho does the drudgery, the unpleasant taskfor whom one sends when one has need of him

and with whom one does not stand on cere



mony. But it chanced through some parliamentary incident that the deputy became a miniter. Six months later Jean Marin was appointe

a state councillor.

He was so elated with pride at first that he lohis head. He would walk through the streejust to show himself off, as though one coul

tell by his appearance what position he occupied. He managed to say to the shopkeepers asoon as he entered a store, bringing it in somhow in the course of the most insignificant remarks and even to the news vendors and thcabmen:

"I, who am a state councillor—"

Then, in consequence of his position as well a

for professional reasons and as in duty bounthrough being an influential and generous manhe felt an imperious need of patronizing otherHe offered his support to every one on all occa

sions and with unbounded generosity.



When he met any one he recognized on thboulevards he would advance to meet themwith a charmed air, would take their hand, in

quire after their health, and, without waitinfor any questions, remark:

"You know I am state councillor, and I am entirely at your service. If I can be of any use t

you, do not hesitate to call on me. In my postion one has great influence."

Then he would go into some cafe with thfriend he had just met and ask for a pen an

ink and a sheet of paper. "Just one, waiter; it to write a letter of recommendation."

And he wrote ten, twenty, fifty letters of reommendation a day. He wrote them to the Caf

Americain, to Bignon's, to Tortoni's, to the Mason Doree, to the Cafe Riche, to the Helder, tthe Cafe Anglais, to the Napolitain, everywhere, everywhere. He wrote them to all th

officials of the republican government, from th



magistrates to the ministers. And he was happy, perfectly happy.

One morning as he was starting out to go to thcouncil it began to rain. He hesitated about taking a cab, but decided not to do so and set ouon foot.

The rain came down in torrents, swamping thsidewalks and inundating the streets. M. Mariwas obliged to take shelter in a doorway. Aold priest was standing there—an old priewith white hair. Before he became a councillo

M. Marin did not like the clergy. Now he treated them with consideration, ever since a cadinal had consulted him on an important mater. The rain continued to pour down in flood

and obliged the two men to take shelter in thporter's lodge so as to avoid getting wet. MMarin, who was always itching to talk so as tlet 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 oncomes to Paris for only a few days."

"Ah! You come from the provinces?"

"Yes, monsieur. I am only passing through omy journey."

"It certainly is very disagreeable to have raiduring the few days one spends in the capitaWe officials who stay here the year round, w

think nothing of it."The priest did not reply. He was looking at thstreet where the rain seemed to be falling lesheavily. And with a sudden resolve he raise

his cassock just as women raise their skirts istepping across water.

M. Marin, seeing him start away, exclaimed:



"You will get drenched, Monsieur l'Abbe. Waa few moments longer; the rain will be over."

The good man stopped irresistibly and thesaid:

"But I am in a great hurry. I have an importanengagement."

M. Marin seemed quite worried.

"But you will be absolutely drenched. Mightask 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, Monsieu

l'Abbe, I will offer you the shelter of my umbrella: As for me, I am going to the council.am a councillor of state."



The old priest raised his head and looked at hneighbor and then exclaimed:

"I thank you, monsieur. I shall be glad to accepyour offer."

M. Marin then took his arm and led him awayHe directed him, watched over him and ad

vised him.

"Be careful of that stream, Monsieur l'AbbAnd be very careful about the carriage wheelthey spatter you with mud sometimes from

head to foot. Look out for the umbrellas of thpeople passing by; there is nothing more dangerous to the eyes than the tips of the ribWomen especially are unbearable; they pay nheed to where they are going and always ja

you in the face with the point of their parasoor umbrellas. And they never move aside foanybody. One would suppose the town belonged to them. They monopolize the pave



ment and the street. It is my opinion that theeducation has been greatly neglected."

And M. Marin laughed.

The priest did not reply. He walked alonslightly bent over, picking his steps carefully sas not to get mud on his boots or his cassock.

M. Marin resumed:

"I suppose you have come to Paris to diveyour mind a little?"

The good man replied:

"No, I have some business to attend to."

"Ali! Is it important business? Might I ventur

to ask what it is? If I can be of any service tyou, you may command me."

The priest seemed embarrassed. He murmured



"Oh, it is a little personal matter; a little diffculty with—with my bishop. It would nointerest you. It is a matter of intern

regulation—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 ome."

"Yes, monsieur, it is to the council that I amgoing. You are a thousand times too kind.

have to see M. Lerepere and M. Savon and alsperhaps M. Petitpas."

M. Marin stopped short.

"Why, those are my friends, Monsieur l'Abbmy best friends, excellent colleagues, charminmen. I will speak to them about you, and verhighly. Count upon me."



The cure thanked him, apologizing for troubling him, and stammered out a thousand grateful promises.

M. Marin was enchanted.

"Ah, you may be proud of having made a stroke of luck, Monsieur l'Abbe. You will see—yo

will see that, thanks to me, your affair will galong swimmingly."

They reached the council hall. M. Marin toothe priest into his office, offered him a chair i

front of the fire and sat down himself at hdesk and began to write.

"My dear colleague, allow me to recommend tyou most highly a venerable and particularl

worthy 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 ofice in a little matter which he wicommunicate to you.

"I am pleased at this incident which gives man opportunity, my dear colleague——"

And he finished with the usual compliments.

When he had written the three letters he handed them to his protege, who took his depa

ture with many protestations of gratitude.M. Marin attended to some business and thewent home, passed the day quietly, slept welwoke in a good humor and sent for his new

papers.

The first he opened was a radical sheet. He read:



"OUR CLERGY AND OUR GOVERNMENOFFICIALS

"We shall never make an end of enumeratin

the misdeeds of the clergy. A certain priesnamed Ceinture, convicted of conspiracagainst the present government, accused obase actions to which we will not even allud

suspected besides of being a former Jesuit, mtamorphosed into a simple priest, suspendeby a bishop for causes that are said to be unmentionable and summoned to Paris to give aexplanation of his conduct, has found an arden

defender in the man named Marin, a councilloof state, who was not afraid to give this frockemalefactor the warmest letters of recommendation to all the republican officials, his coleagues.

