 The Mystery of Orcival

 By

 Emile Gaboriau

 I

On Thursday, the 9th of July, 186-, Jean Bertaud and his son, wellknown at Orcival as living by poaching and marauding, rose at threeo'clock in the morning, just at daybreak, to go fishing. 

Taking their tackle, they descended the charming pathway, shadedby acacias, which you see from the station at Evry, and which leadsfrom the burg of Orcival to the Seine. 

They made their way to their boat, moored as usual some fifty yardsabove the wire bridge, across a field adjoining Valfeuillu, theimposing estate of the Count de Tremorel. 

Having reached the river-bank, they laid down their tackle, andJean jumped into the boat to bail out the water in the bottom. 

While he was skilfully using the scoop, he perceived that one ofthe oar-pins of the old craft, worn by the oar, was on the pointof breaking. 

"Philippe, " cried he, to his son, who was occupied in unravellinga net, "bring me a bit of wood to make a new oar-pin. "

"All right, " answered Philippe. 

There was no tree in the field. The young man bent his steps towardthe park of Valfeuillu, a few rods distant; and, neglectful ofArticle 391 of the Penal Code, jumped across the wide ditch whichsurrounds M. De Tremorel's domain. He thought he would cut off abranch of one of the old willows, which at this place touch thewater with their drooping branches. 

He had scarcely drawn his knife from his pocket, while lookingabout him with the poacher's unquiet glance, when he uttered a lowcry, "Father! Here! Father!"

"What's the matter?" responded the old marauder, without pausingfrom his work. 

"Father, come here!" continued Philippe. "In Heaven's name, comehere, quick!"

Jean knew by the tone of his son's voice that something unusual hadhappened. He threw down his scoop, and, anxiety quickening him, inthree leaps was in the park. He also stood still, horror-struck, before the spectacle which had terrified Philippe. 

On the bank of the river, among the stumps and flags, was stretcheda woman's body. Her long, dishevelled locks lay among thewater-shrubs; her dress--of gray silk--was soiled with mire andblood. All the upper part of the body lay in shallow water, andher face had sunk in the mud. 

"A murder!" muttered Philippe, whose voice trembled. 

"That's certain, " responded Jean, in an indifferent tone. "But whocan this woman be? Really one would say, the countess. "

"We'll see, " said the young man. He stepped toward the body; hisfather caught him by the arm. 

"What would you do, fool?" said he. "You ought never to touch thebody of a murdered person without legal authority. "

"You think so?"

"Certainly. There are penalties for it. "

"Then, come along and let's inform the Mayor. "

"Why? as if people hereabouts were not against us enough already!Who knows that they would not accuse us--"

"But, father--"

"If we go and inform Monsieur Courtois, he will ask us how and whywe came to be in Monsieur de Tremorel's park to find this out. Whatis it to you, that the countess has been killed? They'll find herbody without you. Come, let's go away. "

But Philippe did not budge. Hanging his head, his chin restingupon his palm, he reflected. 

"We must make this known, " said he, firmly. "We are not savages;we will tell Monsieur Courtois that in passing along by the park inour boat, we perceived the body. "

Old Jean resisted at first; then, seeing that his son would, ifneed be, go without him, yielded. 

They re-crossed the ditch, and leaving their fishing-tackle in thefield, directed their steps hastily toward the mayor's house. 

Orcival, situated a mile or more from Corbeil, on the right bankof the Seine, is one of the most charming villages in the environsof Paris, despite the infernal etymology of its name. The gay andthoughtless Parisian, who, on Sunday, wanders about the fields, more destructive than the rook, has not yet discovered this smilingcountry. The distressing odor of the frying from coffee-gardensdoes not there stifle the perfume of the honeysuckles. The refrainsof bargemen, the brazen voices of boat-horns, have never awakenedechoes there. Lazily situated on the gentle slopes of a bank washedby the Seine, the houses of Orcival are white, and there aredelicious shades, and a bell-tower which is the pride of the place. On all sides vast pleasure domains, kept up at great cost, surroundit. From the upper part, the weathercocks of twenty chateaux maybe seen. On the right is the forest of Mauprevoir, and the prettycountry-house of the Countess de la Breche; opposite, on the otherside of the river, is Mousseaux and Petit-Bourg, the ancient domainof Aguado, now the property of a famous coach-maker; on the left, those beautiful copses belong to the Count de Tremorel, that largepark is d'Etiolles, and in the distance beyond is Corbeil; that vastbuilding, whose roofs are higher than the oaks, is the Darblay mill. 

The mayor of Orcival occupies a handsome, pleasant mansion, at theupper end of the village. Formerly a manufacturer of dry goods, M. Courtois entered business without a penny, and after thirty yearsof absorbing toil, he retired with four round millions of francs. 

Then he proposed to live tranquilly with his wife and children, passing the winter at Paris and the summer at his country-house. 

But all of a sudden he was observed to be disturbed and agitated. Ambition stirred his heart. He took vigorous measures to beforced to accept the mayoralty of Orcival. And he accepted it, quite in self-defence, as he will himself tell you. This officewas at once his happiness and his despair; apparent despair, interior and real happiness. 

It quite befits him, with clouded brow, to rail at the cares ofpower; he appears yet better when, his waist encircled with thegold-laced scarf, he goes in triumph at the head of the municipalbody. 

Everybody was sound asleep at the mayor's when the two Bertaudsrapped the heavy knocker of the door. After a moment, a servant, half asleep, appeared at one of the ground-floor windows. 

"What's the matter, you rascals?" asked he, growling. 

Jean did not think it best to revenge an insult which hisreputation in the village too well justified. 

"We want to speak to Monsieur the Mayor, " he answered. "There isterrible need of it. Go call him, Monsieur Baptiste; he won'tblame you. "

"I'd like to see anybody blame me, " snapped out Baptiste. 

It took ten minutes of talking and explaining to persuade theservant. Finally, the Bertauds were admitted to a little man, fatand red, very much annoyed at being dragged from his bed so early. It was M. Courtois. 

They had decided that Philippe should speak. 

"Monsieur Mayor, " he said, "we have come to announce to you a greatmisfortune. A crime has been committed at Monsieur de Tremorel's. "

M. Courtois was a friend of the count's; he became whiter than hisshirt at this sudden news. 

"My God!" stammered he, unable to control his emotion, "what do yousay--a crime!"

"Yes; we have just discovered a body; and as sure as you are here, I believe it to be that of the countess. "

The worthy man raised his arms heavenward, with a wandering air. 

"But where, when?"

"Just now, at the foot of the park, as we were going to take upour nets. "

"It is horrible!" exclaimed the good M. Courtois; "what a calamity!So worthy a lady! But it is not possible--you must be mistaken;I should have been informed--"

"We saw it distinctly, Monsieur Mayor. "

"Such a crime in my village! Well, you have done wisely to comehere. I will dress at once, and will hasten off--no, wait. " Hereflected a moment, then called:

"Baptiste!"

The valet was not far off. With ear and eye alternately pressedagainst the key-hole, he heard and looked with all his might. Atthe sound of his master's voice he had only to stretch out his handand open the door. 

"Monsieur called me?"

"Run to the justice of the peace, " said the mayor. "There is nota moment to lose. A crime has been committed--perhaps a murder--you must go quickly. And you, " addressing the poachers, "awaitme here while I slip on my coat. "

The justice of the peace at Orcival, M. Plantat--"Papa Plantat, "as he was called--was formerly an attorney at Melun. At fifty, Mr. Plantat, whose career had been one of unbroken prosperity, lost in the same month, his wife, whom he adored, and his two sons, charming youths, one eighteen, the other twenty-two years old. These successive losses crushed a man whom thirty years of happinessleft without defence against misfortune. For a long time his reasonwas despaired of. Even the sight of a client, coming to trouble hisgrief, to recount stupid tales of self-interest, exasperated him. It was not surprising that he sold out his professional effects andgood-will at half price. He wished to establish himself at his easein his grief, with the certainty of not being disturbed in itsindulgence. 

But the intensity of his mourning diminished, and the ills ofidleness came. The justiceship of the peace at Orcival was vacant, and M. Plantat applied for and obtained it. Once installed in thisoffice, he suffered less from ennui. This man, who saw his lifedrawing to an end, undertook to interest himself in the thousanddiverse cases which came before him. He applied to these all theforces of a superior intelligence, the resources of a mind admirablyfitted to separate the false from the true among the lies he wasforced to hear. He persisted, besides, in living alone, despitethe urging of M. Courtois; pretending that society fatigued him, and that an unhappy man is a bore in company. 

Misfortune, which modifies characters, for good or bad, had madehim, apparently, a great egotist. He declared that he was onlyinterested in the affairs of life as a critic tired of its activescenes. He loved to make a parade of his profound indifferencefor everything, swearing that a rain of fire descending upon Paris, would not even make him turn his head. To move him seemedimpossible. "What's that to me?" was his invariable exclamation. 

Such was the man who, a quarter of an hour after Baptiste'sdeparture, entered the mayor's house. 

M. Plantat was tall, thin, and nervous. His physiognomy was notstriking. His hair was short, his restless eyes seemed always tobe seeking something, his very long nose was narrow and sharp. After his affliction, his mouth, formerly well shaped, becamedeformed; his lower lip had sunk, and gave him a deceptive look ofsimplicity. 

"They tell me, " said he, at the threshold, "that Madame de Tremorelhas been murdered. "

"These men here, at least, pretend so, " answered the mayor, who hadjust reappeared. 

M. Courtois was no longer the same man. He had had time to makehis toilet a little. His face attempted to express a haughtycoldness. He had been reproaching himself for having been wantingin dignity, in showing his grief before the Bertauds. "Nothingought to agitate a man in my position, " said he to himself. And, being terribly agitated, he forced himself to be calm, cold, andimpassible. 

M. Plantat was so naturally. 

"This is a very sad event, " said he, in a tone which he forcedhimself to make perfectly disinterested; "but after all, how doesit concern us? We must, however, hurry and ascertain whether itis true. I have sent for the brigadier, and he will join us. "

"Let us go, " said M. Courtois; "I have my scarf in my pocket. "

They hastened off. Philippe and his father went first, the youngman eager and impatient, the old one sombre and thoughtful. Themayor, at each step, made some exclamation. 

"I can't understand it, " muttered he; "a murder in my commune! acommune where, in the memory of men, no crime has been committed!"

And he directed a suspicious glance toward the two Bertauds. Theroad which led toward the chateau of M. De Tremorel was anunpleasant one, shut in by walls a dozen feet high. On one sideis the park of the Marchioness de Lanascol; on the other thespacious garden of Saint Jouan. The going and coming had takentime; it was nearly eight o'clock when the mayor, the justice, and their guides stopped before the gate of M. De Tremorel. 

The mayor rang. The bell was very large; only a small gravelledcourt of five or six yards separated the gate from the house;nevertheless no one appeared. 

The mayor rang more vigorously, then with all his strength; but invain. 

Before the gate of Mme. De Lanascol's chateau, nearly opposite, agroom was standing, occupied in cleaning and polishing a bridle-bit. "It's of no use to ring, gentlemen, " said this man; "there's nobodyin the chateau. "

"How! nobody?" asked the mayor, surprised. 

"I mean, " said the groom, "that there is no one there but the masterand mistress. The servants all went away last evening by the 8. 40train to Paris, to the wedding of the old cook, Madame Denis. Theyought to return this morning by the first train. I was invitedmyself--"

"Great God!" interrupted M. Courtois, "then the count and countessremained alone last night?"

"Entirely alone, Monsieur Mayor. "

"It is horrible!"

M. Plantat seemed to grow impatient during this dialogue. "Come, "said he, "we cannot stay forever at the gate. The gendarmes do notcome; let us send for the locksmith. " Philippe was about to hastenoff, when, at the end of the road, singing and laughing were heard. Five persons, three women and two men, soon appeared. 

"Ah, there are the people of the chateau, " cried the groom, whomthis morning visit seemed to annoy, "they ought to have a key. "

The domestics, seeing the group about the gate, became silent andhastened their steps. One of them began to run ahead of the others;it was the count's valet de chambre. 

"These gentlemen perhaps wish to speak to Monsieur the Count?"asked he, having bowed to M. Plantat. 

"We have rung five times, as hard as we could, " said the mayor. 

"It is surprising, " said the valet de chambre, "the count sleepsvery lightly. Perhaps he has gone out. "

"Horror!" cried Philippe. "Both of them have been murdered!" Thesewords shocked the servants, whose gayety announced a reasonablenumber of healths drunk to the happiness of the newly wedded pair. M. Courtois seemed to be studying the attitude of old Bertaud. 

"A murder!" muttered the valet de chambre. "It was for money then;it must have been known--"

"What?" asked the mayor. 

"Monsieur the Count received a very large sum yesterday morning. "

"Large! yes, " added a chambermaid. "He had a large package ofbank-bills. Madame even said to Monsieur that she should not shuther eyes the whole night, with this immense sum in the house. "

There was a silence; each one looked at the others with a frightenedair. M. Courtois reflected. 

"At what hour did you leave the chateau last evening?" asked he ofthe servants. 

"At eight o'clock; we had dinner early. "

"You went away all together?"

"Yes, sir. "

"You did not leave each other?"

"Not a minute. "

"And you returned all together?"

The servants exchanged a significant look. 

"All, " responded a chambermaid--"that is to say, no. One left uson reaching the Lyons station at Paris; it was Guespin. "

"Yes, sir; he went away, saying that he would rejoin us at Wepler's, in the Batignolles, where the wedding took place. " The mayornudged the justice with his elbow, as if to attract his attention, and continued to question the chambermaid. 

"And this Guespin, as you call him--did you see him again?"

"No, sir. I asked several times during the evening in vain, whathad become of him; his absence seemed to me suspicious. " Evidentlythe chambermaid tried to show superior perspicacity. A little more, and she would have talked of presentiments. 

"Has this Guespin been long in the house?"

"Since spring. "

"What were his duties?"

"He was sent from Paris by the house of the 'Skilful Gardener, ' totake care of the rare flowers in Madame's conservatory. "

"And did he know of this money?"

The domestics again exchanged significant glances. 

"Yes, " they answered in chorus, "we had talked a great deal aboutit among ourselves. "

The chambermaid added: "He even said to me, 'To think that Monsieurthe Count has enough money in his cabinet to make all our fortunes. '"

"What kind of a man is this?"

This question absolutely extinguished the talkativeness of theservants. No one dared to speak, perceiving that the least wordmight serve as the basis of a terrible accusation. But the groomof the house opposite, who burned to mix himself up in the affair, had none of these scruples. "Guespin, " answered he, "is a goodfellow. Lord, what jolly things he knows! He knows everythingyou can imagine. It appears he has been rich in times past, and ifhe wished--But dame! he loves to have his work all finished, andgo off on sprees. He's a crack billiard-player, I can tell you. "

Papa Plantat, while listening in an apparently absent-minded wayto these depositions, or rather these scandals, carefully examinedthe wall and the gate. He now turned, and interrupting the groom:

"Enough of this, " said he, to the great scandal of M. Courtois. "Before pursuing this interrogatory, let us ascertain the crime, if crime there is; for it is not proved. Let whoever has the key, open the gate. "

The valet de chambre had the key; he opened the gate, and allentered the little court. The gendarmes had just arrived. Themayor told the brigadier to follow him, and placed two men at thegate, ordering them not to permit anyone to enter or go out, unless by his orders. Then the valet de chambre opened the doorof the house. 

 II

If there had been no crime, at least something extraordinary hadtaken place at the chateau; the impassible justice might havebeen convinced of it, as soon as he had stepped into thevestibule. The glass door leading to the garden was wide open, and three of the panes were shattered into a thousand pieces. Thecarpeting of waxed canvas between the doors had been torn up, andon the white marble slabs large drops of blood were visible. Atthe foot of the staircase was a stain larger than the rest, andupon the lowest step a splash hideous to behold. 

Unfitted for such spectacles, or for the mission he had now toperform, M. Courtois became faint. Luckily, he borrowed from theidea of his official importance, an energy foreign to his character. The more difficult the preliminary examination of this affairseemed, the more determined he was to carry it on with dignity. 

"Conduct us to the place where you saw the body, " said he toBertaud. But Papa Plantat intervened. 

"It would be wiser, I think, " he objected, "and more methodical, to begin by going through the house. "

"Perhaps--yes--true, that's my own view, " said the mayor, grasping atthe other's counsel, as a drowning man clings to a plank. And hemade all retire excepting the brigadier and the valet de chambre, the latter remaining to serve as guide. "Gendarmes, " cried he tothe men guarding the gate, "see to it that no one goes out; preventanybody from entering the house, and above all, let no one go intothe garden. "

Then they ascended the staircase. Drops of blood were sprinkledall along the stairs. There was also blood on the baluster, and M. Courtois perceived, with horror, that his hands were stained. 

When they had reached the first landing-stage, the mayor said tothe valet de chambre:

"Tell me, my friend, did your master and mistress occupy the samechamber?"

"Yes, sir. "

"And where is their chamber?"

"There, sir. "

As he spoke, the valet de chambre staggered back terrified, andpointed to a door, the upper panel of which betrayed the imprintof a bloody hand. Drops of perspiration overspread the poormayor's forehead. He too was terrified, and could hardly keep onhis feet. Alas, authority brings with it terrible obligations!The brigadier, an old soldier of the Crimea, visibly moved, hesitated. 

M. Plantat alone, as tranquil as if he were in his garden, retainedhis coolness, and looked around upon the others. 

"We must decide, " said he. 

He entered the room; the rest followed. 

There was nothing unusual in the apartment; it was a boudoir hungin blue satin, furnished with a couch and four arm-chairs, coveredalso with blue satin. One of the chairs was overturned. 

They passed on to the bed-chamber. 

A frightful disorder appeared in this room. There was not anarticle of furniture, not an ornament, which did not betray that aterrible, enraged and merciless struggle had taken place betweenthe assassins and their victims. In the middle of the chamber asmall table was overturned, and all about it were scattered lumpsof sugar, vermilion cups, and pieces of porcelain. 

"Ah!" said the valet de chambre, "Monsieur and Madame were takingtea when the wretches came in!"

The mantel ornaments had been thrown upon the floor; the clock, in falling, had stopped at twenty minutes past three. Near theclock were the lamps; the globes were in pieces, the oil had beenspilled. 

The canopy of the bed had been torn down, and covered the bed. Someone must have clutched desperately at the draperies. All thefurniture was overturned. The coverings of the chairs had beenhacked by strokes of a knife, and in places the stuffing protruded. The secretary had been broken open; the writing-slide, dislocated, hung by its hinges; the drawers were open and empty, and everywhere, blood--blood upon the carpet, the furniture, the curtains--aboveall, upon the bed-curtains. 

"Poor wretches!" stammered the mayor. "They were murdered here. "

Every one for a moment was appalled. But meanwhile, the justice ofthe peace devoted himself to a minute scrutiny, taking notes uponhis tablets, and looking into every corner. When he had finished:

"Come, " said he, "let us go into the other rooms. "

Everywhere there was the same disorder. A band of furious maniacs, or criminals seized with a frenzy, had certainly passed the nightin the house. 

The count's library, especially, had been turned topsy-turvy. Theassassins had not taken the trouble to force the locks; they hadgone to work with a hatchet. Surely they were confident of notbeing overheard; for they must have struck tremendous blows to makethe massive oaken bureau fly in pieces. 

Neither parlor nor smoking-room had been respected. Couches, chairs, canopies were cut and torn as if they had been lunged at with swords. Two spare chambers for guests were all in confusion. 

They then ascended to the second story. 

There, in the first room which they penetrated, they found, besidea trunk which had been assaulted, but which was not opened, ahatchet for splitting wood which the valet de chambre recognized asbelonging to the house. 

"Do you understand now?" said the mayor to M. Plantat. "Theassassins were in force, that's clear. The murder accomplished, they scattered through the chateau, seeking everywhere the moneythey knew they would find here. One of them was engaged in breakingopen this trunk, when the others, below, found the money; theycalled him; he hastened down, and thinking all further searchuseless, he left the hatchet here. "

"I see it, " said the brigadier, "just as if I had been here. "

The ground-floor, which they next visited, had been respected. Only, after the crime had been committed, and the money secured, the murderers had felt the necessity of refreshing themselves. They found the remains of their supper in the dining-room. Theyhad eaten up all the cold meats left in the cupboard. On thetable, beside eight empty bottles of wine and liqueurs, were rangedfive glasses. 

"There were five of them, " said the mayor. 

By force of will, M. Courtois had recovered his self-possession. 

"Before going to view the bodies, " said he, "I will send word tothe procureur of Corbeil. In an hour, we will have a judge ofinstruction, who will finish our painful task. "

A gendarme was instructed to harness the count's buggy, and tohasten to the procureur. Then the mayor and the justice, followedby the brigadier, the valet de chambre, and the two Bertauds, tooktheir way toward the river. 

The park of Valfeuillu was very wide from right to left. From thehouse to the Seine it was almost two hundred steps. Before thehouse was a grassy lawn, interspersed with flower-beds. Two pathsled across the lawn to the river-bank. 

But the murderers had not followed the paths. Making a short cut, they had gone straight across the lawn. Their traces were perfectlyvisible. The grass was trampled and stamped down as if a heavy loadhad been dragged over it. In the midst of the lawn they perceivedsomething red; M. Plantat went and picked it up. It was a slipper, which the valet de chambre recognized as the count's. Farther on, they found a white silk handkerchief, which the valet declared hehad often seen around the count's neck. This handkerchief wasstained with blood. 

At last they arrived at the river-bank, under the willows fromwhich Philippe had intended to cut off a branch; there they saw thebody. The sand at this place was much indented by feet seeking afirm support. Everything indicated that here had been the supremestruggle. 

M. Courtois understood all the importance of these traces. 

"Let no one advance, " said he, and, followed by the justice of thepeace, he approached the corpse. Although the face could not bedistinguished, both recognized the countess. Both had seen her inthis gray robe, adorned with blue trimmings. 

Now, how came she there?

The mayor thought that having succeeded in escaping from the handsof the murderers, she had fled wildly. They had pursued her, hadcaught up with her there, and she had fallen to rise no more. Thisversion explained the traces of the struggle. It must have beenthe count's body that they had dragged across the lawn. 

M. Courtois talked excitedly, trying to impose his ideas on thejustice. But M. Plantat hardly listened; you might have thoughthim a hundred leagues from Valfeuillu; he only responded bymonosyllables--yes, no, perhaps. And the worthy mayor gavehimself great pains; he went and came, measured steps, minutelyscrutinized the ground. 

There was not at this place more than a foot of water. A mud-bank, upon which grew some clumps of flags and some water-lilies, descended by a gentle decline from the bank to the middle of theriver. The water was very clear, and there was no current; theslippery and slimy mire could be distinctly seen. 

M. Courtois had gone thus far in his investigations, when he wasstruck by a sudden idea. 

"Bertaud, " said he, "come here. "

The old poacher obeyed. 

"You say that you saw the body from your boat?"

"Yes, Monsieur Mayor. "

"Where is your boat?"

"There, hauled up to that field. "

"Well, lead us to it. "

It was clear to all that this order had a great effect upon the man. He trembled and turned pale under his rough skin, tanned as it wasby sun and storm. He was even seen to cast a menacing look towardhis son. 

"Let us go, " said he at last. 

They were returning to the house when the valet proposed to passover the ditch. "That will be the quickest way, " said he, "I willgo for a ladder which we will put across. "

He went off, and quickly reappeared with his improvised foot-bridge. But at the moment he was adjusting it, the mayor cried out to him:

"Stop!"

The imprints left by the Bertauds on both sides of the ditch hadjust caught his eye. 

"What is this?" said he; "evidently someone has crossed here, andnot long ago; for the traces of the steps are quite fresh. "

After an examination of some minutes he ordered that the laddershould be placed farther off. When they had reached the boat, hesaid to Jean, "Is this the boat with which you went to take up yournets this morning?"

"Yes. "

"Then, " resumed M. Courtois, "what implements did you use? yourcast net is perfectly dry; this boat-hook and these oars have notbeen wet for twenty-four hours. "

The distress of the father and son became more and more evident. 

"Do you persist in what you say, Bertaud?" said the mayor. 

"Certainly. "

"And you, Philippe?"

"Monsieur, " stammered the young man, "we have told the truth. "

"Really!" said M. Courtois, in an ironical tone. "Then you willexplain to the proper authorities how it was that you could seeanything from a boat which you had not entered. It will be provedto you, also, that the body is in a position where it is impossibleto see it from the middle of the river. Then you will still haveto tell what these foot-prints on the grass are, which go from yourboat to the place where the ditch has been crossed several timesand by several persons. "

The two Bertauds hung their heads. 

"Brigadier, " ordered the mayor, "arrest these two men in the nameof the law, and prevent all communication between them. "

Philippe seemed to be ill. As for old Jean, he contented himselfwith shrugging his shoulders and saying to his son:

"Well, you would have it so, wouldn't you?"

While the brigadier led the two poachers away, and shut them upseparately, and under the guard of his men, the justice and themayor returned to the park. "With all this, " muttered M. Courtois, "no traces of the count. "

They proceeded to take up the body of the countess. The mayor sentfor two planks, which, with a thousand precautions, they placed onthe ground, being able thus to move the countess without effacingthe imprints necessary for the legal examination. Alas! it wasindeed she who had been the beautiful, the charming Countess deTremorel! Here were her smiling face, her lovely, speaking eyes, her fine, sensitive mouth. 

There remained nothing of her former self. The face wasunrecognizable, so soiled and wounded was it. Her clothes were intatters. Surely a furious frenzy had moved the monsters who hadslain the poor lady! She had received more than twentyknife-wounds, and must have been struck with a stick, or ratherwith a hammer; she had been dragged by her feet and by her hair!

In her left hand she grasped a strip of common cloth, torn, doubtless, from the clothes of one of the assassins. The mayor, in viewing the spectacle, felt his legs fail him, and supportedhimself on the arm of the impassible Plantat. 

"Let us carry her to the house, " said the justice, "and then wewill search for the count. "

The valet and brigadier (who had now returned) called on thedomestics for assistance. The women rushed into the garden. There was then a terrible concert of cries, lamentations, andimprecations. 

"The wretches! So noble a mistress! So good a lady!"

M. And Mme. De Tremorel, one could see, were adored by their people. 

The countess had just been laid upon the billiard-table, on theground-floor, when the judge of instruction and a physician wereannounced. 

"At last!" sighed the worthy mayor; and in a lower tone he added, "the finest medals have their reverse. "

For the first time in his life, he seriously cursed his ambition, and regretted being the most important personage in Orcival. 

 III

The judge of instruction of the tribunal at Corbeil, was M. AntoineDomini, a remarkable man, since called to higher functions. He wasforty years of age, of a prepossessing person, and endowed with avery expressive, but too grave physiognomy. In him seemed typifiedthe somewhat stiff solemnity of the magistracy. Penetrated with thedignity of his office, he sacrificed his life to it, rejecting themost simple distractions, and the most innocent pleasures. 

He lived alone, seldom showing himself abroad; rarely received hisfriends, not wishing, as he said, that the weaknesses of the manshould derogate from the sacred character of the judge. This latterreason had deterred him from marrying, though he felt the need of adomestic sphere. 

Always and everywhere he was the magistrate--that is, therepresentative, even to fanaticism, of what he thought the mostaugust institution on the earth. Naturally gay, he woulddouble-lock himself in when he wished to laugh. He was witty; butif a bright sally escaped him, you may be sure he repented of it. Body and soul he gave to his vocation; and no one could bring moreconscientiousness to the discharge of what he thought to be hisduty. He was also inflexible. It was monstrous, in his eyes, todiscuss an article of the code. The law spoke; it was enough; heshut his eyes, covered his ears, and obeyed. 

From the day when a legal investigation commenced, he did not sleep, and he employed every means to discover the truth. Yet he was notregarded as a good judge of instruction; to contend by tricks witha prisoner was repugnant to him; to lay a snare for a rogue hethought debasing; in short, he was obstinate--obstinate tofoolishness, sometimes to absurdity; even to denying the existenceof the sun at mid-day. 

The mayor and Papa Plantat hastened to meet M. Domini. He bowedto them gravely, as if he had not known them, and presenting tothem a man of some sixty years who accompanied him:

"Messieurs, " said he, "this is Doctor Gendron. "

Papa Plantat shook hands with the doctor; the mayor smiledgraciously at him, for Dr. Gendron was well-known in those parts;he was even celebrated, despite the nearness of Paris. Loving hisart and exercising it with a passionate energy, he yet owed hisrenown less to his science than his manners. People said: "He isan original;" they admired his affectation of independence, ofscepticism, and rudeness. He made his visits from five to nine inthe morning--all the worse for those for whom these hours wereinconvenient. After nine o'clock the doctor was not to be had. The doctor was working for himself, the doctor was in hislaboratory, the doctor was inspecting his cellar. It was rumoredthat he sought for secrets of practical chemistry, to augment stillmore his twenty thousand livres of income. And he did not deny it;for in truth he was engaged on poisons, and was perfecting aninvention by which could be discovered traces of all the alkaloidswhich up to that time had escaped analysis. If his friendsreproached him, even jokingly, on sending away sick people in theafternoon, he grew red with rage. 

"Parbleu!" he answered, "I find you superb! I am a doctor fourhours in the day. I am paid by hardly a quarter of my patients--that's three hours I give daily to humanity, which I despise. Let each of you do as much, and we shall see. "

The mayor conducted the new-comers into the drawing-room, where heinstalled himself to write down the results of his examination. 

"What a misfortune for my town, this crime!" said he to M. Domini. "What shame! Orcival has lost its reputation. "

"I know nothing of the affair, " returned the judge. "The gendarmewho went for me knew little about it. "

M. Courtois recounted at length what his investigation haddiscovered, not forgetting the minutest detail, dwelling especiallyon the excellent precautions which he had had the sagacity to take. He told how the conduct of the Bertauds had at first awakened hissuspicions; how he had detected them, at least in a pointblank lie;how, finally, he had determined to arrest them. He spoke standing, his head thrown back, with wordy emphasis. The pleasure ofspeaking partially rewarded him for his recent distress. 

"And now, " he concluded, "I have just ordered the most exact search, so that doubtless we shall find the count's body. Five men, detailed by me, and all the people of the house, are searching thepark. If their efforts are not crowned with success, I have heresome fishermen who will drag the river. "

M. Domini held his tongue, only nodding his head from time to time, as a sign of approbation. He was studying, weighing the detailstold him, building up in his mind a plan of proceeding. 

"You have acted wisely, " said he, at last. "The misfortune is agreat one, but I agree with you that we are on the track of thecriminals. These poachers, or the gardener who has disappeared, have something, perhaps, to do with this abominable crime. "

Already, for some minutes, M. Plantat had rather awkwardly concealedsome signs of impatience. 

"The misfortune is, " said he, "that if Guespin is guilty, he willnot be such a fool as to show himself here. "

"Oh, we'll find him, " returned M. Domini. "Before leaving Corbeil, I sent a despatch to the prefecture of police at Paris, to ask fora police agent, who will doubtless be here shortly. "

"While waiting, " proposed the mayor, "perhaps you would like to seethe scene of the crime?"

M. Domini made a motion as if to rise; then sat down again. 

"In fact, no, " said he; "we will see nothing till the agent arrives. But I must have some information concerning the Count and Countessde Tremorel. "

The worthy mayor again triumphed. 

"Oh, I can give it to you, " answered he quickly, "better thananybody. Ever since their advent here, I may say, I have been oneof their best friends. Ah, sir, what charming people! excellent, and affable, and devoted--"

And at the remembrance of all his friends' good qualities, M. Courtois choked in his utterance. 

"The Count de Tremorel, " he resumed, "was a man of thirty-fouryears, handsome, witty to the tips of his nails. He had sometimes, however, periods of melancholy, during which he did not wish to seeanybody; but he was ordinarily so affable, so polite, so obliging;he knew so well how to be noble without haughtiness, that everybodyhere esteemed and loved him. "

"And the countess?" asked the judge of instruction. 

"An angel, Monsieur, an angel on earth! Poor lady! You will soonsee her remains, and surely you would not guess that she has beenthe queen of the country, by reason of her beauty. "

"Were they rich?"

"Yes; they must have had, together, more than a hundred thousandfrancs income--oh, yes, much more; for within five or six monthsthe count, who had not the bucolic tastes of poor Sauvresy, soldsome lands to buy consols. "

"Have they been married long?"

M. Courtois scratched his head; it was his appeal to memory. 

"Faith, " he answered, "it was in September of last year; just sixmonths ago. I married them myself. Poor Sauvresy had been dead ayear. "

The judge of instruction looked up from his notes with a surprisedair. 

"Who is this Sauvresy, " he inquired, "of whom you speak?"

Papa Plantat, who was furiously biting his nails in a corner, apparently a stranger to what was passing, rose abruptly. 

"Monsieur Sauvresy, " said he, "was the first husband of Madame deTremorel. My friend Courtois has omitted this fact. "

"Oh!" said the mayor, in a wounded tone, "it seems to me that underpresent circumstances--"

"Pardon me, " interrupted the judge. "It is a detail such as maywell become valuable, though apparently foreign to the case, andat the first view, insignificant. "

"Hum!" grunted Papa Plantat. "Insignificant--foreign to it!"

His tone was so singular, his air so strange, that M. Domini wasstruck by it. 

"Do you share, " he asked, "the opinion of the mayor regarding theTremorels?"

Plantat shrugged his shoulders. 

"I haven't any opinions, " he answered: "I live alone--see nobody;don't disturb myself about anything. But--"

"It seems to me, " said M. Courtois, "that nobody should be betteracquainted with people who were my friends than I myself. "

"Then, you are telling the story clumsily, " said M. Plantat, dryly. 

The judge of instruction pressed him to explain himself. So M. Plantat, without more ado, to the great scandal of the mayor, whowas thus put into the background, proceeded to dilate upon the mainfeatures of the count's and countess's biography. 

"The Countess de Tremorel, nee Bertha Lechaillu, was the daughterof a poor village school-master. At eighteen, her beauty wasfamous for three leagues around, but as she only had for dowry hergreat blue eyes and blond ringlets, but few serious lovers presentedthemselves. Already Bertha, by advice of her family, had resignedherself to take a place as a governess--a sad position for sobeautiful a maid--when the heir of one of the richest domains inthe neighborhood happened to see her, and fell in love with her. 

"Clement Sauvresy was just thirty; he had no longer any family, and possessed nearly a hundred thousand livres income from landsabsolutely free of incumbrance. Clearly, he had the best right inthe world to choose a wife to his taste. He did not hesitate. Heasked for Bertha's hand, won it, and, a month after, wedded her atmid-day, to the great scandal of the neighboring aristocracy, whowent about saying: 'What folly! what good is there in being rich, if it is not to double one's fortune by a good marriage!'

"Nearly a month before the marriage, Sauvresy set the laborers towork at Valfeuillu, and in no long time had spent, in repairs andfurniture, a trifle of thirty thousand crowns. The newly marriedpair chose this beautiful spot in which to spend their honeymoon. They were so well-contented there that they established themselvespermanently at Valfeuillu, to the great satisfaction of theneighborhood. 

"Bertha was one of those persons, it seemed, who are born especiallyto marry millionnaires. Without awkwardness or embarrassment, shepassed easily from the humble school-room, where she had assistedher father, to the splendid drawing-room of Valfeuillu. And whenshe did the honors of her chateau to all the neighboring aristocracy, it seemed as though she had never done anything else. She knew howto remain simple, approachable, modest, all the while that she tookthe tone of the highest society. She was beloved. "

"But it appears to me, " interrupted the mayor, "that I said thesame thing, and it was really not worth while--"

A gesture from M. Domini closed his mouth, and M. Plantat continued:

"Sauvresy was also liked, for he was one of those golden heartswhich know not how to suspect evil. He was one of those men witha robust faith, with obstinate illusions, whom doubts never disturb. He was one of those who thoroughly confide in the sincerity oftheir friends, in the love of their mistresses. This new domestichousehold ought to be happy; it was so. Bertha adored her husband--that frank man, who, before speaking to her a word of love, offered her his hand. Sauvresy professed for his wife a worshipwhich few thought foolish. They lived in great style at Valfeuillu. They received a great deal. When autumn came all the numerous sparechambers were filled. The turnouts were magnificent. 

"Sauvresy had been married two years, when one evening he broughtfrom Paris one of his old and intimate friends, a college comradeof whom he had often spoken, Count Hector de Tremorel. The countintended to remain but a short time at Valfeuillu; but weeks passedand then months, and he still remained. It was not surprising. Hector had passed a very stormy youth, full of debauchery, of clubs, of gambling, and of amours. He had thrown to the winds of hiscaprices an immense fortune; the relatively calm life of Valfeuilluwas a relief. At first people said to him, 'You will soon haveenough of the country. ' He smiled, but said nothing. It was thenthought, and rightly, perhaps, that having become poor, he caredlittle to display his ruin before those who had obscured hissplendor. He absented himself rarely, and then only to go toCorbeil, almost always on foot. There he frequented the Belle Imagehotel, the best in the town, and met, as if by chance, a young ladyfrom Paris. They spent the afternoon together, and separated whenthe last train left. "

"Peste!" growled the mayor, "for a man who lives alone, who seesnobody, who would not for the world have anything to do with otherpeople's business, it seems to me our dear Monsieur Plantat ispretty well informed. "

Evidently M. Courtois was jealous. How was it that he, the firstpersonage in the place, had been absolutely ignorant of thesemeetings? His ill-humor was increasing, when Dr. Gendron answered:

"Pah! all Corbeil prated about that at the time. "

M. Plantat made a movement with his lips as if to say, "I knowother things besides. " He went on, however, with his story. 