"We call the attention of the ministry to the unheard of attitude of this councillor of state——



M. Marin bounded out of bed, dressed himseand hastened to his colleague, Petitpas, whsaid to him:

"How now? You were crazy to recommend tme that old conspirator!"

M. Marin, bewildered, stammered out:

"Why no—you see—I was deceived. He lookesuch an honest man. He played me a trick—disgraceful trick! I beg that you will sentenchim severely, very severely. I am going to wr

te. Tell me to whom I should write about having him punished. I will go and see the attoney-general and the archbishop of Paris—yethe archbishop."

And seating himself abruptly at M. Petitpadesk, he wrote:

"Monseigneur, I have the honor to bring tyour grace's notice the fact that I have recentl



been made a victim of the intrigues and lies ofcertain Abbe Ceinture, who imposed on mkind-heartedness.

"Deceived by the representations of this ecclesastic, I was led——"

Then, having signed and sealed his letter, h

turned to his colleague and exclaimed:

"See here; my dear friend, let this be a warninto you never to recommend any one again."

THE DOOR

"Bah!" exclaimed Karl Massouligny, "the quetion of complaisant husbands is a difficult onI have seen many kinds, and yet I am unable t

give an opinion about any of them. I have ofte



tried to determine whether they are blindweak or clairvoyant. I believe that there arsome which belong to each of these categories.

"Let us quickly pass over the blind ones. Thecannot rightly be called complaisant, since thedo not know, but they are good creatures whcannot see farther than their nose. It is a curiou

and interesting thing to notice the ease witwhich men and women can, be deceived. Ware taken in by the slightest trick of those whsurround us, by our children, our friends, ouservants, our tradespeople. Humanity is credulous, and in order to discover deceit in otherwe do not display one-tenth the shrewdneswhich we use when we, in turn, wish to dceive some one else.

"Clairvoyant husbands may be divided intthree classes: Those who have some interespecuniary, ambitious or otherwise, in their wfe's having love affairs. These ask only to safe



guard appearances as much as possible, anthey are satisfied.

"Next come those who get angry. What a beautiful novel one could write about them!

"Finally the weak ones! Those who are afraid oscandal.

"There are also those who are powerless, orather, tired, who flee from the duties of marimony through fear of ataxia or apoplexy, whare satisfied to see a friend run these risks.

"But I once met a husband of a rare speciewho guarded against the common accident in strange and witty manner.

"In Paris I had made the acquaintance of aelegant, fashionable couple. The woman, nervous, tall, slender, courted, was supposed thave had many love adventures. She pleaseme with her wit, and I believe that I pleased he



also. I courted her, a trial courting to which shanswered with evident provocations. Soon wgot to tender glances, hand pressures, all th

little gallantries which precede the final attack

"Nevertheless, I hesitated. I consider that, as rule, the majority of society intrigues, howeveshort they may be, are not worth the troub

which they give us and the difficulties whicmay arise. I therefore mentally compared thadvantages and disadvantages which I mighexpect, and I thought I noticed that the huband suspected me.

"One evening, at a ball, as I was saying tendethings to the young woman in a little parloleading from the big hall where the dancin

was going on, I noticed in a mirror the refletion of some one who was watching me. It wahe. Our looks met and then I saw him turn hhead and walk away.

"I murmured: 'Your husband is spying on us.'



"She seemed dumbfounded and asked: 'Mhusband?'

"'Yes, he has been watching us for some time:

"'Nonsense! Are you sure?'

"'Very sure.'

"'How strange! He is usually extraordinarilpleasant to all my friends.'

"'Perhaps he guessed that I love you!'

"'Nonsense! You are not the first one to paattention to me. Every woman who is a little iview drags behind her a herd of admirers.'

"'Yes. But I love you deeply.'

"'Admitting that that is true, does a husbanever 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 jeaousy on his part.'

"'Has he never-watched you?'

"'No. As I said, he is always agreeable to mfriends.'

"From that day my courting became much more assiduous. The woman did not please m

any more than before, but the probable jealousof her husband tempted me greatly.

"As for her, I judged her coolly and clearly. Shhad a certain worldly charm, due to a quick

gay, amiable and superficial mind, but no readeep attraction. She was, as I have already saidan excitable little being, all on the surface, witrather a showy elegance. How can I explaimyself? She was an ornament, not a home.



"One day, after taking dinner with her, her huband said to me, just as I was leaving: 'My deafriend' (he now called me 'friend'), 'we soo

leave for the country. It is a great pleasure tmy wife and myself to entertain people whomwe like. We would be very pleased to have yospend a month with us. It would be very nice oyou to do so.'

"I was dumbfounded, but I accepted.

"A month later I arrived at their estate of Vercresson, in Touraine. They were waiting for m

at the station, five miles from the chateau. Thre were three of them, she, the husband and gentleman unknown to me, the Comte de Moterade, to whom I was introduced. He ap

peared to be delighted to make my acquainance, and the strangest ideas passed througmy mind while we trotted along the beautifuroad between two hedges. I was saying to myself: 'Let's see, what can this mean? Here is

husband who cannot doubt that his wife and



are on more than friendly terms, and yet hinvites me to his house, receives me like an olfriend and seems to say: "Go ahead, my friend

the road is clear!"'

"Then I am introduced to a very pleasant gentleman, who seems already to have settledown in the house, and—and who is perhap

trying to get out of it, and who seems as pleased at my arrival as the husband himself.

"Is it some former admirer who wishes to rtire? One might think so. But, then, would thes

two men tacitly have come to one of these infamous little agreements so common in societyAnd it is proposed to me that I should quietlenter into the pact and carry it out. All hand

and arms are held out to me. All doors anhearts are open to me.

"And what about her? An enigma. She cannobe ignorant of everything. However—

however—Well, I cannot understand it.



"The dinner was very gay and cordial. On leaving the table the husband and his friend begato play cards, while I went out on the porch t

look at the moonlight with madame. She seemed to be greatly affected by nature, and I judged that the moment for my happiness wanear. That evening she was really delightfuThe country had seemed to make her mor

tender. Her long, slender waist looked pretton this stone porch beside a great vase in whicgrew some flowers. I felt like dragging her ouunder the trees, throwing myself at her feet an

speaking 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 usome tea. When the two men had finished playing cards, they were visibly tired. I had to go t

my room. I did not get to sleep till late, anthen I slept badly.