"The visit of Count Hector made no change in the habits at thechateau. Monsieur and Madame Sauvresy had a brother; that was all. Sauvresy at this time made several journeys to Paris, where, aseverybody knew, he was engaged in arranging his friend's affairs. 

"This charming existence lasted a year. Happiness seemed to befixed forever beneath the delightful shades of Valfeuillu. Butalas! one evening on returning from the hunt, Sauvresy became soill that he was forced to take to his bed. A doctor was called;inflammation of the chest had set in. Sauvresy was young, vigorous as an oak; his state did not at first cause anxiety. A fortnight afterward, in fact, he was up and about. But he wasimprudent and had a relapse. He again nearly recovered; a weekafterward there was another relapse, and this time so serious, that a fatal end of his illness was foreseen. During this longsickness, the love of Bertha and the affection of Tremorel forSauvresy were tenderly shown. Never was an invalid tended withsuch solicitude--surrounded with so many proofs of the purestdevotion. His wife and his friend were always at his couch, night and day. He had hours of suffering, but never a second ofweariness. He repeated to all who went to see him, that he hadcome to bless his illness. He said to himself, 'If I had notfallen ill, I should never have known how much I was beloved. '"

"He said the same thing to me, " interrupted the mayor, "more than ahundred times. He also said so to Madame Courtois, to Laurence, my eldest daughter--"

"Naturally, " continued M. Plantat. "But Sauvresy's distemper wasone against which the science of the most skilful physicians andthe most constant care contend in vain. 

"He said that he did not suffer much, but he faded perceptibly, andwas no more than the shadow of his former self. At last, one night, toward two or three o'clock, he died in the arms of his wife andhis friend. Up to the last moment, he had preserved the full forceof his faculties. Less than an hour before expiring, he wishedeveryone to be awakened, and that all the servants of the castleshould be summoned. When they were all gathered about the bedside, he took his wife's hand, placed it in that of the Count de Tremorel, and made them swear to marry each other when he was no more. Berthaand Hector began to protest, but he insisted in such a manner as tocompel assent, praying and adjuring them, and declaring that theirrefusal would embitter his last moments. This idea of the marriagebetween his widow and his friend seems, besides, to have singularlypossessed his thoughts toward the close of his life. In thepreamble of his will, dictated the night before his death, to M. Bury, notary of Orcival, he says formally that their union is hisdearest wish, certain as he is of their happiness, and knowing wellthat his memory will be piously kept. "

"Had Monsieur and Madame Sauvresy no children?" asked the judge ofinstruction. 

"No, " answered the mayor. 

M. Plantat continued:

"The grief of the count and the young widow was intense. M. DeTremorel, especially, seemed absolutely desperate, and acted like amadman. The countess shut herself up, forbidding even those whomshe loved best from entering her chamber--even Madame Courtois. When the count and Madame Bertha reappeared, they were scarcely tobe recognized, so much had both changed. Monsieur Hector seemedto have grown twenty years older. Would they keep the oath made atthe death-bed of Sauvresy, of which everyone was apprised? Thiswas asked with all the more curiosity, because their profoundsorrow for a man who well merited it, was admired. "

The judge of instruction stopped M. Plantat with a motion of hishand. 

"Do you know, " asked he, "whether the rendezvous at the Hotel BelleImage had ceased?"

"I suppose so, sir; I think so. "

"I am almost sure of it, " said Dr. Gendron. "I have often heardit said--they know everything at Corbeil--that there was a heatedexplanation between M. De Tremorel and the pretty Parisian lady. After this quarrel, they were no longer seen at the Belle Image. "

The old justice of the peace smiled. 

"Melun is not at the end of the world, " said he, "and there arehotels at Melun. With a good horse, one is soon at Fontainebleau, at Versailles, even at Paris. Madame de Tremorel might have beenjealous; her husband had some first-rate trotters in his stables. "

Did M. Plantat give an absolutely disinterested opinion, or did hemake an insinuation? The judge of instruction looked at himattentively, to reassure himself, but his visage expressed nothingbut a profound serenity. He told the story as he would any other, no matter what. 

"Please go on, Monsieur, " resumed M. Domini. 

"Alas!" said M. Plantat, "nothing here below is eternal, not evengrief. I know it better than anybody. Soon, to the tears of thefirst days, to violent despair, there succeeded, in the count andMadame Bertha, a reasonable sadness, then a soft melancholy. Andin one year after Sauvresy's death Monsieur de Tremorel espousedhis widow. "

During this long narrative the mayor had several times exhibitedmarks of impatience. At the end, being able to hold in no longer, he exclaimed:

"There, those are surely exact details; but I question whether theyhave advanced us a step in this grave matter which occupies us all--to find the murderers of the count and countess. "

M. Plantat, at these words, bent on the judge of instruction hisclear and deep look, as if to search his conscience to the bottom. 

"These details were indispensable, " returned M. Domini, "and theyare very clear. Those rendezvous at the hotel struck me; one knowsnot to what extremities jealousy might lead a woman--"

He stopped abruptly, seeking, no doubt, some connection between thepretty Parisian and the murderers; then resumed:

"Now that I know the Tremorels as if I had lived with themintimately, let us proceed to the actual facts. "

The brilliant eye of M. Plantat immediately grew dim; he opened hislips as if to speak; but kept his peace. The doctor alone, who hadnot ceased to study the old justice of the peace, remarked the suddenchange of his features. 

"It only remains, " said M. Domini, "to know how the new couple lived. "

M. Courtois thought it due to his dignity to anticipate M. Plantat. 

"You ask how the new couple lived, " said he hastily; "they lived inperfect concord; nobody knows better about it than I, who was mostintimate with them. The memory of poor Sauvresy was a bond ofhappiness between them; if they liked me so well, it was because Ioften talked of him. Never a cloud, never a cross word. Hector--I called him so, familiarly, this poor, dear count--gave hiswife the tender attentions of a lover; those delicate cares, whichI fear most married people soon dispense with. "

"And the countess?" asked M. Plantat, in a tone too marked not tobe ironical. 

"Bertha?" replied the worthy mayor--"she permitted me to call herthus, paternally--I have cited her many and many a time as anexample and model, to Madame Courtois. She was worthy of Hectorand of Sauvresy, the two most worthy men I have ever met!"

Then, perceiving that his enthusiasm somewhat surprised his hearers, he added, more softly:

"I have my reasons for expressing myself thus; and I do nothesitate to do so before men whose profession and character willjustify my discretion. Sauvresy, when living, did me a greatservice--when I was forced to take the mayoralty. As for Hector, I knew well that he had departed--from the dissipations of hisyouth, and thought I discerned that he was not indifferent to myeldest daughter, Laurence; and I dreamed of a marriage all the moreproper, as, if the Count Hector had a great name, I would give tomy daughter a dowry large enough to gild any escutcheon. Onlyevents modified my projects. "

The mayor would have gone on singing the praises of the Tremorels, and his own family, if the judge of instruction had not interposed. 

"Here I am fixed, " he commenced, "now, it seems to me--"

He was interrupted by a loud noise in the vestibule. It seemedlike a struggle, and cries and shouts reached the drawing-room. Everybody rose. 

"I know what it is, " said the mayor, "only too well. They havejust found the body of the Count de Tremorel. "

 IV

The mayor was mistaken. The drawing-room door opened suddenly, and a man of slender form, who was struggling furiously, and withan energy which would not have been suspected, appeared, held onone side by a gendarme, and on the other by a domestic. 

The struggle had already lasted long, and his clothes were in greatdisorder. His new coat was torn, his cravat floated in strips, thebutton of his collar had been wrenched off, and his open shirt lefthis breast bare. In the vestibule and court were heard the franticcries of the servants and the curious crowd--of whom there weremore than a hundred, whom the news of the crime had collected aboutthe gate, and who burned to hear, and above all to see. 

This enraged crowd cried:

"It is he! Death to the assassin! It is Guespin! See him!"

And the wretch, inspired by an immense fright, continued to struggle. 

"Help!" shouted he hoarsely. "Leave me alone. I am innocent!"

He had posted himself against the drawing-room door, and they couldnot force him forward. 

"Push him, " ordered the mayor, "push him. "

It was easier to command than to execute. Terror lent to Guespinenormous force. But it occurred to the doctor to open the secondwing of the door; the support failed the wretch, and he fell, orrather rolled at the foot of the table at which the judge ofinstruction was seated. He was straightway on his feet again, andhis eyes sought a chance to escape. Seeing none--for the windowsand doors were crowded with the lookers-on--he fell into a chair. The fellow appeared the image of terror, wrought up to paroxysm. Onhis livid face, black and blue, were visible the marks of the blowshe had received in the struggle; his white lips trembled, and hemoved his jaws as if he sought a little saliva for his burningtongue; his staring eyes were bloodshot, and expressed the wildestdistress; his body was bent with convulsive spasms. So terriblewas this spectacle, that the mayor thought it might be an exampleof great moral force. He turned toward the crowd, and pointing toGuespin, said in a tragic tone:

"See what crime is!"

The others exchanged surprised looks. 

"If he is guilty, " muttered M. Plantat, "why on earth has hereturned?"

It was with difficulty that the crowd was kept back; the brigadierwas forced to call in the aid of his men. Then he returned andplaced himself beside Guespin, thinking it not prudent to leavehim alone with unarmed men. 

But the man was little to be feared. The reaction came; hisover-excited energy became exhausted, his strained muscles flaccid, and his prostration resembled the agony of brain fever. Meanwhilethe brigadier recounted what had happened. 

"Some of the servants of the chateau and the neighboring houses werechatting near the gate, about the crime, and the disappearance ofGuespin last night, when all of a sudden, someone perceived him ata distance, staggering, and singing boisterously, as if he weredrunk. "

"Was he really drunk?" asked M. Domini. 

"Very, " returned the brigadier. 

"Then we owe it to the wine that we have caught him, and thus allwill be explained. "

"On perceiving this wretch, " pursued the gendarme, who seemed notto have the shadow of a doubt of Guespin's guilt, "Francois, thecount's valet de chambre, and Baptiste, the mayor's servant, whowere there, hastened to meet him, and seized him. He was so tipsythat he thought they were fooling with him. When he saw my men, he was undeceived. Just then one of the women cried out, 'Brigand, it was you who have this night assassinated the count and thecountess!' He immediately became paler than death, and remainedmotionless and dumb. Then he began to struggle so violently thathe nearly escaped. Ah! he's strong, the rogue, although he doesnot look like it. "

"And he said nothing?" said Plantat. 

"Not a word; his teeth were so tightly shut with rage that I'm surehe couldn't say 'bread. ' But we've got him. I've searched him, and this is what I have found in his pockets: a handkerchief, apruning-knife, two small keys, a scrap of paper covered withfigures, and an address of the establishment of 'Vulcan's Forges. 'But that's not all--"

The brigadier took a step, and eyed his auditors mysteriously; hewas preparing his effect. 

"That's not all. While they were bringing him along in thecourt-yard, he tried to get rid of his wallet. Happily I had myeyes open, and saw the dodge. I picked up the wallet, which hehad thrown among the flowers near the door; here it is. In it area one-hundred-franc note, three napoleons, and seven francs inchange. Yesterday the rascal hadn't a sou--"

"How do you know that?" asked M. Domini. 

"Dame! Monsieur Judge, he borrowed of the valet Francois (whotold me of it) twenty-five francs, pretending that it was to payhis share of the wedding expenses. "

"Tell Francois to come here, " said the judge of instruction. "Now, sir, " he continued, when the valet presented himself, "do you knowwhether Guespin had any money yesterday?"

"He had so little, Monsieur, " answered Francois promptly, "that heasked me to lend him twenty-five francs during the day, saying thatotherwise he could not go to the wedding, not having enough even topay his railway fare. "

"But he might have some savings--a hundred-franc note, forinstance, which he didn't like to change. "

Francois shook his head with an incredulous smile. 

"Guespin isn't the man to have savings, " said he; "Women and cardsexhaust all his wages. No longer ago than last week, the keeper ofthe Cafe du Commerce came here and made a row on account of what heowed him, and threatened to go to the count about it. "

Perceiving the effect of what he said, the valet, as if to correcthimself, hastened to add:

"I have no ill-will toward Guespin; before to-day I've alwaysconsidered him a clever fellow, though he was too much of apractical joker; he was, perhaps, a little proud, considering hisbringing up--"

"You may go, " said the judge, cutting the disquisition of M. Francois short; the valet retired. 

During this colloquy, Guespin had little by little come to himself. The judge of instruction, Plantat, and the mayor narrowly watchedthe play of his countenance, which he had not the coolness tocompose, while the doctor held his pulse and counted its beating. 

"Remorse, and fear of punishment, " muttered the mayor. 

"Innocence, and the impossibility of proving it, " responded Plantatin a low tone. 

M. Domini heard both these exclamations, but did not appear to takenotice of them. His opinion was not formed, and he did not wishthat anyone should be able to foretell, by any word of his, whatit would be. 

"Are you better, my friend?" asked Dr. Gendron, of Guespin. 

The poor fellow made an affirmative sign. Then, having lookedaround with the anxious glance of a man who calculates a precipiceover which he has fallen, he passed his hand across his eyes andstammered:

"Something to drink!"

A glass of water was brought, and he drank it at a draught, withan expression of intense satisfaction. Then he got upon his feet. 

"Are you now in a fit state to answer me?" asked the judge. 

Guespin staggered a little, then drew himself up. He continuederect before the judge, supporting himself against a table. Thenervous trembling of his hands diminished, the blood returned tohis cheeks, and as he listened, he arranged the disorder of hisclothes. 

"You know the events of this night, don't you?" commenced thejudge; "the Count and Countess de Tremorel have been murdered. Youwent away yesterday with all the servants of the chateau; you leftthem at the Lyons station about nine o'clock; you have justreturned, alone. Where have you passed the night?"

Guespin hung his head and remained silent. 

"That is not all, " continued M. Domini; "yesterday you had no money, the fact is well known; one of your fellow-servants has just provedit. To-day, one hundred and sixty-seven francs are found in yourwallet. Where did you get this money?"

The unhappy creature's lip moved as if he wished to answer; asudden thought seemed to check him, for he did not speak. 

"More yet. What is this card of a hardware establishment that hasbeen found in your pocket?"

Guespin made a sign of desperation, and stammered:

"I am innocent. "

"I have not as yet accused you, " said the judge of instruction, quickly. "You knew, perhaps, that the count received a considerablesum yesterday?"

A bitter smile parted Guespin's lips as he answered:

"I know well enough that everything is against me. "

There was a profound silence. The doctor, the mayor, and Plantat, seized with a keen curiosity, dared not move. Perhaps nothing inthe world is more thrilling than one of these merciless duelsbetween justice and a man suspected of a crime. The questions mayseem insignificant, the answers irrelevant; both questions andanswers envelop terrible, hidden meanings. The smallest gesture, the most rapid movement of physiognomy may acquire deep significance, a fugitive light in the eye betray an advantage gained; animperceptible change in the voice may be confession. 

The coolness of M. Domini was disheartening. 

"Let us see, " said he after a pause: "where did you pass the night?How did you get this money? And what does this address mean?"

"Eh!" cried Guespin, with the rage of powerlessness, "I should tellyou what you would not believe. "

The judge was about to ask another question, but Guespin cut himshort. 

"No; you wouldn't believe me, " he repeated, his eyes glistening withanger. "Do men like you believe men like me? I have a past, youknow, of antecedents, as you would say. The past! They throw thatin my face, as if, the future depended on the past. Well, yes; it'strue, I'm a debauchee, a gambler, a drunkard, an idler, but what ofit? It's true I have been before the police court, and condemnedfor night poaching--what does that prove? I have wasted my life, but whom have I wronged if not myself? My past! Have I notsufficiently expiated it?"

Guespin was self-possessed, and finding in himself sensations whichawoke a sort of eloquence, he expressed himself with a savage energywell calculated to strike his hearers. 

"I have not always served others, " he continued; "my father was ineasy circumstances--almost rich. He had large gardens, nearSaumur, and he passed for one of the best gardeners of that region. I was educated, and when sixteen years old, began to study law. Four years later they thought me a talented youth. Unhappily forme, my father died. He left me a landed property worth a hundredthousand francs: I sold it out for sixty thousand and went to Paris. I was a fool then. I had the fever of pleasure-seeking, a thirstfor all sorts of pastimes, perfect health, plenty of money. I foundParis a narrow limit for my vices; it seemed to me that the objectsof my desires were wanting. I thought my sixty thousand francswould last forever. "

Guespin paused; a thousand memories of those times rushed into histhoughts and he muttered:

"Those were good times. "

"My sixty thousand francs, " he resumed, "held out eight years. Then I hadn't a sou, yet I longed to continue my way of living. You understand, don't you? About this time, the police, one night, arrested me. I was 'detained' six months. You will find therecords of the affair at the prefecture. Do you know what it willtell you? It will tell you that on leaving prison I fell into thatshameful and abominable misery which exists in Paris. It will tellyou that I have lived among the worst and lowest outcasts of Paris--and it is the truth. "

The worthy mayor was filled with consternation. 

"Good Heaven!" thought he, "what an audacious and cynical rascal!and to think that one is liable at any time to admit such servantsinto his house!"

The judge held his tongue. He knew that Guespin was in such a statethat, under the irresistible impulse of passion, he might betray hisinnermost thoughts. 

"But there is one thing, " continued the suspected man, "that therecord will not tell you; that, disgusted with this abject life, Iwas tempted to suicide. It will not tell you anything of mydesperate attempts, my repentance, my relapses. At last, I wasable in part to reform. I got work; and after being in foursituations, engaged myself here. I found myself well off. I alwaysspent my month's wages in advance, it's true--but what would youhave? And ask if anyone has ever had to complain of me. "

It is well known that among the most intelligent criminals, thosewho have had a certain degree of education, and enjoyed some goodfortune, are the most redoubtable. According to this, Guespin wasdecidedly dangerous. So thought those who heard him. Meanwhile, exhausted by his excitement, he paused and wiped his face, coveredwith perspiration. 

M. Domini had not lost sight of his plan of attack. 

"All that is very well, " said he, "we will return to your confessionat the proper time and place. But just now the question is, how youspent your night, and where you got this money. "

This persistency seemed to exasperate Guespin. 

"Eh!" cried he, "how do you want me to answer? The truth? Youwouldn't credit it. As well keep silent. It is a fatality. "

"I warn you for your own sake, " resumed the judge, "that if youpersist in refusing to answer, the charges which weigh upon you aresuch that I will have you arrested as suspected of this murder. "

This menace seemed to have a remarkable effect on Guespin. Greattears filled his eyes, up to that time dry and flashing, andsilently rolled down his cheeks. His energy was exhausted; he fellon his knees, crying:

"Mercy! I beg you, Monsieur, not to arrest me; I swear I aminnocent, I swear it!"

"Speak, then. "

"You wish it, " said Guespin, rising. Then he suddenly changed histone. "No, I will not speak, I cannot! One man alone could saveme; it is the count; and he is dead. I am innocent; yet if theguilty are not found, I am lost. Everything is against me. I knowit too well. Now, do with me as you please; I will not say anotherword. "

Guespin's determination, confirmed by his look, did not surprise thejudge. 

"You will reflect, " said he, quietly, "only, when you havereflected, I shall not have the same confidence in what you sayas I should have now. Possibly, " and the judge spoke slowly andwith emphasis, "you have only had an indirect part in this crime;if so--"

"Neither indirect nor direct, " interrupted Guespin; and he added, violently, "what misery! To be innocent, and not able to defendmyself. "

"Since it is so, " resumed M. Domini, "you should not object to beplaced before Mme. De Tremorel's body?"

The accused did not seem affected by this menace. He was conductedinto the hall whither they had fetched the countess. There, heexamined the body with a cold and calm eye. He said, simply:

"She is happier than I; she is dead, she suffers no longer; and I, who am not guilty, am accused of her death. "

M. Domini made one more effort. 

"Come, Guespin; if in any way you know of this crime, I conjureyou, tell me. If you know the murderers, name them. Try to meritsome indulgence for your frankness and repentance. "

Guespin made a gesture as if resigned to persecution. "By all thatis most sacred, " he answered, "I am innocent. Yet I see clearlythat if the murderer is not found, I am lost. "

Little by little M. Domini's conviction was formed and confirmed. An inquest of this sort is not so difficult as may be imagined. The difficulty is to seize at the beginning; in the entangled skein, the main thread, which must lead to the truth through all the mazes, the ruses, silence, falsehoods of the guilty. M. Domini wascertain that he held this precious thread. Having one of theassassins, he knew well that he would secure the others. Ourprisons, where good soup is eaten, and good beds are provided, havetongues, as well as the dungeons of the medieval ages. 

The judge ordered the brigadier to arrest Guespin, and told him notto lose sight of him. He then sent for old Bertaud. This worthypersonage was not one of the people who worry themselves. He hadhad so many affairs with the men of law, that one inquisition themore disturbed him little. 

"This man has a bad reputation in my commune, " whispered the mayorto M. Domini. 

Bertaud heard it, however, and smiled. 

Questioned by the judge of instruction, he recounted very clearlyand exactly what had happened in the morning, his resistance, andhis son's determination. He explained the reason for thefalsehood they told; and here again the chapter of antecedentscame up. 

"Look here; I'm better than my reputation, after all, " said he. "There are many folks who can't say as much. You see many thingswhen you go about at night--enough. "

He was urged to explain his allusions, but in vain. 

When he was asked where and how he had passed the night, heanswered, that having left the cabaret at ten o'clock, he went toput down some traps in Mauprevoir wood; and had gone home and tobed about one o'clock. 

"By the bye, " added he, "there ought to be some game in thosetraps by this time. "

"Can you bring a witness to prove that you went home at one?"asked the mayor, who bethought him of the count's clock, stoppedat twenty minutes past three. 

"Don't know, I'm sure, " carelessly responded the poacher, "it'squite likely that my son didn't wake up when I went to bed. "

He added, seeing the judge reflect:

"I suspect that you are going to imprison me until the murderersare discovered. If it was winter, I wouldn't complain much; afellow is well off in prison then, for it's warm there. But justat the time for hunting, it's provoking. It will be a good lessonfor that Philippe; it'll teach him what it costs to render a serviceto gentlefolks. "

"Enough!" interrupted M. Domini, sternly. "Do you know Guespin?"

This name suddenly subdued the careless insolence of the marauder;his little gray eyes experienced a singular restlessness. 

"Certainly, " he answered in an embarrassed tone, "we have often madea party at cards, you understand, while sipping our 'gloria. '"*

 [* Coffee and brandy. ]

The man's inquietude struck the four who heard him. Plantat, especially, betrayed profound surprise. The old vagabond was tooshrewd not to perceive the effect which he produced. 

"Faith, so much the worse!" cried he: "I'll tell you everything. Every man for himself, isn't it? If Guespin has done the deed, itwill not blacken him any more, nor make him any the worse off. Iknow him, simply because he used to sell me the grapes andstrawberries from the count's conservatories; I suppose he stolethem; we divided the money, and I left. "

Plantat could not refrain from an exclamation of satisfaction, asif to say, "Good luck! I knew it well enough!"

When he said he would be sent to prison, Bertaud was not wrong. The judge ordered his arrest. 

It was now Philippe's turn. 

The poor fellow was in a pitiable state; he was crying bitterly. 

"To accuse me of such a crime, me!" he kept repeating. 

On being questioned he told the pure and simple truth, excusinghimself, however, for having dared to penetrate into the park. When he was asked at what hour his father reached home, he said heknew nothing about it; he had gone to bed about nine, and had notawoke until morning. He knew Guespin, from having seen him at hisfather's several times. He knew that the old man had sometransactions with the gardener, but he was ignorant as to what theywere. He had never spoken four times to Guespin. The judgeordered Philippe to be set at liberty, not that he was whollyconvinced of his innocence, but because if the crime had beencommitted by several persons, it was well to have one of themfree; he could be watched, and he would betray the whereaboutsof the rest. 

Meanwhile the count's body was nowhere to be found. The park hadbeen rigidly searched, but in vain. The mayor suggested that hehad been thrown into the river, which was also M. Domini's opinion;and some fishermen were sent to drag the Seine, commencing theirsearch a little above the place where the countess was found. 

It was then nearly three o'clock. M. Plantat remarked that probablyno one had eaten anything during the day. Would it not be wise totake something, he suggested, if the investigations were to bepursued till night? This appeal to the trivial necessities of ourfrail humanity highly displeased the worthy mayor; but the restreadily assented to the suggestion, and M. Courtois, though not inthe least hungry, followed the general example. Around the tablewhich was yet wet with the wine spilt by the assassins, the judge, M. Plantat, the mayor, and the doctor sat down, and partook of animprovised collation. 

 V

The staircase had been put under guard, but the vestibule hadremained free. People were heard coming and going, tramping andcoughing; then rising above this continuous noise, the oaths ofthe gendarmes trying to keep back the crowd. From time to time, ascared face passed by the dining-room door, which was ajar. Thesewere curious folks who, more daring than the rest, wished to seethe "men of justice" eating, and tried to hear a word or two, toreport them, and so become important in the eyes of the others. But the "men of justice"--as they said at Orcival--took care tosay nothing of moment while the doors were open, and while aservant was passing to and fro. Greatly moved by this frightfulcrime, disturbed by the mystery which surrounded it, they hidtheir impressions. Each, on his part, studied the probability ofhis suspicions, and kept his opinion to himself. 

M. Domini, as he ate, put his notes in order, numbering the leaves, marking certain peculiarly significant answers of the suspectedpersons with a cross. He was, perhaps, the least tormented of thefour companions at this funereal repast. The crime did not seem tohim one of those which keep judges of instruction sleepless throughthe night; he saw clearly the motive of it; and he had Bertaud andGuespin, two of the assassins, or at least accomplices, secure. 

M. Plantat and Dr. Gendron, seated next each other, were talkingof the illness which carried off Sauvresy. M. Courtois listened tothe hubbub without. 

The news of the double murder was soon noised about the neighborhood, and the crowd increased every minute. It filled the court, andbecame bolder and bolder; the gendarmes were overwhelmed. Then ornever was the time for the mayor to show his authority. "I am goingto make these people listen to reason, " said he, "and make themretire. " And at once, wiping his mouth, he threw his tumbled napkinon the table, and went out. 

It was time. The brigadier's injunctions were no longer heeded. Some curious people, more eager than the rest, had flanked theposition and were forcing an entrance through the gate leading tothe garden. The mayor's presence did not perhaps intimidate thecrowd much, but it redoubled the energy of the gendarmes;the vestibule was cleared, amid murmurings against the arm of thelaw. What a chance for a speech! M. Courtois was not wanting tothe occasion. He believed that his eloquence, endowed with thevirtues of a cold showerbath, would calm this unwonted effervescenceof his constituency. He stepped forward upon the steps, his lefthand resting in the opening of his vest, gesturing with his right inthe proud and impassible attitude which the sculptor lends to greatorators. It was thus that he posed before his council when, findingunexpected opposition, he undertook to impose his will upon them, and recall the recalcitrant members to their duty. 

His speech, in fragments, penetrated to the dining-room. Accordingas he turned to the right or to the left, his voice was clear anddistinct, or was lost in space. He said:

"Fellow-citizens, an atrocious crime, unheard of before in ourcommune, has shocked our peaceable and honest neighborhood. Iunderstand and excuse your feverish emotion, your naturalindignation. As well as you, my friends, more than you--I cherishedand esteemed the noble Count de Tremorel, and his virtuous wife. Wemourn them together--"

"I assure you, " said Dr. Gendron to M. Plantat, "that the symptomsyou describe are not uncommon after pleurisy. From the acute state, the inflammation passes to the chronic state, and becomes complicatedwith pneumonia. "

"But nothing, " pursued the mayor, "can justify a curiosity, whichby its importunate attempts to be satisfied, embarrasses theinvestigation, and is, at all events, a punishable interferencewith the cause of justice. Why this unwonted gathering? Why theserumors and noises? These premature conjectures?"

"There were several consultations, " said M. Plantat, "which did nothave favorable results. Sauvresy suffered altogether strange andunaccountable tortures. He complained of troubles so unwonted, soabsurd, if you'll excuse the word, that he discouraged all theconjectures of the most experienced physicians. "

"Was it not R---, of Paris, who attended him?"

"Exactly. He came daily, and often remained overnight. Many timesI have seen him ascending the principal street of the village, withtroubled countenance, as he went to give his prescription to theapothecary. 

"Be wise enough, " cried M. Courtois, "to moderate your just anger;be calm; be dignified. "

"Surely, " continued Dr. Gendron, "your apothecary is an intelligentman; but you have at Orcival a fellow who quite outdoes him, afellow who knows how to make money; one Robelot--"

"Robelot, the bone-setter?"

"That's the man. I suspect him of giving consultations, andprescribing sub rosa. He is very clever. In fact I educated him. Five or six years ago, he was my laboratory boy, and even now Iemploy him when I have a delicate operation on hand--"

The doctor stopped, struck by the alteration in the impassiblePlantat's features. 

"What is the matter, my friend?" he asked. "Are you ill?"

The judge left his notes, to look at him. "Why, " said he, "MonsieurPlantat is very pale--"

But M. Plantat speedily resumed his habitual expression. 

"'Tis nothing, " he answered, "really nothing. With my abominablestomach, as soon as I change my hour of eating--"

Having reached his peroration, M. Courtois raised his voice. 

"Return, " said he, "to your peaceable homes, your quiet avocations. Rest assured the law protects you. Already justice has begun itswork; two of the criminals are in its power, and we are on the trackof their accomplices. "

"Of all the servants of the chateau, " remarked M. Plantat, "thereremains not one who knew Sauvresy. The domestics have one by onebeen replaced. "

"No doubt, " answered the doctor, "the sight of the old servantswould be disagreeable to Monsieur de Tremorel. "

He was interrupted by the mayor, who re-entered, his eyes glowing, his face animated, wiping his forehead. 

"I have let the people know, " said he, "the indecency of theircuriosity. They have all gone away. They were anxious to get atPhilippe Bertaud, the brigadier says; public opinion has a sharpscent. "

Hearing the door open, he turned, and found himself face to facewith a man whose features were scarcely visible, so profoundly didhe bow, his hat pressed against his breast. 

"What do you wish?" sternly asked M. Courtois. "By what right haveyou come in here?--Who are you?"

The man drew himself up. 

"I am Monsieur Lecoq, " he replied, with a gracious smile. "MonsieurLecoq of the detective force, sent by the prefect of police in replyto a telegram, for this affair. "

This declaration clearly surprised all present, even the judge ofinstruction. 

In France, each profession has its special externals, as it were, insignia, which betray it at first view. Each profession has itsconventional type, and when public opinion has adopted a type, itdoes not admit it possible that the type should be departed from. What is a doctor? A grave man, all in black, with a white cravat. A gentleman with a capacious stomach, adorned with heavy gold seals, can only be a banker. Everybody knows that the artist is a merryliver, with a peaked hat, a velvet vest, and enormous ruffles. Byvirtue of this rule, the detective of the prefecture ought to havean eye full of mystery, something suspicious about him, a negligenceof dress, and imitation jewelry. The most obtuse shopkeeper is surethat he can scent a detective at twenty paces a big man withmustaches, and a shining felt hat, his throat imprisoned by a collarof hair, dressed in a black, threadbare surtout, carefully buttonedup on account of the entire absence of linen. Such is the type. But, according to this, M. Lecoq, as he entered the dining-room atValfeuillu, had by no means the air of a detective. True, M. Lecoqcan assume whatever air he pleases. His friends declare that hehas a physiognomy peculiar to himself, which he resumes when heenters his own house, and which he retains by his own fireside, withhis slippers on; but the fact is not well proved. What is certain, is that his mobile face lends itself to strange metamorphoses; thathe moulds his features according to his will, as the sculptor mouldsclay for modelling. He changes everything, even his look. 

"So, " said the judge of instruction, "the prefect has sent you to me, in case certain investigations become necessary. "

"Yes, Monsieur, quite at your service. "

M. Lecoq had on this day assumed a handsome wig of lank hair, ofthat vague color called Paris blonde, parted on the side by a linepretentiously fanciful; whiskers of the same color puffed out withbad pomade, encircled a pallid face. His big eyes seemed congealedwithin their red border, an open smile rested on his thick lips, which, in parting, discovered a range of long yellow teeth. Hisface, otherwise, expressed nothing in particular. It was a nearlyequal mixture of timidity, self-sufficiency, and contentment. Itwas quite impossible to concede the least intelligence to thepossessor of such a phiz. One involuntarily looked for a goitre. The retail haberdashers, who, having cheated for thirty years intheir threads and needles, retire with large incomes, should havesuch heads as this. His apparel was as dull as his person. Hiscoat resembled all coats, his trousers all trousers. A hair chain, the same color as his whiskers, was attached to a large silver watch, which bulged out his left waistcoat pocket. While speaking, hefumbled with a confection-box made of transparent horn, full oflittle square lozenges, and adorned by a portrait of a very homely, well-dressed woman--"the defunct, " no doubt. As the conversationproceeded, according as he was satisfied or disturbed, M. Lecoqmunched a lozenge, or directed glances toward the portrait whichwere quite a poem in themselves. 

Having examined the man a long time, the judge of instructionshrugged his shoulders. "Well, " said M. Domini, finally, "nowthat you are here, we will explain to you what has occurred. "

"Oh, that's quite useless, " responded Lecoq, with a satisfied air, "perfectly useless, sir. "

"Nevertheless, it is necessary that you should know--"

"What? that which monsieur the judge knows?" interrupted thedetective, "for that I already know. Let us agree there has beena murder, with theft as its motive; and start from that point. Thecountess's body has been found--not so that of the count. Whatelse? Bertaud, an acknowledged rogue, is arrested; he merits alittle punishment, doubtless. Guespin came back drunk; ah, thereare sad charges against this Guespin! His past is deplorable; itis not known where he passed the night, he refuses to answer, hebrings no alibi--this is indeed grave!"

M. Plantat gazed at the detective with visible pleasure. 

"Who has told you about these things?" asked M. Domini. 

"Well--everybody has told me a little. "

"But where?"

"Here: I've already been here two hours, and even heard the mayor'sspeech. "

And, satisfied with the effect he had produced, M. Lecoq munched alozenge. 

"You were not aware, then, " resumed the judge, "that I was waitingfor you?"

"Pardon me, " said the detective; "I hope you will be kind enough tohear me. You see, it is indispensable to study the ground; one mustlook about, establish his batteries. I am anxious to catch thegeneral rumor--public opinion, as they say, so as to distrust it. "

"All this, " answered M. Domini, severely, "does not justify yourdelay. "

M. Lecoq glanced tenderly at the portrait. 

"Monsieur the judge, " said he, "has only to inquire at theprefecture, and he will learn that I know my profession. The greatthing requisite, in order to make an effective search, is to remainunknown. The police are not popular. Now, if they knew who I was, and why I was here, I might go out, but nobody would tell meanything; I might ask questions--they'd serve me a hundred lies;they would distrust me, and hold their tongues. "

"Quite true--quite true, " murmured Plantat, coming to the supportof the detective. 

M. Lecoq went on:

"So that when I was told that I was going into the country, I puton my country face and clothes. I arrive here and everybody, onseeing me, says to himself, 'Here's a curious bumpkin, but not abad fellow. ' Then I slip about, listen, talk, make the rest talk!I ask this question and that, and am answered frankly; I informmyself, gather hints, no one troubles himself about me. TheseOrcival folks are positively charming; why, I've already made severalfriends, and am invited to dine this very evening. "

M. Domini did not like the police, and scarcely concealed it. Herather submitted to their co-operation than accepted it, solelybecause he could not do without them. While listening to M. Lecoq, he could not but approve of what he said; yet he looked at him withan eye by no means friendly. 

"Since you know so much about the matter, " observed he, dryly, "wewill proceed to examine the scene of the crime. "

"I am quite at Monsieur the judge's orders, " returned the detective, laconically. As everyone was getting up, he took the opportunityto offer M. Plantat his lozenge-box. 

"Monsieur perhaps uses them?"

Plantat, unwilling to decline, appropriated a lozenge, and thedetective's face became again serene. Public sympathy was necessaryto him, as it is to all great comedians. 

 VI

M. Lecoq was the first to reach the staircase, and the spots ofblood at once caught his eye. 

"Oh, " cried he, at each spot he saw, "oh, oh, the wretches!"

M. Courtois was much moved to find so much sensibility in adetective. The latter, as he continued to ascend, went on:

"The wretches! They don't often leave traces like this everywhere--or at least they wipe them out. "

On gaining the first landing, and the door of the boudoir which ledinto the chamber, he stopped, eagerly scanning, before he entered, the position of the rooms. 

Then he entered the boudoir, saying:

"Come; I don't see my way clear yet. "

"But it seems to me, " remarked the judge, "that we have alreadyimportant materials to aid your task. It is clear that Guespin, if he is not an accomplice, at least knew something about the crime. "

M. Lecoq had recourse to the portrait in the lozenge-box. It wasmore than a glance, it was a confidence. He evidently said somethingto the dear defunct, which he dared not say aloud. 

"I see that Guespin is seriously compromised, " resumed he. "Whydidn't he want to tell where he passed the night? But, then, publicopinion is against him, and I naturally distrust that. "

The detective stood alone in the middle of the room, the rest, athis request, remained at the threshold, and looking keenly abouthim, searched for some explanation of the frightful disorder of theapartment. 