"An excursion was decided upon for the folowing afternoon, and we went in an open ca

riage to visit some ruins. She and I were in thback of the vehicle and they were opposite uriding backward. The conversation was sympathetic and agreeable. I am an orphan, and seemed to me as though I had just found mfamily, I felt so at home with them.

"Suddenly, as she had stretched out her foobetween her husband's legs, he murmured re

proachfully: 'Louise, please don't wear out youold shoes yourself. There is no reason for beinneater in Paris than in the country.'



"I lowered my eyes. She was indeed wearinworn-out shoes, and I noticed that her stockings were not pulled up tight.

"She had blushed and hidden her foot undeher dress. The friend was looking out in thdistance with an indifferent and unconcernelook.

"The husband offered me a cigar, which I acepted. For a few days it was impossible for mto be alone with her for two minutes; he wawith us everywhere. He was delightful to m

however.

"One morning he came to get me to take a walbefore breakfast, and the conversation happened to turn on marriage. I spoke a little abou

solitude and about how charming life can bmade by the affection of a woman. Suddenly hinterrupted me, saying: 'My friend, don't talabout things you know nothing about. A wo

man who has no other reason for loving yo



will not love you long. All the little coquetriewhich make them so exquisite when they dnot definitely belong to us cease as soon as the

become ours. And then—the respectable women—that is to say our wives—are—are not—in fact do not understand their profession owife. Do you understand?'

"He said no more, and I could not guess hthoughts.

"Two days after this conversation he called mto his room quite early, in order to show me

collection of engravings. I sat in an easy chaopposite the big door which separated hapartment from his wife's, and behind this dooI heard some one walking and moving, and

was thinking very little of the engravings, athough I kept exclaiming: 'Oh, charming! dlightful! 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 sideopened as though for a theatrical effect.

"In a large room, all in disorder, in the midst oskirts, collars, waists lying around on the floostood a tall, dried-up creature. The lower paof her body was covered with an old, worn-ousilk petticoat, which was hanging limply on he

shapeless form, and she was standing in fronof a mirror brushing some short, sparse blonhairs. Her arms formed two acute angles, anas she turned around in astonishment I sawunder a common cotton chemise a regular cmetery of ribs, which were hidden from thpublic gaze by well-arranged pads.

"The husband uttered a natural exclamatio

and came back, closing the doors, and said'Gracious! how stupid I am! Oh, how thoughless! My wife will never forgive me for that!'

"I already felt like thanking him. I left thre

days later, after cordially shaking hands wit



the two men and kissing the lady's fingers. Shbade me a cold good-by."

Karl Massouligny was silent. Some one asked"But what was the friend?"

"I don't know—however—however he lookegreatly distressed to see me leaving so soon."

A SALE

The defendants, Cesaire-Isidore Brument anProsper-Napoleon Cornu, appeared before th

Court of Assizes of the Seine-Inferieure, on charge of attempted murder, by drowning, oMme. Brument, lawful wife of the first of thaforenamed.



The two prisoners sat side by side on the tradtional bench. They were two peasants; the firwas small and stout, with short arms, sho

legs, and a round head with a red pimply facplanted directly on his trunk, which was alsround and short, and with apparently no neckHe was a raiser of pigs and lived at Cachevillela-Goupil, in the district of Criquetot.

Cornu (Prosper-Napoleon) was thin, of medium height, with enormously long arms. Hhead was on crooked, his jaw awry, and hsquinted. A blue blouse, as long as a shirt, hundown to his knees, and his yellow hair, whicwas scanty and plastered down on his headgave his face a worn-out, dirty look, a dilapdated look that was frightful. He had bee

nicknamed "the cure" because he could imitatto perfection the chanting in church, and evethe sound of the serpent. This talent attracted this cafe—for he was a saloon keeper at Crique



tot—a great many customers who preferred th"mass at Cornu" to the mass in church.

Mme. Brument, seated on the witness benchwas a thin peasant woman who seemed to balways asleep. She sat there motionless, hehands crossed on her knees, gazing fixedly before her with a stupid expression.

The judge continued his interrogation.

"Well, then, Mme. Brument, they came intyour house and threw you into a barrel full o

water. Tell us the details. Stand up."

She rose. She looked as tall as a flag pole wither cap which looked like a white skull capShe said in a drawling tone:

"I was shelling beans. Just then they came in.said to myself, 'What is the matter with themThey do not seem natural, they seem up to some mischief.' They watched me sideways, lik



this, especially Cornu, because he squints. I dnot like to see them together, for they are twgood-for-nothings when they are in company.

said: 'What do you want with me?' They dinot answer. I had a sort of mistrust——"

The defendant Brument interrupted the witneshastily, saying:

"I was full."

Then Cornu, turning towards his accomplicsaid in the deep tones of an organ:

"Say that we were both full, and you will btelling 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 testmony, woman Brument."

"Well, Brument said to me, 'Do you wish tearn a hundred sous?' 'Yes,' I replied, seeinthat a hundred sous are not picked up in a hose's tracks. Then he said: 'Open your eyes ando as I do,' and he went to fetch the large emp

ty barrel which is under the rain pipe in thcorner, and he turned it over and brought into my kitchen, and stuck it down in the middle of the floor, and then he said to me: 'Go anfetch water until it is full.'

"So I went to the pond with two pails and caried water, and still more water for an houseeing that the barrel was as large as a vat, sav

ing your presence, m'sieu le president."All this time Brument and Cornu were drinking a glass, and then another glass, and theanother. They were finishing their drinks whe

I said to them: 'You are full, fuller than this ba



rel.' And Brument answered me. 'Do not worrygo on with your work, your turn will comeach one has his share.' I paid no attention t

what 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, noBrument, Cornu; it was Cornu gave them tme. And Brument said: 'Do you wish to earnhundred sous more?' 'Yes,' I said, for I am noaccustomed 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 chemisthat won't bother us.'



"A hundred sous is a hundred sous, and I havto undress myself; but I did not fancy undresing before those two good-for-nothings. I too

off my cap, and then my jacket, and then mskirt, and then my sabots. Brument said, 'Keeon your stockings, also; we are good fellows.'

"And Cornu said, too, 'We are good fellows.'

"So there I was, almost like mother Eve. Anthey got up from their chairs, but could nostand straight, they were so full, saving youpresence, 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 headand Cornu by the feet, as one might take, foinstance, a sheet that has been washed. Then

began to bawl.



"And Brument said: 'Keep still, wretched creature!'

"And they lifted me up in the air and put minto the barrel, which was full of water, so thaI had a check of the circulation, a chill to mvery insides.

"And Brument said: 'Is that all?'

"Cornu said: 'That is all.'

"Brument said: 'The head is not in, that wi

make a difference in the measure.'"Cornu said: 'Put in her head.'

"And then Brument pushed down my head aif to drown me, so that the water ran into mnose, so that I could already see Paradise. Anhe pushed it down, and I disappeared.



"And then he must have been frightened. Hpulled me out and said: 'Go and get dry, cacass.'

"As for me, I took to my heels and ran as far aM. le cure's. He lent me a skirt belonging to hservant, for I was almost in a state of naturand he went to fetch Maitre Chicot, the countr

watchman who went to Criquetot to fetch thpolice who came to my house with me.

"Then we found Brument and Cornu fightineach other like two rams.

"Brument was bawling: 'It isn't true, I tell yothat there is at least a cubic metre in it. It is thmethod that was no good.'

"Cornu bawled: 'Four pails, that is almost half cubic metre. You need not reply, that's what is.'



"The police captain put them both under arresI have no more to tell."

She sat down. The audience in the court roomlaughed. The jurors looked at one another iastonishment. The judge said:

"Defendant Cornu, you seem to have been th

instigator of this infamous plot. What have yoto 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 abounine o'clock, and ordered two drinks, and said'There's one for you, Cornu.' I sat down opposite him and drank, and out of politeness, I o

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 mI asked him what was the matter. He said: must have a thousand francs by ThursdayThat cooled me off a little, you understandThen he said to me all at once: 'I will sell yo

my wife.'

"I was full, and I was a widower. You undestand, that stirred me up. I did not know hwife, but she was a woman, wasn't she? I aske

him: 'How much would you sell her for?'

"He reflected, or pretended to reflect. When onis full one is not very clear-headed, and he replied: 'I will sell her by the cubic metre.'

"That did not surprise me, for I was as drunk ahe was, and I knew what a cubic metre is in mbusiness. It is a thousand litres, that suited me



"But the price remained to be settled. All depends on the quality. I said: 'How much do yowant a cubic metre?'

"He answered: 'Two thousand francs.'

"I gave a bound like a rabbit, and then I reflected that a woman ought not to measur

more than three hundred litres. So I said'That's too dear.'

"He answered: 'I cannot do it for less. I shoullose by it.'

"You understand, one is not a dealer in hogs fonothing. One understands one's business. Buif he is smart, the seller of bacon, I am smarteseeing that I sell them also. Ha, Ha, Ha! So

said to him: 'If she were new, I would not saanything, but she has been married to you fosome time, so she is not as fresh as she was.will give you fifteen hundred francs a cubmetre, 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. Wmust help each other in this world.

"But a fear came to me: 'How can you measurher unless you put her into the liquid?'

"Then he explained his idea, not without diffculty for he was full. He said to me: 'I take barrel, and fill it with water to the brim. I puher in it. All the water that comes out we wimeasure, that is the way to fix it.'

"I said: 'I see, I understand. But this water thaoverflows will run away; how are you going tgather it up?'

"Then he began stuffing me and explained tme that all we should have to do would be trefill the barrel with the water his wife had diplaced as soon as she should have left. All thwater we should pour in would be the mea



ure. I supposed about ten pails; that would becubic metre. He isn't a fool, all the same, whehe is drunk, that old horse.

"To be brief, we reached his house and I tooklook at its mistress. A beautiful woman shcertainly was not. Anyone can see her, for thershe is. I said to myself: 'I am disappointed, bu

never mind, she will be of value; handsome ougly, it is all the same, is it not, monsieur lpresident?' And then I saw that she was as thias a rail. I said to myself: 'She will not measurfour hundred litres.' I understand the matter, being in liquids.

"She told you about the proceeding. I even leher keep on her chemise and stockings, to m

own 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 heall right. She will have to come back to sleep,will measure the deficit.'

"We measured. Not four pailfuls. Ha, Ha, Ha!"

The witness began to laugh so persistently thaa gendarme was obliged to punch him in th

back. Having quieted down, he resumed:

"In short, Brument exclaimed: 'Nothing doingthat is not enough.' I bawled and bawled, anbawled again, he punched me, I hit back. Tha

would have kept on till the Day of judgmenseeing we were both drunk.

"Then came the gendarmes! They swore at uthey took us off to prison. I want damages."

He sat down.

Brument confirmed in every particular the statements of his accomplice. The jury, in conste

nation, retired to deliberate.



At the end of an hour they returned a verdict oacquittal for the defendants, with some severstrictures on the dignity of marriage, and estab

lishing the precise limitations of business tranactions.

Brument went home to the domestic roof accompanied 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 knowing it. I shall be at Les Fresnes on the 2d of September, the day before the hunting seaso

opens, as I do not want to miss it, so that I matease these gentlemen. You are too good, aunand you will allow them, as you usually dwhen there are no strange guests, to come ttable, under pretext of fatigue, without dressin

or shaving for the occasion.

They are delighted, of course, when I am nopresent. But I shall be there and will hold a review, like a general, at dinner time; and, if find a single one of them at all careless in dresno matter how little, I mean to send them dowto the kitchen with the servants.

The men of to-day have so little consideratiofor others and so little good manners that onmust be always severe with them. We live indeed in an age of vulgarity. When they quarrethey insult each other in terms worthy of long

shoremen, and, in our presence, they do no



conduct themselves even as well as our sevants. It is at the seaside that you see this moclearly. They are to be found there in battalion

and you can judge them in the lump. Oh! whcoarse beings they are!

Just imagine, in a train, a gentleman who looked well, as I thought at first sight, thanks t

his tailor, carefully took off his boots in order tput on a pair of old shoes! Another, an old mawho was probably some wealthy upstart (thesare the most ill-bred), while sitting opposite tme, had the delicacy to place his two feet on thseat quite close to me. This is a positive fact.