"Fools!" cried he, in an irritated tone, "double brutes! Becausethey murder people so as to rob them, is no reason why they shouldbreak everything in the house. Sharp folks don't smash up furniture;they carry pretty picklocks, which work well and make no noise. Idiots! one would say--"

He stopped with his mouth wide open. 

"Eh! Not so bungling, after all, perhaps. "

The witnesses of this scene remained motionless at the door, following, with an interest mingled with surprise, the detective'smovements. 

Kneeling down, he passed his flat palm over the thick carpet, amongthe broken porcelain. 

"It's damp; very damp. The tea was not all drunk, it seems, whenthe cups were broken. "

"Some tea might have remained in the teapot, " suggested Plantat. 

"I know it, " answered M. Lecoq, "just what I was going to say. Sothat this dampness cannot tell us the exact moment when the crimewas committed. "

"But the clock does, and very exactly, " interrupted the mayor. 

"The mayor, " said M. Domini, "in his notes, well explains that themovements of the clock stopped when it fell. "

"But see here, " said M. Plantat, "it was the odd hour marked bythat clock that struck me. The hands point to twenty minutes pastthree; yet we know that the countess was fully dressed, when shewas struck. Was she up taking tea at three in the morning? It'shardly probable. "

"I, too, was struck with that circumstance, " returned M. Lecoq, "andthat's why I said, 'not so stupid!' Well, let's see. "

He lifted the clock with great care, and replaced it on the mantel, being cautious to set it exactly upright. The hands continued topoint to twenty minutes past three. 

"Twenty past three!" muttered he, while slipping a little wedgeunder the stand. "People don't take tea at that hour. Still lesscommon is it that people are murdered at daylight. "

He opened the clock-case with some difficulty, and pushed the longerhand to the figure of half-past three. 

The clock struck eleven!

"Good, " cried M. Lecoq, triumphantly. "That is the truth!" anddrawing the lozenge-box from his pocket, he excitedly crushed alozenge between his teeth. 

The simplicity of this discovery surprised the spectators; the ideaof trying the clock in this way had occurred to no one. M. Courtois, especially, was bewildered. 

"There's a fellow, " whispered he to the doctor, "who knows whathe's about. "

"Ergo, " resumed M. Lecoq (who knew Latin), "we have here, not brutes, as I thought at first, but rascals who looked beyond the end of theirknife. They intended to put us off the scent, by deceiving us as tothe hour. "

"I don't see their object very clearly, " said M. Courtois, timidly. 

"Yet it is easy to see it, " answered M. Domini. "Was it not fortheir interest to make it appear that the crime was committed afterthe last train for Paris had left? Guespin, leaving his companionsat the Lyons station at nine, might have reached here at ten, murdered the count and countess, seized the money which he knew tobe in the count's possession, and returned to Paris by the lasttrain. "

"These conjectures are very shrewd, " interposed M. Plantat; "buthow is it that Guespin did not rejoin his comrades in theBatignolles? For in that way, to a certain degree, he might haveprovided a kind of alibi. "

Dr. Gendron had been sitting on the only unbroken chair in thechamber, reflecting on Plantat's sudden embarrassment, when hehad spoken of Robelot the bone-setter. The remarks of the judgedrew him from his revery; he got up, and said:

"There is another point; putting forward the time was perhapsuseful to Guespin, but it would greatly damage Bertaud, hisaccomplice. "

"But, " answered M. Domini, "it might be that Bertaud was notconsulted. As to Guespin, he had no doubt good reasons for notreturning to the wedding. His restlessness, after such a deed, would possibly have betrayed him. "

M. Lecoq had not thought fit to speak as yet. Like a doctor at asick bedside, he wanted to be sure of his diagnosis. He hadreturned to the mantel, and again pushed forward the hands of theclock. It sounded, successively, half-past eleven, then twelve, then half-past twelve, then one. 

As he moved the hands, he kept muttering:

"Apprentices--chance brigands! You are malicious, parbleu, butyou don't think of everything. You give a push to the hands, butdon't remember to put the striking in harmony with them. Thencomes along a detective, an old rat who knows things, and the dodgeis discovered. "

M. Domini and Plantat held their tongues. M. Lecoq walked up tothem. 

"Monsieur the Judge, " said he, "is perhaps now convinced that thedeed was done at half-past ten. "

"Unless, " interrupted M. Plantat, "the machinery of the clock hasbeen out of order. "

"That often happens, " added M. Courtois. "The clock in mydrawing-room is in such a state that I never know the time of day. "

M. Lecoq reflected. 

"It is possible, " said he, "that Monsieur Plantat is right. Theprobability is in favor of my theory; but probability, in such anaffair, is not sufficient; we must have certainty. There happilyremains a mode of testing the matter--the bed; I'll wager it isrumpled up. " Then addressing the mayor, "I shall need a servant tolend me a hand. "

"I'll help you, " said Plantat, "that will be a quicker way. "

They lifted the top of the bed and set it on the floor, at thesame time raising the curtains. 

"Hum!" cried M. Lecoq, "was I right?"

"True, " said M. Domini, surprised, "the bed is rumpled. "

"Yes; and yet no one has lain in it. "

"But--" objected M. Courtois. 

"I am sure of what I say, " interrupted the detective. "The sheets, it is true, have been thrown back, perhaps someone has rolled aboutin the bed; the pillows have been tumbled, the quilts and curtainsruffled, but this bed has not the appearance of having been sleptin. It is, perhaps, more difficult to rumple up a bed than to putit in order again. To make it up, the coverings must be taken off, and the mattresses turned. To disarrange it, one must actually liedown in it, and warm it with the body. A bed is one of thoseterrible witnesses which never misguide, and against which no countertestimony can be given. Nobody has gone to bed in this--"

"The countess, " remarked Plantat, "was dressed; but the count mighthave gone to bed first. "

"No, " answered M. Lecoq, "I'll prove to the contrary. The proof iseasy, indeed, and a child of ten, having heard it, wouldn't thinkof being deceived by this intentional disorder of the bedclothes. "

M. Lecoq's auditors drew up to him. He put the coverings back uponthe middle of the bed, and went on:

"Both of the pillows are much rumpled, are they not? But look underthe bolster--it is all smooth, and you find none of those wrinkleswhich are made by the weight of the head and the moving about ofthe arms. That's not all; look at the bed from the middle to thefoot. The sheets being laid carefully, the upper and under lieclose together everywhere. Slip your hand underneath--there--yousee there is a resistance to your hand which would not occur if thelegs had been stretched in that place. Now Monsieur de Tremorelwas tall enough to extend the full length of the bed. "

This demonstration was so clear, its proof so palpable, that itcould not be gainsaid. 

"This is nothing, " continued M. Lecoq. "Let us examine the secondmattress. When a person purposely disarranges a bed, he does notthink of the second mattress. "

He lifted up the upper mattress, and observed that the covering ofthe under one was perfectly even. 

"H'm, the second mattress, " muttered M. Lecoq, as if some memorycrossed his mind. 

"It appears to be proved, " observed the judge, "that Monsieur deTremorel had not gone to bed. "

"Besides, " added the doctor, "if he had been murdered in his bed, his clothes would be lying here somewhere. "

"Without considering, " suggested M. Lecoq, "that some blood musthave been found on the sheets. Decidedly, these criminals werenot shrewd. "

"What seems to me surprising, " M. Plantat observed to the judge, "is that anybody would succeed in killing, except in his sleep, ayoung man so vigorous as Count Hector. "

"And in a house full of weapons, " added Dr. Gendron; "for thecount's cabinet is full of guns, swords and hunting knives; it'sa perfect arsenal. "

"Alas!" sighed M. Courtois, "we know of worse catastrophes. Thereis not a week that the papers don't--"

He stopped, chagrined, for nobody was listening to him. Plantatclaimed the general attention, and continued:

"The confusion in the house seems to you surprising; well now, I'msurprised that it is not worse than it is. I am, so to speak, anold man; I haven't the energy of a young man of thirty-five; yet itseems to me that if assassins should get into my house, when I wasthere, and up, it would go hard with them. I don't know what Iwould do; probably I should be killed; but surely I would give thealarm. I would defend myself, and cry out, and open the windows, and set the house afire. "

"Let us add, " insisted the doctor, "that it is not easy to surprisea man who is awake. There is always an unexpected noise which putsone on his guard. Perhaps it is a creaking door, or a crackingstair. However cautious the murderer, he does not surprise hisvictim. "

"They may have used fire-arms;" struck in the worthy mayor, "thathas been done. You are quietly sitting in your chamber; it issummer, and your windows are open; you are chatting with your wife, and sipping a cup of tea; outside, the assassins are supplied witha short ladder; one ascends to a level with the window, sights youat his ease, presses the trigger, the bullet speeds--"

"And, " continued the doctor, "the whole neighborhood, aroused by it, hastens to the spot. "

"Permit me, pardon, permit me, " said M. Courtois, testily, "thatwould be so in a populous town. Here, in the midst of a vast park, no. Think, doctor, of the isolation of this house. The nearestneighbor is a long way off, and between there are many large trees, intercepting the sound. Let us test it by experience. I will firea pistol in this room, and I'll wager that you will not hear theecho in the road. "

"In the daytime, perhaps, but not in the night. "

"Well, " said M. Domini, who had been reflecting while M. Courtoiswas talking, "if against all hope, Guespin does not decide to speakto-night, or to-morrow, the count's body will afford us a key tothe mystery. "

During this discussion, M. Lecoq had continued his investigations, lifting the furniture, studying the fractures, examining thesmallest pieces, as if they might betray the truth. Now and then, he took out an instrument-case, from which he produced a shank, which he introduced and turned in the locks. He found several keyson the carpet, and on a rack, a towel, which he carefully put oneside, as if he deemed it important. He came and went from thebedroom to the count's cabinet, without losing a word that was said;noting in his memory, not so much the phrases uttered, as thediverse accents and intonations with which they were spoken. In aninquest such as that of the crime of Orcival, when several officialsfind themselves face to face, they hold a certain reserve towardeach other. They know each other to have nearly equal experience, to be shrewd, clear-headed, equally interested in discovering thetruth, not disposed to confide in appearances, difficult tosurprise. Each one, likely enough, gives a different interpretationto the facts revealed; each may have a different theory of the deed;but a superficial observer would not note these differences. Each, while dissimulating his real thoughts, tries to penetrate those ofhis neighbor, and if they are opposed to his own, to convert himto his opinion. The great importance of a single word justifiesthis caution. Men who hold the liberty and lives of others in theirhands, a scratch of whose pen condemns to death, are apt to feelheavily the burden of their responsibility. It is an ineffablesolace, to feel that this burden is shared by others. This is, whyno one dares take the initiative, or express himself openly; buteach awaits other opinions, to adopt or oppose them. They exchangefewer affirmations than suggestions. They proceed by insinuation;then they utter commonplaces, ridiculous suppositions, asides, provocative, as it were, of other explanations. 

In this instance, the judge of instruction and Plantat were farfrom being of the same opinion; they knew it before speaking a word. But M. Domini, whose opinion rested on material and palpable facts, which appeared to him indisputable, was not disposed to provokecontradiction. Plantat, on the contrary, whose system seemed torest on impressions, on a series of logical deductions, would notclearly express himself, without a positive and pressing invitation. His last speech, impressively uttered, had not been replied to; hejudged that he had advanced far enough to sound the detective. 

"Well, Monsieur Lecoq, " asked he, "have you found any new traces?"

M. Lecoq was at that moment curiously examining a large portraitof the Count Hector, which hung opposite the bed. Hearing M. Plantat's question, he turned. 

"I have found nothing decisive, " answered he, "and I have foundnothing to refute my conjectures. But--"

He did not finish; perhaps he too, recoiled before his share of theresponsibility. 

"What?" insisted M. Domini, sternly. 

"I was going to say, " resumed M. Lecoq, "that I am not yet satisfied. I have my lantern and a candle in it; I only need a match--"

"Please preserve your decorum, " interrupted the judge severely. 

"Very well, then, " continued M. Lecoq, in a tone too humble to beserious, "I still hesitate. If the doctor, now, would kindlyproceed to examine the countess's body, he would do me a greatservice. "

"I was just going to ask the same favor, Doctor, " said M. Domini. 

The doctor answering, "Willingly, " directed his steps toward thedoor. 

M. Lecoq caught him by the arm. 

"If you please, " said he, in a tone totally unlike that he had usedup to this time, "I would like to call your attention to the woundson the head, made by a blunt instrument, which I suppose to be ahammer. I have studied these wounds, and though I am no doctor, they seem to me suspicious. "

"And to me, " M. Plantat quickly added. "It seemed to me, that inthe places struck, there was no emission of blood in the cutaneousvessels. "

"The nature of these wounds, " continued M. Lecoq, "will be avaluable indication, which will fix my opinion. " And, as he feltkeenly the brusque manner of the judge, he added:

"It is you, Doctor, who hold the match. "

M. Gendron was about to leave the room, when Baptiste, the mayor'sservant--the man who wouldn't be scolded--appeared. He bowed andsaid:

"I have come for Monsieur the Mayor. "

"For me? why?" asked M. Courtois. "What's the matter? They don'tgive me a minute's rest! Answer that I am busy. "

"It's on account of madame, " resumed the placid Baptiste; "she isn'tat all well. " The excellent mayor grew slightly pale. 

"My wife!" cried he, alarmed. "What do you mean? Explain yourself. "

"The postman arrived just now, " returned Baptiste with a mosttranquil air, "and I carried the letters to madame, who was in thedrawing-room. Hardly had I turned on my heels when I heard a shriek, and the noise of someone falling to the floor. " Baptiste spokeslowly, taking artful pains to prolong his master's anguish. 

"Speak! go on!" cried the mayor, exasperated. "Speak, won't you?"

"I naturally opened the drawing-room door again. What did I see? madame, at full length on the floor. I called for help; thechambermaid, cook, and others came hastening up, and we carriedmadame to her bed. Justine said that it was a letter fromMademoiselle Laurence which overcame my mistress--"

At each word Baptiste hesitated, reflected; his eyes, giving thelie to his solemn face, betrayed the great satisfaction he felt inrelating his master's misfortunes. 

His master was full of consternation. As it is with all of us, when we know not exactly what ill is about to befall us, he darednot ask any questions. He stood still, crushed; lamenting, insteadof hastening home. M. Plantat profited by the pause to questionthe servant, with a look which Baptiste dared not disobey. 

"What, a letter from Mademoiselle Laurence? Isn't she here, then?"

"No, sir: she went away a week ago, to pass a month with one of heraunts. "

"And how is madame?"

"Better, sir; only she cries piteously. "

The unfortunate mayor had now somewhat recovered his presence ofmind. He seized Baptiste by the arm. 

"Come along, " cried he, "come along!"

They hastened off. 

"Poor man!" said the judge of instruction. "Perhaps his daughteris dead. "

M. Plantat shook his head. 

"If it were only that!" muttered he. He added, turning to M. Domini:

"Do you recall the allusions of Bertaud, monsieur?"

 VII

The judge of instruction, the doctor, and M. Plantat exchanged asignificant look. What misfortune had befallen M. Courtois, thisworthy, and despite his faults, excellent person? Decidedly, thiswas an ill-omened day!

"If we are to speak of Bertaud's allusions, " said M. Lecoq, "I haveheard two very curious stories, though I have been here but a fewhours. It seems that this Mademoiselle Laurence--"

M. Plantat abruptly interrupted the detective. 

"Calumnies! odious calumnies! The lower classes, to annoy the rich, do not hesitate to say all sorts of things against them. Don't youknow it? Is it not always so? The gentry, above all, those of aprovincial town, live in glass houses. The lynx eyes of envy watchthem steadily night and day, spy on them, surprise what they regardas their most secret actions to arm themselves against them. Thebourgeois goes on, proud and content; his business prospers; hepossesses the esteem and friendship of his own class; all thiswhile, he is vilified by the lower classes, his name dragged in thedust, soiled by suppositions the most mischievous. Envy, Monsieur, respects nothing, no one. "

"If Laurence has been slandered, " observed Dr. Gendron, smiling, "she has a good advocate to defend her. "

The old justice of the peace (the man of bronze, as M. Courtoiscalled him) blushed slightly, a little embarrassed. 

"There are causes, " said he, quietly, "which defend themselves. Mademoiselle Courtois is one of those young girls who has a rightto all respect. But there are evils which no laws can cure, andwhich revolt me. Think of it, monsieurs, our reputations, thehonor of our wives and daughters, are at the mercy of the firstpetty rascal who has imagination enough to invent a slander. Itis not believed, perhaps; but it is repeated, and spreads. Whatcan be done? How can we know what is secretly said against us;will we ever know it?"

"Eh!" replied the doctor, "what matters it? There is only onevoice, to my mind, worth listening to--that of conscience. As towhat is called 'public opinion, ' as it is the aggregate opinion ofthousands of fools and rogues, I only despise it. "

This discussion might have been prolonged, if the judge ofinstruction had not pulled out his watch, and made an impatientgesture. 

"While we are talking, time is flying, " said he. "We must hastento the work that still remains. "

It was then agreed that while the doctor proceeded to his autopsy, the judge should draw up his report of the case. M. Plantat wascharged with watching Lecoq's investigations. 

As soon as the detective found himself alone with M. Plantat:

"Well, " he said, drawing a long breath, as if relieved of a heavyburden, "now we can get on. "

Plantat smiled; the detective munched a lozenge, and added:

"It was very annoying to find the investigation already going onwhen I reached here. Those who were here before me have had timeto get up a theory, and if I don't adopt it at once, there is thedeuce to pay!"

M. Domini's voice was heard in the entry, calling out to his clerk. 

"Now there's the judge of instruction, " continued Lecoq, "who thinksthis a very simple affair; while I, Lecoq, the equal at least ofGevrol, the favorite pupil of Papa Tabaret--I do not see it at allclearly yet. "

He stopped; and after apparently going over in his mind the resultof his discoveries, went on: "No; I'm off the track, and havealmost lost my way. I see something underneath all this--butwhat? what?"

M. Plantat's face remained placid, but his eyes shone. 

"Perhaps you are right, " said he, carelessly; "perhaps there issomething underneath. " The detective looked at him; he didn'tstir. His face seemed the most undisturbed in the world. Therewas a long silence, by which M. Lecoq profited to confide to theportrait of the defunct the reflections which burdened his brain. 

"See here, my dear darling, " said he, "this worthy person seems ashrewd old customer, and I must watch his actions and gesturescarefully. He does not argue with the judge; he's got an idea thathe doesn't dare to tell, and we must find it out. At the very firsthe guessed me out, despite these pretty blond locks. As long as hethought he could, by misleading me, make me follow M. Domini's tack, he followed and aided me showing me the way. Now that he sees meon the scent, he crosses his arms and retires. He wants to leaveme the honor of the discovery. Why? He lives here--perhaps heis afraid of making enemies. No. He isn't a man to fear much ofanything. What then? He shrinks from his own thoughts. He hasfound something so amazing, that he dares not explain himself. "

A sudden reflection changed the course of M. Lecoq's confidences. 

"A thousand imps!" thought he. "Suppose I'm wrong! Suppose thisold fellow is not shrewd at all! Suppose he hasn't discoveredanything, and only obeys the inspirations of chance! I've seenstranger things. I've known so many of these folks whose eyesseem so very mysterious, and announce such wonders; after all, Ifound nothing, and was cheated. But I intend to sound this oldfellow well. "

And, assuming his most idiotic manner, he said aloud:

"On reflection, Monsieur, little remains to be done. Two of theprincipals are in custody, and when they make up their minds totalk--they'll do it, sooner or later, if the judge is determinedthey shall--we shall know all. "

A bucket of ice-water falling on M. Plantat's head could not havesurprised him more, or more disagreeably, than this speech. 

"What!" stammered he, with an air of frank amazement, "do you, aman of experience, who--"

Delighted with the success of his ruse, Lecoq could not keep hiscountenance, and Plantat, who perceived that he had been caught inthe snare, laughed heartily. Not a word, however, was exchangedbetween these two men, both subtle in the science of life, andequally cunning in its mysteries. They quite understood each other. 

"My worthy old buck, " said the detective to himself, "you've gotsomething in your sack; only it's so big, so monstrous, that youwon't exhibit it, not for a cannon-ball. You wish your hand forced, do you? Ve-ry well!"

"He's sly, " thought M. Plantat. "He knows that I've got an idea;he's trying to get at it--and I believe he will. "

M. Lecoq had restored his lozenge-box to his pocket, as he alwaysdid when he went seriously to work. His amour-propre was enlisted;he played a part--and he was a rare comedian. 

"Now, " cried he, "let's to horse. According to the mayor's account, the instrument with which all these things were broken has beenfound. "

"In the room in the second story, " answered M. Plantat, "overlookingthe garden, we found a hatchet on the floor, near a piece offurniture which had been assailed, but not broken open; I forbadeanyone to touch it. "

"And you did well. Is it a heavy hatchet?"

"It weighs about two pounds. "

"Good. Let's see it. "

They ascended to the room in question, and M. Lecoq, forgetting hispart of a haberdasher, and regardless of his clothes, went down flaton his stomach, alternately scrutinizing the hatchet--which was aheavy, terrible weapon--and the slippery and well-waxed oaken floor. 

"I suppose, " observed M. Plantat, "that the assassins brought thishatchet up here and assailed this cupboard, for the sole purpose ofputting us off our scent, and to complicate the mystery. Thisweapon, you see, was by no means necessary for breaking open thecupboard, which I could smash with my fist. They gave one blow--only one--and quietly put the hatchet down. "

The detective got up and brushed himself. 

"I think you are mistaken, " said he. "This hatchet wasn't put onthe floor gently; it was thrown with a violence betraying eithergreat terror or great anger. Look here; do you see these threemarks, near each other, on the floor? When the assassin threw thehatchet, it first fell on the edge--hence this sharp cut; then itfell over on one side; and the flat, or hammer end left this markhere, under my finger. Therefore, it was thrown with such violencethat it turned over itself and that its edge a second time cut inthe floor, where you see it now. "

"True, " answered M. Plantat. The detective's conjectures doubtlessrefuted his own theory, for he added, with a perplexed air:

"I don't understand anything about it. "

M. Lecoq went on:

"Were the windows open this morning as they are now?"

"Yes. "

"Ah! The wretches heard some noise or other in the garden, andthey went and looked out. What did they see? I can't tell. ButI do know that what they saw terrified them, that they threw downthe hatchet furiously, and made off. Look at the position of thesecuts--they are slanting of course--and you will see that thehatchet was thrown by a man who was standing, not by the cupboard, but close by the open window. "

Plantat in his turn knelt down, and looked long and carefully. The detective was right. He got up confused, and after meditatinga moment, said:

"This perplexes me a little; however--"

He stopped, motionless, in a revery, with one of his hands on hisforehead. 

"All might yet be explained, " he muttered, mentally searching for asolution of the mystery, "and in that case the time indicated bythe clock would be true. "

M. Lecoq did not think of questioning his companion. He knew thathe would not answer, for pride's sake. 

"This matter of the hatchet puzzles me, too, " said he. "I thoughtthat these assassins had worked leisurely; but that can't be so. I see they were surprised and interrupted. "

Plantat was all ears. 

"True, " pursued M. Lecoq, slowly, "we ought to divide theseindications into two classes. There are the traces left on purposeto mislead us--the jumbled-up bed, for instance; then there arethe real traces, undesigned, as are these hatchet cuts. But hereI hesitate. Is the trace of the hatchet true or false, good orbad? I thought myself sure of the character of these assassins:but now--" He paused; the wrinkles on his face, the contractionof his mouth, betrayed his mental effort. 

"But now?" asked M. Plantat. 

M. Lecoq, at this question, seemed like a man just roused from sleep. 

"I beg your pardon, " said he. "I forgot myself. I've a bad habitof reflecting aloud. That's why I almost always insist on workingalone. My uncertainty, hesitation, the vacillation of my suspicions, lose me the credit of being an astute detective--of being an agentfor whom there's no such thing as a mystery. "

Worthy M. Plantat gave the detective an indulgent smile. 

"I don't usually open my mouth, " pursued M. Lecoq, "until my mindis satisfied; then I speak in a peremptory tone, and say--this isthus, or this is so. But to-day I am acting without too muchrestraint, in the company of a man who knows that a problem suchas this seems to me to be, is not solved at the first attempt. SoI permit my gropings to be seen without shame. You cannot alwaysreach the truth at a bound, but by a series of diverse calculations, by deductions and inductions. Well, just now my logic is at fault. "

"How so?"

"Oh, it's very simple. I thought I understood the rascals, andknew them by heart; and yet I have only recognized imaginaryadversaries. Are they fools, or are they mighty sly? That's whatI ask myself. The tricks played with the bed and clock had, Isupposed, given me the measure and extent of their intelligenceand invention. Making deductions from the known to the unknown, I arrived, by a series of very simple consequences, at the pointof foreseeing all that they could have imagined, to throw us offthe scent. My point of departure admitted, I had only, in orderto reach the truth, to take the contrary of that which appearancesindicated. I said to myself:

"A hatchet has been found in the second story; therefore theassassins carried it there, and designedly forgot it. 

"They left five glasses on the dining-room table; therefore theywere more or less than five, but they were not five. 

"There were the remains of a supper on the table; therefore theyneither drank nor ate. 

"The countess's body was on the river-bank; therefore it was placedthere deliberately. A piece of cloth was found in the victim's hand;therefore it was put there by the murderers themselves. 

"Madame de Tremorel's body is disfigured by many dagger-strokes, andhorribly mutilated; therefore she was killed by a single blow--"

"Bravo, yes, bravo, " cried M. Plantat, visibly charmed. 

"Eh! no, not bravo yet, " returned M. Lecoq. "For here my threadis broken; I have reached a gap. If my deductions were sound, thishatchet would have been very carefully placed on the floor. "

"Once more, bravo, " added the other, "for this does not at allaffect our general theory. It is clear, nay certain, that theassassins intended to act as you say. An unlooked-for eventinterrupted them. "

"Perhaps; perhaps that's true. But I see something else--"

"What?"

"Nothing--at least, for the moment. Before all, I must see thedining-room and the garden. "

They descended at once, and Plantat pointed out the glasses andbottles, which he had put one side. The detective took the glasses, one after another, held them level with his eye, toward the light, and scrutinized the moist places left on them. 

"No one has drank from these glasses, " said he, firmly. 

"What, from neither one of them?"

The detective fixed a penetrating look upon his companion, and ina measured tone, said:

"From neither one. "

M. Plantat only answered by a movement of the lips, as if to say, "You are going too far. "

The other smiled, opened the door, and called:

"Francois!"

The valet hastened to obey the call. His face was suffused withtears; he actually bewailed the loss of his master. 

"Hear what I've got to say, my lad, " said M. Lecoq, with truedetective-like familiarity. "And be sure and answer me exactly, frankly, and briefly. "

"I will, sir. "

"Was it customary here at the chateau, to bring up the wine beforeit was wanted?"

"No, sir; before each meal, I myself went down to the cellar for it. "

"Then no full bottles were ever kept in the dining-room?"

"Never. "

"But some of the wine might sometimes remain in draught?"

"No; the count permitted me to carry the dessert wine to theservants' table. "

"And where were the empty bottles put?"

"I put them in this corner cupboard, and when they amounted to acertain number, I carried them down cellar. "

"When did you last do so?"

"Oh"--Francois reflected--"at least five or six days ago. "

"Good. Now, what liqueurs did the count drink?"

"The count scarcely ever drank liqueurs. If, by chance, he took anotion to have a small glass of eau-de-vie, he got it from theliqueur closet, there, over the stove. "

"There were no decanters of rum or cognac in any of the cupboards?"

"No. "

"Thanks; you may retire. "

As Francois was going out, M. Lecoq called him back. 

"While we are about it, look in the bottom of the closet, and seeif you find the right number of empty bottles. "

The valet obeyed, and looked into the closet. 

"There isn't one there. "

"Just so, " returned M. Lecoq. "This time, show us your heels forgood. "

As soon as Francois had shut the door, M. Lecoq turned to Plantatand asked:

"What do you think now?"

"You were perfectly right. "

The detective then smelt successively each glass and bottle. 

"Good again! Another proof in aid of my guess. "

"What more?"

"It was not wine that was at the bottom of these glasses. Amongall the empty bottles put away in the bottom of that closet, therewas one--here it is--which contained vinegar; and it was fromthis bottle that they turned what they thought to be wine into theglasses. "

Seizing a glass, he put it to M. Plantat's nose, adding:

"See for yourself. "

There was no disputing it; the vinegar was good, its odor of thestrongest; the villains, in their haste, had left behind them anincontestable proof of their intention to mislead the officers ofjustice. While they were capable of shrewd inventions, they didnot have the art to perform them well. All their oversights could, however, be accounted for by their sudden haste, caused by theoccurrence of an unlooked-for incident. "The floors of a housewhere a crime has just been committed, " said a famous detective, "burn the feet. " M. Lecoq seemed exasperated, like a true artist, before the gross, pretentious, and ridiculous work of some greenand bungling scholar. 

"These are a parcel of vulgar ruffians, truly! able ones, certainly;but they don't know their trade yet, the wretches. "

M. Lecoq, indignant, ate three or four lozenges at a mouthful. 

"Come, now, " said Plantat, in a paternally severe tone. "Don'tlet's get angry. The people have failed in address, no doubt; butreflect that they could not, in their calculations, take accountof the craft of a man like you. "

M. Lecoq, who had the vanity which all actors possess, was flatteredby the compliment, and but poorly dissimulated an expression ofpleasure. 

"We must be indulgent; come now, " pursued Plantat. "Besides, " hepaused a moment to give more weight to what he was going to say, "besides, you haven't seen everything yet. "

No one could tell when M. Lecoq was playing a comedy. He did notalways know, himself. This great artist, devoted to his art, practised the feigning of all the emotions of the human soul, justas he accustomed himself to wearing all sorts of costumes. He wasvery indignant against the assassins, and gesticulated about ingreat excitement; but he never ceased to watch Plantat slyly, andthe last words of the latter made him prick up his ears. 

"Let's see the rest, then, " said he. 

As he followed his worthy comrade to the garden, he renewed hisconfidences to the dear defunct. 

"Confound this old bundle of mystery! We can't take this obstinatefellow by surprise, that's clear. He'll give us the word of theriddle when we have guessed it; not before. He is as strong as we, my darling; he only needs a little practice. But look you--if hehas found something which has escaped us, he must have previousinformation, that we don't know of. "

Nothing had been disturbed in the garden. 

"See here, Monsieur Lecoq, " said the old justice of the peace, as hefollowed a winding pathway which led to the river. "It was here thatone of the count's slippers was found; below there, a little to theright of these geraniums, his silk handkerchief was picked up. "

They reached the river-bank, and lifted, with great care, the plankswhich had been placed there to preserve the foot-prints. 

"We suppose, " said M. Plantat, "that the countess, in her flight, succeeded in getting to this spot; and that here they caught upwith her and gave her a finishing blow. "

Was this really Plantat's opinion, or did he only report themorning's theory? M. Lecoq could not tell. 

"According to my calculations, " he said, "the countess could nothave fled, but was brought here already dead, or logic is not logic. However, let us examine this spot carefully. "

He knelt down and studied the sand on the path, the stagnant water, and the reeds and water-plants. Then going along a little distance, he threw a stone, approaching again to see the effect produced onthe mud. He next returned to the house, and came back again underthe willows, crossing the lawn, where were still clearly visibletraces of a heavy burden having been dragged over it. Without theleast respect for his pantaloons, he crossed the lawn on all-fours, scrutinizing the smallest blades of grass, pulling away the thicktufts to see the earth better, and minutely observing the directionof the broken stems. This done, he said:

"My conclusions are confirmed. The countess was carried across here. "

"Are you sure of it?" asked Plantat. 

There was no mistaking the old man's hesitation this time; he wasclearly undecided, and leaned on the other's judgment for guidance. 

"There can be no error, possibly. "

The detective smiled, as he added:

"Only, as two heads are better than one, I will ask you to listento me, and then, you will tell me what you think. "

M. Lecoq had, in searching about, picked up a little flexible stick, and while he talked, he used it to point out this and that object, like the lecturer at the panorama. 

"No, " said he, "Madame de Tremorel did not fly from her murderers. Had she been struck down here, she would have fallen violently; herweight, therefore, would have made the water spirt to some distance, as well as the mud; and we should certainly have found some splashes. "

"But don't you think that, since morning, the sun--"

"The sun would have absorbed the water; but the stain of dry mudwould have remained. I have found nothing of the sort anywhere. You might object, that the water and mud would have spirted rightand left; but just look at the tufts of these flags, lilies, andstems of cane--you find a light dust on every one. Do you findthe least trace of a drop of water? No. There was then no splash, therefore no violent fall; therefore the countess was not killedhere; therefore her body was brought here, and carefully depositedwhere you found it. "

M. Plantat did not seem to be quite convinced yet. 

"But there are the traces of a struggle in the sand, " said he. 

His companion made a gesture of protest. 

"Monsieur deigns to have his joke; those marks would not deceive aschool-boy. "

"It appears to me, however--"

"There can be no mistake, Monsieur Plantat. Certain it is that thesand has been disturbed and thrown about. But all these trails thatlay bare the earth which was covered by the sand, were made by thesame foot. Perhaps you don't believe it. They were made, too, withthe end of the foot; that you may see for yourself. "

"Yes, I perceive it. "

"Very well, then; when there has been a struggle on ground likethis, there are always two distinct kinds of traces--those of theassailant and those of the victim. The assailant, throwing himselfforward, necessarily supports himself on his toes, and imprints thefore part of his feet on the earth. The victim, on the contrary, falling back, and trying to avoid the assault, props himself on hisheels, and therefore buries the heels in the soil. If theadversaries are equally strong, the number of imprints of the toesand the heels will be nearly equal, according to the chances of thestruggle. But what do we find here?"

M. Plantat interrupted:

"Enough; the most incredulous would now be convinced. " Afterthinking a moment, he added:

"No, there is no longer any possible doubt of it. "

M. Lecoq thought that his argument deserved a reward, and treatedhimself to two lozenges at a mouthful. 

"I haven't done yet, " he resumed. "Granted, that the countess couldnot have been murdered here; let's add that she was not carriedhither, but dragged along. There are only two ways of dragging abody; by the shoulders, and in this case the feet, scraping alongthe earth, leave two parallel trails; or by the legs--in whichcase the head, lying on the earth, leaves a single furrow, and thata wide one. "

Plantat nodded assent. 

"When I examined the lawn, " pursued M. Lecoq, "I found the paralleltrails of the feet, but yet the grass was crushed over a ratherwide space. How was that? Because it was the body, not of a man, but of a woman, which was dragged across the lawn--of a womanfull-dressed, with heavy petticoats; that, in short, of the countess, and not of the count. "

M. Lecoq paused, in expectation of a question, or a remark. 

But the old justice of the peace did not seem to be listening, andappeared to be plunged in the deepest meditation. Night was falling;a light fog hung like smoke over the Seine. 

"We must go in, " said M. Plantat, abruptly, "and see how the doctorhas got on with his autopsy. "

They slowly approached the house. The judge of instruction awaitedthem on the steps. He appeared to have a satisfied air. 

"I am going to leave you in charge, " said he to M. Plantat, "for ifI am to see the procureur, I must go at once. When you sent forhim this morning, he was absent. "

M. Plantat bowed. 

"I shall be much obliged if you will watch this affair to the end. The doctor will have finished in a few minutes, he says, and willreport to-morrow morning. I count on your co-operation to putseals wherever they are necessary, and to select the guard over thechateau. I shall send an architect to draw up an exact plan of thehouse and garden. Well, sir, " asked M. Domini, turning to thedetective, "have you made any fresh discoveries?"

"I have found some important facts; but I cannot speak decisivelytill I have seen everything by daylight. If you will permit me, Iwill postpone making my report till to-morrow afternoon. I thinkI may say, however, that complicated as this affair is--"

M. Domini did not let him finish. 

"I see nothing complicated in the affair at all; everything strikesme as very simple. "

"But, " objected M. Lecoq, "I thought--"

"I sincerely regret, " continued the judge, "that you were so hastilycalled, when there was really no serious reason for it. Theevidences against the arrested men are very conclusive. "

Plantat and Lecoq exchanged a long look, betraying their greatsurprise. 

"What!" exclaimed the former, "have, you discovered any newindications?"

"More than indications, I believe, " responded M. Domini. "OldBertaud, whom I have again questioned, begins to be uneasy. He hasquite lost his arrogant manner. I succeeded in making himcontradict himself several times, and he finished by confessingthat he saw the assassins. "

"The assassins!" exclaimed M. Plantat. "Did he say assassins?"

"He saw at least one of them. He persists in declaring that he didnot recognize him. That's where we are. But prison walls havesalutary terrors. To-morrow after a sleepless night, the fellowwill be more explicit, if I mistake not. "

"But Guespin, " anxiously asked the old man, "have you questionedhim?"

"Oh, as for him, everything is clear. "

"Has he confessed?" asked M. Lecoq, stupefied. 

The judge half turned toward the detective, as if he were displeasedthat M. Lecoq should dare to question him. 

"Guespin has not confessed, " he answered, "but his case is none thebetter for that. Our searchers have returned. They haven't yetfound the count's body, and I think it has been carried down by thecurrent. But they found at the end of the park, the count's otherslipper, among the roses; and under the bridge, in the middle ofthe river, they discovered a thick vest which still bears the marksof blood. "

"And that vest is Guespin's?"

"Exactly so. It was recognized by all the domestics, and Guespinhimself did not hesitate to admit that it belonged to him. But thatis not all--"

M. Domini stopped as if to take breath, but really to keep Plantatin suspense. As they differed in their theories, he thought Plantatbetrayed a stupid opposition to him; and he was not sorry to have achance for a little triumph. 