At the watering-places the vulgarity is unrestrained. I must here make one admission—tha

my indignation is perhaps due to the fact thatam not accustomed to associate, as a rule, witthe sort of people one comes across here, forshould be less shocked by their manners ifhad the opportunity of observing them oftene

In the office of the hotel I was nearly throw



down by a young man who snatched the keover my head. Another knocked against me sviolently without begging my pardon or liftin

his hat, coming away from a ball at the Casinthat it gave me a pain in the chest. It is the samway with all of them. Watch them addressinladies on the terrace; they scarcely ever bowThey merely raise their hands to their head

gear. But, indeed, as they are all more or lesbald, it is the best plan.

But what exasperates and disgusts me particularly is the liberty they take of talking in publiwithout any kind of precaution, about the morevolting adventures. When two men are together, they relate to each other, in the broadelanguage and with the most abominable com

ments really horrible stories, without caring ithe slightest degree whether a woman's ear within reach of their voices. Yesterday, on thbeach, I was forced to leave the place wherewas sitting in order not to be any longer th



involuntary confidante of an obscene anecdottold in such immodest language that I felt juas humiliated as indignant at having heard i

Would not the most elementary good-breedinteach them to speak in a lower tone about sucmatters when we are near at hand. Etretat imoreover, the country of gossip and scandaFrom five to seven o'clock you can see peop

wandering about in quest of scandal, whicthey retail from group to group. As you remarked to me, my dear aunt, tittle-tattle is thmark of petty individuals and petty minds. It

also the consolation of women who are nlonger loved or sought after. It is enough fome to observe the women who are fondest ogossiping to be persuaded that you are quitright.

The other day I was present at a musical evening at the Casino, given by a remarkable artisMadame Masson, who sings in a truly delighful manner. I took the opportunity of applaud



ing the admirable Coquelin, as well as twcharming vaudeville performers, M——anMeillet. I met, on this occasion, all the bather

who were at the beach. It is no great distinctiothis year.

Next day I went to lunch at Yport. I noticed tall man with a beard, coming out of a larg

house like a castle. It was the painter, Jean PauLaurens. He is not satisfied apparently witimprisoning the subjects of his pictures, he insists on imprisoning himself.

Then I found myself seated on the shingle closto a man still young, of gentle and refined appearance, who was reading poetry. But he reait with such concentration, with such passion,

may say, that he did not even raise his eyetowards me. I was somewhat astonished anasked the proprietor of the baths, without appearing to be much concerned, the name of thgentleman. I laughed to myself a little at th

reader of rhymes; he seemed behind the ag



for a man. This person, I thought, must be simpleton. Well, aunt, I am now infatuateabout this stranger. Just fancy, his name is Sull

Prudhomme! I went back and sat down besidhim again so as to get a good look at him. Hface has an expression of calmness and of pentration. Somebody came to look for him, andheard his voice, which is sweet and almost t

mid. He would certainly not tell obscene storiealoud in public or knock up against ladies wihout apologizing. He is assuredly a man of rfinement, but his refinement is of an almo

morbid, sensitive character, I will try this winter to get an introduction to him.

I have no more news, my dear aunt, and I mufinish this letter in haste, as the mail will soo

close. I kiss your hands and your cheeks. Youdevoted niece, BERTHE DE X.

P. S.—I should add, however, by way of justifcation of French politeness, that our fellow

countrymen are, when travelling, models o



good manners in comparison with the abomnable English, who seem to have been broughup in a stable, so careful are they not to dis

commode themselves in any way, while thealways 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 arvery sensible, but that does not prevent yofrom being wrong. Like you, I used formerly tfeel very indignant at the impoliteness of menwho, as I supposed, constantly treated me witneglect; but, as I grew older and reflected oeverything, putting aside coquetry, and observ

ing things without taking any part in them myself, I perceived this much—that if men are noalways polite, women are always indescribablrude.



We imagine that we should be permitted to danything, my darling, and at the same time wconsider that we have a right to the utmost re

spect, and in the most flagrant manner we commit actions devoid of that elementary goodbreeding of which you speak so feelingly.

I find, on the contrary, that men consider u

much more than we consider them. Besidedarling, men must needs be, and are, what wmake them. In a state of society, where womeare all true gentlewomen, all men would become gentlemen.

Come now; just observe and reflect.

Look at two women meeting in the street. Whaan attitude each assumes towards the othe

What disparaging looks! What contempt thethrow into each glance! How they toss theheads while they inspect each other to find something to condemn! And, if the footpath

narrow, do you think one woman would mak



room for another, or would beg pardon as shsweeps by? Never! When two men jostle eacother by accident in some narrow lane, each o

them bows and at the same time gets out of thother's way, while we women press againeach other stomach to stomach, face to facinsolently staring each other out of countenance.

Look at two women who are acquaintancemeeting on a staircase outside the door of friend's drawing-room, one of them just leaving, the other about to go in. They begin to talto each other and block up all the landing. anyone happens to be coming up behind themman or woman, do you imagine that they wiput themselves half an inch out of their way

Never! never!

I was waiting myself, with my watch in mhands, one day last winter at a certain drawingroom door. And, behind me, two gentleme

were also waiting without showing any read



ness, as I did, to lose their temper. The reasowas that they had long grown accustomed tour unconscionable insolence.

The other day, before leaving Paris, I went tdine with no less a person than your husbandin the Champs Elysees, in order to enjoy thfresh air. Every table was occupied. The waite

asked us to wait and there would soon be vacant table.

At that moment I noticed an elderly lady onoble figure, who, having paid for her dinne

seemed on the point of going away. She sawme, scanned me from head to foot, and did nobudge. For more than a quarter of an hour shsat there, immovable, putting on her glove

and calmly staring at those who were waitinlike myself. Now, two young men who werjust finishing their dinner, having seen me itheir turn, hastily summoned the waiter, paiwhat they owed, and at once offered me the

seats, even insisting on standing while waitin



for their change. And, bear in mind, my faniece, that I am no longer pretty, like you, buold and white-haired.

It is we, you see, who should be taught politeness, and the task would be such a difficult onthat Hercules himself would not be equal to iYou speak to me about Etretat and about th

people who indulged in "tittle-tattle" along thbeach of that delightful watering-place. It is spot now lost to me, a thing of the past, butfound much amusement therein days gone by.

There were only a few of us, people in goosociety, really good society, and a few artistand we all fraternized. We paid little attentioto gossip in those days.

As we had no monotonous Casino, where people only gather for show, where they whispewhere they dance stupidly, where they succeein thoroughly boring one another, we sough

some other way of passing our evenings plea



antly. Now, just guess what came into the heaof one of our husbands? Nothing less than to gand dance each night in one of the farm-house

in the neighborhood.

We started out in a group with a street-organgenerally played by Le Poittevin, the paintewith a cotton nightcap on his head. Two me

carried lanterns. We followed in processionlaughing and chattering like a pack of fools.

We woke up the farmer and his servant-maidand farm hands. We got them to make onio

soup (horror!), and we danced under the apptrees, to the sound of the barrel-organ. Thcocks waking up began to crow in the darknesof the out-houses; the horses began prancing o

the straw of their stables. The cool air of thcountry caressed our cheeks with the smell ograss and of new-mown hay.

How long ago it is! How long ago it is! It is thi

ty years since then!



I do not want you, my darling, to come for thopening of the hunting season. Why spoil thpleasure of our friends by inflicting on them

fashionable toilettes on this day of vigorouexercise in the country? This is the way, childthat men are spoiled. I embrace you. Your olaunt, GENEVIEVE DE L.

A WEDDING GIFT

For a long time Jacques Bourdillere had sworthat he would never marry, but he suddenlchanged his mind. It happened suddenly, onsummer, at the seashore.

One morning as he lay stretched out on thsand, watching the women coming out of th

water, a little foot had struck him by its nea



ness and daintiness. He raised his eyes and wadelighted with the whole person, although ifact he could see nothing but the ankles and th

head emerging from a flannel bathrobe carefully held closed. He was supposed to be sensual and a fast liver. It was therefore by thmere grace of the form that he was at first captured. Then he was held by the charm of th

young girl's sweet mind, so simple and goodas fresh as her cheeks and lips.

He was presented to the family and pleasethem. He immediately fell madly in love. Whehe saw Berthe Lannis in the distance, on thlong yellow stretch of sand, he would tingle tthe roots of his hair. When he was near her hwould become silent, unable to speak or eve

to think, with a kind of throbbing at his hearand a buzzing in his ears, and a bewildermenin his mind. Was that love?

He did not know or understand, but he ha

fully decided to have this child for his wife.



Her parents hesitated for a long time, rstrained by the young man's bad reputation. was said that he had an old sweetheart, one o

these binding attachments which one alwaybelieves to be broken off and yet which alwayhold.Besides, for a shorter or longer period, he loveevery woman who came within reach of h

lips.

Then he settled down and refused, even oncto see the one with whom he had lived for slong. A friend took care of this woman's pen

sion and assured her an income. Jacques paidbut he did not even wish to hear of her, pretending even to ignore her name. She wrothim letters which he never opened. Every wee

he would recognize the clumsy writing of thabandoned woman, and every week a greateanger surged within him against her, and hwould quickly tear the envelope and the papewithout opening it, without reading one sing



line, knowing in advance the reproaches ancomplaints which it contained.

As no one had much faith in his constancy, thtest was prolonged through the winter, anBerthe's hand was not granted him until thspring. The wedding took place in Paris at thbeginning of May.

The young couple had decided not to take thconventional wedding trip, but after a littdance for the younger cousins, which woulnot be prolonged after eleven o'clock, in orde

that this day of lengthy ceremonies might nobe too tiresome, the young pair were to spenthe first night in the parental home and thenon the following morning, to leave for th

beach so dear to their hearts, where they hafirst known and loved each other.

Night had come, and the dance was going on ithe large parlor. 'The two had retired into

little Japanese boudoir hung with bright silk



and dimly lighted by the soft rays of a largcolored lantern hanging from the ceiling like gigantic egg. Through the open window th

fresh air from outside passed over their facelike a caress, for the night was warm and calmfull of the odor of spring.

They were silent, holding each other's hand

and from time to time squeezing them with atheir might. She sat there with a dreamy lookfeeling a little lost at this great change in helife, but smiling, moved, ready to cry, often alsalmost ready to faint from joy, believing thwhole world to be changed by what had juhappened to her, uneasy, she knew not whyand feeling her whole body and soul filled witan indefinable and delicious lassitude.

He was looking at her persistently with a fixesmile. He wished to speak, but found nothinto say, and so sat there, expressing all his ardoby pressures of the hand. From time to time h

would murmur: "Berthe!" And each time sh



would raise her eyes to him with a look of tenderness; they would look at each other for second and then her look, pierced and fasc

nated by his, would fall.

They found no thoughts to exchange. They habeen left alone, but occasionally some of thdancers would cast a rapid glance at them, a

though they were the discreet and trusty winesses of a mystery.

A door opened and a servant entered, holdinon a tray a letter which a messenger had ju

brought. Jacques, trembling, took this papeoverwhelmed by a vague and sudden fear, thmysterious terror of swift misfortune.

He looked for a longtime at the envelope, th

writing on which he did not know, not darinto open it, not wishing to read it, with a wildesire to put it in his pocket and say to himsel"I'll leave that till to-morrow, when I'm fa

away!" But on one corner two big words, un



derlined, "Very urgent," filled him with terroSaying, "Please excuse me, my dear," he toropen the envelope. He read the paper, grew

frightfully pale, looked over it again, and, slowly, he seemed to spell it out word for word.

When he raised his head his whole expressioshowed how upset he was. He stammered: "M

dear, it's—it's from my best friend, who hahad a very great misfortune. He has need of mimmediately—for a matter of life or death. Wiyou excuse me if I leave you for half an hourI'll be right back."

Trembling and dazed, she stammered: "Go, mdear!" not having been his wife long enough tdare to question him, to demand to know. H

disappeared. She remained alone, listening tthe dancing in the neighboring parlor.

He had seized the first hat and coat he came tand rushed downstairs three steps at a time. A

he was emerging into the street he stopped un



der the gas-jet of the vestibule and reread thletter. This is what it said:

SIR: A girl by the name of Ravet, an ol

sweetheart of yours, itseems, has just given birth to a child that sh

says is yours. Themother is about to die and is begging for you

I take the liberty towrite and ask you if you can grant this larequest to a woman who

seems to be very unhappy and worthy of pty.