"That is not all, " he went on; "this vest had, in the right pocket, a large rent, and a piece of it had been torn off. Do you know whatbecame of that piece of Guespin's vest?"

"Ah, " muttered M. Plantat, "it was that which we found in thecountess's hand. "

"You are right, Monsieur. And what think you of this proof, pray, of the prisoner's guilt?"

M. Plantat seemed amazed; his arms fell at his side. As for M. Lecoq, who, in presence of the judge, had resumed his haberdashermanner, he was so much surprised that he nearly strangled himselfwith a lozenge. 

"A thousand devils!" exclaimed he. "That's tough, that is!" Hesmiled sillily, and added in a low tone, meant only for Plantat'sear. 

"Mighty tough! Though quite foreseen in our calculations. Thecountess held a piece of cloth tightly in her hand; therefore itwas put there, intentionally, by the murderers. "

M. Domini did not hear this remark. He shook hands with M. Plantatand made an appointment to meet him on the morrow, at the court-house. Then he went away with his clerk. 

Guespin and old Bertaud, handcuffed, had a few minutes before beingled off to the prison of Corbeil, under the guard of the Orcivalgendarmes. 

 VIII

Dr. Gendron had just finished his sad task in the billiard-room. He had taken off his long coat, and pulled up his shirt-sleevesabove his elbows. His instruments lay on a table near him; he hadcovered the body with a long white sheet. Night had come, and alarge lamp, with a crystal globe, lighted up the gloomy scene. The doctor, leaning over a water-basin, was washing his hands, whenthe old justice of the peace and the detective entered. 

"Ah, it's you, Plantat, " said the doctor in a suppressed tone;"where is Monsieur Domini?"

"Gone. "

The doctor did not take the trouble to repress a vexed motion. 

"I must speak with him, though, " said he, "it's absolutely necessary--and the sooner the better; for perhaps I am wrong--I may bemistaken--"

M. Lecoq and M. Plantat approached him, having carefully closedthe door. The doctor was paler than the corpse which lay under thesheet. His usually calm features betrayed great distress. Thischange could not have been caused by the task in which he had beenengaged. Of course it was a painful one; but M. Gendron was oneof those experienced practitioners who have felt the pulse of everyhuman misery, and whose disgust had become torpid by the mosthideous spectacles. He must have discovered something extraordinary. 

"I am going to ask you what you asked me a while ago, " said M. Plantat. "Are you ill or suffering?"

M. Gendron shook his head sorrowfully, and answered, slowly andemphatically:

"I will answer you, as you did me; 'tis nothing, I am alreadybetter. "

Then these two, equally profound, turned away their heads, as iffearing to exchange their ideas; they doubted lest their looksshould betray them. 

M. Lecoq advanced and spoke. 

"I believe I know the cause of the doctor's emotion. He has justdiscovered that Madame de Tremorel was killed by a single blow, andthat the assassins afterward set themselves to disfiguring the body, when it was nearly cold. "

The doctor's eyes fastened on the detective, with a stupefiedexpression. 

"How could you divine that?" he asked. 

"Oh, I didn't guess it alone; I ought to share the honor of thetheory which has enabled us to foresee this fact, with MonsieurPlantat. "

"Oh, " cried the doctor, striking his forehead, "now, I recollectyour advice; in my worry, I must say, I had quite forgotten it. 

"Well, " he added, "your foresight is confirmed. Perhaps not somuch time as you suppose elapsed between the first blow and therest; but I am convinced that the countess had ceased to livenearly three hours, when the last blows were struck. "

M. Gendron went to the billiard-table, and slowly raised the sheet, discovering the head and part of the bust. 

"Let us inform ourselves, Plantat, " he said. 

The old justice of the peace took the lamp, and passed to the otherside of the table. His hand trembled so that the globe tingled. The vacillating light cast gloomy shadows upon the walls. Thecountess's face had been carefully bathed, the blood and mudeffaced. The marks of the blows were thus more visible, but theystill found upon that livid countenance, the traces of its beauty. M. Lecoq stood at the head of the table, leaning over to see moreclearly. 

"The countess, " said Dr. Gendron, "received eighteen blows from adagger. Of these, but one is mortal; it is this one, the directionof which is nearly vertical--a little below the shoulder, you see. "He pointed out the wound, sustaining the body in his left arm. Theeyes had preserved a frightful expression. It seemed as if thehalf-open mouth were about to cry "Help! Help!"

Plantat, the man with a heart of stone, turned away his head, andthe doctor, having mastered his first emotion, continued in aprofessionally apathetic tone:

"The blade must have been an inch wide, and eight inches long. Allthe other wounds--those on the arms, breast, and shoulders, arecomparatively slight. They must have been inflicted at least twohours after that which caused death. "

"Good, " said M. Lecoq. 

"Observe that I am not positive, " returned the doctor quickly. "Imerely state a probability. The phenomena on which I base my ownconviction are too fugitive, too capricious in their nature, toenable me to be absolutely certain. "

This seemed to disturb M. Lecoq. 

"But, from the moment when--"

"What I can affirm, " interrupted Dr. Gendron, "what I would affirmunder oath, is, that all the wounds on the head, excepting one, wereinflicted after death. No doubt of that whatever--none whatever. Here, above the eye, is the blow given while the countess was alive. "

"It seems to me, Doctor, " observed M. Lecoq, "that we may concludefrom the proved fact that the countess, after death, was struck bya flat implement, that she had also ceased to live when she wasmutilated by the knife. "

M. Gendron reflected a moment. 

"It is possible that you are right; as for me, I am persuaded of it. Still the conclusions in my report will not be yours. The physicianconsulted by the law, should only pronounce upon patent, demonstrated facts. If he has a doubt, even the slightest, heshould hold his tongue. I will say more; if there is anyuncertainty, my opinion is that the accused, and not the prosecution, should have the benefit of it. "

This was certainly not the detective's opinion, but he was cautiousnot to say so. He had followed Dr. Gendron with anxious attention, and the contraction of his face showed the travail of his mind. 

"It seems to me now possible, " said he, "to determine how and wherethe countess was struck. "

The doctor had covered the body, and Plantat had replaced the lampon the little table. Both asked M. Lecoq to explain himself. 

"Very well, " resumed the detective. "The direction of the woundproves to me that the countess was in her chamber taking tea, seated, her body inclined a little forward, when she was murdered. The assassin came up behind her with his arm raised; he chose hisposition coolly, and struck her with terrific force. The violenceof the blow was such that the victim fell forward, and in the fall, her forehead struck the end of the table; she thus gave herself theonly fatal blow which we have discovered on the head. "

M. Gendron looked from one to the other of his companions, whoexchanged significant glances. Perhaps he suspected the game theywere playing. 

"The crime must evidently have been committed as you say, " said he. 

There was another embarrassing silence. M. Lecoq's obstinatemuteness annoyed Plantat, who finally asked him:

"Have you seen all you want to see?"

"All for to-day; I shall need daylight for what remains. I amconfident, indeed, that with the exception of one detail thatworries me, I have the key to the mystery. "

"We must be here, then, early to-morrow morning. "

"I will be here at any hour you will name. "

"Your search finished, we will go together to Monsieur Domini, atCorbeil. "

"I am quite at your orders. "

There was another pause. 

M. Plantat perceived that M. Lecoq guessed his thoughts; and didnot understand the detective's capriciousness; a little while before, he had been very loquacious, but now held his tongue. M. Lecoq, onthe other hand, was delighted to puzzle the old man a little, andformed the intention to astonish him the next morning, by givinghim a report which should faithfully reflect all his ideas. Meanwhile he had taken out his lozenge-box, and was intrusting ahundred secrets to the portrait. 

"Well, " said the doctor, "there remains nothing more to be doneexcept to retire. "

"I was just going to ask permission to do so, " said M. Lecoq. "Ihave been fasting ever since morning. "

M. Plantat now took a bold step. 

"Shall you return to Paris to-night, Monsieur Lecoq?" asked he, abruptly. 

"No; I came prepared to remain over-night; I've brought mynight-gown, which I left, before coming up here, at the littleroadside inn below. I shall sup and sleep there. "

"You will be poorly off at the Faithful Grenadier, " said the oldjustice of the peace. "You will do better to come and dine with me. "

"You are really too good, Monsieur--"

"Besides, we have a good deal to say, and so you must remain thenight with me; we will get your night-clothes as we pass along. "

M. Lecoq bowed, flattered and grateful for the invitation. 

"And I shall carry you off, too, Doctor, " continued M. Plantat, "whether you will or not. Now, don't say no. If you insist ongoing to Corbeil to-night, we will carry you over after supper. "

The operation of fixing the seals was speedily concluded; narrowstrips of parchment, held by large waxen seals, were affixed to allthe doors, as well as to the bureau in which the articles gatheredfor the purposes of the investigation had been deposited. 

 IX

Despite the haste they made, it was nearly ten o'clock when M. Plantat and his guests quitted the chateau of Valfeuillu. Insteadof taking the high road, they cut across a pathway which ran alongbeside Mme. De Lanascol's park, and led diagonally to the wirebridge; this was the shortest way to the inn where M. Lecoq had lefthis slight baggage. As they went along, M. Plantat grew anxiousabout his good friend, M. Courtois. 

"What misfortune can have happened to him?" said he to Dr. Gendron. 

"Thanks to the stupidity of that rascal of a servant, we learnednothing at all. This letter from Mademoiselle Laurence has causedthe trouble, somehow. "

They had now reached the Faithful Grenadier. 

A big red-faced fellow was smoking a long pipe at the door, hisback against the house. He was talking with a railway employee. It was the landlord. 

"Well, Monsieur Plantat, " he cried, "what a horrible affair this is!Come in, come in; there are several folks in the hall who saw theassassins. What a villain old Bertaud is! And that Guespin; ah, Iwould willingly trudge to Corbeil to see them put up the scaffold!"

"A little charity, Master Lenfant; you forget that both these menwere among your best customers. "

Master Lenfant was confused by this reply; but his native impudencesoon regained the mastery. 

"Fine customers, parbleu!" he answered, "this thief of a Guespinhas got thirty francs of mine which I'll never see again. "

"Who knows?" said Plantat, ironically. "Besides, you are going tomake more than that to-night, there's so much company at the Orcivalfestival. "

During this brief conversation, M. Lecoq entered the inn for hisnight-gown. His office being no longer a secret, he was not nowwelcomed as when he was taken for a simple retired haberdasher. Mme. Lenfant, a lady who had no need of her husband's aid to showpenniless sots the door, scarcely deigned to answer him. When heasked how much he owed, she responded, with a contemptuous gesture, "Nothing. " When he returned to the door, his night-gown in hand, M. Plantat said:

"Let's hurry, for I want to get news of our poor mayor. "

The three hastened their steps, and the old justice of the peace, oppressed with sad presentiments, and trying to combat them, continued:

"If anything had happened at the mayor's, I should certainly havebeen informed of it by this time. Perhaps Laurence has written thatshe is ill, or a little indisposed. Madame Courtois, who is the bestwoman in the world, gets excited about nothing; she probably wantedto send her husband for Laurence at once. You'll see that it's somefalse alarm. "

No; some catastrophe had happened. A number of the village womenwere standing before the mayor's gate. Baptiste, in the midst ofthe group, was ranting and gesticulating. But at M. Plantat'sapproach, the women fled like a troop of frightened gulls. The oldman's unexpected appearance annoyed the placid Baptiste not a little, for he was interrupted, by the sudden departure of his audience, inthe midst of a superb oratorical flight. As he had a great fear ofM. Plantat, however, he dissimulated his chagrin with his habitualsmile. 

"Ah, sir, " cried he, when M. Plantat was three steps off, "ah, whatan affair! I was going for you--"

"Does your master wish me?"

"More than you can think. He ran so fast from Valfeuillu here, thatI could scarcely keep up with him. He's not usually fast, you know;but you ought to have seen him this time, fat as he is!"

M. Plantat stamped impatiently. 

"Well, we got here at last, " resumed the man, "and monsieur rushedinto the drawing-room, where he found madame sobbing like a Magdalene. He was so out of breath he could scarcely speak. His eyes stuckout of his head, and he stuttered like this--'What's-the-matter?What's the-matter?' Madame, who couldn't speak either, held outmademoiselle's letter, which she had in her hand. "

The three auditors were on coals of fire; the rogue perceived it, and spoke more and more slowly. 

"Then monsieur took the letter, went to the window, and at a glanceread it through. He cried out hoarsely, thus: 'Oh!' then he wentto beating the air with his hands, like a swimming dog; then hewalked up and down and fell, pouf! like a bag, his face on the floor. That was all. "

"Is he dead?" cried all three in the same breath. 

"Oh, no; you shall see, " responded Baptiste, with a placid smile. 

M. Lecoq was a patient man, but not so patient as you might think. Irritated by the manner of Baptiste's recital, he put down hisbundle, seized the man's arm with his right hand, while with theleft he whisked a light flexible cane, and said:

"Look here, fellow, I want you to hurry up, you know. "

That was all he said; the servant was terribly afraid of this littleblond man, with a strange voice, and a fist harder than a vice. Hewent on very rapidly this time, his eye fixed on M. Lecoq's rattan. 

"Monsieur had an attack of vertigo. All the house was in confusion;everybody except I, lost their heads; it occurred to me to go fora doctor, and I started off for one--for Doctor Gendron, whom Iknew to be at the chateau, or the doctor near by, or the apothecary--it mattered not who. By good luck, at the street corner, I cameupon Robelot, the bone-setter--'Come, follow me, ' said I. He didso; sent away those who were tending monsieur, and bled him in botharms. Shortly after, he breathed, then he opened his eyes, andthen he spoke. Now he is quite restored, and is lying on one ofthe drawing-room lounges, crying with all his might. He told mehe wanted to see Monsieur Plantat, and I--"

"And--Mademoiselle Laurence?" asked M. Plantat, with a tremblingvoice. Baptiste assumed a tragic pose. 

"Ah, gentlemen, " said he, "don't ask me about her--'tisheartrending!"

The doctor and M. Plantat heard no more, but hurried in; M. Lecoqfollowed, having confided his night-gown to Baptiste, with, "Carrythat to M. Plantat's--quick!"

Misfortune, when it enters a house, seems to leave its fatal imprinton the very threshold. Perhaps it is not really so, but it is thefeeling which those who are summoned to it experience. As thephysician and the justice of the peace traversed the court-yard, this house, usually so gay and hospitable, presented a mournfulaspect. Lights were seen coming and going in the upper story. Mlle. Lucile, the mayor's youngest daughter, had had a nervousattack, and was being tended. A young girl, who served as Laurence'smaid, was seated in the vestibule, on the lower stair, weepingbitterly. Several domestics were there also, frightened, motionless, not knowing what to do in all this fright. The drawing-room doorwas wide open; the room was dimly lighted by two candles; Mme. Courtois lay rather than sat in a large arm-chair near the fireplace. Her husband was reclining on a lounge near the windows at the rearof the apartment. They had taken off his coat and had torn awayhis shirt-sleeves and flannel vest, when he was to be bled. Therewere strips of cotton wrapped about his naked arms. A small man, habited like a well-to-do Parisian artisan, stood near the door, with an embarrassed expression of countenance. It was Robelot, whohad remained, lest any new exigency for his services should arise. 

The entrance of his friend startled M. Courtois from the sad stuporinto which he had been plunged. He got up and staggered into thearms of the worthy Plantat, saying, in a broken voice:

"Ah, my friend, I am most miserable--most wretched!"

The poor mayor was so changed as scarcely to be recognizable. Hewas no longer the happy man of the world, with smiling face, firmlook, the pride of which betrayed plainly his self-importance andprosperity. In a few hours he had grown twenty years older. Hewas broken, overwhelmed; his thoughts wandered in a sea ofbitterness. He could only repeat, vacantly, again and again:

"Wretched! most wretched!"

M. Plantat was the right sort of a friend for such a time. He ledM. Courtois back to the sofa and sat down beside him, and takinghis hand in his own, forced him to calm his grief. He recalled tohim that his wife, the companion of his life, remained to him, tomourn the dear departed with him. Had he not another daughter tocherish? But the poor man was in no state to listen to all this. 

"Ah, my friend, " said he shuddering, "you do not know all! If shehad died here, in the midst of us, comforted by our tender care, my despair would be great; but nothing compared with that whichnow tortures me. If you only knew--"

M. Plantat rose, as if terrified by what he was about to hear. 

"But who can tell, " pursued the wretched man, "where or how shedied? Oh, my Laurence, was there no one to hear your last agonyand save you? What has become of you, so young and happy?"

He rose, shaking with anguish and cried:

"Let us go, Plantat, and look for her at the Morgue. " Then he fellback again, muttering the lugubrious word, "the Morgue. "

The witnesses of this scene remained, mute, motionless, rigid, holding their breath. The stifled sobs and groans of Mme. Courtoisand the little maid alone broke the silence. 

"You know that I am your friend--your best friend, " said M. Plantat, softly; "confide in me--tell me all. "

"Well, " commenced M. Courtois, "know"--but his tears choked hisutterance, and he could not go on. Holding out a crumpled letter, wet with tears, he stammered:

"Here, read--it is her last letter. "

M. Plantat approached the table, and, not without difficulty, read:

 "DEARLY BELOVED PARENTS--

 "Forgive, forgive, I beseech you, your unhappy daughter, the distress she is about to cause you. Alas! I have been very guilty, but the punishment is terrible! In a day of wandering, I forgot all--the example and advice of my dear, sainted mother, my most sacred duty, and your tenderness. I could not, no, I could not resist him who wept before me in swearing for me an eternal love--and who has abandoned me. Now, all is over; I am lost, lost. I cannot long conceal my dreadful sin. Oh, dear parents, do not curse me. I am your daughter--I cannot bear to face contempt, I will not survive my dishonor. 

 "When this letter reaches you, I shall have ceased to live; I shall have quitted my aunt's, and shall have gone far away, where no one will find me. There I shall end my misery and despair. Adieu, then, oh, beloved parents, adieu! I would that I could, for the last time, beg your forgiveness on my knees. My dear mother, my good father, have pity on a poor wanderer; pardon me, forgive me. Never let my sister Lucile know. Once more, adieu--I have courage--honor commands! For you is the last prayer and supreme thought of your poor LAURENCE. "

Great tears rolled silently down the old man's cheeks as hedeciphered this sad letter. A cold, mute, terrible anger shrivelledthe muscles of his face. When he had finished, he said, in a hoarsevoice:

"Wretch!"

M. Courtois heard this exclamation. 

"Ah, yes, wretch indeed, " he cried, "this vile villain who has creptin in the dark, and stolen my dearest treasure, my darling child!Alas, she knew nothing of life. He whispered into her ear thosefond words which make the hearts of all young girls throb; she hadfaith in him; and now he abandons her. Oh, if I knew who he was--if I knew--"

He suddenly interrupted himself. A ray of intelligence had justillumined the abyss of despair into which he had fallen. 

"No, " said he, "a young girl is not thus abandoned, when she has adowry of a million, unless for some good reason. Love passes away;avarice remains. The infamous wretch was not free--he was married. He could only be the Count de Tremorel. It is he who has killedmy child. "

The profound silence which succeeded proved to him that hisconjecture was shared by those around him. 

"I was blind, blind!" cried he. "For I received him at my house, and called him my friend. Oh, have I not a right to a terriblevengeance?"

But the crime at Valfeuillu occurred to him; and it was with a toneof deep disappointment that he resumed:

"And not to be able to revenge myself! I could riot, then, killhim with my own hands, see him suffer for hours, hear him beg formercy! He is dead. He has fallen under the blows of assassins, less vile than himself. "

The doctor and M. Plantat strove to comfort the unhappy man; buthe went on, excited more and more by the sound of his own voice. 

"Oh, Laurence, my beloved, why did you not confide in me? Youfeared my anger, as if a father would ever cease to love his child. Lost, degraded, fallen to the ranks of the vilest, I would stilllove thee. Were you not my own? Alas! you knew not a father'sheart. A father does not pardon; he forgets. You might still havebeen happy, my lost love. "

He wept; a thousand memories of the time when Laurence was a childand played about his knees recurred to his mind; it seemed as thoughit were but yesterday. 

"Oh, my daughter, was it that you feared the world--the wicked, hypocritical world? But we should have gone away. I should haveleft Orcival, resigned my office. We should have settled down faraway, in the remotest corner of France, in Germany, in Italy. Withmoney all is possible. All? No! I have millions, and yet mydaughter has killed herself. "

He concealed his face in his hands; his sobs choked him. 

"And not to know what has become of her!" he continued. "Is it notfrightful? What death did she choose? You remember, Doctor, andyou, Plantat, her beautiful curls about her pure forehead, her great, trembling eyes, her long curved lashes? Her smile--do you know, itwas the sun's ray of my life. I so loved her voice, and her mouthso fresh, which gave me such warm, loving kisses. Dead! Lost! Andnot to know what has become of her sweet form--perhaps abandoned inthe mire of some river. Do you recall the countess's body thismorning? It will kill me! Oh, my child--that I might see her onehour--one minute--that I might give her cold lips one last kiss!"

M. Lecoq strove in vain to prevent a warm tear which ran from hiseyes, from falling. M. Lecoq was a stoic on principle, and byprofession. But the desolate words of the poor father overcamehim. Forgetting that his emotion would be seen, he came out fromthe shadow where he had stood, and spoke to M. Courtois:

"I, Monsieur Lecoq, of the detectives, give you my honor that Iwill find Mademoiselle Laurence's body. "

The poor mayor grasped desperately at this promise, as a drowningman to a straw. 

"Oh, yes, we will find her, won't we? You will help me. They saythat to the police nothing is impossible--that they see and knoweverything. We will see what has become of my child. "

He went toward M. Lecoq, and taking him by the hand:

"Thank you, " added he, "you are a good man. I received you ill awhile ago, and judged you with foolish pride: forgive me. We willsucceed--you will see, we will aid each other, we will put all thepolice on the scent, we will search through France, money will doit--I have it--I have millions--take them--"

His energies were exhausted: he staggered and fell heavily on thelounge. 

"He must not remain here long, " muttered the doctor in Plantat'sear, "he must get to bed. A brain fever, after such excitement, would not surprise me. "

The old justice of the peace at once approached Mme. Courtois, whostill reclined in the arm-chair, apparently having seen or heardnothing of what had passed, and oblivious in her grief. 

"Madame!" said he, "Madame!"

She shuddered and rose, with a wandering air. 

"It is my fault, " said she, "my miserable fault! A mother shouldread her daughter's heart as in a book. I did not suspect Laurence'ssecret; I am a most unhappy mother. "

The doctor also came to her. 

"Madame, " said he, in an imperious tone, "your husband must bepersuaded to go to bed at once. His condition is very serious, anda little sleep is absolutely necessary. I will have a potionprepared--"

"Oh, my God!" cried the poor lady, wringing her hands, in the fearof a new misfortune, as bitter as the first; which, however, restored her to her presence of mind. She called the servants, whoassisted the mayor to regain his chamber. Mme. Courtois alsoretired, followed by the doctor. Three persons only remained inthe drawing-room--Plantat, Lecoq, and Robelot, who still stoodnear the door. 

"Poor Laurence!" murmured Plantat. "Poor girl!"

"It seems to me that her father is most to be pitied, " remarked M. Lecoq. "Such a blow, at his age, may be more than he can bear. Even should he recover, his life is broken. "

"I had a sort of presentiment, " said the other, "that this misfortunewould come. I had guessed Laurence's secret, but I guessed it toolate. "

"And you did not try--"

"What? In a delicate case like this, when the honor of a familydepends on a word, one must be circumspect. What could I do? PutCourtois on his guard? Clearly not. He would have refused tobelieve me. He is one of those men who will listen to nothing, andwhom the brutal fact alone can undeceive. "

"You might have dealt with the Count de Tremorel. "

"The count would have denied all. He would have asked what rightI had to interfere in his affairs. "

"But the girl?"

M. Plantat sighed heavily. 

"Though I detest mixing up with what does not concern me, I did tryone day to talk with her. With infinite precaution and delicacy, and without letting her see that I knew all, I tried to show herthe abyss near which she was drawing. "

"And what did she reply?"

"Nothing. She laughed and joked, as women who have a secret whichthey wish to conceal, do. Besides, I could not get a quarter ofan hour alone with her, and it was necessary to act, I knew--for Iwas her best friend--before committing this imprudence of speakingto her. Not a day passed that she did not come to my garden andcull my rarest flowers--and I would not, look you, give one of myflowers to the Pope himself. She had instituted me her florist inordinary. For her sake I collected my briars of the Cape--"

He was talking on so wide of his subject that M. Lecoq could notrepress a roguish smile. The old man was about to proceed when heheard a noise in the hall, and looking up he observed Robelot forthe first time. His face at once betrayed his great annoyance. 

"You were there, were you?" he said. 

The bone-setter smiled obsequiously. 

"Yes, Monsieur, quite at your service. "

"You have been listening, eh?"

"Oh, as to that, I was waiting to see if Madame Courtois had anycommands for me. "

A sudden reflection occurred to M. Plantat; the expression of hiseye changed. He winked at M. Lecoq to call his attention, andaddressing the bone-setter in a milder tone, said: "Come here, Master Robelot. "

Lecoq had read the man at a glance. Robelot was a small, insignificant-looking man, but really of herculean strength. Hishair, cut short behind, fell over his large, intelligent forehead. His eyes shone with the fire of covetousness, and expressed, whenhe forgot to guard them, a cynical boldness. A sly smile was alwaysplaying about his thin lips, beneath which there was no beard. Alittle way off, with his slight figure and his beardless face, helooked like a Paris gamin--one of those little wretches who arethe essence of all corruption, whose imagination is more soiledthan the gutters where they search for lost pennies. 

Robelot advanced several steps, smiling and bowing. "Perhaps, "said he, "Monsieur has, by chance, need of me?"

"None whatever, Master Robelot, I only wish to congratulate you onhappening in so apropos, to bleed Monsieur Courtois. Your lancethas, doubtless, saved his life. "

"It's quite possible. "

"Monsieur Courtois is generous--he will amply recompense thisgreat service. "

"Oh, I shall ask him nothing. Thank God, I want nobody's help. If I am paid my due, I am content. "

"I know that well enough; you are prosperous--you ought to besatisfied. "

M. Plantat's tone was friendly, almost paternal. He was deeplyinterested, evidently, in Robelot's prosperity. 

"Satisfied!" resumed the bone-setter. "Not so much as you mightthink. Life is very dear for poor people. "

"But, haven't you just purchased an estate near d'Evry?"

"Yes. "

"And a nice place, too, though a trifle damp. Happily you havestone to fill it in with, on the land that you bought of the widowFrapesle. "

Robelot had never seen the old justice of the peace so talkative, so familiar; he seemed a little surprised. 

"Three wretched pieces of land!" said he. 

"Not so bad as you talk about. Then you've also bought somethingin the way of mines, at auction, haven't you?"

"Just a bunch of nothing at all. "

"True, but it pays well. It isn't so bad, you see, to be a doctorwithout a diploma. "

Robelot had been several times prosecuted for illegal practicing;so he thought he ought to protest against this. 

"If I cure people, " said he, "I'm not paid for it. "

"Then your trade in herbs isn't what has enriched you. "

The conversation was becoming a cross-examination. The bone-setterwas beginning to be restless. 

"Oh, I make something out of the herbs, " he answered. 

"And as you are thrifty, you buy land. "

"I've also got some cattle and horses, which bring in something. I raise horses, cows, and sheep. "

"Also without diploma?"

Robelot waxed disdainful. 

"A piece of parchment does not make science. I don't fear the menof the schools. I study animals in the fields and the stable, without bragging. I haven't my equal for raising them, nor forknowing their diseases. "

M. Plantat's tone became more and more winning. 

"I know that you are a bright fellow, full of experience. DoctorGendron, with whom you served, was praising your cleverness amoment ago. "

The bone-setter shuddered, not so imperceptibly as to escapePlantat, who continued: "Yes, the good doctor said he never hadso intelligent an assistant. 'Robelot, ' said he, 'has such anaptitude for chemistry, and so much taste for it besides, thathe understands as well as I many of the most delicate operations. '"

"Parbleu! I did my best, for I was well paid, and I was always fondof learning. "

"And you were an apt scholar at Doctor Gendron's, Master Robelot;he makes some very curious studies. His work and experience onpoisons are above all remarkable. "

Robelot's uneasiness became apparent; his look wavered. 

"Yes;" returned he, "I have seen some strange experiments. "

"Well, you see, you may think yourself lucky--for the doctor isgoing to have a splendid chance to study this sort of thing, andhe will undoubtedly want you to assist him. "

But Robelot was too shrewd not to have already guessed that thiscross-examination had a purpose. What was M. Plantat after? heasked himself, not without a vague terror. And, going over inhis mind the questions which had been asked, and the answers he hadgiven, and to what these questions led, he trembled. He thoughtto escape further questioning by saying:

"I am always at my old master's orders when he needs me. "

"He'll need you, be assured, " said M. Plantat, who added, in acareless tone, which his rapid glance at Robelot belied, "Theinterest attaching to this case will be intense, and the taskdifficult. Monsieur Sauvresy's body is to be disinterred. "

Robelot was certainly prepared for something strange, and he wasarmed with all his audacity. But the name of Sauvresy fell uponhis head like the stroke of a club, and he stammered, in a chokedvoice:

"Sauvresy!"

M. Plantat had already turned his head, and continued in anindifferent tone:

"Yes, Sauvresy is to be exhumed. It is suspected that his deathwas not wholly a natural one. You see, justice always has itssuspicions. "

Robelot leaned against the wall so as not to fall. M. Plantatproceeded:

"So Doctor Gendron has been applied to. He has, as you know, foundreactive drugs which betray the presence of an alkaloid, whateverit may be, in the substances submitted to him for analysis. He hasspoken to me of a certain sensitive paper--"

Appealing to all his energy, Robelot forced himself to stand up andresume a calm countenance. 

"I know Doctor Gendron's process, " said he, "but I don't see whocould be capable of the suspicions of which you speak. "

"I think there are more than suspicions, " resumed M. Plantat. "Madame de Tremorel, you know, has been murdered: her papers have, of course, been examined; letters have been found, with verydamaging revelations, receipts, and so on. "

Robelot, apparently, was once more self-possessed; he forced himselfto answer:

"Bast! let us hope that justice is in the wrong. "

Then, such was this man's self-control, despite a nervous tremblingwhich shook his whole body as the wind does the leaves, that headded, constraining his thin lips to form a smile:

"Madame Courtois does not come down; I am waited for at home, andwill drop in again to-morrow. Good-evening, gentlemen. "

He walked away, and soon the sand in the court was heard creakingwith his steps. As he went, he staggered like a drunken man. 

M. Lecoq went up to M. Plantat, and taking off his hat:

"I surrender, " said he, "and bow to you; you are great, like mymaster, the great Tabaret. "

The detective's amour-propre was clearly aroused; his professionalzeal was inspired; he found himself before a great crime--one ofthose crimes which triple the sale of the Gazette of the Courts. Doubtless many of its details escaped him: he was ignorant of thestarting-point; but he saw the way clearing before him. He hadsurprised Plantat's theory, and had followed the train of histhought step by step; thus he discovered the complications of thecrime which seemed so simple to M. Domini. His subtle mind hadconnected together all the circumstances which had been disclosedto him during the day, and now he sincerely admired the oldjustice of the peace. As he gazed at his beloved portrait, hethought, "Between the two of us--this old fox and I--we willunravel the whole web. " He would not, however, show himself to beinferior to his companion. 

"Monsieur, " said he, "while you were questioning this rogue, whowill be very useful to us, I did not lose any time. I've beenlooking about, under the furniture and so on, and have found thisslip of paper. "

"Let's see. "

"It is the envelope of the young lady's letter. Do you know whereher aunt, whom she was visiting, lives?"

"At Fontainebleau, I believe. "

"Ah; well, this envelope is stamped 'Paris, ' Saint-Lazare branchpost-office. I know this stamp proves nothing--"

"It is, of course, an indication. "

"That is not all; I have read the letter itself--it was here onthe table. "

M. Plantat frowned involuntarily. 

"It was, perhaps, a liberty, " resumed M. Lecoq, "but the endjustifies the means. Well, you have read this letter; but have youstudied it, examined the hand-writing, weighed the words, remarkedthe context of the sentences?"

"Ah, " cried Plantat, "I was not mistaken then--you had the sameidea strike you that occurred to me!"

And, in the energy of his excitement he seized the detective's handsand pressed them as if he were an old friend. They were about toresume talking when a step was heard on the staircase; and presentlyDr. Gendron appeared. 

"Courtois is better, " said he, "he is in a doze, and will recover. "

"We have nothing more, then, to keep us here, " returned M. Plantat. "Let's be off. Monsieur Lecoq must be half dead with hunger. "

As they went away, M. Lecoq slipped Laurence's letter, with theenvelope, into his pocket. 

 X

M. Plantat's house was small and narrow; a philosopher's house. Three large rooms on the ground-floor, four chambers in the firststory, an attic under the roof for the servants, composed all itsapartments. Everywhere the carelessness of a man who has withdrawnfrom the world into himself, for years, ceasing to have the leastinterest in the objects which surround him, was apparent. Thefurniture was shabby, though it had been elegant; the mouldingshad come off, the clocks had ceased to keep time, the chairs showedthe stuffing of their cushions, the curtains, in places, were fadedby the sun. The library alone betrayed a daily care and attention. 

Long rows of books in calf and gilt were ranged on the carved oakenshelves, a movable table near the fireplace contained M. Plantat'sfavorite books, the discreet friends of his solitude. A spaciousconservatory, fitted with every accessory and convenience, was hisonly luxury. In it flourished one hundred and thirty-sevenvarieties of briars. 

Two servants, the widow Petit, cook and house-keeper, and Louis, gardener, inhabited the house. If they did not make it a noisy one, it was because Plantat, who talked little, detested also to hearothers talk. Silence was there a despotic law. It was very hardfor Mme. Petit, especially at first. She was very talkative, sotalkative that when she found no one to chat with, she went toconfession; to confess was to chat. She came near leaving the placetwenty times; but the thought of an assured pension restrained her. Gradually she became accustomed to govern her tongue, and to thiscloistral silence. But she revenged herself outside for theprivations of the household, and regained among the neighbors thetime lost at home. 

She was very much wrought up on the day of the murder. At eleveno'clock, after going out for news, she had prepared monsieur'sdinner; but he did not appear. She waited one, two hours, fivehours, keeping her water boiling for the eggs; no monsieur. Shewanted to send Louis to look for him, but Louis being a poor talkerand not curious, asked her to go herself. The house was besiegedby the female neighbors, who, thinking that Mme. Petit ought to bewell posted, came for news; no news to give. 

Toward five o'clock, giving up all thought of breakfast, she beganto prepare for dinner. But when the village bell struck eighto'clock, monsieur had not made his appearance. At nine, the goodwoman was beside herself, and began to scold Louis, who had justcome in from watering the garden, and, seated at the kitchen table, was soberly eating a plate of soup. 

The bell rung. 

"Ah, there's monsieur, at last. "

No, it was not monsieur, but a little boy, whom M. Plantat had sentfrom Valfeuillu to apprise Mme. Petit that he would soon return, bringing with him two guests who would dine and sleep at the house. The worthy woman nearly fainted. It was the first time that M. Plantat had invited anyone to dinner for five years. There wassome mystery at the bottom of it--so thought Mme. Petit, and heranger doubled with her curiosity. 

"To order a dinner at this hour, " she grumbled. "Has he gotcommon-sense, then?" But reflecting that time pressed, shecontinued:

"Go along, Louis; this is not the moment for two feet to stay inone shoe. Hurry up, and wring three chickens' heads; see if thereain't some ripe grapes in the conservatory; bring on some preserves;fetch some wine from the cellar!" The dinner was well advancedwhen the bell rung again. This time Baptiste appeared, in exceedingbad humor, bearing M. Lecoq's night-gown. 

"See here, " said he to the cook, "what the person, who is with yourmaster, gave me to bring here. "

"What person?"

"How do I know? He's a spy sent down from Paris about thisValfeuillu affair; not much good, probably--ill-bred--a brute--anda wretch. "

"But he's not alone with monsieur?"

"No; Doctor Gendron is with them. "

Mme. Petit burned to get some news out of Baptiste; but Baptistealso burned to get back and know what was taking place at hismaster's--so off he went, without having left any news behind. 

An hour or more passed, and Mme. Petit had just angrily declaredto Louis that she was going to throw the dinner out the window, when her master at last appeared, followed by his guests. They hadnot exchanged a word after they left the mayor's. Aside from thefatigues of the evening, they wished to reflect, and to resume theirself-command. Mme. Petit found it useless to question their faces--they told her nothing. But she did not agree with Baptiste aboutM. Lecoq: she thought him good-humored, and rather silly. Thoughthe party was less silent at the dinner-table, all avoided, as ifby tacit consent, any allusion to the events of the day. No onewould ever have thought that they had just been witnesses of, almostactors in, the Valfeuillu drama, they were so calm, and talked soglibly of indifferent things. From time to time, indeed, a questionremained unanswered, or a reply came tardily; but nothing of thesensations and thoughts, which were concealed beneath the utteredcommonplaces, appeared on the surface. 

Louis passed to and fro behind the diners, his white cloth on hisarm, carving and passing the wine. Mme. Petit brought in thedishes, and came in thrice as often as was necessary, her ears wideopen, leaving the door ajar as often as she dared. Poor woman!she had prepared an excellent dinner, and nobody paid any attentionto it. 