Yours truly, DR. BONNARD.

When he reached the sick-room the womawas already on the point of death. He did norecognize her at first. The doctor and two nu

ses were taking care of her. And everywhere othe floor were pails full of ice and rags coverewith blood. Water flooded the carpet; two candles were burning on a bureau; behind the bedin a little wicker crib, the child was crying, an



each time it would moan the mother, in torturwould try to move, shivering under her icbandages.

She was mortally wounded, killed by this birthHer life was flowing from her, and, notwithstanding the ice and the care, the mercileshemorrhage continued, hastening her last hou

She recognized Jacques and wished to raise hearms. They were so weak that she could not dso, but tears coursed down her pallid cheekHe dropped to his knees beside the bed, seize

one of her hands and kissed it frantically. Thenlittle by little, he drew close to the thin facwhich started at the contact. One of the nursewas lighting them with a candle, and the docto

was watching them from the back of the roomThen she said in a voice which sounded athough it came from a distance: "I am going tdie, dear. Promise to stay to the end. Oh! don



leave me now. Don't leave me in my last moments!"

He kissed her face and her hair, and, weepinghe murmured: "Do not be uneasy; I will stay."

It was several minutes before she could speaagain, she was so weak. She continued: "Th

little one is yours. I swear it before God and omy soul. I swear it as I am dying! I have neveloved another man but you —promise to takcare of the child."

He was trying to take this poor pain-rackebody in his arms. Maddened by remorse ansorrow, he stammered: "I swear to you thatwill bring him up and love him. He shall neveleave me."

Then she tried to kiss Jacques. Powerless to liher head, she held out her white lips in an appeal for a kiss. He approached his lips to respond to this piteous entreaty.



As soon as she felt a little calmer, she mumured: "Bring him here and let me see if yolove him."

He went and got the child. He placed him gently on the bed between them, and the little onstopped crying. She murmured: "Don't movany more!" And he was quiet. And he staye

there, holding in his burning hand this othehand shaking in the chill of death, just as, while ago, he had been holding a hand trembling with love. From time to time he woulcast a quick glance at the clock, which markemidnight, then one o'clock, then two.

The physician had returned. The two nurseafter noiselessly moving about the room for

while, were now sleeping on chairs. The chilwas asleep, and the mother, with eyes shuappeared also to be resting.

Suddenly, just as pale daylight was creeping i

behind the curtains, she stretched out her arm



with such a quick and violent motion that shalmost threw her baby on the floor. A kind orattle was heard in her throat, then she lay o

her back motionless, dead.

The nurses sprang forward and declared: "Ais over!"

He looked once more at this woman whom hhad so loved, then at the clock, which pointeto four, and he ran away, forgetting his ovecoat, in the evening dress, with the child in harms.

After he had left her alone the young wife hawaited, calmly enough at first, in the little Japanese boudoir. Then, as she did not see himreturn, she went back to the parlor with an in

different and calm appearance, but terribly anxious. When her mother saw her alone shasked: "Where is your husband?" She answered: "In his room; he is coming right back."



After an hour, when everybody had questioneher, she told about the letter, Jacques' upsappearance and her fears of an accident.

Still they waited. The guests left; only the neaest relatives remained. At midnight the bridwas put to bed, sobbing bitterly. Her motheand two aunts, sitting around the bed, listene

to her crying, silent and in despair. The fathehad gone to the commissary of police to see he could obtain some news.

At five o'clock a slight noise was heard in th

hall. A door was softly opened and closedThen suddenly a little cry like the mewing ofcat was heard throughout the silent house.

All the women started forward and Berth

sprang ahead of them all, pushing her way paher aunts, wrapped in a bathrobe.

Jacques stood in the middle of the room, paand out of breath, holding an infant in his arm



The four women looked at him, astonished; buBerthe, who had suddenly become courageourushed forward with anguish in her heart, ex

claiming: "What is it? What's the matter?"

He looked about him wildly and answereshortly:

"I—I have a child and the mother has just died

And with his clumsy hands he held out thscreaming infant.

Without saying a word, Berthe seized the childkissed it and hugged it to her. Then she raiseher tear-filled eyes to him, asking: "Did you sathat the mother was dead?" He answered"Yes—just now—in my arms. I had broken wit

her since summer. I knew nothing. The physcian sent for me."

Then Berthe murmured: "Well, we will brinup the little one."



THE RELIC

"To the Abbe Louis d'Ennemare, at Soi

sons.

"My Dear Abbe.

"My marriage with your cousin is broken off i

the most stupid way, all on account of an idotic trick which I almost involuntarily playemy intended. In my perplexity I turn to youmy old school chum, for you may be able t

help me out of the difficulty. If you can, I shabe grateful to you until I die.

"You know Gilberte, or, rather, you think yoknow her, but do we ever understand women

All their opinions, their ideas, their creeds, ar



a surprise to us. They are all full of twists anturns, cf the unforeseen, of unintelligible arguments, of defective logic and of obstinate idea

which seem final, but which they alter becausa little bird came and perched on the windowledge.

"I need not tell you that your cousin is ver

religious, as she was brought up by the Whit(or was it the Black?) Ladies at Nancy. Yoknow that better than I do, but what you pehaps do not know is, that she is just as excitababout other matters as she is about religionHer head flies away, just as a leaf is whirleaway by the wind; and she is a true woman, orather, girl, for she is moved or made angry inmoment, starting off at a gallop in affection

just as she does in hatred, and returning in thsame manner; and she is pretty—as you knowand more charming than I can say—as you winever know.



"Well, we became engaged, and I adored her, aI adore her still, and she appeared to love me.

"One evening, I received a telegram summoning me to Cologne for a consultation, whicmight be followed by a serious and difficuoperation, and as I had to start the next morning, I went to wish Gilberte good-by, and te

her why I could not dine with them on Wednesday, but would do so on Friday, the day omy return. Ah! Beware of Fridays, for I assuryou they are unlucky!