M. Lecoq was fond of tit-bits; yet, when Louis placed on the tablea dish of superb grapes--quite out of season--his mouth did notso much as expand into a smile. Dr. Gendron would have beenpuzzled to say what he had eaten. The dinner was nearly over, whenM. Plantat began to be annoyed by the constraint which the presenceof the servants put upon the party. He called to the cook:

"You will give us our coffee in the library, and may then retire, as well as Louis. "

"But these gentlemen do not know their rooms, " insisted Mme. Petit, whose eavesdropping projects were checked by this order. "They will, perhaps, need something. "

"I will show them their rooms, " said M. Plantat, dryly. "And ifthey need anything, I shall be here. "

They went into the library. M. Plantat brought out a box of cigarsand passed them round:

"It will be healthful to smoke a little before retiring. "

M. Lecoq lit an aromatic weed, and remarked:

"You two may go to bed if you like; I am condemned, I see, to asleepless night. But before I go to writing, I wish to ask you afew things, Monsieur Plantat. "

M. Plantat bowed in token of assent. 

"We must resume our conversation, " continued the detective, "andcompare our inferences. All our lights are not too much to throwa little daylight upon this affair, which is one of the darkest Ihave ever met with. The situation is dangerous, and time presses. On our acuteness depends the fate of several innocent persons, uponwhom rest very serious charges. We have a theory: but MonsieurDomini also has one, and his, let us confess, is based upon materialfacts, while ours rests upon very disputable sensations and logic. "

"We have more than sensations, " responded M. Plantat. 

"I agree with you, " said the doctor, "but we must prove it. "

"And I will prove it, parbleu, " cried M. Lecoq, eagerly. "Theaffair is complicated and difficult--so much the better. Eh!If it were simple, I would go back to Paris instanter, and to-morrowI would send you one of my men. I leave easy riddles to infants. What I want is the inexplicable enigmas, so as to unravel it; astruggle, to show my strength; obstacles, to conquer them. "

M. Plantat and the doctor looked steadily at the speaker. He wasas if transfigured. It was the same yellow-haired and whiskeredman, in a long overcoat: yet the voice, the physiognomy, the veryfeatures, had changed. His eyes shone with the fire of hisenthusiasm, his voice was metallic and vibrating, his imperiousgesture affirmed the audacity and energy of his resolution. 

"If you think, my friends, " pursued he, "that they don't manufacturedetectives like me at so much a year, you are right. When I wastwenty years old, I took service with an astronomer, as hiscalculator, after a long course of study. He gave me my breakfastsand seventy francs a month; by means of which I dressed well, andcovered I know not how many square feet with figures daily. "

M. Lecoq puffed vigorously at his cigar a moment, casting a curiousglance at M. Plantat. Then he resumed:

"Well, you may imagine that I wasn't the happiest of men. I forgotto mention that I had two little vices: I loved the women, and Iloved play. All are not perfect. My salary seemed too small, andwhile I added up my columns of figures, I was looking about for away to make a rapid fortune. There is, indeed, but one means; toappropriate somebody else's money, shrewdly enough not to be foundout. I thought about it day and night. My mind was fertile inexpedients, and I formed a hundred projects, each more practicablethan the others. I should frighten you if I were to tell you halfof what I imagined in those days. If many thieves of my calibreexisted, you'd have to blot the word 'property' out of the dictionary. Precautions, as well as safes, would be useless. Happily for menof property, criminals are idiots. "

"What is he coming to?" thought the doctor. 

"One day, I became afraid of my own thoughts. I had just beeninventing a little arrangement by which a man could rob any bankerwhatever of 200, 000 francs without any more danger or difficultythan I raise this cup. So I said to myself, 'Well, my boy, if thisgoes on a little longer, a moment will come when, from the idea, you will naturally proceed to the practice. ' Having, however, beenborn an honest lad--a mere chance--and being determined to usethe talents which nature had given me, eight days afterward I bidmy astronomer good-morning, and went to the prefecture. My fearof being a burglar drove me into the police. "

"And you are satisfied with the exchange?" asked Dr. Gendron. 

"I' faith, Doctor, my first regret is yet to come. I am happy, because I am free to exercise my peculiar faculties withusefulness to my race. Existence has an enormous attraction forme, because I have still a passion which overrides all others--curiosity. "

The detective smiled, and continued:

"There are people who have a mania for the theatre. It is like myown mania. Only, I can't understand how people can take pleasurein the wretched display of fictions, which are to real life whata tallow dip is to the sun. It seems to me monstrous that peoplecan be interested in sentiments which, though well represented, arefictitious. What! can you laugh at the witticisms of a comedian, whom you know to be the struggling father of a family? Can youpity the sad fate of the poor actress who poisons herself, when youknow that on going out you will meet her on the boulevards? It'spitiable!"

"Let's shut up the theatres, " suggested Dr. Gendron. 

"I am more difficult to please than the public, " returned M. Lecoq. "I must have veritable comedies, or real dramas. My theatre is--society. My actors laugh honestly, or weep with genuine tears. A crime is committed--that is the prologue; I reach the scene, the first act begins. I seize at a glance the minutest shades ofthe scenery. Then I try to penetrate the motives, I group thecharacters, I link the episodes to the central fact, I bind in abundle all the circumstances. The action soon reaches the crisis, the thread of my inductions conducts me to the guilty person; Idivine him, arrest him, deliver him up. Then comes the great scene;the accused struggles, tries tricks, splits straws; but the judge, armed with the arms I have forged for him, overwhelms the wretch;he does not confess, but he is confounded. And how many secondarypersonages, accomplices, friends, enemies, witnesses are groupedabout the principal criminal! Some are terrible, frightful, gloomy--others grotesque. And you know not what the ludicrous in thehorrible is. My last scene is the court of assize. The prosecutorspeaks, but it is I who furnished his ideas; his phrases areembroideries set around the canvas of my report. The presidentsubmits his questions to the jury; what emotion! The fate of mydrama is being decided. The jury, perhaps, answers, 'Not guilty;'very well, my piece was bad, I am hissed. If 'Guilty, ' on thecontrary, the piece was good, I am applauded, and victorious. Thenext day I can go and see my hero, and slapping him on the shoulder, say to him, 'You have lost, old fellow, I am too much for you!'"

Was M. Lecoq in earnest now, or was he playing a part? What wasthe object of this autobiography? Without appearing to notice thesurprise of his companions, he lit a fresh cigar; then, whetherdesignedly or not, instead of replacing the lamp with which he litit on the table, he put it on one corner of the mantel. Thus M. Plantat's face was in full view, while that of M. Lecoq remainedin shadow. 

"I ought to confess, " he continued, "without false modesty, that Ihave rarely been hissed. Like every man I have my Achilles heel. I have conquered the demon of play, but I have not triumphed overmy passion for woman. "

He sighed heavily, with the resigned gesture of a man who has chosenhis path. "It's this way. There is a woman, before whom I am butan idiot. Yes, I the detective, the terror of thieves and murderers, who have divulged the combinations of all the sharpers of all thenations, who for ten years have swum amid vice and crime; who washthe dirty linen of all the corruptions, who have measured the depthsof human infamy; I who know all, who have seen and heard all; I, Lecoq, am before her, more simple and credulous than an infant. Shedeceives me--I see it--and she proves that I have seen wrongly. She lies--I know it, I prove it to her--and I believe her. It isbecause this is one of those passions, " he added, in a low, mournful tone, "that age, far from extinguishing, only fans, and towhich the consciousness of shame and powerlessness adds fire. Oneloves, and the certainty that he cannot be loved in return is oneof those griefs which you must have felt to know its depth. In amoment of reason, one sees and judges himself; he says, no, it'simpossible, she is almost a child, I almost an old man. He saysthis--but always, in the heart, more potent than reason, than will, than experience, a ray of hope remains, and he says to himself, 'who knows--perhaps!' He awaits, what--a miracle? There are none, nowadays. No matter, he hopes on. "

M. Lecoq stopped, as if his emotion prevented his going on. M. Plantat had continued to smoke mechanically, puffing the smoke outat regular intervals; but his face seemed troubled, his glance wasunsteady, his hands trembled. He got up, took the lamp from themantel and replaced it on the table, and sat down again. Thesignificance of this scene at last struck Dr. Gendron. 

In short, M. Lecoq, without departing widely from the truth, hadjust attempted one of the most daring experiments of his repertoire, and he judged it useless to go further. He knew now what he wishedto know. After a moment's silence, he shuddered as though awakingfrom a dream, and pulling out his watch, said:

"Par le Dieu! How I chat on, while time flies!"

"And Guespin is in prison, " remarked the doctor. 

"We will have him out, " answered the detective, "if, indeed, he isinnocent; for this time I have mastered the mystery, my romance, if you wish, and without any gap. There is, however, one fact ofthe utmost importance, that I by myself cannot explain. "

"What?" asked M. Plantat. 

"Is it possible that Monsieur de Tremorel had a very great interestin finding something--a deed, a letter, a paper of some sort--something of a small size, secreted in his own house?"

"Yes--that is possible, " returned the justice of the peace. 

"But I must know for certain. "

M. Plantat reflected a moment. 

"Well then, " he went on, "I am sure, perfectly sure, that if Madamede Tremorel had died suddenly, the count would have ransacked thehouse to find a certain paper, which he knew to be in his wife'spossession, and which I myself have had in my hands. "

"Then, " said M. Lecoq, "there's the drama complete. On reachingValfeuillu, I, like you, was struck with the frightful disorder ofthe rooms. Like you, I thought at first that this disorder was theresult of design. I was wrong; a more careful scrutiny hasconvinced me of it. The assassin, it is true, threw everythinginto disorder, broke the furniture, hacked the chairs in order tomake us think that some furious villains had been there. But amidthese acts of premeditated violence I have followed up theinvoluntary traces of an exact, minute, and I may say patient search. Everything seemed turned topsy-turvy by chance; articles were brokenopen with the hatchet, which might have been opened with the hands;drawers had been forced which were not shut, and the keys of whichwere in the locks. Was this folly? No. For really no corner orcrevice where a letter might be hid has been neglected. The tableand bureau-drawers had been thrown here and there, but the narrowspaces between the drawers had been examined--I saw proofs of it, for I found the imprints of fingers on the dust which lay in thesespaces. The books had been thrown pell-mell upon the floor, butevery one of them had been handled, and some of them with suchviolence that the bindings were torn off. We found themantel-shelves in their places, but every one had been lifted up. The chairs were not hacked with a sword, for the mere purpose ofripping the cloth--the seats were thus examined. My convictionof the certainty that there had been a most desperate search, atfirst roused my suspicions. I said to myself, 'The villains havebeen looking for the money which was concealed; therefore they didnot belong to the household. '"

"But, " observed the doctor, "they might belong to the house, andyet not know the money was hidden; for Guespin--"

"Permit me, " interrupted M. Lecoq, "I will explain myself. On theother hand, I found indications that the assassin must have beenclosely connected with Madame de Tremorel--her lover, or herhusband. These were the ideas that then struck me. "

"And now?"

"Now, " responded the detective, "with the certainty that somethingbesides booty might have been the object of the search, I am notfar from thinking that the guilty man is he whose body is beingsearched for--the Count Hector de Tremorel. "

M. Plantat and Dr. Gendron had divined the name; but neither hadas yet dared to utter his suspicions. They awaited this name ofTremorel; and yet, pronounced as it was in the middle of the night, in this great sombre room, by this at least strange personage, itmade them shudder with an indescribable fright. 

"Observe, " resumed M. Lecoq, "what I say; I believe it to be so. In my eyes, the count's guilt is only as yet extremely probable. Let us see if we three can reach the certainty of it. You see, gentlemen, the inquest of a crime is nothing more nor less thanthe solution of a problem. Given the crime, proved, patent, youcommence by seeking out all the circumstances, whether serious orsuperficial; the details and the particulars. When these have beencarefully gathered, you classify them, and put them in their orderand date. You thus know the victim, the crime, and thecircumstances; it remains to find the third term of the problem, that is, x, the unknown quantity--the guilty party. The task isa difficult one, but not so difficult as is imagined. The objectis to find a man whose guilt explains all the circumstances, allthe details found--all, understand me. Find such a man, and itis probable--and in nine cases out of ten, the probability becomesa reality--that you hold the perpetrator of the crime. "

So clear had been M. Lecoq's exposition, so logical his argument, that his hearers could not repress an admiring exclamation:

"Very good! Very good!"

"Let us then examine together if the assumed guilt of the Count deTremorel explains all the circumstances of the crime at Valfeuillu. "

He was about to continue when Dr. Gendron, who sat near the window, rose abruptly. 

"There is someone in the garden, " said he. 

All approached the window. The weather was glorious, the nightvery clear, and a large open space lay before the library window;they looked out, but saw no one. 

"You are mistaken, Doctor, " said Plantat, resuming his arm-chair. 

M. Lecoq continued:

"Now let us suppose that, under the influence of certain eventsthat we will examine presently, Monsieur de Tremorel had made uphis mind to get rid of his wife. The crime once resolved upon, itwas clear that the count must have reflected, and sought out themeans of committing it with impunity; he must have weighed thecircumstances, and estimated the perils of his act. Let us admit, also, that the events which led him to this extremity were suchthat he feared to be disturbed, and that he also feared that asearch would be made for certain things, even should his wife diea natural death. "

"That is true, " said M. Plantat, nodding his head. 

"Monsieur de Tremorel, then, determined to kill his wife, brutally, with a knife, with the idea of so arranging everything, as to makeit believed that he too had been assassinated; and he also decidedto endeavor to thrust suspicion on an innocent person, or at least, an accomplice infinitely less guilty than he. 

"He made up his mind in advance, in adopting this course, todisappear, fly, conceal himself, change his personality; to suppress, in short, Count Hector de Tremorel, and make for himself, underanother name, a new position and identity. These hypotheses, easilyadmitted, suffice to explain the whole series of otherwiseinconsistent circumstances. They explain to us in the first place, how it was that on the very night of the murder, there was a largefortune in ready money at Valfeuillu; and this seems to me decisive. Why, when a man receives sums like this, which he proposes to keepby him, he conceals the fact as carefully as possible. Monsieur deTremorel had not this common prudence. He shows his bundles ofbank-notes freely, handles them, parades them; the servants seethem, almost touch them. He wants everybody to know and repeatthat there is a large sum in the house, easy to take, carry off, and conceal. And what time of all times, does he choose for thisdisplay? Exactly the moment when he knows, and everyone in theneighborhood knows, that he is going to pass the night at thechateau, alone with Madame de Tremorel. 

"For he is aware that all his servants are invited, on the eveningof July 8th to the wedding of the former cook. So well aware ofit is he, that he defrays the wedding expenses, and himself namesthe day. You will perhaps say that it was by chance that thismoney was sent to Valfeuillu on the very night of the crime. Atthe worst that might be admitted. But believe me, there was nochance about it, and I will prove it. We will go to-morrow to thecount's banker, and will inquire whether the count did not ask him, by letter or verbally, to send him these funds precisely on July 8th. Well, if he says yes, if he shows us such a letter, or if hedeclares that the money was called for in person, you will confess, no doubt, that I have more than a probability in favor of my theory. "

Both his hearers bowed in token of assent. 

"So far, then, there is no objection. "

"Not the least, " said M. Plantat. 

"My conjectures have also the advantage of shedding light onGuespin's position. Honestly, his appearance is against him, andjustifies his arrest. Was he an accomplice or entirely innocent?We certainly cannot yet decide. But it is a fact that he has falleninto an admirably well-laid trap. The count, in selecting him forhis victim, took all care that every doubt possible should weighupon him. I would wager that Monsieur de Tremorel, who knew thisfellow's history, thought that his antecedents would add probabilityto the suspicions against him, and would weigh with a terribleweight in the scales of justice. Perhaps, too, he said to himselfthat Guespin would be sure to prove his innocence in the end, andhe only wished to gain time to elude the first search. It isimpossible that we can be deceived. We know that the countess diedof the first blow, as if thunderstruck. She did not struggle;therefore she could not have torn a piece of cloth off the assassin'svest. If you admit Guespin's guilt, you admit that he was idiotenough to put a piece of his vest in his victim's hand; you admitthat he was such a fool as to go and throw this torn and bloody vestinto the Seine, from a bridge, in a place where he might know searchwould be made--and all this, without taking the common precautionof attaching it to a stone to carry it to the bottom. That wouldbe absurd. 

"To me, then, this piece of cloth, this smeared vest, indicate atonce Guespin's innocence and the count's guilt. "

"But, " objected Dr. Gendron, "if Guespin is innocent, why don'the talk? Why don't he prove an alibi? How was it he had his pursefull of money?"

"Observe, " resumed the detective, "that I don't say he is innocent;we are still among the probabilities. Can't you suppose that thecount, perfidious enough to set a trap for his servant, was shrewdenough to deprive him of every means of proving an alibi?"

"But you yourself deny the count's shrewdness. "

"I beg your pardon; please hear me. The count's plan was excellent, and shows a superior kind of perversity; the execution alone wasdefective. This is because the plan was conceived and perfectedin safety, while when the crime had been committed, the murderer, distressed, frightened at his danger, lost his coolness and onlyhalf executed his project. But there are other suppositions. Itmight be asked whether, while Madame de Tremorel was being murdered, Guespin might not have been committing some other crime elsewhere. "

This conjecture seemed so improbable to the doctor that he couldnot avoid objecting to it. "Oh!" muttered he. 

"Don't forget, " replied Lecoq, "that the field of conjectures hasno bounds. Imagine whatever complication of events you may, I amready to maintain that such a complication has occurred or willpresent itself. Lieuben, a German lunatic, bet that he wouldsucceed in turning up a pack of cards in the order stated in thewritten agreement. He turned and turned ten hours per day fortwenty years. He had repeated the operation 4, 246, 028 times, whenhe succeeded. "

M. Lecoq was about to proceed with another illustration, when M. Plantat interrupted him by a gesture. 

"I admit your hypotheses; I think they are more than probable--they are true. "

M. Lecoq, as he spoke, paced up and down between the window andthe book-shelves, stopping at emphatic words, like a general whodictates to his aides the plan of the morrow's battle. To hisauditors, he seemed a new man, with serious features, an eye brightwith intelligence, his sentences clear and concise--the Lecoq, inshort, which the magistrates who have employed his talents, wouldrecognize. 

"Now, " he resumed, "hear me. It is ten o'clock at night. No noisewithout, the road deserted, the village lights extinguished, thechateau servants away at Paris. The count and countess are aloneat Valfeuillu. 

"They have gone to their bedroom. 

"The countess has seated herself at the table where tea has beenserved. The count, as he talks with her, paces up and down thechamber. 

"Madame de Tremorel has no ill presentiment; her husband, the pastfew days, has been more amiable, more attentive than ever. Shemistrusts nothing, and so the count can approach her from behind, without her thinking of turning her head. 

"When she hears him coming up softly, she imagines that he is goingto surprise her with a kiss. He, meanwhile, armed with a long dagger, stands beside his wife. He knows where to strike that the wound maybe mortal. He chooses the place at a glance; takes aim; strikes aterrible blow--so terrible that the handle of the dagger imprintsitself on both sides of the wound. The countess falls without asound, bruising her forehead on the edge of the table, which isoverturned. Is not the position of the terrible wound below theleft shoulder thus explained--a wound almost vertical, itsdirection being from right to left?"

The doctor made a motion of assent. 

"And who, besides a woman's lover or her husband is admitted to herchamber, or can approach her when she is seated without her turninground?"

"That's clear, " muttered M. Plantat. 

"The countess is now dead, " pursued M. Lecoq. "The assassin's firstemotion is one of triumph. He is at last rid of her who was his wife, whom he hated enough to murder her, and to change his happy, splendid, envied existence for a frightful life, henceforth without country, friend, or refuge, proscribed by all nations, tracked by all thepolice, punishable by the laws of all the world! His second thoughtis of this letter or paper, this object of small size which he knowsto be in his wife's keeping, which he has demanded a hundred times, which she would not give up to him, and which he must have. "

"Add, " interrupted M. Plantat, "that this paper was one of themotives of the crime. "

"The count thinks he knows where it is. He imagines that he canput his hand on it at once. He is mistaken. He looks into all thedrawers and bureaus used by his wife--and finds nothing. Hesearches every corner, he lifts up the shelves, overturnseverything in the chamber--nothing. An idea strikes him. Is thisletter under the mantel-shelf? By a turn of the arm he lifts it--down the clock tumbles and stops. It is not yet half-past ten. "

"Yes, " murmured the doctor, "the clock betrays that. "

"The count finds nothing under the mantel-shelf except the dust, which has retained traces of his fingers. Then he begins to beanxious. Where can this paper be, for which he has risked his life?He grows angry. How search the locked drawers? The keys are on thecarpet--I found them among the debris of the tea service--but hedoes not see them. He must have some implement with which to breakopen everything. He goes downstairs for a hatchet. The drunkennessof blood and vengeance is dissipated on the staircase; his terrorsbegin. All the dark corners are peopled, now, with those spectreswhich form the cortege of assassins; he is frightened, and hurrieson. He soon goes up again, armed with a large hatchet--that foundon the second story--and makes the pieces of wood fly about him. He goes about like a maniac, rips up the furniture at hazard; buthe pursues a desperate search, the traces of which I have followed, among the debris. Nothing, always nothing! Everything in the roomis topsy-turvy; he goes into his cabinet and continues thedestruction; the hatchet rises and falls without rest. He breakshis own bureau, since he may find something concealed there of whichhe is ignorant. This bureau belonged to the first husband--toSauvresy. He takes out all the books in the library, one by one, shakes them furiously, and throws them about the floor. The infernalpaper is undiscoverable. His distress is now too great for him topursue the search with the least method. His wandering reason nolonger guides him. He staggers, without calculation, from one thingto another, fumbling a dozen times in the same drawer, while hecompletely forgets others just by him. Then he thinks that thispaper may have been hid in the stuffing of a chair. He seizes asword, and to be certain, he slashes up the drawing-room chairs andsofas and those in the other rooms. "

M. Lecoq's voice, accent, gestures, gave a vivid character to hisrecital. The hearer might imagine that he saw the crime committed, and was present at the terrible scenes which he described. Hiscompanions held their breath, unwilling by a movement to distracthis attention. 

"At this moment, " pursued he, "the count's rage and terror were attheir height. He had said to himself, when he planned the murder, that he would kill his wife, get possession of the letter, executehis plan quickly, and fly. And now all his projects were baffled!How much time was being lost, when each minute diminished the chancesof escape! Then the probability of a thousand dangers which had notoccurred to him, entered his mind. What if some friend shouldsuddenly arrive, expecting his hospitality, as had occurred twentytimes? What if a passer-by on the road should notice a light flyingfrom room to room? Might not one of the servants return? When heis in the drawing-room, he thinks he hears someone ring at the gate;such is his terror, that he lets his candle fall--for I have foundthe marks of it on the carpet. He hears strange noises, such asnever before assailed his ears; he thinks he hears walking in thenext room; the floor creaks. Is his wife really dead; will she notsuddenly rise up, run to the window, and scream for help? Beset bythese terrors, he returns to the bedroom, seizes his dagger, andagain strikes the poor countess. But his hand is so unsteady thatthe wounds are light. You have observed, doctor, that all thesewounds take the same direction. They form right angles with thebody, proving that the victim was lying down when they wereinflicted. Then, in the excess of his frenzy, he strikes the bodywith his feet, and his heels form the contusions discovered by theautopsy. "

M. Lecoq paused to take breath. He not only narrated the drama, heacted it, adding gesture to word; and each of his phrases made ascene, explained a fact, and dissipated a doubt. Like all trueartists who wrap themselves up in the character they represent, thedetective really felt something of the sensations which heinterpreted, and his expressive face was terrible in its contortions. 

"That, " he resumed, "is the first act of the drama. An irresistibleprostration succeeds the count's furious passion. The variouscircumstances which I am describing to you are to be noticed innearly all great crimes. The assassin is always seized, after themurder, with a horrible and singular hatred against his victim, andhe often mutilates the body. Then comes the period of a prostrationso great, of torpor so irresistible, that murderers have been knownliterally to go to sleep in the blood, that they have been surprisedsleeping, and that it was with great difficulty that they wereawakened. The count, when he has frightfully disfigured the poorlady, falls into an arm-chair; indeed, the cloth of one of thechairs has retained some wrinkles, which shows that someone had satin it. What are then the count's thoughts? He reflects on thelong hours which have elapsed, upon the few hours which remain tohim. He reflects that he has found nothing; that he will hardlyhave time, before day, to execute his plans for turning suspicionfrom him, and assure his safety, by creating an impression that he, too, has been murdered. And he must fly at once--fly, without thataccursed paper. He summons up his energies, rises, and do you knowwhat he does? He seizes a pair of scissors and cuts off his long, carefully cultivated beard. "

"Ah!" interrupted M. Plantat, "that's why you examined the portraitso closely. "

M. Lecoq was too intent on following the thread of his deductionsto note the interruption. 

"This is one of those vulgar details, " pursued he, "whose veryinsignificance makes them terrible, when they are attended bycertain circumstances. Now imagine the Count de Tremorel, pale, covered with his wife's blood, shaving himself before his glass;rubbing the soap over his face, in that room all topsy-turvy, while three steps off lies the still warm and palpitating body!It was an act of terrible courage, believe me, to look at himselfin the glass after a murder--one of which few criminals arecapable. The count's hands, however, trembled so violently thathe could scarcely hold his razor, and his face must have been cutseveral times. "

"What!" said Dr. Gendron, "do you imagine that the count sparedthe time to shave?"

"I am positively sure of it, pos-i-tive-ly. A towel on which Ihave found one of those marks which a razor leaves when it iswiped--and one only--has put me on the track of this fact. Ilooked about, and found a box of razors, one of which had recentlybeen used, for it was still moist; and I have carefully preservedboth the towel and the box. And if these proofs are not enough, I will send to Paris for two of my men, who will find, somewhere inthe house or the garden, both the count's beard and the cloth withwhich he wiped his razor. As to the fact which surprises you, Doctor, it seems to me very natural; more, it is the necessaryresult of the plan he adopted. Monsieur de Tremorel has always wornhis full beard: he cuts it off, and his appearance is so entirelyaltered, that if he met anyone in his flight, he would not berecognized. "

The doctor was apparently convinced, for he cried:

"It's clear--it's evident, "

"Once thus disguised, the count hastens to carry out the rest ofhis plan, to arrange everything to throw the law off the scent, andto make it appear that he, as well as his wife, has been murdered. He hunts up Guespin's vest, tears it out at the pocket, and puts apiece of it in the countess's hand. Then taking the body in hisarms, crosswise, he goes downstairs. The wounds bleed frightfully--hence the numerous stains discovered all along his path. Reachingthe foot of the staircase he is obliged to put the countess down, in order to open the garden-door. This explains the large stainin the vestibule. The count, having opened the door, returns forthe body and carries it in his arms as far as the edge of the lawn;there he stops carrying it, and drags it by the shoulders, walkingbackward, trying thus to create the impression that his own bodyhas been dragged across there and thrown into the Seine. But thewretch forgot two things which betray him to us. He did not reflectthat the countess's skirts, in being dragged along the grass, pressing it down and breaking it for a considerable space, spoiledhis trick. Nor did he think that her elegant and well-curved feet, encased in small high-heeled boots, would mould themselves in thedamp earth of the lawn, and thus leave against him a proof clearerthan the day. "

M. Plantat rose abruptly. 

"Ah, " said he, "you said nothing of this before. "

"Nor of several other things, either. But I was before ignorant ofsome facts which I now know; and as I had reason to suppose thatyou were better informed than I, I was not sorry to avenge myselffor a caution which seemed to me mysterious. "

"Well, you are avenged, " remarked the doctor, smiling. 

"On the other side of the lawn, " continued M. Lecoq, "the countagain took up the countess's body. But forgetting the effect ofwater when it spirts, or--who knows?--disliking to soil himself, instead of throwing her violently in the river, he put her downsoftly, with great precaution. That's not all. He wished it toappear that there had been a terrible struggle. What does he do?Stirs up the sand with the end of his foot. And he thinks thatwill deceive the police!"

"Yes, yes, " muttered Plantat, "exactly so--I saw it. "

"Having got rid of the body, the count returns to the house. Timepresses, but he is still anxious to find the paper. He hastens totake the last measures to assure his safety. He smears his slippersand handkerchief with blood. He throws his handkerchief and one ofhis slippers on the sward, and the other slipper into the river. His haste explains the incomplete execution of his manoeuvres. Hehurries--and commits blunder after blunder. He does not reflectthat his valet will explain about the empty bottles which he putson the table. He thinks he is turning wine into the five glasses--it is vinegar, which will prove that no one has drunk out of them. He ascends, puts forward the hands of the clock, but forgets to putthe hands and the striking bell in harmony. He rumples up the bed, but he does it awkwardly--and it is impossible to reconcile thesethree facts, the bed crumpled, the clock showing twenty minutes pastthree, and the countess dressed as if it were mid-day. He adds asmuch as he can to the disorder of the room. He smears a sheet withblood; also the bed-curtains and furniture. Then he marks the doorwith the imprint of a bloody hand, too distinct and precise not tobe done designedly. Is there so far a circumstance or detail ofthe crime, which does not explain the count's guilt?"

"There's the hatchet, " answered M. Plantat, "found on the secondstory, the position of which seemed so strange to you. "

"I am coming to that. There is one point in this mysterious affair, which, thanks to you, is now clear. We know that Madame de Tremorel, known to her husband, possessed and concealed a paper or a letter, which he wanted, and which she obstinately refused to give up inspite of all his entreaties. You have told us that the anxiety--perhaps the necessity--to have this paper, was a powerful motiveof the crime. We will not be rash then in supposing that theimportance of this paper was immense--entirely beyond an ordinaryaffair. It must have been, somehow, very damaging to one or theother. To whom? To both, or only the count? Here I am reduced toconjectures. It is certain that it was a menace--capable of beingexecuted at any moment--suspended over the head of him or themconcerned by it. Madame de Tremorel surely regarded this papereither as a security, or as a terrible arm which put her husbandat her mercy. It was surely to deliver himself from this perpetualmenace that the count killed his wife. "

The logic was so clear, the last words brought the evidence out solucidly and forcibly, that his hearers were struck with admiration. They both cried:

"Very good!"

"Now, " resumed M. Lecoq, "from the various elements which haveserved to form our conviction, we must conclude that the contentsof this letter, if it can be found, will clear away our last doubts, will explain the crime, and will render the assassin's precautionswholly useless. The count, therefore, must do everything in theworld, must attempt the impossible, not to leave this danger behindhim. His preparations for flight ended, Hector, in spite of hisdeadly peril, of the speeding time, of the coming day, instead offlying recommences with more desperation than ever his uselesssearch. Again he goes through all the furniture, the books, thepapers--in vain. Then he determines to search the second story, and armed with his hatchet, goes up to it. He has already attackeda bureau, when he hears a cry in the garden. He runs to the window--what does he see? Philippe and old Bertaud are standing on theriver-bank under the willows, near the corpse. Can you imagine hisimmense terror? Now, there's not a second to lose--he has alreadydelayed too long. The danger is near, terrible. Daylight has come, the crime is discovered, they are coming, he sees himself lostbeyond hope. He must fly, fly at once, at the peril of being seen, met, arrested. He throws the hatchet down violently--it cuts thefloor. He rushes down, slips the bank-notes in his pocket, seizesGuespin's torn and smeared vest, which he will throw into the riverfrom the bridge, and saves himself by the garden. Forgetting allcaution, confused, beside himself, covered with blood, he runs, clears the ditch, and it is he whom old Bertaud sees making for theforest of Mauprevoir, where he intends to arrange the disorder ofhis clothes. For the moment he is safe. But he leaves behind himthis letter, which is, believe me, a formidable witness, which willenlighten justice and will betray his guilt and the perfidy of hisprojects. For he has not found it, but we will find it; it isnecessary for us to have it to defeat Monsieur Domini, and to changeour doubts into certainty. "

 XI

A long silence followed the detective's discourse. Perhaps hishearers were casting about for objections. At last Dr. Gendronspoke:

"I don't see Guespin's part in all this. "

"Nor I, very clearly, " answered M. Lecoq. "And here I ought toconfess to you not only the strength, but the weakness also, of thetheory I have adopted. By this method, which consists ofreconstructing the crime before discovering the criminal, I can beneither right nor wrong by halves. Either all my inferences arecorrect, or not one of them is. It's all, or nothing. If I amright, Guespin has not been mixed up with this crime, at leastdirectly; for there isn't a single circumstance which suggestsoutside aid. If, on the other hand, I am wrong--"

M. Lecoq paused. He seemed to have heard some unexpected noisein the garden. 

"But I am not wrong. I have still another charge against the count, of which I haven't spoken, but which seems to be conclusive. "

"Oh, " cried the doctor, "what now?"

"Two certainties are better than one, and I always doubt. When Iwas left alone a moment with Francois, the valet, I asked him ifhe knew exactly the number of the count's shoes; he said yes, andtook me to a closet where the shoes are kept. A pair of boots, with green Russia leather tops, which Francois was sure the counthad put on the previous morning, was missing. I looked for themcarefully everywhere, but could not find them. Again, the bluecravat with white stripes which the count wore on the 8th, had alsodisappeared. "

"There, " cried M. Plantat, "that is indisputable proof that yoursupposition about the slippers and handkerchief was right. "

"I think that the facts are sufficiently established to enable usto go forward. Let's now consider the events which must havedecided--"

M. Lecoq again stopped, and seemed to be listening. All of a sudden, without a word he jumped on the window-sill and from thence into thegarden, with the bound of a cat which pounces on a mouse. The noiseof a fall, a stifled cry, an oath, were heard, and then a stamping asif a struggle were going on. The doctor and M. Plantat hastened tothe window. Day was breaking, the trees shivered in the fresh windof the early morning, --objects were vaguely visible without distinctforms across the white mist which hangs, on summer nights, over thevalley of the Seine. In the middle of the lawn, at rapid intervals, they heard the blunt noise of a clinched fist striking a living body, and saw two men, or rather two phantoms, furiously swinging theirarms. Presently the two shapes formed but one, then they separated, again to unite; one of the two fell, rose at once, and fell again. 

"Don't disturb yourselves, " cried M. Lecoq's voice. "I've got therogue. "

The shadow of the detective, which was upright, bent over, and theconflict was recommenced. The shadow stretched on the grounddefended itself with the dangerous strength of despair; his bodyformed a large brown spot in the middle of the lawn, and his legs, kicking furiously, convulsively stretched and contracted. Thenthere was a moment when the lookers-on could not make out which wasthe detective. They rose again and struggled; suddenly a cry of painescaped, with a ferocious oath. 

"Ah, wretch!"

And almost immediately a loud shout rent the air, and the detective'smocking tones were heard:

"There he is! I've persuaded him to pay his respects to us--lightme up a little. "

The doctor and his host hastened to the lamp; their zeal caused adelay, and at the moment that the doctor raised the lamp, the doorwas rudely pushed open. 

"I beg to present to you, " said M. Lecoq, "Master Robelot, bone-setter of Orcival, herborist by prudence, and poisoner byvocation. "

The stupefaction of the others was such that neither could speak. 

It was really the bone-setter, working his jaws nervously. Hisadversary had thrown him down by the famous knee-stroke which isthe last resort of the worst prowlers about the Parisian barriers. But it was not so much Robelot's presence which surprised M. Plantatand his friend. Their stupor was caused by the detective'sappearance; who, with his wrist of steel--as rigid as handcuffs--held the doctor's ex-assistant, and pushed him forward. The voicewas certainly Lecoq's; there was his costume, his big-knottedcravat, his yellow-haired watch-chain--still it was no longer Lecoq. He was blond, with highly cultivated whiskers, when he jumped outthe window; he returned, brown, with a smooth face. The man whohad jumped out was a middle-aged person, with an expressive facewhich was in turn idiotic and intelligent; the man who returned bythe door was a fine young fellow of thirty-five, with a beaming eyeand a sensitive lip; a splendid head of curly black hair, broughtout vividly the pallor of his complexion, and the firm outline ofhis head and face. A wound appeared on his neck, just below thechin. 

"Monsieur Lecoq!" cried M. Plantat, recovering his voice. 

"Himself, " answered the detective, "and this time the true Lecoq. "Turning to Robelot, he slapped him on the shoulder and added:

"Go on, you. "

Robelot fell upon a sofa, but the detective continued to hold himfast. 

"Yes, " he continued, "this rascal has robbed me of my blond locks. Thanks to him and in spite of myself, you see me as I am, with thehead the Creator gave me, and which is really my own. " He gave acareless gesture, half angry, half good-humored. "I am the trueLecoq; and to tell the truth, only three persons besides yourselvesreally know him--two trusted friends, and one who is infinitelyless so--she of whom I spoke a while ago. "

The eyes of the other two met as if to question each other, and M. Lecoq continued:

"What can a fellow do? All is not rose color in my trade. We runsuch dangers, in protecting society, as should entitle us to theesteem, if not the affection of our fellow-men: Why, I am condemnedto death, at this moment, by seven of the most dangerous criminalsin France. I have caught them, you see, and they have sworn--theyare men of their word, too--that I should only die by their hands. Where are these wretches? Four at Cayenne, one at Brest; I've hadnews of them. But the other two? I've lost their track. Who knowswhether one of them hasn't followed me here, and whether to-morrow, at the turning of some obscure road, I shall not get six inches ofcold steel in my stomach?"

He smiled sadly. 

"And no reward, " pursued he, "for the perils which we brave. If Ishould fall to-morrow, they would take up my body, carry it to myhouse, and that would be the end. " The detective's tone had becomebitter, the irritation of his voice betrayed his rancor. "Myprecautions happily are taken. While I am performing my duties, Isuspect everything, and when I am on my guard I fear no one. Butthere are days when one is tired of being on his guard, and wouldlike to be able to turn a street corner without looking for a dagger. On such days I again become myself; I take off my false beard, throwdown my mask, and my real self emerges from the hundred disguiseswhich I assume in turn. I have been a detective fifteen years, andno one at the prefecture knows either my true face or the color ofmy hair. "

Master Robelot, ill at ease on his lounge, attempted to move. 

"Ah, look out!" cried M. Lecoq, suddenly changing his tone. "Nowget up here, and tell us what you were about in the garden?"

"But you are wounded!" exclaimed Plantat, observing stains of bloodon M. Lecoq's shirt. 

"Oh, that's nothing--only a scratch that this fellow gave me with abig cutlass he had. "

M. Plantat insisted on examining the wound, and was not satisfieduntil the doctor declared it to be a very slight one. 

"Come, Master Robelot, " said the old man, "what were you doing here?"

The bone-setter did not reply. 

"Take care, " insisted M. Plantat, "your silence will confirm us inthe idea that you came with the worst designs. "

But it was in vain that M. Plantat wasted his persuasive eloquence. Robelot shut himself up in a ferocious and dogged silence. M. Gendron, hoping, not without reason, that he might have some influenceover his former assistant, spoke:

"Answer us; what did you come for?"

Robelot made an effort; it was painful, with his broken jaw, to speak. 

"I came to rob; I confess it. "

"To rob--what?"

"I don't know. "

"But you didn't scale a wall and risk the jail without a definiteobject?"

"Well, then, I wanted--"

He stopped. 

"What? Go on. "

"To get some rare flowers in the conservatory. "

"With your cutlass, hey?" said M. Lecoq. Robelot gave him aterrible look; the detective continued:

"You needn't look at me that way--you don't scare me. And don'ttalk like a fool, either. If you think we are duller than you, youare mistaken--I warn you of it. "

"I wanted the flower-pots, " stammered the man. 

"Oh, come now, " cried M. Lecoq, shrugging his shoulders, "don'trepeat such nonsense. You, a man that buys large estates for cash, steal flower-pots! Tell that to somebody else. You've been turnedover to-night, my boy, like an old glove. You've let out in spiteof yourself a secret that tormented you furiously, and you camehere to get it back again. You thought that perhaps Monsieur Plantathad not told it to anybody, and you wanted to prevent him fromspeaking again forever. "

Robelot made a sign of protesting. 

"Shut up now, " said M. Lecoq. "And your cutlass?"

While this conversation was going on, M. Plantat reflected. 

"Perhaps, " he murmured, "I've spoken too soon. "

"Why so?" asked M. Lecoq. "I wanted a palpable proof for MonsieurDomini; we'll give him this rascal, and if he isn't satisfied, he'sdifficult to please. "

"But what shall we do with him?"

"Shut him up somewhere in the house; if necessary, I'll tie him up. "

"Here's a dark closet. "

"Is it secure?"

"There are thick walls on three sides of it, and the fourth isclosed with a double door; no openings, no windows, nothing. "

"Just the place. "

M. Plantat opened the closet, a black-looking hole, damp, narrow, and full of old books and papers. 

"There, " said M. Lecoq to his prisoner, "in here you'll be like alittle king, " and he pushed him into the closet. Robelot did notresist, but he asked for some water and a light. They gave him abottle of water and a glass. 

"As for a light, " said M. Lecoq, "you may dispense with it. You'llbe playing us some dirty trick. "

M. Plantat, having shut the closet-door, took the detective's hand. 

"Monsieur, " said he, earnestly, "you have probably just saved mylife at the peril of your own; I will not thank you. The day willcome, I trust, when I may--"

The detective interrupted him with a gesture. 

"You know how I constantly expose myself, " said he, "once more orless does not matter much. Besides, it does not always serve a manto save his life. " He was pensive a moment, then added: "You willthank me after awhile, when I have gained other titles to yourgratitude. "

M. Gendron also cordially shook the detective's hand, saying:

"Permit me to express my admiration of you. I had no idea what theresources of such a man as you were. You got here this morningwithout information, without details, and by the mere scrutiny ofthe scene of the crime, by the sole force of reasoning, have foundthe criminal: more, you have proved to us that the criminal couldbe no other than he whom you have named. "

M. Lecoq bowed modestly. These praises evidently pleased him greatly. 

"Still, " he answered, "I am not yet quite satisfied. The guilt ofthe Count de Tremorel is of course abundantly clear to me. But whatmotives urged him? How was he led to this terrible impulse to killhis wife, and make it appear that he, too, had been murdered?"

"Might we not conclude, " remarked the doctor, "that, disgusted withMadame de Tremorel, he has got rid of her to rejoin another woman, adored by him to madness?"

M. Lecoq shook his head. 

"People don't kill their wives for the sole reason that they aretired of them and love others. They quit their wives, live withthe new loves--that's all. That happens every day, and neitherthe law nor public opinion condemns such people with great severity. "

"But it was the wife who had the fortune. "

"That wasn't the case here. I have been posting myself up. M. DeTremorel had a hundred thousand crowns, the remains of a colossalfortune saved by his friend Sauvresy; and his wife by the marriagecontract made over a half million to him. A man can live in easeanywhere on eight hundred thousand francs. Besides, the count wasmaster of all the funds of the estate. He could sell, buy, realize, borrow, deposit, and draw funds at will. "

The doctor had nothing to reply. M. Lecoq went on, speaking witha certain hesitation, while his eyes interrogated M. Plantat. 

"We must find the reasons of this murder, and the motives of theassassin's terrible resolution--in the past. Some crime soindissolubly linked the count and countess, that only the death ofone of them could free the other. I suspected this crime the firstthing this morning, and have seen it all the way through; and theman that we have just shut up in there--Robelot--who wanted tomurder Monsieur Plantat, was either the agent or the accomplice ofthis crime. "

The doctor had not been present at the various episodes which, during the day at Valfeuillu and in the evening at the mayor's, hadestablished a tacit understanding between Plantat and Lecoq. Heneeded all the shrewdness he possessed to fill up the gaps andunderstand the hidden meanings of the conversation to which he hadbeen listening for two hours. M. Lecoq's last words shed a ray oflight upon it all, and the doctor cried, "Sauvresy!"

"Yes--Sauvresy, " answered M. Lecoq. "And the paper which themurderer hunted for so eagerly, for which he neglected his safetyand risked his life, must contain the certain proof of the crime. "

M. Plantat, despite the most significant looks and the directprovocation to make an explanation, was silent. He seemed a hundredleagues off in his thoughts, and his eyes, wandering in space, seemed to follow forgotten episodes in the mists of the past. M. Lecoq, after a brief pause, decided to strike a bold blow. 

"What a past that must have been, " exclaimed he, "which could drivea young, rich, happy man like Hector de Tremorel to plan in coolblood such a crime, to resign himself to disappear after it, tocease to exist, as it were to lose all at once his personality, hisposition, his honor and his name! What a past must be that whichdrives a young girl of twenty to suicide!"

M. Plantat started up, pale, more moved than he had yet appeared. 

"Ah, " cried he, in an altered voice, "you don't believe what you say!Laurence never knew about it, never!"

The doctor, who was narrowly watching the detective, thought hesaw a faint smile light up his mobile features. The old justice ofthe peace went on, now calmly and with dignity, in a somewhathaughty tone:

"You didn't need tricks or subterfuge, Monsieur Lecoq, to induce meto tell what I know. I have evinced enough esteem and confidence inyou to deprive you of the right to arm yourself against me with thesad secret which you have surprised. "

M. Lecoq, despite his cool-headedness, was disconcerted. 

"Yes, " pursued M. Plantat, "your astonishing genius for penetratingdramas like this has led you to the truth. But you do not know all, and even now I would hold my tongue, had not the reasons whichcompelled me to be silent ceased to exist. "

He opened a secret drawer in an old oaken desk near the fireplaceand took out a large paper package, which he laid on the table. 

"For four years, " he resumed, "I have followed, day by day--I mightsay, hour by hour--the various phases of the dreadful drama whichended in blood last night at Valfeuillu. At first, the curiosityof an old retired attorney prompted me. Later, I hoped to save thelife and honor of one very dear to me. Why did I say nothing of mydiscoveries? That, my friends, is the secret of my conscience--itdoes not reproach me. Besides, I shut my eyes to the evidence evenup to yesterday; I needed the brutal testimony of this deed!"

Day had come. The frightened blackbirds flew whistling by. Thepavement resounded with the wooden shoes of the workmen goingfieldward. No noise troubled the sad stillness of the library, unless it were the rustling of the leaves which M. Plantat wasturning over, or now and then a groan from Robelot. 

"Before commencing, " said the old man, "I ought to consider yourweariness; we have been up twenty-four hours--"

But the others protested that they did not need repose. The feverof curiosity had chased away their exhaustion. They were at lastto know the key of the mystery. 

"Very well, " said their host, "listen to me. "

 XII

The Count Hector de Tremorel, at twenty-six, was the model andideal of the polished man of the world, proper to our age; a manuseless alike to himself and to others, harmful even, seeming tohave been placed on earth expressly to play at the expense of all. Young, noble, elegant, rich by millions, endowed with vigoroushealth, this last descendant of a great family squandered mostfoolishly and ignobly both his youth and his patrimony. He acquiredby excesses of all kinds a wide and unenviable celebrity. Peopletalked of his stables, his carriages, his servants, his furniture, his dogs, his favorite loves. His cast-off horses still tookprizes, and a jade distinguished by his notice was eagerly soughtby the young bloods of the town. Do not think, however, that hewas naturally vicious; he had a warm heart, and even generousemotions at twenty. Six years of unhealthy pleasures had spoiledhim to the marrow. Foolishly vain, he was ready to do anything tomaintain his notoriety. He had the bold and determined egotism ofone who has never had to think of anyone but himself, and has neversuffered. Intoxicated by the flatteries of the so-called friendswho drew his money from him, he admired himself, mistaking hisbrutal cynicism for wit, and his lofty disdain of all morality andhis idiotic scepticism, for character. He was also feeble; he hadcaprices, but never a will; feeble as a child, a woman, a girl. His biography was to be found in the petty journals of the day, which retailed his sayings--or what he might have said; hisleast actions and gestures were reported. 

One night when he was supping at the Cafe de Paris, he threw allthe plates out the window. It cost him twenty thousand francs. Bravo! One morning gossiping Paris learned with stupefaction thathe had eloped to Italy with the wife of X---, the banker, a ladynineteen years married. He fought a duel, and killed his man. Theweek after, he was wounded in another. He was a hero! On oneoccasion he went to Baden, where he broke the bank. Another time, after playing sixty hours, he managed to lose one hundred and twentythousand francs--won by a Russian prince. 

He was one of those men whom success intoxicates, who long forapplause, but who care not for what they are applauded. CountHector was more than ravished by the noise he made in the world. It seemed to him the acme of honor and glory to have his name orinitials constantly in the columns of the Parisian World. He didnot betray this, however, but said, with charming modesty, aftereach new adventure:

"When will they stop talking about me?"

On great occasions, he borrowed from Louis XIV the epigram:

"After me the deluge. "

The deluge came in his lifetime. 

One April morning, his valet, a villainous fellow, drilled anddressed up by the count--woke him at nine o'clock with this speech:

"Monsieur, a bailiff is downstairs in the ante-chamber, and has cometo seize your furniture. "

Hector turned on his pillow, yawned, stretched, and replied:

"Well, tell him to begin operations with the stables andcarriage-house; and then come up and dress me. "

He did not seem disturbed, and the servant retired amazed at hismaster's coolness. The count had at least sense enough to know thestate of his finances; and he had foreseen, nay, expected thebailiff's visit. Three years before, when he had been laid up forsix weeks in consequence of a fall from his horse, he had measuredthe depth of the gulf toward which he was hastening. Then, he mightyet have saved himself. But he must have changed his whole courseof life, reformed his household, learned that twenty-one francpieces made a napoleon. Fie, never! After mature reflection he hadsaid to himself that he would go on to the end. When the last hourcame, he would fly to the other end of France, erase his name fromhis linen, and blow his brains out in some forest. 

This hour had now come. 

By contracting debts, signing bills, renewing obligations, payinginterests and compound interests, giving commissions by alwaysborrowing, and never paying, Hector had consumed the princelyheritage--nearly four millions in lands--which he had receivedat his father's death. The winter just past had cost him fiftythousand crowns. He had tried eight days before to borrow a hundredthousand francs, and had failed. He had been refused, not becausehis property was not as much as he owed, but because it was knownthat property sold by a bankrupt does not bring its value. 

Thus it was that when the valet came in and said, "The bailiff ishere, " he seemed like a spectre commanding suicide. 

Hector took the announcement coolly and said, as he got up:

"Well, here's an end of it. "

He was very calm, though a little confused. A little confusion isexcusable when a man passes from wealth to beggary. He thought hewould make his last toilet with especial care. Parbleu! The Frenchnobility goes into battle in court costume! He was ready in lessthan an hour. He put on his bejewelled watch-chain; then he put apair of little pistols, of the finest quality, in his overcoatpocket; then he sent the valet away, and opening his desk, hecounted up what funds he had left. Ten thousand and some hundredsof francs remained. He might with this sum take a journey, prolonghis life two or three months; but he repelled with disdain thethought of a miserable subterfuge, of a reprieve in disguise. Heimagined that with this money he might make a great show ofgenerosity, which would be talked of in the world; it would bechivalrous to breakfast with his inamorata and make her a presentof this money at dessert. During the meal he would be full ofnervous gayety, of cynical humor, and then he would announce hisintention to kill himself. The girl would not fail to narrate thescene everywhere; she would repeat his last conversation, his lastwill and gift; all the cafes would buzz with it at night; the paperswould be full of it. 

This idea strangely excited him, and comforted him at once. He wasgoing out, when his eyes fell upon the mass of papers in his desk. Perhaps there was something there which might dim the positivenessof his resolution. He emptied all the drawers without looking orchoosing, and put all the papers in the fire. He looked with prideupon this conflagration; there were bills, love letters, businessletters, bonds, patents of nobility, deeds of property. Was it nothis brilliant past which flickered and consumed in the fireplace?

The bailiff occurred to him, and he hastily descended. He was themost polite of bailiffs, a man of taste and wit, a friend of artists, himself a poet at times. He had already seized eight horses in thestables with all their harness and trappings, and five carriageswith their equipage, in the carriage-house. 

"I'm going on slowly, Count, " said he bowing. "Perhaps you wishto arrest the execution. The sum is large, to be sure, but a manin your position--"

"Believe that you are here because it suits me, " interrupted Hector, proudly, "this house doesn't suit me; I shall never enter it again. So, as you are master, go on. "

And wheeling round on his heel he went off. 

The astonished bailiff proceeded with his work. He went from roomto room, admiring and seizing. He seized cups gained at the races, collections of pipes and arms, and the library, containing manysporting-books, superbly bound. 

Meanwhile the Count de Tremorel, who was resolved more than ever onsuicide, ascending the boulevards came to his inamorata's house, which was near the Madeleine. He had introduced her some six monthsbefore into the demi-monde as Jenny Fancy. Her real name wasPelagie Taponnet, and although the count did not know it, she washis valet's sister. She was pretty and lively, with delicate handsand a tiny foot, superb chestnut hair, white teeth, and greatimpertinent black eyes, which were languishing, caressing, orprovoking, at will. She had passed suddenly from the most abjectpoverty to a state of extravagant luxury. This brilliant change didnot astonish her as much as you might think. Forty-eight hoursafter her removal to her new apartments, she had established orderamong the servants; she made them obey a glance or a gesture; andshe made her dress-makers and milliners submit with good grace toher orders. Jenny soon began to languish, in her fine rooms, fornew excitement; her gorgeous toilets no longer amused her. A woman'shappiness is not complete unless seasoned by the jealousy of rivals. Jenny's rivals lived in the Faubourg du Temple, near the barrier;they could not envy her splendor, for they did not know her, andshe was strictly forbidden to associate with and so dazzle them. As for Tremorel, Jenny submitted to him from necessity. He seemedto her the most tiresome of men. She thought his friends thedreariest of beings. Perhaps she perceived beneath their ironicallypolite manner, a contempt for her, and understood of how littleconsequence she was to these rich people, these high livers, gamblers, men of the world. Her pleasures comprised an evening withsomeone of her own class, card-playing, at which she won, and amidnight supper. The rest of the time she suffered ennui. She waswearied to death: A hundred times she was on the point of discardingTremorel, abandoning all this luxury, money, servants, and resumingher old life. Many a time she packed up; her vanity always checkedher at the last moment. 

Hector de Tremorel rang at her door at eleven on the morning inquestion. She did not expect him so early, and she was evidentlysurprised when he told her he had come to breakfast, and asked herto hasten the cook, as he was in a great hurry. 

She had never, she thought, seen him so amiable, so gay. Allthrough breakfast he sparkled, as he promised himself he would, with spirit and fun. At last, while they were sipping their coffee, Hector spoke:

"All this, my dear, is only a preface, intended to prepare you fora piece of news which will surprise you. I am a ruined man. "

She looked at him with amazement, not seeming to comprehend him. 

"I said--ruined, " said he, laughing bitterly, "as ruined as mancan be. "

"Oh, you are making fun of me, joking--"

"I never spoke so seriously in my life. It seems strange to you, doesn't it? Yet it's sober truth. "

Jenny's large eyes continued to interrogate him. 

"Why, " he continued, with lofty carelessness, "life, you know, islike a bunch of grapes, which one either eats gradually, piece bypiece, or squeezes into a glass to be tossed off at a gulp. I'vechosen the latter way. My grape was four million francs; they aredrunk up to the dregs. I don't regret them, I've had a jolly lifefor my money. But now I can flatter myself that I am as much of abeggar as any beggar in France. Everything at my house is in thebailiff's hands--I am without a domicile, without a penny. "

He spoke with increasing animation as the multitude of diversethoughts passed each other tumultuously in his brain. And he wasnot playing a part. He was speaking in all good faith. 

"But--then--" stammered Jenny. 

"What? Are you free? Just so--"

She hardly knew whether to rejoice or mourn. 

"Yes, " he continued, "I give you back your liberty. "

Jenny made a gesture which Hector misunderstood. 

"Oh! be quiet, " he added quickly, "I sha'n't leave you thus; I wouldnot desert you in a state of need. This furniture is yours, and Ihave provided for you besides. Here in my pocket are five hundrednapoleons; it is my all; I have brought it to give to you. "

He passed the money over to her on a plate, laughingly, imitatingthe restaurant waiters. She pushed it back with a shudder. 

"Oh, well, " said he, "that's a good sign, my dear; very good, verygood. I've always thought and said that you were a good girl--infact, too good; you needed correcting. "

She did, indeed, have a good heart; for instead of taking Hector'sbank-notes and turning him out of doors, she tried to comfort andconsole him. Since he had confessed to her that he was penniless, she ceased to hate him, and even commenced to love him. Hector, homeless, was no longer the dreaded man who paid to be master, themillionnaire who, by a caprice, had raised her from the gutter. Hewas no longer the execrated tyrant. Ruined, he descended from hispedestal, he became a man like others, to be preferred to others, as a handsome and gallant youth. Then Jenny mistook the lastartifice of a discarded vanity for a generous impulse of the heart, and was deeply touched by this splendid last gift. 

"You are not as poor as you say, " she said, "for you still have solarge a sum. "

"But, dear child, I have several times given as much for diamondswhich you envied. "

She reflected a moment, then as if an idea had struck her, exclaimed:

"That's true enough; but I can spend, oh, a great deal less, andyet be just as happy. Once, before I knew you, when I was young(she was now nineteen), ten thousand francs seemed to me to be oneof those fabulous sums which were talked about, but which few menever saw in one pile, and fewer still held in their hands. "

She tried to slip the money into the count's pocket; but heprevented it. 

"Come, take it back, keep it--"

"What shall I do with it?"

"I don't know, but wouldn't this money bring in more? Couldn't youspeculate on the Bourse, bet at the races, play at Baden, orsomething? I've heard of people that are now rich as kings, whocommenced with nothing, and hadn't your talents either. Why don'tyou do as they did?"

She spoke excitedly, as a woman does who is anxious to persuade. He looked at her, astonished to find her so sensitive, sodisinterested. 

"You will, won't you?" she insisted, "now, won't you?"

"You are a good girl, " said he, charmed with her, "but you must takethis money. I give it to you, don't be worried about anything. "

"But you--have you still any money? What have you?"

"I have yet--"

He stopped, searched his pockets, and counted the money in his purse. 

"Faith, here's three hundred and forty francs--more than I need. I must give some napoleons to your servants before I go. "

"And what for Heaven's sake will become of you?"

He sat back in his chair, negligently stroked his handsome beard, and said:

"I am going to blow my brains out. "

"Oh!"

Hector thought that she doubted what he said. He took his pistolsout of his pockets, showed them to her, and went on:

"You see these toys? Well, when I leave you, I shall go somewhere--no matter where--put the muzzle to my temple, thus, press thetrigger--and all will be over!"

She gazed at him, her eyes dilated with terror, pale, breathinghard and fast. But at the same time, she admired him. She marvelledat so much courage, at this calm, this careless railing tone. Whatsuperb disdain of life! To exhaust his fortune and then killhimself, without a cry, a tear, or a regret, seemed to her an actof heroism unheard of, unexampled. It seemed to her that a new, unknown, beautiful, radiant man stood before her. She loved him asshe had never loved before!

"No!" she cried, "no! It shall not be!"

And rising suddenly, she rushed to him and seized him by the arm. 

"You will not kill yourself, will you? Promise me, swear it to me. It isn't possible, you would not! I love you--I couldn't bear youbefore. Oh, I did not know you, but now--come, we will be happy. You, who have lived with millions don't know how much ten thousandfrancs are--but I know. We can live a long time on that, and verywell, too. Then, if we are obliged to sell the useless things--thehorses, carriages, my diamonds, my green cashmere, we can have threeor four times that sum. Thirty thousand francs--it's a fortune!Think how many happy days--"

The Count de Tremorel shook his head, smilingly. He was ravished;his vanity was flattered by the heat of the passion which beamedfrom the poor girl's eyes. How he was beloved! How he would beregretted! What a hero the world was about to lose!

"For we will not stay here, " Jenny went on, "we will go and concealourselves far from Paris, in a little cottage. Why, on the otherside of Belleville you can get a place surrounded by gardens fora thousand francs a year. How well off we should be there! Youwould never leave me, for I should be jealous--oh, so jealous!We wouldn't have any servants, and you should see that I know howto keep house. "

Hector said nothing. 

"While the money lasts, " continued Jenny, "we'll laugh away thedays. When it's all gone, if you are still decided, you will killyourself--that is, we will kill ourselves together. But not witha pistol--No! We'll light a pan of charcoal, sleep in one another'sarms, and that will be the end. They say one doesn't suffer thatway at all. "

This idea drew Hector from his torpor, and awoke in him arecollection which ruffled all his vanity. 

Three or four days before, he had read in a paper the account ofthe suicide of a cook, who, in a fit of love and despair, hadbravely suffocated himself in his garret. Before dying he hadwritten a most touching letter to his faithless love. The idea ofkilling himself like a cook made him shudder. He saw thepossibility of the horrible comparison. How ridiculous! Andthe Count de Tremorel had a wholesome fear of ridicule. Tosuffocate himself, at Belleville, with a grisette, how dreadful!He almost rudely pushed Jenny's arms away, and repulsed her. 

"Enough of that sort of thing, " said he, in his careless tone. "What you say, child, is all very pretty, but utterly absurd. Aman of my name dies, and doesn't choke. " And taking the bank-notesfrom his pocket, where Jenny had slipped them, he threw them on thetable. 

"Now, good-by. "

He would have gone, but Jenny, red and with glistening eyes, barredthe door with her body. 

"You shall not go!" she cried, "I won't have you; you are mine--forI love you; if you take one step, I will scream. "

The count shrugged his shoulders. 

"But we must end all this!"

"You sha'n't go!"

"Well, then, I'll blow my brains out here. " And taking out one ofhis pistols, he held it to his forehead, adding, "If you call outand don't let me pass, I shall fire. " He meant the threat forearnest. 

But Jenny did not call out; she could not; she uttered a deep groanand fainted. 

"At last!" muttered Hector, replacing the pistol in his pocket. 

He went out, not taking time to lift her from the floor where shehad fallen, and shut the door. Then he called the servants intothe vestibule, gave them ten napoleons to divide among them, andhastened away. 

 XIII

The Count de Tremorel, having reached the street, ascended theboulevard. All of a sudden he bethought him of his friends. Thestory of the execution must have already spread. 

"No; not that way, " he muttered. 

This was because, on the boulevard, he would certainly meet someof his very dear cronies, and he desired to escape their condolenceand offers of service. He pictured to himself their sorry visages, concealing a hidden and delicious satisfaction. He had wounded somany vanities that he must look for terrible revenges. The friendsof an insolently prosperous man are rejoiced in his downfall. 

Hector crossed the street, went along the Rue Duphot, and reachedthe quays. Where was he going? He did not know, and did not evenask himself. He walked at random, enjoying the physical contentwhich follows a good meal, happy to find himself still in the landof the living, in the soft April sunlight. 

The weather was superb, and all Paris was out of doors. There wasa holiday air about the town. The flower-women at the corners ofthe bridges had their baskets full of odorous violets. The countbought a bouquet near the Pont Neuf and stuck it in his button-hole, and without waiting for his change, passed on. He reached the largesquare at the end of the Bourdon boulevard, which is always full ofjugglers and curiosity shows; here the noise, the music, drew himfrom his torpor, and brought his thoughts back to his presentsituation. 

"I must leave Paris, " thought he. 

He crossed toward the Orleans station at a quicker pace. He enteredthe waiting-room, and asked what time the train left for Etampes. Why did he choose Etampes? A train had just gone, and there wouldnot be another one for two hours. He was much annoyed at this, andas he could not wait there two hours, he wended his way, to killtime, toward the Jardin des Plantes. He had not been there for tenor twelve years--not since, when at school, his teachers had broughthim there to look at the animals. Nothing had changed. There werethe groves and parterres, the lawns and lanes, the beasts and birds, as before. The principal avenue was nearly deserted. He took aseat opposite the mineralogical museum. He reflected on hisposition. He glanced back through the departed years, and did notfind one day among those many days which had left him one of thosegracious memories which delight and console. Millions had slippedthrough his prodigal hands, and he could not recall a single usefulexpenditure, a really generous one, amounting to twenty francs. He, who had had so many friends, searched his memory in vain for thename of a single friend whom he regretted to part from. The pastseemed to him like a faithful mirror; he was surprised, startled atthe folly of the pleasures, the inane delights, which had been theend and aim of his existence. For what had he lived? For others. 

"Ah, what a fool I was!" he muttered, "what a fool!"

After living for others, he was going to kill himself for others. His heart became softened. Who would think of him, eight dayshence? Not one living being. Yes--Jenny, perhaps. Yet, no. She would be consoled with a new lover in less than a week. 

The bell for closing the garden rang. Night had come, and a thickand damp mist had covered the city. The count, chilled to the bones, left his seat. 

"To the station again, " muttered he. 

It was a horrible idea to him now--this of shooting himself in thesilence and obscurity of the forest. He pictured to himself hisdisfigured body, bleeding, lying on the edge of some ditch. Beggarsor robbers would despoil him. And then? The police would come andtake up this unknown body, and doubtless would carry it, to beidentified, to the Morgue. "Never!" cried he, at this thought, "no, never!"

How die, then? He reflected, and it struck him that he would killhimself in some second-class hotel on the left bank of the Seine. 

"Yes, that's it, " said he to himself. 

Leaving the garden with the last of the visitors, he wended his waytoward the Latin Quarter. The carelessness which he had assumedin the morning gave way to a sad resignation. He was suffering;his head was heavy, and he was cold. 

"If I shouldn't die to-night, " he thought, "I shall have a terriblecold in the morning. "

This mental sally did not make him smile, but it gave him theconsciousness of being firm and determined. He went into the RueDauphine and looked about for a hotel. Then it occurred to himthat it was not yet seven o'clock, and it might arouse suspicionsif he asked for a room at that early hour. He reflected that hestill had over one hundred francs, and resolved to dine. It shouldbe his last meal. He went into a restaurant and ordered it. Buthe in vain tried to throw off the anxious sadness which filled him. He drank, and consumed three bottles of wine without changing thecurrent of his thoughts. 

The waiters were surprised to see him scarcely touch the dishes setbefore him, and growing more gloomy after each potation. His dinnercost ninety francs; he threw his last hundred-franc note on thetable, and went out. As it was not yet late, he went into anotherrestaurant where some students were drinking, and sat down at atable in the farther corner of the room. He ordered coffee andrapidly drank three or four cups. He wished to excite himself, toscrew up his courage to do what he had resolved upon; but he couldnot; the drink seemed only to make him more and more irresolute. 

A waiter, seeing him alone at the table, offered him a newspaper. He took it mechanically, opened it, and read:

"Just as we are going to press, we learn that a well-known personhas disappeared, after announcing his intention to commit suicide. The statements made to us are so strange, that we defer detailstill to-morrow, not having time to send for fuller information now. "

These lines startled Hector. They were his death sentence, not tobe recalled, signed by the tyrant whose obsequious courtier he hadalways been--public opinion. 

"They will never cease talking about me, " he muttered angrily. Thenhe added, firmly, "Come, I must make an end of this. "

He soon reached the Hotel Luxembourg. He rapped at the door, and wasspeedily conducted to the best room in the house. He ordered a fireto be lighted. He also asked for sugar and water, and writingmaterials. At this moment he was as firm as in the morning. 

"I must not hesitate, " he muttered, "nor recoil from my fate. "

He sat down at the table near the fireplace, and wrote in a firmhand a declaration which he destined for the police. 

"No one must be accused of my death, " he commenced; and he went onby asking that the hotel-keeper should be indemnified. 

The hour by the clock was five minutes before eleven; he placed hispistols on the mantel. 

"I will shoot myself at midnight, " thought he. "I have yet an hourto live. "

The count threw himself in an arm-chair and buried his face in hishands. Why did he not kill himself at once? Why impose on himselfthis hour of waiting, of anguish and torture? He could not have told. He began again to think over the events of his life, reflecting onthe headlong rapidity of the occurrences which had brought him tothat wretched room. How time had passed! It seemed but yesterdaythat he first began to borrow. It does little good, however, to aman who has fallen to the bottom of the abyss, to know the causeswhy he fell. 

The large hand of the clock had passed the half hour after eleven. 

He thought of the newspaper item which he had just read. Whofurnished the information? Doubtless it was Jenny. She had come toher senses, tearfully hastened after him. When she failed to findhim on the boulevard, she had probably gone to his house, then tohis club, then to some of his friends. So that to-night, at thisvery moment, the world was discussing him. 

"Have you heard the news?"

"Ah, yes, poor Tremorel! What a romance! A good fellow, only--"

He thought he heard this "only" greeted with laughter and innuendoes. Time passed on. The ringing vibration of the clock was at hand; thehour had come. 

The count got up, seized his pistols, and placed himself near thebed, so as not to fall on the floor. 

The first stroke of twelve; he did not fire. 

Hector was a man of courage; his reputation for bravery was high. He had fought at least ten duels; and his cool bearing on the groundhad always been admiringly remarked. One day he had killed a man, and that night he slept very soundly. 

But he did not fire. 

There are two kinds of courage. One, false courage, is that meantfor the public eye, which needs the excitement of the struggle, thestimulus of rage, and the applause of lookers-on. The other, truecourage, despises public opinion, obeys conscience, not passion;success does not sway it, it does its work noiselessly. 

Two minutes after twelve--Hector still held the pistol against hisforehead. 

"Am I going to be afraid?" he asked himself. 

He was afraid, but would not confess it to himself. He put hispistols back on the table and returned to his seat near the fire. All his limbs were trembling. 

"It's nervousness, " he muttered. "It'll pass off. "

He gave himself till one o'clock. He tried to convince himself ofthe necessity of committing suicide. If he did not, what wouldbecome of him? How would he live? Must he make up his mind to work?Besides, could he appear in the world, when all Paris knew of hisintention? This thought goaded him to fury; he had a sudden courage, and grasped his pistols. But the sensation which the touch of thecold steel gave him, caused him to drop his arm and draw awayshuddering. 

"I cannot, " repeated he, in his anguish. "I cannot!"

The idea of the physical pain of shooting himself filled him withhorror. Why had he not a gentler death? Poison, or perhapscharcoal--like the little cook? He did not fear the ludicrousnessof this now; all that he feared was, that the courage to killhimself would fail him. 

He went on extending his time of grace from half-hour to half-hour. It was a horrible night, full of the agony of the last night of thecriminal condemned to the scaffold. He wept with grief and rageand wrung his hands and prayed. Toward daylight he fell exhaustedinto an uneasy slumber, in his arm-chair. He was awakened by threeor four heavy raps on the door, which he hastily opened. It was thewaiter, who had come to take his order for breakfast, and who startedback with amazement on seeing Hector, so disordered was his clothingand so livid the pallor of his features. 

"I want nothing, " said the count. "I'm going down. "

He had just enough money left to pay his bill, and six sous for thewaiter. He quitted the hotel where he had suffered so much, withoutend or aim in view. He was more resolved than ever to die, only heyearned for several days of respite to nerve himself for the deed. But how could he live during these days? He had not so much as acentime left. An idea struck him--the pawnbrokers!

He knew that at the Monte-de-Piete* a certain amount would beadvanced to him on his jewelry. But where find a branch office?He dared not ask, but hunted for one at hazard. He now held hishead up, walked with a firmer step; he was seeking something, andhad a purpose to accomplish. He at last saw the sign of theMonte-de-Piete on a house in the Rue Conde, and entered. The hallwas small, damp, filthy, and full of people. But if the place wasgloomy, the borrowers seemed to take their misfortunes good-humoredly. They were mostly students and women, talking gayly as they waitedfor their turns. The Count de Tremorel advanced with his watch, chain, and a brilliant diamond that he had taken from his finger. He was seized with the timidity of misery, and did not know how toopen his business. A young woman pitied his embarrassment. 

 [* The public pawnbroker establishment of Paris, which has branch bureaus through the city. ]

"See, " said she, "put your articles on this counter, before thatwindow with green curtains. "

A moment after he heard a voice which seemed to proceed from thenext room:

"Twelve hundred francs for the watch and ring. "

This large amount produced such a sensation as to arrest all theconversation. All eyes were turned toward the millionnaire who wasgoing to pocket such a fortune. The millionnaire made no response. 

The same woman who had spoken before nudged his arm. 

"That's for you, " said she. "Answer whether you will take it ornot. "

"I'll take it, " cried Hector. 

He was filled with a joy which made him forget the night's torture. Twelve hundred francs! How many days it would last! Had he notheard there were clerks who hardly got that in a year?

Hector waited a long time, when one of the clerks, who was writingat a desk, called out:

"Whose are the twelve hundred francs?"

The count stepped forward. 

"Mine, " said he. 

"Your name?"

Hector hesitated. He would never give his name aloud in such aplace as this. He gave the first name that occurred to him. 

"Durand. "

"Where are your papers?"

"What papers?"

"A passport, a receipt for lodgings, a license to hunt--"

"I haven't any. "

"Go for them, or bring two well-known witnesses. "

"But--"

"There is no 'but. ' The next--"

Hector was provoked by the clerk's abrupt manner. 

"Well, then, " said he, "give me back the jewelry. "

The clerk looked at him jeeringly. 

"Can't be done. No goods that are registered, can be returnedwithout proof of rightful possession. " So saying, he went on withhis work. "One French shawl, thirty-five francs, whose is it?"

Hector meanwhile went out of the establishment. He had neversuffered so much, had never imagined that one could suffer so much. After this ray of hope, so abruptly put out, the clouds loweredover him thicker and more hopelessly. He was worse off than theshipwrecked sailor; the pawnbroker had taken his last resources. All the romance with which he had invested the idea of his suicidenow vanished, leaving bare the stern and ignoble reality. He mustkill himself, not like the gay gamester who voluntarily leaves uponthe roulette table the remains of his fortune, but like the Greek, who surprised and hunted, knows that every door will be shut uponhim. His death would not be voluntary; he could neither hesitatenor choose the fatal hour; he must kill himself because he had notthe means of living one day longer. 

And life never before seemed to him so sweet a thing as now. Henever felt so keenly the exuberance of his youth and strength. Hesuddenly discovered all about him a crowd of pleasures each moreenviable than the others, which he had never tasted. He whoflattered himself that he had squeezed life to press out itspleasures, had not really lived. He had had all that is to bebought or sold, nothing of what is given or achieved. He alreadynot only regretted giving the ten thousand francs to Jenny, but thetwo hundred francs to the servants--nay the six sous given to thewaiter at the restaurant, even the money he had spent on the bunchof violets. The bouquet still hung in his buttonhole, faded andshrivelled. What good did it do him? While the sous which he hadpaid for it--! He did not think of his wasted millions, but couldnot drive away the thought of that wasted franc!

True, he might, if he chose, find plenty of money still, and easily. He had only to return quietly to his house, to discharge the bailiffs, and to resume the possession of his remaining effects. But he wouldthus confront the world, and confess his terrors to have overcomehim at the last moment; he would have to suffer glances more cruelthan the pistol-ball. The world must not be deceived; when a manannounces that he is going to kill himself--he must kill himself. 