"When I told her that I had to go to Germany,saw that her eyes filled with tears, but whensaid I should be back very soon, she clappeher hands, and said:

"'I am very glad you are going, then! You mubring me back something; a mere trifle, just souvenir, but a souvenir that you have chosefor me. You must guess what I should like bes



do you hear? And then I shall see whether yohave any imagination.'

"She thought for a few moments, and then added:

"'I forbid you to spend more than twenty francon it. I want it for the intention, and for a re

membrance of your penetration, and not for iintrinsic value:

"And then, after another moment's silence, shsaid, in a low voice, and with downcast eyes:

"'If it costs you nothing in money, but is somthing very ingenious and pretty, I will—I wikiss you.'

"The next day I was in Cologne. It was a case oa terrible accident, which had plunged a whofamily into despair, and a difficult amputatiowas necessary. They lodged me in the house;might say, they almost locked me up, and I saw



nobody but people in tears, who almost deaened me with their lamentations; I operated oa man who appeared to be in a moribund stat

and who nearly died under my hands, anwith whom I remained two nights; and thenwhen I saw that there was a chance of his recovery, I drove to the station. I had, howevemade a mistake in the trains, and I had an hou

to wait, and so I wandered about the streetstill thinking of my poor patient, when a maaccosted me. I do not know German, and hwas totally ignorant of French, but at last I ma

de out that he was offering me some relics. thought of Gilberte, for I knew her fanaticdevotion, and here was my present ready thand, so I followed the man into a shop wherreligious objects were for sale, and I bought

small piece of a bone of one of the EleveThousand Virgins.

"The pretended relic was inclosed in a charming old silver box, and that determined m



choice, and, putting my purchase into my poket, I went to the railway station, and so on tParis.

"As soon as I got home, I wished to examinmy purchase again, and on taking hold of it,found that the box was open, and the relmissing! I searched in vain in my pocket, an

turned it inside out; the small bit of bonwhich was no bigger than half a pin, had diappeared.

"You know, my dear little Abbe, that my faith

not very fervent, but, as my friend, you armagnanimous enough to put up with my lukewarmness, and to leave me alone, and twait for the future, so you say. But I absolutel

disbelieve in the relics of secondhand dealers ipiety, and you share my doubts in that respecTherefore, the loss of that bit of sheep's carcasdid not grieve me, and I easily procured a simlar fragment, which I carefully fastened insid



my jewel-box, and then I went to see my intended.

"As soon as she saw me, she ran up to me, smiing and eager, and, said to me:

"'What have you brought me?'

"I pretended to have forgotten, but she did nobelieve me, and I made her beg, and even bseech me. But when I saw that she was devoured by curiosity, I gave her the sacred silvebox. She appeared overjoyed.

"'A relic! Oh! A relic!'

"And she kissed the box passionately, so thatwas ashamed of my deception. She was no

quite satisfied, however, and her uneasinessoon turned to terrible fear, and lookinstraight 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 oa man in the streets would be my destructionWhat was I to say? A wild idea struck me, andsaid, in a low, mysterious voice:

"'I stole it for you.'

"She looked at me with astonishment and delight in her large eyes.

"'Oh! You stole it? Where?'

"'In the cathedral; in the very shrine of the Eleven Thousand Virgins.'

"Her heart beat with pleasure, and she mumured:

"'Oh! Did you really do that-for me? Tell me-aabout it!'



"That was the climax; I could not retract whathad said. I made up a fanciful story; with precise details: I had given the custodian of th

building a hundred francs to be allowed to gabout the building by myself; the shrine wabeing repaired, but I happened to be there athe breakfast hour of the workmen and clergyby removing a small panel, I had been enable

to seize a small piece of bone (oh! so smallamong a quantity of others (I said a quantity, aI thought of the amount that the remains of thskeletons of eleven thousand virgins must pro

duce). Then I went to a goldsmith's and bougha casket worthy of the relic; and I was not sorrto let her know that the silver box cost me fivhundred francs.

"But she did not think of that; she listened tme, trembling, in an ecstasy, and whisperin'How I love you!' she threw herself into marms.



"Just note this: I had committed sacrilege foher sake. I had committed a theft; I had violatea church; I had violated a shrine; violated an

stolen holy relics, and for that she adored mthought me perfect, tender, divine. Such woman, my dear Abbe, every woman.

"For two months I was the most admirable o

lovers. In her room, she had made a kind omagnificent chapel in which to keep this bit omutton chop, which, as she thought, had madme commit that divine love-crime, and shworked up her religious enthusiasm in front oit every morning and evening. I had asked heto keep the matter secret, for fear, as I said, thaI might be arrested, condemned, and giveover to Germany, and she kept her promise.

"Well, at the beginning of the summer, she waseized with an irresistible desire to see thscene of my exploit, and she teased her fatheso persistently (without telling him her secr

reason), that he took her to Cologne, but with



out telling me of their trip, according to hdaughter's wish.

"I need not tell you that I had not seen the interior of the cathedral. I do not know where thtomb (if there be a tomb) of the Eleven Thousand Virgins is; and then, it appears, it is unapproachable, alas!

"A week afterward, I received ten lines, breaking off our engagement, and then an explanatory letter from her father, whom she had, somewhat late, taken into her confidence.

"At the sight of the shrine, she had suddenlseen through my trickery and my lie, and at thsame time discovered my real innocence of ancrime. Having asked the keeper of the relic

whether any robbery had been committed, thman began to laugh, and pointed out to themhow impossible such a crime was. But, from thmoment that I had not plunged my profan



hand into venerable relics, I was no longer wothy of my fair-haired, sensitive betrothed.

"I was forbidden the house; I begged anprayed in vain; nothing could move the fadevotee, and I became ill from grief. Well, laweek, her cousin, Madame d'Arville, who your cousin also, sent me word that she shoul

like to see me, and when I called, she told mon what conditions I might obtain my pardonand here they are. I must bring her a relic, real, authentic relic of some virgin and martycertified to be such by our Holy Father, thPope, and I am going mad from embarrassmenand anxiety.

"I will go to Rome, if needful, but I cannot ca

on the Pope unexpectedly, to tell him my stupid misadventure; and, besides, I doubwhether they allow private individuals to havrelics. Could not you give me an introductioto some cardinal, or even to some French pre

ate who possesses some remains of a fema



i t? O h h th i

original short stories. volume iii

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