So Hector was going to die because he had said he would, becausethe newspapers had announced the fact. He confessed this to himselfas he went along, and bitterly reproached himself. 

He remembered a pretty spot in Viroflay forest, where he had oncefought a duel; he would commit the deed there. He hastened towardit. The weather was fine and he met many groups of young peoplegoing into the country for a good time. Workmen were drinking andclinking their glasses under the trees along the river-bank. Allseemed happy and contented, and their gayety seemed to insultHector's wretchedness. He left the main road at the Sevres bridge, and descending the embankment reached the borders of the Seine. Kneeling down, he took up some water in the palm of his hand, anddrank--an invincible lassitude crept over him. He sat, or ratherfell, upon the sward. The fever of despair came, and death nowseemed to him a refuge, which he could almost welcome with joy. Some feet above him the windows of a Sevres restaurant opened towardthe river. He could be seen from there, as well as from the bridge;but he did not mind this, nor anything else. 

"As well here, as elsewhere, " he said to himself. 

He had just drawn his pistol out, when he heard someone call:

"Hector! Hector!"

He jumped up at a bound, concealed the pistol, and looked about. A man was running down the embankment toward him with outstretchedarms. This was a man of his own age, rather stout, but well shaped, with a fine open face and, large black eyes in which one readfrankness and good-nature; one of those men who are sympathetic atfirst sight, whom one loves on a week's acquaintance. 

Hector recognized him. It was his oldest friend, a college mate;they had once been very intimate, but the count not finding theother fast enough for him, had little by little dropped his intimacy, and had now lost sight of him for two years. 

"Sauvresy!" he exclaimed, stupefied. 

"Yes, " said the young man, hot, and out of breath, "I've been watchingyou the last two minutes; what were you doing here?"

"Why--nothing. "

"How! What they told me at your house this morning was true, then!I went there. "

"What did they say?"

"That nobody knew what had become of you, and that you declared toJenny when you left her the night before that you were going to blowyour brains out. The papers have already announced your death, withdetails. "

This news seemed to have a great effect on the count. 

"You see, then, " he answered tragically, "that I must kill myself!"

"Why? In order to save the papers from the inconvenience ofcorrecting their error. "

"People will say that I shrunk--"

"Oh, 'pon my word now! According to you, a man must make a foolof himself because it has been reported that he would do it. Absurd, old fellow. What do you want to kill yourself for?"

Hector reflected; he almost saw the possibility of living. 

"I am ruined, " answered he, sadly. 

"And it's for this that--stop, my friend, let me tell you, youare an ass! Ruined! It's a misfortune, but when a man is of yourage he rebuilds his fortune. Besides, you aren't as ruined as yousay, because I've got an income of a hundred thousand francs. "

"A hundred thousand francs--"

"Well, my fortune is in land, which brings in about four per cent. "

Tremorel knew that his friend was rich, but not that he was as richas this. He answered with a tinge of envy in his tone:

"Well, I had more than that; but I had no breakfast this morning. "

"And you did not tell me! But true, you are in a pitiable state;come along, quick!"

And he led him toward the restaurant. 

Tremorel reluctantly followed this friend, who had just saved hislife. He was conscious of having been surprised in a distressinglyridiculous situation. If a man who is resolved to blow his brainsout is accosted, he presses the trigger, he doesn't conceal hispistol. There was one alone, among all his friends, who loved himenough not to see the ludicrousness of his position; one alonegenerous enough not to torture him with raillery; it was Sauvresy. 

But once seated before a well-filled table, Hector could notpreserve his rigidity. He felt the joyous expansion of spiritwhich follows assured safety after terrible peril. He was himself, young again, once more strong. He told Sauvresy everything; hisvain boasting, his terror at the last moment, his agony at thehotel, his fury, remorse, and anguish at the pawnbroker's. 

"Ah!" said he. "You have saved me! You are my friend, my onlyfriend, my brother. "

They talked for more than two hours. 

"Come, " said Sauvresy at last, "let us arrange our plans. You wantto disappear awhile; I see that. But to-night you must write fourlines to the papers. To-morrow I propose to take your affairs inhand, that's a thing I know how to do. I don't know exactly howyou stand; but I will agree to save something from the wreck. We'vegot money, you see; your creditors will be easy with us. "

"But where shall I go?" asked Hector, whom the mere idea ofisolation terrified. 

"What? You'll come home with me, parbleu, to Valfeuillu. Don'tyou know that I am married? Ah, my friend, a happier man than Idoes not exist! I've married--for love--the loveliest and bestof women. You will be a brother to us. But come, my carriage isright here near the door. "

 XIV

M. Plantat stopped. His companions had not suffered a gesture ora word to interrupt him. M. Lecoq, as he listened, reflected. Heasked himself where M. Plantat could have got all these minutedetails. Who had written Tremorel's terrible biography? As heglanced at the papers from which Plantat read, he saw that theywere not all in the same handwriting. 

The old justice of the peace pursued the story:

Bertha Lechaillu, though by an unhoped-for piece of good fortuneshe had become Madame Sauvresy, did not love her husband. She wasthe daughter of a poor country school-master, whose highest ambitionhad been to be an assistant teacher in a Versailles school; yet shewas not now satisfied. Absolute queen of one of the finest domainsin the land, surrounded by every luxury, spending as she pleased, beloved, adored, she was not content. Her life, so well regulated, so constantly smooth, without annoyances and disturbance, seemed toher insipid. There were always the same monotonous pleasures, always recurring each in its season. There were parties andreceptions, horse rides, hunts, drives--and it was always thus!Alas, this was not the life she had dreamed of; she was born formore exciting pleasures. She yearned for unknown emotions andsensations, the unforeseen, abrupt transitions, passions, adventures. She had not liked Sauvresy from the first day she saw him, and hersecret aversion to him increased in proportion as her influence overhim grew more certain. She thought him common, vulgar, ridiculous. She thought the simplicity of his manners, silliness. She lookedat him, and saw nothing in him to admire. She did not listen tohim when he spoke, having already decided in her wisdom that hecould say nothing that was not tedious or commonplace. She was angrythat he had not been a wild young man, the terror of his family. 

He had, however, done as other young men do. He had gone to Parisand tried the sort of life which his friend Tremorel led. He hadenough of it in six months, and hastily returned to Valfeuillu, torest after such laborious pleasures. The experience cost him ahundred thousand francs, but he said he did not regret purchasingit at this price. 

Bertha was wearied with the constancy and adoration of her husband. She had only to express a desire to be at once obeyed, and thisblind submission to all her wishes appeared to her servile in a man. A man is born, she thought, to command, and not to obey; to bemaster, and not slave. She would have preferred a husband whowould come in in the middle of the night, still warm from his orgy, having lost at play, and who would strike her if she upbraided him. A tyrant, but a man. Some months after her marriage she suddenlytook it into her head to have absurd freaks and extravagant caprices. She wished to prove him, and see how far his constant complacencewould go. She thought she would tire him out. It was intolerableto feel absolutely sure of her husband, to know that she so filledhis heart that he had room for no other, to have nothing to fear, not even the caprice of an hour. Perhaps there was yet more thanthis in Bertha's aversion. She knew herself, and confessed toherself that had Sauvresy wished, she would have been his withoutbeing his wife. She was so lonely at her father's, so wretched inher poverty, that she would have fled from her home, even for this. And she despised her husband because he had not despised her enough!

People were always telling her that she was the happiest of women. Happy! And there were days when she wept when she thought that shewas married. Happy! There were times when she longed to fly, toseek adventure and pleasure, all that she yearned for, what she hadnot had and never would have. The fear of poverty--which she knewwell--restrained her. This fear was caused in part by a wiseprecaution which her father, recently dead, had taken. Sauvresywished to insert in the marriage-contract a settlement of fivehundred thousand francs on his affianced. The worthy Lechailin hadopposed this generous act. 

"My daughter, " he said, "brings you nothing. Settle forty thousandfrancs on her if you will, not a sou more; otherwise there shall beno marriage. "

As Sauvresy insisted, the old man added:

"I hope that she will be a good and worthy wife; if so, your fortunewill be hers. But if she is not, forty thousand francs will be nonetoo little for her. Of course, if you are afraid that you will diefirst, you can make a will. "

Sauvresy was forced to yield. Perhaps the worthy school-masterknew his daughter; if so he was the only one. Never did soconsummate a hypocrisy minister to so profound a perversity, and adepravity so inconceivable in a young and seemingly innocent girl. If, at the bottom of her heart, she thought herself the mostwretched of women, there was nothing of it apparent--it was awell-kept secret. She knew how to show to her husband, in placeof the love she did not feel, the appearance of a passion at onceburning and modest, betraying furtive glances and a flush as ofpleasure, when he entered the room. 

All the world said:

"Bertha is foolishly fond of her husband. "

Sauvresy was sure of it, and he was the first to say, not caringto conceal his joy:

"My wife adores me. "

Such were man and wife at Valfeuillu when Sauvresy found Tremorelon the banks of the Seine with a pistol in his hand. Sauvresymissed his dinner that evening for the first time since his marriage, though he had promised to be prompt, and the meal was kept waitingfor him. Bertha might have been anxious about this delay; she wasonly indignant at what she called inconsiderateness. She was askingherself how she should punish her husband, when, at ten o'clock atnight, the drawing-room door was abruptly thrown open, and Sauvresystood smiling upon the threshold. 

"Bertha, " said he, "I've brought you an apparition. "

She scarcely deigned to raise her head. Sauvresy continued:

"An apparition whom you know, of whom I have often spoken to you, whom you will like because I love him, and because he is my oldestcomrade, my best friend. "

And standing aside, he gently pushed Hector into the room. 

"Madame Sauvresy, permit me to present to you Monsieur the Countde Tremorel. "

Bertha rose suddenly, blushing, confused, agitated by an indefinableemotion, as if she saw in reality an apparition. For the first timein her life she was abashed, and did not dare to raise her large, clear blue eyes. 

"Monsieur, " she stammered, "you are welcome. "

She knew Tremorel's name well. Sauvresy had often mentioned it, and she had seen it often in the papers, and had heard it in thedrawing-rooms of all her friends. He who bore it seemed to her, after what she had heard a great personage. He was, according tohis reputation, a hero of another age, a social Don Quixote, aterribly fast man of the world. He was one of those men whose livesastonish common people, whom the well-to-do citizen thinks faithlessand lawless, whose extravagant passions overleap the narrow boundsof social prejudice; a man who tyrannizes over others, whom all fear, who fights on the slightest provocation, who scatters gold with aprodigal hand, whose iron health resists the most terrible excesses. She had often in her miserable reveries tried to imagine what kindof man this Count de Tremorel was. She awarded him with suchqualities as she desired for her fancied hero, with whom she couldfly from her husband in search of new adventures. And now, of asudden, he appeared before her. 

"Give Hector your hand, dear, " said Sauvresy. She held out herhand, which Tremorel lightly pressed, and his touch seemed to giveher an electric shock. 

Sauvresy threw himself into an arm-chair. 

"You see, Bertha, " said he, "our friend Hector is exhausted withthe life he has been leading. He has been advised to rest, andhas come to seek it here, with us. "

"But, dear, " responded Bertha, "aren't you afraid that the countwill be bored a little here?"

"Why?"

"Valfeuillu is very quiet, and we are but dull country folks. "

Bertha talked for the sake of talking, to break a silence whichembarrassed her, to make Tremorel speak, and hear his voice. Asshe talked she observed him, and studied the impression she madeon him. Her radiant beauty usually struck those who saw her forthe first time with open admiration. He remained impassible. Sherecognized the worn-out rake of title, the fast man who has tried, experienced, exhausted all things, in his coldness and superbindifference. And because he did not admire her she admired himthe more. 

"What a difference, " thought she, "between him and that vulgarSauvresy, who is surprised at everything, whose face shows allthat he thinks, whose eye betrays what he is going to say beforehe opens his mouth. "

Bertha was mistaken. Hector was not as cold and indifferent as sheimagined. He was simply wearied, utterly exhausted. He couldscarcely sit up after the terrible excitements of the lasttwenty-four hours. He soon asked permission to retire. Sauvresy, when left alone with his wife, told her all that happened, and theevents which resulted in Tremorel's coming to Valfeuillu; but likea true friend omitted everything that would cast ridicule upon hisold comrade. 

"He's a big child, " said he, "a foolish fellow, whose brain is weakbut we'll take care of him and cure him. "

Bertha never listened to her husband so attentively before. Sheseemed to agree with him, but she really admired Tremorel. LikeJenny, she was struck with the heroism which could squander afortune and then commit suicide. 

"Ah!" sighed she, "Sauvresy would not have done it!"

No, Sauvresy was quite a different man from the Count de Tremorel. The next day he declared his intention to adjust his friend'saffairs. Hector had slept well, having spent the night on anexcellent bed, undisturbed by pressing anxieties; and he appearedin the morning sleek and well-dressed, the disorder and desperationof the previous evening having quite disappeared. He had a naturenot deeply impressible by events; twenty-four hours consoled himfor the worst catastrophes, and he soon forgot the severest lessonsof life. If Sauvresy had bid him begone, he would not have knownwhere to go; yet he had already resumed the haughty carelessness ofthe millionnaire, accustomed to bend men and circumstances to hiswill. He was once more calm and cold, coolly joking, as if yearshad passed since that night at the hotel, and as if all the disastersto his fortune had been repaired. Bertha was amazed at thistranquillity after such great reverses, and thought this childishrecklessness force of character. 

"Now, " said Sauvresy, "as I've become your man of business, give memy instructions, and some valuable hints. What is, or was, theamount of your fortune?"

"I haven't the least idea. "

Sauvresy provided himself with a pencil and a large sheet of paper, ready to set down the figures. He seemed a little surprised. 

"All right, " said he, "we'll put x down as the unknown quantity ofthe assets: now for the liabilities. "

Hector made a superbly disdainful gesture. 

"Don't know, I'm sure, what they are. "

"What, can't you give a rough guess?"

"Oh, perhaps. For instance, I owe between five and six hundredthousand francs to Clair & Co. , five hundred thousand to Dervoy;about as much to Dubois, of Orleans--"

"Well?"

"I can't remember any more. "

"But you must have a memorandum of your loans somewhere?"

"No. "

"You have at least kept your bonds, bills, and the sums of yourvarious debts?"

"None of them. I burnt up all my papers yesterday. "

Sauvresy jumped up from his chair in astonishment; such a methodof doing business seemed to him monstrous; he could not supposethat Hector was lying. Yet he was lying, and this affectation ofignorance was a conceit of the aristocratic man of the world. Itwas very noble, very distingue, to ruin one's self without knowinghow!

"But, my dear fellow, " cried Sauvresy, "how can we clear up youraffairs?"

"Oh, don't clear them up at all; do as I do--let the creditors actas they please, they will know how to settle it all, rest assured;let them sell out my property. "

"Never! Then you would be ruined, indeed!"

"Well, it's only a little more or a little less. "

"What splendid disinterestedness!" thought Bertha; "what coolness, what admirable contempt of money, what noble disdain of the pettydetails which annoy common people! Was Sauvresy capable of allthis?"

She could not at least accuse him of avarice, since for her he wasas prodigal as a thief; he had never refused her anything; heanticipated her most extravagant fancies. Still he had a strongappetite for gain, and despite his large fortune, he retained thehereditary respect for money. When he had business with one of hisfarmers, he would rise very early, mount his horse, though it weremid-winter, and go several leagues in the snow to get a hundredcrowns. He would have ruined himself for her if she had willed it, this she was convinced of; but he would have ruined himselfeconomically, in an orderly way. 

Sauvresy reflected. 

"You are right, " said he to Hector, "your creditors ought to knowyour exact position. Who knows that they are not acting in concert?Their simultaneous refusal to lend you a hundred thousand makes mesuspect it. I will go and see them. "

"Clair & Co. , from whom I received my first loans, ought to be thebest informed. "

"Well, I will see Clair & Co. But look here, do you know what youwould do if you were reasonable?"

"What?"

"You would go to Paris with me, and both of us--"

Hector turned very pale, and his eyes shone. 

"Never!" he interrupted, violently, "never!"

His "dear friends" still terrified him. What! Reappear on thetheatre of his glory, now that he was fallen, ruined, ridiculous byhis unsuccessful suicide? Sauvresy had held out his arms to him. Sauvresy was a noble fellow, and loved Hector sufficiently not toperceive the falseness of his position, and not to judge him acoward because he shrank from suicide. But the others!--

"Don't talk to me about Paris, " said he in a calmer tone. "I shallnever set my foot in it again. "

"All right--so much the better; stay with us; I sha'n't complain ofit, nor my wife either. Some fine day we'll find you a prettyheiress in the neighborhood. But, " added Sauvresy, consulting hiswatch, "I must go if I don't want to lose the train. "

"I'll go to the station with you, " said Tremorel. 

This was not solely from a friendly impulse. He wanted to askSauvresy to look after the articles left at the pawnbroker's in theRue de Condo, and to call on Jenny. Bertha, from her window, followed with her eyes the two friends; who, with arms interlocked, ascended the road toward Orcival. "What a difference, " thought she, "between these two men! My husband said he wished to be his friend'ssteward; truly he has the air of a steward. What a noble gait thecount has, what youthful ease, what real distinction! And yet I'msure that my husband despises him, because he has ruined himself bydissipation. He affected--I saw it--an air of protection. Pooryouth! But everything about the count betrays an innate or acquiredsuperiority; even his name, Hector--how it sounds!" And sherepeated "Hector" several times, as if it pleased her, adding, contemptuously, "My husband's name is Clement!"

M. De Tremorel returned alone from the station, as gayly as aconvalescent taking his first airing. As soon as Bertha saw himshe left the window. She wished to remain alone, to reflect uponthis event which had happened so suddenly, to analyze hersensations, listen to her presentiments, study her impressions anddecide, if possible, upon her line of conduct. She only reappearedwhen the tea was set for her husband, who returned at eleven in theevening. Sauvresy was faint from hunger, thirst, and fatigue, buthis face glowed with satisfaction. 

"Victory!" exclaimed he, as he ate his soup. "We'll snatch youfrom the hands of the Philistines yet. Parbleu! The finestfeathers of your plumage will remain, after all, and you will beable to save enough for a good cosey nest. "

Bertha glanced at her husband. 

"How is that?" said she. 

"It's very simple. At the very first, I guessed the game of ourfriend's creditors. They reckoned on getting a sale of his effects;would have bought them in a lump dirt cheap, as it always happens, and then sold them in detail, dividing the profits of the operation. "

"And can you prevent that?" asked Tremorel, incredulously. 

"Certainly. Ah, I've completely checkmated these gentlemen. I'vesucceeded by chance--I had the good luck to get them all togetherthis evening. I said to them, you'll let us sell this property aswe please, voluntarily, or I'll outbid you all, and spoil your cards. They looked at me in amazement. My notary, who was with me, remarkedthat I was Monsieur Sauvresy, worth two millions. Our gentlemenopened their eyes very wide, and consented to grant my request. "

Hector, notwithstanding what he had said, knew enough about hisaffairs to see that this action would save him a fortune--a smallone, as compared with what he had possessed, yet a fortune. 

The certainty of this delighted him, and moved by a momentary andsincere gratitude, he grasped both of Sauvresy's hands in his. 

"Ah, my friend, " cried he, "you give me my honor, after saving mylife! How can I ever repay you?"

"By committing no imprudences or foolishnesses, except reasonableones. Such as this, " added Sauvresy, leaning toward Bertha andembracing her. 

"And there is nothing more to fear?"

"Nothing! Why I could have borrowed the two millions in an hour, and they knew it. But that's not all. The search for you issuspended. I went to your house, took the responsibility of sendingaway all your servants except your valet and a groom. If you agree, we'll send the horses to be sold to-morrow, and they'll fetch agood price; your own saddle-horse shall be brought here. "

These details annoyed Bertha. She thought her husband exaggeratedhis services, carrying them even to servility. 

"Really, " thought she, "he was born to be a steward. "

"Do you know what else I did?" pursued Sauvresy. "Thinking thatperhaps you were in want of a wardrobe, I had three or four trunksfilled with your clothes, sent them out by rail, and one of theservants has just gone after them. "

Hector, too, began to find Sauvresy's services excessive, and thoughthe treated him too much like a child who could foresee nothing. Theidea of having it said before a woman that he was in want of clothesirritated him. He forgot that he had found it a very simple thingin the morning to ask his friend for some linen. 

Just then a noise was heard in the vestibule. Doubtless the trunkshad come. Bertha went out to give the necessary orders. 

"Quick!" cried Sauvresy. "Now that we are alone, here are yourtrinkets. I had some trouble in getting them. They are suspiciousat the pawnbroker's. I think they began to suspect that I was oneof a band of thieves. "

"You didn't mention my name, did you?"

"That would have been useless. My notary was with me, fortunately. One never knows how useful one's notary may be. Don't you thinksociety is unjust toward notaries?"

Tremorel thought his friend talked very lightly about a seriousmatter, and this flippancy vexed him. 

"To finish up, I paid a visit to Miss Jenny. She has been abedsince last evening, and her chambermaid told me she had not ceasedsobbing bitterly ever since your departure. "

"Had she seen no one?"

"Nobody at all. She really thought you dead, and when I told heryou were here with me, alive and well, I thought she would go madfor joy. Do you know, Hector, she's really pretty. "

"Yes--not bad. "

"And a very good little body, I imagine. She told me some verytouching things. I would wager, my friend, that she don't care somuch for your money as she does for yourself. "

Hector smiled superciliously. 

"In short, she was anxious to follow me, to see and speak to you. I had to swear with terrible oaths that she should see youto-morrow, before she would let me go; not at Paris, as you saidyou would never go there, but at Corbeil. "

"Ah, as for that--"

"She will be at the station to-morrow at twelve. We will go downtogether, and I will take the train for Paris. You can get intothe Corbeil train, and breakfast with Miss Jenny at the hotel ofthe Belle Image. "

Hector began to offer an objection. Sauvresy stopped him with agesture. 

"Not a word, " said he. "Here is my wife. "

 XV

On going to bed, that night, the count was less enchanted than everwith the devotion of his friend Sauvresy. There is not a diamond onwhich a spot cannot be found with a microscope. 

"Here he is, " thought he, "abusing his privileges as the saver ofmy life. Can't a man do you a service, without continually makingyou feel it? It seems as though because he prevented me fromblowing my brains out, I had somehow become something that belongsto him! He came very near upbraiding me for Jenny's extravagance. Where will he stop?"

The next day at breakfast he feigned indisposition so as not toeat, and suggested to Sauvresy that he would lose the train. 

Bertha, as on the evening before, crouched at the window to seethem go away. Her troubles during the past eight-and-forty hourshad been so great that she hardly recognized herself. She scarcelydared to reflect or to descend to the depths of her heart. Whatmysterious power did this man possess, to so violently affect herlife? She wished that he would go, never to return, while at thesame time she avowed to herself that in going he would carry withhim all her thoughts. She struggled under the charm, not knowingwhether she ought to rejoice or grieve at the inexpressible emotionswhich agitated her, being irritated to submit to an influencestronger than her own will. 

She decided that to-day she would go down to the drawing-room. Hewould not fail--were it only for politeness--to go in there; andthen, she thought, by seeing him nearer, talking with him, knowinghim better, his influence over her would vanish. Doubtless hewould return, and so she watched for him, ready to go down as soonas she saw him approaching. She waited with feverish shudderings, anxiously believing that this first tete-a-tete in her husband'sabsence would be decisive. Time passed; it was more than two hourssince he had gone out with Sauvresy, and he had not reappeared. Where could he be?

At this moment, Hector was awaiting Jenny at the Corbeil station. The train arrived, and Jenny soon appeared. Her grief, joy, emotionhad not made her forget her toilet, and never had she been sorollickingly elegant and pretty. She wore a green dress with atrain, a velvet mantle, and the jauntiest little hat in the world. As soon as she saw Hector standing near the door, she uttered a cry, pushed the people aside, and rushed into his arms, laughing andcrying at the same time. She spoke quite loud, with wild gestures, so that everyone could hear what she said. 

"You didn't kill yourself, after all, " said she. "Oh, how I havesuffered; but what happiness I feel to-day!"

Tremorel struggled with her as he could, trying to calm herenthusiastic exclamations, softly repelling her, charmed andirritated at once, and exasperated at all these eyes rudely fixedon him. For none of the passengers had gone out. They were allthere, staring and gazing. Hector and Jenny were surrounded by acircle of curious folks. 

"Come along, " said Hector, his patience exhausted. He drew her outof the door, hoping to escape this prying curiosity; but he did notsucceed. They were persistently followed. Some of the Corbeilpeople who were on the top of the omnibus begged the conductor towalk his horses, that this singular couple might not be lost toview, and the horses did not get into a trot until they haddisappeared in the hotel. 

Sauvresy's foresight in recommending the place of meeting had thusbeen disconcerted by Jenny's sensational arrival. Questions wereasked; the hostess was adroitly interrogated, and it was soon knownthat this person, who waited for eccentric young ladies at theCorbeil station, was an intimate friend of the owner of Valfeuillu. Neither Hector nor Jenny doubted that they formed the general topicof conversation. They breakfasted gayly in the best room at theBelle Image, during which Tremorel recounted a very pretty storyabout his restoration to life, in which he played a part, theheroism of which was well calculated to redouble the little lady'sadmiration. Then Jenny in her turn unfolded her plans for thefuture, which were, to do her justice, most reasonable. She hadresolved more than ever to remain faithful to Hector now that hewas ruined, to give up her elegant rooms, sell her furniture, andundertake some honest trade. She had found one of her old friends, who was now an accomplished dressmaker, and who was anxious toobtain a partner who had some money, while she herself furnishedthe experience. They would purchase an establishment in the Bredaquarter, and between them could scarcely fail to prosper. Jennytalked with a pretty, knowing, business-like air, which made Hectorlaugh. These projects seemed very comic to him; yet he was touchedby this unselfishness on the part of a young and pretty woman, whowas willing to work in order to please him. 

But, unhappily, they were forced to part. Jenny had gone to Corbeilintending to stay a week; but the count told her this was absolutelyimpossible. She cried bitterly at first, then got angry, and finallyconsoled herself with a plan to return on the following Tuesday. 

"Good-by, " said she, embracing Hector, "think of me. " She smilinglyadded, "I ought to be jealous; for they say your friend's wife isperhaps the handsomest woman in France. Is it true?"

"Upon my word, I don't know. I've forgotten to look at her. "

Hector told the truth. Although he did not betray it, he was stillunder the surprise of his chagrin at the failure of his attempt atsuicide. He felt the dizziness which follows great moral crises aswell as a heavy blow on the head, and which distracts the attentionfrom exterior things. But Jenny's words, "the handsomest woman inFrance, " attracted his notice, and he could, that very evening, repair his forgetfulness. When he returned to Valfeuillu, hisfriend had not returned; Mme. Sauvresy was alone reading, in thebrilliantly lighted drawing-room. Hector seated himself oppositeher, a little aside, and was thus able to observe her at his ease, while engaging her in conversation. His first impression was anunfavorable one. He found her beauty too sculptural and polished. He sought for imperfections, and finding none, was almost terrifiedby this lovely, motionless face, these clear, cold eyes. Little bylittle, however, he accustomed himself to pass the greater part ofthe afternoon with Bertha, while Sauvresy was away arranging hisaffairs--selling, negotiating, using his time in cutting downinterests and discussing with agents and attorneys. He soonperceived that she listened to him with pleasure, and he judgedfrom this that she was a decidedly superior woman, much better thanher husband. He had no wit, but possessed an inexhaustible fund ofanecdotes and adventures. He had seen so many things and known somany people that he was as interesting as a chronicle. He had asort of frothy fervor, not wanting in brilliancy, and a politecynicism which, at first, surprised one. Had Bertha beenunimpassioned, she might have judged him at his value; but she hadlost her power of insight. She heard him, plunged in a foolishecstasy, as one hears a traveller who has returned from far anddangerous countries, who has visited peoples of whose language thehearer is ignorant, and lived in the midst of manners and customsincomprehensible to ourselves. 

Days, weeks, months passed on, and the Count de Tremorel did notfind life at Valfeuillu as dull as he had thought. He insensiblyslipped along the gentle slope of material well-being, which leadsdirectly to brutishness. A physical and moral torpor had succeededthe fever of the first days, free from disagreeable sensations, though wanting in excitement. He ate and drank much, and slepttwelve round hours. The rest of the time, when he did not talkwith Bertha, he wandered in the park, lounged in a rocking-chair, or took a jaunt in the saddle. He even went fishing under thewillows at the foot of the garden; and grew fat. His best dayswere those which he spent at Corbeil with Jenny. He found in hersomething of his past, and she always quarrelled with him, whichwoke him up. Besides, she brought him the gossip of Paris and thesmall talk of the boulevards. She came regularly every week, andher love for Hector, far from diminishing, seemed to grow with eachinterview. The poor girl's affairs were in a troubled condition. She had bought her establishment at too high a price, and herpartner at the end of the first month decamped, carrying off threethousand francs. She knew nothing about the trade which she hadundertaken, and she was robbed without mercy on all sides. Shesaid nothing of these troubles to Hector, but she intended to askhim to come to her assistance. It was the least that he could do. 

At first, the visitors to Valfeuillu were somewhat astonished atthe constant presence there of a young man of leisure; but they gotaccustomed to him. Hector assumed a melancholy expression ofcountenance, such as a man ought to have who had undergoneunheard-of misfortunes, and whose life had failed of its promise. He appeared inoffensive; people said:

"The count has a charming simplicity. "

But sometimes, when alone, he had sudden and terrible relapses. "This life cannot last, " thought he; and he was overcome withchildish rage when he contrasted the past with the present. Howcould he shake off this dull existence, and rid himself of thesestiffly good people who surrounded him, these friends of Sauvresy?Where should he take refuge? He was not tempted to return to Paris;what could he do there? His house had been sold to an old leathermerchant; and he had no money except that which he borrowed ofSauvresy. Yet Sauvresy, to Hector's mind, was a most uncomfortable, wearisome, implacable friend; he did not understand half-waymeasures in desperate situations. 

"Your boat is foundering, " he said to Hector; "let us begin bythrowing all that is superfluous into the sea. Let us keep nothingof the past; that is dead; we will bury it, and nothing shall recallit. When your situation is relieved, we will see. "

The settlement of Hector's affairs was very laborious. Creditorssprung up at every step, on every side, and the list of them seemednever to be finished. Some had even come from foreign lands. Several of them had been already paid, but their receipts could notbe found, and they were clamorous. Others, whose demands had beenrefused as exorbitant, threatened to go to law, hoping to frightenSauvresy into paying. Sauvresy wearied his friend by his incessantactivity. Every two or three days he went to Paris, and he attendedthe sales of the property in Burgundy and Orleans. The count atlast detested and hated him; Sauvresy's happy, cheerful air annoyedhim; jealousy stung him. One thought--that a wretched one--consoledhim a little. "Sauvresy's happiness, " said he to himself, "is owingto his imbecility. He thinks his wife dead in love with him, whereas she can't bear him. "

Bertha had, indeed, permitted Hector to perceive her aversion toher husband. She no longer studied the emotions of her heart; sheloved Tremorel, and confessed it to herself. In her eyes he realizedthe ideal of her dreams. At the same time she was exasperated tosee in him no signs of love for her. Her beauty was not, then, irresistible, as she had often been told. He was gallant andcourteous to her--nothing more. 

"If he loved me, " thought she, "he would tell me so, for he isbold with women and fears no one. "

Then she began to hate the girl, her rival, whom Hector went tomeet at Corbeil every week. She wished to see her, to know her. Who could she be? Was she handsome? Hector had been very reticentabout Jenny. He evaded all questions about her, not sorry to letBertha's imagination work on his mysterious visits. 

The day at last came when she could no longer resist the intensityof her curiosity. She put on the simplest of her toilets, in black, threw a thick veil over her head, and hastened to the Corbeil stationat the hour that she thought the unknown girl would present herselfthere. She took a seat on a bench in the rear of the waiting-room. She had not long to wait. She soon perceived the count and a younggirl coming along the avenue, which she could see from where she sat. They were arm in arm, and seemed to be in a very happy mood. Theypassed within a few steps of her, and as they walked very slowly, she was able to scrutinize Jenny at her ease. She saw that she waspretty, but that was all. Having seen that which she wished, andbecome satisfied that Jenny was not to be feared (which showed herinexperience) Bertha directed her steps homeward. But she chose hertime of departure awkwardly; for as she was passing along behind thecabs, which concealed her, Hector came out of the station. Theycrossed each other's paths at the gate, and their eyes met. Did herecognize her? His face expressed great surprise, yet he did notbow to her. "Yes, he recognized me, " thought Bertha, as she returnedhome by the river-road; and surprised, almost terrified by herboldness, she asked herself whether she ought to rejoice or mournover this meeting. What would be its result? Hector cautiouslyfollowed her at a little distance. He was greatly astonished. Hisvanity, always on the watch, had already apprised him of what waspassing in Bertha's heart, but, though modesty was no fault of his, he was far from guessing that she was so much enamoured of him asto take such a step. 

"She loves me!" he repeated to himself, as he went along. "Sheloves me!"

He did not yet know what to do. Should he fly? Should he stillappear the same in his conduct toward her, pretending not to haveseen her? He ought to fly that very evening, without hesitation, without turning his head; to fly as if the house were about totumble about his head. This was his first thought. It was quicklystifled under the explosion of the base passions which fermented inhim. Ah, Sauvresy had saved him when he was dying! Sauvresy, aftersaving him, had welcomed him, opened to him his heart, purse, house;at this very moment he was making untiring efforts to restore hisfortunes. Men like Tremorel can only receive such services asoutrages. Had not his sojourn at Valfeuillu been a continualsuffering? Was not his self-conceit tortured from morning tillnight? He might count the days by their humiliations. What! Musthe always submit to--if he was not grateful for--the superiorityof a man whom he had always been wont to treat as his inferior?

"Besides, " thought he, judging his friend by himself, "he only actsthus from pride and ostentation. What am I at his house, but aliving witness of his generosity and devotion? He seems to livefor me--it's Tremorel here and Tremorel there! He triumphs overmy misfortunes, and makes his conduct a glory and title to the publicadmiration. "

He could not forgive his friend for being so rich, so happy, sohighly respected, for having known how to regulate his life, whilehe had exhausted his own fortune at thirty. And should he not seizeso good an opportunity to avenge himself for the favors whichoverwhelmed him?

"Have I run after his wife?" said he to himself, trying to imposesilence on his conscience. "She comes to me of her own will, herself, without the least temptation from me. I should be a foolif I repelled her. "

Conceit has irresistible arguments. Hector, when he entered thehouse, had made up his mind. He did not fly. Yet he had the excuseneither of passion nor of temptation; he did not love her, and hisinfamy was deliberate, coldly premeditated. Between her and him achain more solid than mutual attraction was riveted; their commonhatred of Sauvresy. They owed too much to him. His hand had heldboth from degradation. 

The first hours of their mutual understanding were spent in angrywords, rather than the cooings of love. They perceived too clearlythe disgrace of their conduct not to try to reassure each otheragainst their remorse. They tried to prove to each other thatSauvresy was ridiculous and odious; as if they were absolved by hisdeficiencies, if deficiencies he had. If indeed trustfulness isfoolishness, Sauvresy was indeed a fool, because he could be deceivedunder his own eyes, in his own house, because he had perfect faithin his wife and his friend. He suspected nothing, and every day herejoiced that he had been able to keep Tremorel by him. He oftenrepeated to his wife:

"I am too happy. "

Bertha employed all her art to encourage these joyous illusions. She who had before been so capricious, so nervous, wilful, becamelittle by little submissive to the degree of an angelic softness. The future of her love depended on her husband, and she spared nopains to prevent the slightest suspicion from ruffling his calmconfidence. Such was their prudence that no one in the housesuspected their state. And yet Bertha was not happy. Her love didnot yield her the joys she had expected. She hoped to be transportedto the clouds, and she remained on the earth, hampered by all themiserable ties of a life of lies and deceit. 

Perhaps she perceived that she was Hector's revenge on her husband, and that he only loved in her the dishonored wife of an enviedfriend. And to crown all, she was jealous. For several months shetried to persuade Tremorel to break with Jenny. He always had thesame reply, which, though it might be prudent, was irritating. 

"Jenny is our security--you must think of that. "

The fact was, however, that he was trying to devise some means ofgetting rid of Jenny. It was a difficult matter. The poor girl, having fallen into comparative poverty, became more and moretenacious of Hector's affection. She often gave him trouble bytelling him that he was no longer the same, that he was changed;she was sad, and wept, and had red eyes. 

One evening, in a fit of anger, she menaced him with a singularthreat. 

"You love another, " she said. "I know it, for I have proofs of it. Take care! If you ever leave me, my anger will fall on her head, and I will not have any mercy on her. "

The count foolishly attached no importance to these words; they onlyhastened the separation. 

"She is getting very troublesome, " thought he. "If some day Ishouldn't go when she was expecting me, she might come up toValfeuillu, and make a wretched scandal. "

He armed himself with all his courage, which was assisted by Bertha'stears and entreaties, and started for Corbeil resolved to break offwith Jenny. He took every precaution in declaring his intentions, giving the best reasons for his decision that he could think of. 

"We must be careful, you know, Jenny, " said he, "and cease to meetfor a while. I am ruined, you know, and the only thing that cansave me is marriage. "

Hector had prepared himself for an explosion of fury, piercing cries, hysterics, fainting-fits. To his great surprise, Jenny did notanswer a word. She became as white as her collar, her ruddy lipsblanched, her eyes stared. 

"So, " said she, with her teeth tightly shut to contain herself, "soyou are going to get married?"

"Alas, I must, " he answered with a hypocritical sigh. "You knowthat lately I have only been able to get money for you by borrowingfrom my friend; his purse will not be at my service forever. "

Jenny took Hector by the hand, and led him to the window. There, looking intently at him, as if her gaze could frighten the truthout of him, she said, slowly:

"It is really true, is it, that you are going to leave me to getmarried?"

Hector disengaged one of his hands, and placed it on his heart. 

"I swear it on my honor, " said he. 

"I ought to believe you, then. "

Jenny returned to the middle of the room. Standing erect beforethe mirror, she put on her hat, quietly disposing its ribbons asif nothing had occurred. When she was ready to go, she went upto Tremorel. "For the last time, " said she, in a tone which sheforced to be firm, and which belied her tearful, glistening eyes. "For the last time, Hector, are we really to part?"

"We must. "

Jenny made a gesture which Tremorel did not see; her face had amalicious expression; her lips parted to utter some sarcasticresponse; but she recovered herself almost immediately. 

"I am going, Hector, " said she, after a moment's reflection; "Ifyou are really leaving me to get married, you shall never hear ofme again. "

"Why, Jenny, I hope I shall still remain your friend. "

"Well, only if you abandon me for another reason, remember what Itell you; you will be a dead man, and she, a lost woman. "

She opened the door; he tried to take her hand; she repulsed him. 

"Adieu!"

Hector ran to the window to assure himself of her departure. Shewas ascending the avenue leading to the station. 

"Well, that's over, " thought he, with a sigh of relief. "Jenny wasa good girl. "

 XVI

The count told half a truth when he spoke to Jenny of his marriage. Sauvresy and he had discussed the subject, and if the matter wasnot as ripe as he had represented, there was at least some prospectof such an event. Sauvresy had proposed it in his anxiety tocomplete his work of restoring Hector to fortune and society. 

One evening, about a month before the events just narrated, he hadled Hector into the library, saying:

"Give me your ear for a quarter of an hour, and don't answer mehastily. What I am going to propose to you deserves seriousreflection. "

"Well, I can be serious when it is necessary. "

"Let's begin with your debts. Their payment is not yet completed, but enough has been done to enable us to foresee the end. It iscertain that you will have, after all debts are paid, from threeto four hundred thousand francs. "

Hector had never, in his wildest hopes, expected such success. 

"Why, I'm going to be rich, " exclaimed he joyously. 

"No, not rich, but quite above want. There is, too, a mode inwhich you can regain your lost position. "

"A mode? what?"

Sauvresy paused a moment, and looked steadily at his friend. 

"You must marry, " said he at last. 

This seemed to surprise Hector, but not disagreeably. 

"I, marry? It's easier to give that advice than to follow it. "

"Pardon me--you ought to know that I do not speak rashly. Whatwould you say to a young girl of good family, pretty, well broughtup, so charming that, excepting my own wife, I know of no one moreattractive, and who would bring with her a dowry of a million?"

"Ah, my friend, I should say that I adore her! And do you knowsuch an angel?"

"Yes, and you too, for the angel is Mademoiselle Laurence Courtois. "

Hector's radiant face overclouded at this name, and he made adiscouraged gesture. 

"Never, " said he. "That stiff and obstinate old merchant, MonsieurCourtois, would never consent to give his daughter to a man who hasbeen fool enough to waste his fortune. "

Sauvresy shrugged his shoulders. 

"Now, there's what it is to have eyes, and not see. Know that thisCourtois, whom you think so obstinate, is really the most romanticof men, and an ambitious old fellow to boot. It would seem to hima grand good speculation to give his daughter to the Count Hector deTremorel, cousin of the Duke of Samblemeuse, the relative of theCommarins, even though you hadn't a sou. What wouldn't he give tohave the delicious pleasure of saying, Monsieur the Count, myson-in-law; or my daughter, Madame the Countess Hector! And youaren't ruined, you know, you are going to have an income of twentythousand francs, and perhaps enough more to raise your capital to amillion. "

Hector was silent. He had thought his life ended, and now, all ofa sudden, a splendid perspective unrolled itself before him. Hemight then rid himself of the patronizing protection of his friend;he would be free, rich, would have a better wife, as he thought, than Bertha; his house would outshine Sauvresy's. The thought ofBertha crossed his mind, and it occurred to him that he might thusescape a lover who although beautiful and loving was proud and bold, and whose domineering temper began to be burdensome to him. 

"I may say, " said he, seriously to his friend, "that I have alwaysthought Monsieur Courtois an excellent and honorable man, andMademoiselle Laurence seems to me so accomplished a young lady, thata man might be happy in marrying her even without a dowry. "

"So much the better, my dear Hector, so much the better. But youknow, the first thing is to engage Laurence's affections; her fatheradores her, and would not, I am sure, give her to a man whom sheherself had not chosen. "

"Don't disturb yourself, " answered Hector, with a gesture of triumph, "she will love me. "

The next day he took occasion to encounter M. Courtois, who invitedhim to dinner. The count employed all his practised seductions onLaurence, which were so brilliant and able that they were wellfitted to surprise and dazzle a young girl. It was not long beforethe count was the hero of the mayor's household. Nothing formalhad been said, nor any direct allusion or overture made; yet M. Courtois was sure that Hector would some day ask his daughter'shand, and that he should freely answer, "yes;" while he thought itcertain that Laurence would not say "no. "

Bertha suspected nothing; she was now very much worried about Jenny, and saw nothing else. Sauvresy, after spending an evening with thecount at the mayor's, during which Hector had not once quitted thewhist-table, decided to speak to his wife of the proposed marriage, which he thought would give her an agreeable surprise. At his firstwords, she grew pale. Her emotion was so great that, seeing shewould betray herself, she hastily retired to her boudoir. Sauvresy, quietly seated in one of the bedroom arm-chairs, continued toexpatiate on the advantages of such a marriage--raising his voice, so that Bertha might hear him in the neighboring room. 

"Do you know, " said he, "that our friend has an income of sixtythousand crowns? We'll find an estate for him near by, and then weshall see him and his wife every day. They will be very pleasantsociety for us in the autumn months. Hector is a fine fellow, andyou've often told me how charming Laurence is. "

Bertha did not reply. This unexpected blow was so terrible thatshe could not think clearly, and her brain whirled. 

"You don't say anything, " pursued Sauvresy. "Don't you approve ofmy project? I thought you'd be enchanted with it. "

She saw that if she were silent any longer, her husband would goin and find her sunk upon a chair, and would guess all. She madean effort and said, in a strangled voice, without attaching anysense to her words:

"Yes, yes; it is a capital idea. "

"How you say that! Do you see any objections?"

She was trying to find some objection, but could not. 

"I have a little fear of Laurence's future, " said she at last. 

"Bah! Why?"

"I only say what I've heard you say. You told me that MonsieurTremorel has been a libertine, a gambler, a prodigal--"

"All the more reason for trusting him. His past follies guaranteehis future prudence. He has received a lesson which he will notforget. Besides, he will love his wife. "

"How do you know?"

"Parbleu, he loves her already. "

"Who told you so?"

"Himself. "

And Sauvresy began to laugh about Hector's passion, which he saidwas becoming quite pastoral. 

"Would you believe, " said he, laughing, "that he thinks our worthyCourtois a man of wit? Ah, what spectacles these lovers lookthrough! He spends two or three hours every day with the mayor. What do you suppose he does there?"

Bertha, by great effort, succeeded in dissembling her grief; shereappeared with a smiling face. She went and came, apparently calm, though suffering the bitterest anguish a woman can endure. And shecould not run to Hector, and ask him if it were true!

For Sauvresy must be deceiving her. Why? She knew not. No matter. She felt her hatred of him increasing to disgust; for she excusedand pardoned her lover, and she blamed her husband alone. Whoseidea was this marriage? His. Who had awakened Hector's hopes, andencouraged them? He, always he. While he had been harmless, shehad been able to pardon him for having married her; she hadcompelled herself to bear him, to feign a love quite foreign to herheart. But now he became hateful; should she submit to hisinterference in a matter which was life or death to her?

She did not close her eyes all night; she had one of those horriblenights in which crimes are conceived. She did not find herselfalone with Hector until after breakfast the next day, in thebilliard-hall. 

"Is it true?" she asked. 

The expression of her face was so menacing that he quailed beforeit. He stammered:

"True--what?"

"Your marriage. "

He was silent at first, asking himself whether he should tell thetruth or equivocate. At last, irritated by Bertha's imperious tone, he replied:

"Yes. "

She was thunderstruck at this response. Till then, she had aglimmer of hope. She thought that he would at least try to reassureher, to deceive her. There are times when a falsehood is the highesthomage. But no--he avowed it. She was speechless; words failed her. 

Tremorel began to tell her the motives which prompted his conduct. He could not live forever at Valfeuillu. What could he, with hishabits and tastes, do with a few thousand crowns a year? He wasthirty; he must, now or never, think of the future. M. Courtoiswould give his daughter a million, and at his death there would bea great deal more. Should he let this chance slip? He cared littlefor Laurence, it was the dowry he wanted. He took no pains toconceal his meanness; he rather gloried in it, speaking of themarriage as simply a bargain, in which he gave his name and titlein exchange for riches. Bertha stopped him with a look full ofcontempt. 

"Spare yourself, " said she. "You love Laurence. "

He would have protested; he really disliked her. 

"Enough, " resumed Bertha. "Another woman would have reproached you;I simply tell you that this marriage shall not be; I do not wish it. Believe me, give it up frankly, don't force me to act. "

She retired, shutting the door violently; Hector was furious. 

"How she treats me!" said he to himself. "Just as a queen wouldspeak to a serf. Ah, she don't want me to marry Laurence!" Hiscoolness returned, and with it serious reflections. If he insistedon marrying, would not Bertha carry out her threats? Evidently;for he knew well that she was one of those women who shrink fromnothing, whom no consideration could arrest. He guessed what shewould do, from what she had said in a quarrel with him about Jenny. She had told him, "I will confess everything to Sauvresy, and wewill be the more bound together by shame than by all the ceremoniesof the church. "

This was surely the mode she would adopt to break a marriage whichwas so hateful to her; and Tremorel trembled at the idea of Sauvresyknowing all. 

"What would he do, " thought he, "if Bertha told him? He would killme off-hand--that's what I would do in his place. Suppose hedidn't; I should have to fight a duel with him, and if I killed him, quit the country. Whatever would happen, my marriage is irrevocablybroken, and Bertha seems to be on my hands for all time. "

He saw no possible way out of the horrible situation in which he hadput himself. 

"I must wait, " thought he. 

And he waited, going secretly to the mayor's, for he really lovedLaurence. He waited, devoured by anxiety, struggling betweenSauvresy's urgency and Bertha's threats. How he detested this womanwho held him, whose will weighed so heavily on him! Nothing couldcurb her ferocious obstinacy. She had one fixed idea. He hadthought to conciliate her by dismissing Jenny. It was a mistake. When he said to her:

"Bertha, I shall never see Jenny again. "

She answered, ironically:

"Mademoiselle Courtois will be very grateful to you!"

That evening, while Sauvresy was crossing the court-yard, he saw abeggar at the gate, making signs to him. 

"What do you want, my good man?"

The beggar looked around to see that no one was listening. 

"I have brought you a note, " said he, rapidly, and in a low tone. "I was told to give it, only to you, and to ask you to read it whenyou are alone. "

He mysteriously slipped a note, carefully sealed, into Sauvresy'shand. 

"It comes from pretty girl, " added he, winking. 

Sauvresy, turning his back to the house, opened it and read:

 "SIR--You will do a great favor to a poor and unhappy girl, if you will come to-morrow to the Belle Image, at Corbeil, where you will be awaited all day. 

 "Your humble servant, "JENNY F---. "

There was also a postscript. 

 "Please, sir, don't say a word of this to the Count de Tremorel. "

"Ah ha, " thought Sauvresy, "there's some trouble about Hector, that's bad for the marriage. "

"I was told, sir, " said the beggar, "there would be an answer. "

"Say that I will come, " answered Sauvresy, throwing him a franc piece. 

 XVII

The next day was cold and damp. A fog, so thick that one could notdiscern objects ten steps off, hung over the earth. Sauvresy, afterbreakfast, took his gun and whistled to his dogs. 

"I'm going to take a turn in Mauprevoir wood, " said he. 

"A queer idea, " remarked Hector, "for you won't see the end of yourgun-barrel in the woods. "

"No matter, if I see some pheasants. "

This was only a pretext, for Sauvresy, on leaving Valfeuillu, tookthe direct road to Corbeil, and half an hour later, faithful to hispromise, he entered the Belle Image tavern. 

Jenny was waiting for him in the large room which had always beenreserved for her since she became a regular customer of the house. Her eyes were red with recent tears; she was very pale, and hermarble color showed that she had not slept. Her breakfast layuntouched on the table near the fireplace, where a bright fire wasburning. When Sauvresy came in, she rose to meet him, and took himby the hand with a friendly motion. 

"Thank you for coming, " said she. "Ah, you are very good. "

Jenny was only a girl, and Sauvresy detested girls; but her griefwas so sincere and seemed so deep, that he was touched. 

"You are suffering, Madame?" asked he. 

"Oh, yes, very much. "

Her tears choked her, and she concealed her face in her handkerchief. 

"I guessed right, " thought Sauvresy. "Hector has deserted her. Now I must smooth the wound, and yet make future meetings betweenthem impossible. "

He took the weeping Jenny's hand, and softly pulled away thehandkerchief. 

"Have courage, " said he. 

She lifted her tearful eyes to him, and said:

"You know, then?"

"I know nothing, for, as you asked me, I have said nothing toTremorel; but I can imagine what the trouble is. "

"He will not see me any more, " murmured Jenny. "He has deserted me. "

Sauvresy summoned up all his eloquence. The moment to be persuasiveand paternal had come. He drew a chair up to Jenny's, and sat down. 

"Come, my child, " pursued he, "be resigned. People are not alwaysyoung, you know. A time comes when the voice of reason must beheard. Hector does not desert you, but he sees the necessity ofassuring his future, and placing his life on a domestic foundation;he feels the need of a home. "

Jenny stopped crying. Nature took the upper hand, and her tearswere dried by the fire of anger which took possession of her. Sherose, overturning her chair, and walked restlessly up and down theroom. 

"Do you believe that?" said she. "Do you believe that Hectortroubles himself about his future? I see you don't know hischaracter. He dream of a home, or a family? He never has and neverwill think of anything but himself. If he had any heart, would hehave gone to live with you as he has? He had two arms to gain hisbread and mine. I was ashamed to ask money of him, knowing thatwhat he gave me came from you. "

"But he is my friend, my dear child. "

"Would you do as he has done?"

Sauvresy did not know what to say; he was embarrassed by the logicof this daughter of the people, judging her lover rudely, but justly. 

"Ah, I know him, I do, " continued Jenny, growing more excited as hermind reverted to the past. "He has only deceived me once--themorning he came and told me he was going to kill himself. I wasstupid enough to think him dead, and to cry about it. He, killhimself? Why, he's too much of a coward to hurt himself! Yes, Ilove him, but I don't esteem him. That's our fate, you see, onlyto love the men we despise. "

Jenny talked loud, gesticulating, and every now and then thumpingthe table with her fist so that the bottles and glasses jingled. Sauvresy was somewhat fearful lest the hotel people should hear her;they knew him, and had seen him come in. He began to be sorry thathe had come, and tried to calm the girl. 

"But Hector is not deserting you, " repeated he. "He will assureyou a good position. "

"Humph! I should laugh at such a thing! Have I any need of him?As long as I have ten fingers and good eyes, I shall not be at themercy of any man. He made me change my name, and wanted to accustomme to luxury! And now there is neither a Miss Jenny, nor riches, butthere is a Pelagie, who proposes to get her fifty sous a day, withoutmuch trouble. "

"No, " said Sauvresy, "you will not need--"

"What? To work? But I like work; I am not a do-nothing. I willgo back to my old life. I used to breakfast on a sou's worth ofbiscuit and a sou's worth of potatoes, and was well and happy. OnSundays, I dined at the Turk for thirty sous. I laughed more thenin one afternoon, than in all the years I have known Tremorel. "

She no longer cried, nor was she angry; she was laughing. She wasthinking of her old breakfasts, and her feasts at the Turk. 

Sauvresy was stupefied. He had no idea of this Parisian nature, detestable and excellent, emotional to excess, nervous, full oftransitions, which laughs and cries, caresses and strikes in thesame minute, which a passing idea whirls a hundred leagues fromthe present moment. 

"So, " said Jenny, more calmly, "I snap my fingers at Hector, "--she had just said exactly the contrary, and had forgotten it--"I don't care for him, but I will not let him leave me in thisway. It sha'n't be said that he left me for another. I won't haveit. "

Jenny was one of those women who do not reason, but who feel; withwhom it is folly to argue, for their fixed idea is impregnable tothe most victorious arguments. Sauvresy asked himself why she hadasked him to come, and said to himself that the part he had intendedto play would be a difficult one. But he was patient. 

"I see, my child, " he commenced, "that you haven't understood oreven heard me. I told you that Hector was intending to marry. "

"He!" answered Jenny, with an ironical gesture. "He get married. "

She reflected a moment, and added:

"If it were true, though--"

"I tell you it is so. "

"No, " cried Jenny, "no, that can't be possible. He loves another, I am sure of it, for I have proofs. "

Sauvresy smiled; this irritated her. 

"What does this letter mean, " cried she warmly, "which I found inhis pocket, six months ago? It isn't signed to be sure, but it musthave come from a woman. "

"A letter?"

"Yes, one that destroys all doubts. Perhaps you ask, why I did notspeak to him about it? Ah, you see, I did not dare. I loved him. I was afraid if I said anything, and it was true he loved another, I should lose him. And so I resigned myself to humiliation, Iconcealed myself to weep, for I said to myself, he will come back tome. Poor fool!"

"Well, but what will you do?"

"Me? I don't know--anything. I didn't say anything about theletter, but I kept it; it is my weapon--I will make use of it. When I want to, I shall find out who she is, and then--"

"You will compel Tremorel, who is kindly disposed toward you, touse violence. "

"He? What can he do to me? Why, I will follow him like his shadow--I will cry out everywhere the name of this other. Will he haveme put in St. Lazare prison? I will invent the most dreadfulcalumnies against him. They will not believe me at first; later, part of it will be believed. I have nothing to fear--I have noparents, no friends, nobody on earth who cares for me. That's whatit is to raise girls from the gutter. I have fallen so low that Idefy him to push me lower. So, if you are his friend, sir, advisehim to come back to me. "

Sauvresy was really alarmed; he saw clearly how real and earnestJenny's menaces were. There are persecutions against which thelaw is powerless. But he dissimulated his alarm under the blandestair he could assume. 

"Hear me, my child, " said he. "If I give you my word of honor totell you the truth, you'll believe me, won't you?"

She hesitated a moment, and said:

"Yes, you are honorable; I will believe you. "

"Then, I swear to you that Tremorel hopes to marry a young girl whois immensely rich, whose dowry will secure his future. "

"He tells you so; he wants you to believe it. "

"Why should he? Since he came to Valfeuillu, he could have had noother affair than this with you. He lives in my house, as if hewere my brother, between my wife and myself, and I could tell youhow he spends his time every hour of every day as well as what I domyself. "

Jenny opened her mouth to reply, but a sudden reflection froze thewords on her lips. She remained silent and blushed violently, looking at Sauvresy with an indefinable expression. He did notobserve this, being inspired by a restless though aimless curiosity. This proof, which Jenny talked about, worried him. 

"Suppose, " said he, "you should show me this letter. "

She seemed to feel at these words an electric shock. 

"To you?" she said, shuddering. "Never!"

If, when one is sleeping, the thunder rolls and the storm bursts, it often happens that the sleep is not troubled; then suddenly, ata certain moment, the imperceptible flutter of a passing insect'swing awakens one. 

Jenny's shudder was like such a fluttering to Sauvresy. The sinisterlight of doubt struck on his soul. Now his confidence, hishappiness, his repose, were gone forever. He rose with a flashingeye and trembling lips. 

"Give me the letter, " said he, in an imperious tone. Jenny recoiledwith terror. She tried to conceal her agitation, to smile, to turnthe matter into a joke. 

"Not to-day, " said she. "Another time; you are too curious. "

But Sauvresy's anger was terrible; he became as purple as if he hadhad a stroke of apoplexy, and he repeated, in a choking voice:

"The letter, I demand the letter. "

"Impossible, " said Jenny. "Because, " she added, struck with anidea, "I haven't got it here. "

"Where is it?"

"At my room, in Paris. "

"Come, then, let us go there. "

She saw that she was caught; and she could find no more excuses, quick-witted as she was. She might, however, easily have followedSauvresy, put his suspicions to sleep with her gayety, and whenonce in the Paris streets, might have eluded him and fled. But shedid not think of that. It occurred to her that she might have timeto reach the door, open it, and rush downstairs. She started to doso. Sauvresy caught her at a bound, shut the door, and said, in alow, hoarse voice:

"Wretched girl! Do you wish me to strike you?"

He pushed her into a chair, returned to the door, double locked it, and put the keys in his pocket. "Now, " said he, returning to thegirl, "the letter. "

Jenny had never been so terrified in her life. This man's ragemade her tremble; she saw that he was beside himself, that she wascompletely at his mercy; yet she still resisted him. 

"You have hurt me very much, " said she, crying, "but I have doneyou no harm. "

He grasped her hands in his, and bending over her, repeated:

"For the last time, the letter; give it to me, or I will take itby force. "

It would have been folly to resist longer. "Leave me alone, " saidshe. "You shall have it. "

He released her, remaining, however, close by her side, while shesearched in all her pockets. Her hair had been loosened in thestruggle, her collar was torn, she was tired, her teeth chattered, but her eyes shone with a bold resolution. 

"Wait--here it is--no. It's odd--I am sure I've got it though--I had it a minute ago--"

And, suddenly, with a rapid gesture, she put the letter, rolled intoa ball, into her mouth, and tried to swallow it. But Sauvresy asquickly grasped her by the throat, and she was forced to disgorge it. 

He had the letter at last. His hands trembled so that he couldscarcely open it. 

It was, indeed, Bertha's writing. 

Sauvresy tottered with a horrible sensation of dizziness; he couldnot see clearly; there was a red cloud before his eyes; his legsgave way under him, he staggered, and his hands stretched out fora support. Jenny, somewhat recovered, hastened to give him help;but her touch made him shudder, and he repulsed her. What hadhappened he could not tell. Ah, he wished to read this letter andcould not. He went to the table, turned out and drank two largeglasses of water one after another. The cold draught restored him, his blood resumed its natural course, and he could see. The notewas short, and this was what he read:

"Don't go to-morrow to Petit-Bourg; or rather, return beforebreakfast. He has just told me that he must go to Melun, and thathe should return late. A whole day!"

"He"--that was himself. This other lover of Hector's was Bertha, his wife. For a moment he saw nothing but that; all thought wascrushed within him. His temples beat furiously, he heard a dreadfulbuzzing in his ears, it seemed to him as if the earth were about toswallow him up. He fell into a chair; from purple he became ashywhite. Great tears trickled down his cheeks. 

Jenny understood the miserable meanness of her conduct when she sawthis great grief, this silent despair, this man with a broken heart. Was she not the cause of all? She had guessed who the writer of thenote was. She thought when she asked Sauvresy to come to her, thatshe could tell him all, and thus avenge herself at once upon Hectorand her rival. Then, on seeing this man refusing to comprehend herhints, she had been full of pity for him. She had said to herselfthat he would be the one who would be most cruelly punished; andthen she had recoiled--but too late--and he had snatched thesecret from her. 

She approached Sauvresy and tried to take his hands; he stillrepulsed her. 

"Let me alone, " said he. 

"Pardon me, sir--I am a wretch, I am horrified at myself. "

He rose suddenly; he was gradually coming to himself. 

"What do you want?"

"That letter--I guessed--"

He burst into a loud, bitter, discordant laugh, and replied:

"God forgive me! Why, my dear, did you dare to suspect my wife?"

While Jenny was muttering confused excuses, he drew out hispocket-book and took from it all the money it contained--someseven or eight hundred francs--which he put on the table. 

"Take this, from Hector, " said he, "he will not permit you to sufferfor anything; but, believe me, you had best let him get married. "

Then he mechanically took up his gun, opened the door, and went out. His dogs leaped upon him to caress him; he kicked them off. Wherewas he going? What was he going to do?

 XVIII

A small, fine, chilly rain had succeeded the morning fog; butSauvresy did not perceive it. He went across the fields with hishead bare, wandering at hazard, without aim or discretion. Hetalked aloud as he went, stopping ever and anon, then resuminghis course. The peasants who met him--they all knew him--turnedto look at him after having saluted him, asking themselves whetherthe master of Valfeuillu had not gone mad. Unhappily he was notmad. Overwhelmed by an unheard-of, unlooked-for catastrophe, hisbrain had been for a moment paralyzed. But one by one he collectedhis scattered ideas and acquired the faculty of thinking and ofsuffering. Each one of his reflections increased his mortal anguish. Yes, Bertha and Hector had deceived, had dishonored him. She, beloved to idolatry; he, his best and oldest friend, a wretch thathe had snatched from misery, who owed him everything. And it wasin his house, under his own roof, that this infamy had taken place. They had taken advantage of his noble trust, had made a dupe of him. The frightful discovery not only embittered the future, but alsothe past. He longed to blot out of his life these years passed withBertha, with whom, but the night before, he had recalled these"happiest years of his life. " The memory of his former happinessfilled his soul with disgust. But how had this been done? When?How was it he had seen nothing of it? And now things came intohis mind which should have warned him had he not been blind. Herecalled certain looks of Bertha, certain tones of voice, which werean avowal. At times, he tried to doubt. There are misfortunes sogreat that to be believed there must be more than evidence. 

"It is not possible!" muttered he. 

Seating himself upon a prostrate tree in the midst of Mauprevoirforest, he studied the fatal letter for the tenth time within fourhours. 

"It proves all, " said he, "and it proves nothing. "

And he read once more. 

"Do not go to-morrow to Petit-Bourg--"

Well, had he not again and again, in his idiotic confidence, saidto Hector:

"I shall be away to-morrow, stay here and keep Bertha company. "

This sentence, then, had no positive signification. But why add:

"Or rather, return before breakfast. "

This was what betrayed fear, that is, the fault. To go away andreturn again anon, was to be cautious, to avoid suspicion. Then, why "he, " instead of, "Clement?" This word was striking. "He"--that is, the dear one, or else, the master that one hates. Thereis no medium--'tis the husband, or the lover. "He, " is never anindifferent person. A husband is lost when his wife, in speakingof him, says, "He. "

But when had Bertha written these few lines? Doubtless some eveningafter they had retired to their room. He had said to her, "I'mgoing to-morrow to Melun, " and then she had hastily scratched offthis note and given it, in a book, to Hector. 

Alas! the edifice of his happiness, which had seemed to him strongenough to defy every tempest of life, had crumbled, and he stoodthere lost in the midst of its debris. No more happiness, joys, hopes--nothing! All his plans for the future rested on Bertha; hername was mingled in his every dream, she was at once the future andthe dream. He had so loved her that she had become something ofhimself, that he could not imagine himself without her. Berthalost to him, he saw no direction in life to take, he had no furtherreason for living. He perceived this so vividly that the idea ofsuicide came to him. He had his gun, powder and balls; his deathwould be attributed to a hunting accident, and all would be over. 

Oh, but the guilty ones!

They would doubtless go on in their infamous comedy--would seemto mourn for him, while really their hearts would bound with joy. No more husband, no more hypocrisies or terrors. His will givinghis fortune to Bertha, they would be rich. They would selleverything, and would depart rejoicing to some distant clime. Asto his memory, poor man, it would amuse them to think of him as thecheated and despised husband. 

"Never!" cried he, drunk with fury, "never! I must kill myself, but first, I must avenge my dishonor!"

But he tried in vain to imagine a punishment cruel or terribleenough. What chastisement could expiate the horrible tortures whichhe endured? He said to himself that, in order to assure hisvengeance, he must wait--and he swore that he would wait. He wouldfeign the same stolid confidence, and resigned himself to see andhear everything. 

"My hypocrisy will equal theirs, " thought he. 

Indeed a cautious duplicity was necessary. Bertha was most cunning, and at the first suspicion would fly with her lover. Hector hadalready--thanks to him--several hundred thousand francs. Theidea that they might escape his vengeance gave him energy and aclear head. 

It was only then that he thought of the flight of time, the rainfalling in torrents, and the state of his clothes. 

"Bah!" thought he, "I will make up some story to account for myself. "

He was only a league from Valfeuillu, but he was an hour and a halfreaching home. He was broken, exhausted; he felt chilled to themarrow of his bones. But when he entered the gate, he had succeededin assuming his usual expression, and the gayety which so wellhinted his perfect trustfulness. He had been waited for, but inspite of his resolutions, he could not sit at table between thisman and woman, his two most cruel enemies. He said that he hadtaken cold, and would go to bed. Bertha insisted in vain that heshould take at least a bowl of broth and a glass of claret. 

"Really, " said he, "I don't feel well. "

When he had retired, Bertha said:

"Did you notice, Hector?"

"What?"

"Something unusual has happened to him. "

"Very likely, after being all day in the rain. "

"No. His eye had a look I never saw before. "

"He seemed to be very cheerful, as he always is. "

"Hector, my husband suspects!"

"He? Ah, my poor good friend has too much confidence in us to thinkof being jealous. "

"You deceive yourself, Hector; he did not embrace me when he camein, and it is the first time since our marriage. "

Thus, at the very first, he had made a blunder. He knew it well;but it was beyond his power to embrace Bertha at that moment; andhe was suffering more than he thought he should. When his wife andhis friend ascended to his room, after dinner, they found himshivering under the sheets, red, his forehead burning, his throatdry, and his eyes shining with an unusual brilliancy. A fever sooncame on, attended by delirium. A doctor was called, who at firstsaid he would not answer for him. The next day he was worse. Fromthis time both Hector and Bertha conceived for him the most tenderdevotion. Did they think they should thus in some sort expiatetheir crime? It is doubtful. More likely they tried to impose onthe people about them; everyone was anxious for Sauvresy. Theynever deserted him for a moment, passing the night by turns nearhis bed. And it was painful to watch over him; a furious deliriumnever left him. Several times force had to be used to keep him onthe bed; he tried to throw himself out of the window. The thirdday he had a strange fancy; he did not wish to stay in his chamber. He kept crying out:

"Carry me away from here, carry me away from here. "

The doctor advised that he should be humored; so a bed was made upfor him in a little room on the ground-floor, overlooking the garden. His wanderings did not betray anything of his suspicions; perhapsthe firm will was able even to control the delirium. The feverfinally yielded on the ninth day. His breathing became calmer, andhe slept. When he awoke, reason had returned. That was a frightfulmoment. He had, so to speak, to take up the burden of his misery. At first he thought it the memory of a horrid night-mare; but no. He had not dreamed. He recalled the Belle Image, Jenny, the forest, the letter. What had become of the letter? Then, having the vagueimpression of a serious illness, he asked himself if he had saidanything to betray the source of his misery. This anxiety preventedhis making the slightest movement, and he opened his eyes softly andcautiously. It was eleven at night, and all the servants had goneto bed. Hector and Bertha alone were keeping watch; he was readinga paper, she was crocheting. Sauvresy saw by their placidcountenances that he had betrayed nothing. He moved slightly;Bertha at once arose and came to him. 

"How are you, dear Clement?" asked she, kissing him fondly on theforehead. 

"I am no longer in pain. "

"You see the result of being careless. "

"How many days have I been sick?"

"Eight days. "

"Why was I brought here?"

"Because you wished it. "

Tremorel had approached the bedside. 

"You refused to stay upstairs, " said he, "you were ungovernabletill we had you brought here. "

"But don't tire yourself, " resumed Hector. "Go to sleep again, andyou will be well by to-morrow. And good-night, for I am going tobed now, and shall return and wake your wife at four o'clock. "

He went out, and Bertha, having given Sauvresy something to drink, returned to her seat. 

"What a friend Tremorel is, " murmured she. Sauvresy did not answerthis terribly ironical exclamation. He shut his eyes, pretended tosleep, and thought of the letter. What had he done with it? Heremembered that he had carefully folded it and put it in theright-hand pocket of his vest. He must have this letter. It wouldbalk his vengeance, should it fall into his wife's hands; and thismight happen at any moment. It was a miracle that his valet hadnot put it on the mantel, as he was accustomed to do with the thingswhich he found in his master's pockets. He was reflecting on somemeans of getting it, of the possibility of going up to his bedroom, where his vest ought to be, when Bertha got up softly. She came tothe bed and whispered gently:

"Clement, Clement!"

He did not open his eyes, and she, persuaded that he was sleeping, though very lightly, stole out of the room, holding her breath asshe went. 

"Oh, the wretch!" muttered Sauvresy, "she is going to him!"

At the same time the necessity of recovering the letter occurred tohim more vividly than ever. 

"I can get to my room, " thought he, "without being seen, by thegarden and back-stairs. She thinks I'm asleep; I shall get backand abed before she returns. "

Then, without asking himself whether he were not too feeble, orwhat danger there might be in exposing himself to the cold, he gotup, threw a gown around him, put on his slippers and went towardthe door. 

"If anyone sees me, I will feign delirium, " said he to himself. 

The vestibule lamp was out and he found some difficulty in openingthe door; finally, he descended into the garden. It was intenselycold, and snow had fallen. The wind shook the limbs of the treescrusted with ice. The front of the house was sombre. One windowonly was lighted--that of Tremorel's room; that was lightedbrilliantly, by a lamp and a great blazing fire. The shadow of aman--of Hector--rested on the muslin curtains; the shape wasdistinct. He was near the window, and his forehead was pressedagainst the panes. Sauvresy instinctively stopped to look at hisfriend, who was so at home in his house, and who, in exchange forthe most brotherly hospitality, had brought dishonor, despair anddeath. 

Hector made a sudden movement, and turned around as if he wassurprised by an unwonted noise. What was it? Sauvresy only knewtoo well. Another shadow appeared on the curtain--that of Bertha. And he had forced himself to doubt till now! Now proofs had comewithout his seeking. What had brought her to that room, at thathour? She seemed to be talking excitedly. He thought he couldhear that full, sonorous voice, now as clear as metal, now soft andcaressing, which had made all the chords of passion vibrate in him. He once more saw those beautiful eyes which had reigned sodespotically over his heart, and whose expressions he knew so well. But what was she doing? Doubtless she had gone to ask Hectorsomething, which he refused her, and she was pleading with him;Sauvresy saw that she was supplicating, by her motions; he knew thegesture well. She lifted her clasped hands as high as her forehead, bent her head, half shut her eyes. What languor had been in hervoice when she used to say:

"Say, dear Clement, you will, will you not?"

And now she was using the same blandishments on another. Sauvresywas obliged to support himself against a tree. Hector was evidentlyrefusing what she wished; then she shook her finger menacingly, andtossed her head angrily, as if she were saying:

"You won't? You shall see, then. "

And then she returned to her supplications. 

"Ah, " thought Sauvresy, "he can resist her prayers; I never hadsuch courage. He can preserve his coolness, his will, when shelooks at him; I never said no to her; rather, I never waited forher to ask anything of me; I have passed my life in watching herlightest fancies, to gratify them. Perhaps that is what hasruined me!"

Hector was obstinate, and Bertha was roused little by little; shemust be angry. She recoiled, holding out her arms, her head thrownback; she was threatening him. At last he was conquered; he nodded, "Yes. " Then she flung herself upon him, and the two shadows wereconfounded in a long embrace. 

Sauvresy could not repress an agonized cry, which was lost amid thenoises of the night. He had asked for certainty; here it was. Thetruth, indisputable, evident, was clear to him. He had to seek fornothing more, now, except for the means to punish surely andterribly. Bertha and Hector were talking amicably. Sauvresy sawthat she was about to go downstairs, and that he could not now gofor the letter. He went in hurriedly, forgetting, in his fear ofbeing discovered, to lock the garden door. He did not perceive thathe had been standing with naked feet in the snow, till he hadreturned to his bedroom again; he saw some flakes on his slippers, and they were damp; quickly he threw them under the bed, and jumpedin between the clothes, and pretended to be asleep. 

It was time, for Bertha soon came in. She went to the bed, andthinking that he had not woke up, returned to her embroidery by thefire. Tremorel also soon reappeared; he had forgotten to take hispaper, and had come back for it. He seemed uneasy. 

"Have you been out to-night, Madame?" asked he, in a low voice. 

"No. "

"Have all the servants gone to bed?"

"I suppose so; but why do you ask?"

"Since I have been upstairs, somebody has gone out into the garden, and come back again. "

Bertha looked at him with a troubled glance. 

"Are you sure of what you say?"

"Certainly. Snow is falling, and whoever went out brought someback on his shoes. This has melted in the vestibule--"

Mme. Sauvresy seized the lamp, and interrupting Hector, said:

"Come. "

Tremorel was right. Here and there on the vestibule pavement werelittle puddles. 

"Perhaps this water has been here some time, " suggested Bertha. 

"No. It was not there an hour ago, I could swear. Besides, see, here is a little snow that has not melted yet. "

"It must have been one of the servants. "

Hector went to the door and examined it. 

"I do not think so, " said he. "A servant would have shut the bolts;here they are, drawn back. Yet I myself shut the door to-night, anddistinctly recollect fastening the bolts. "

"It's very strange!"

"And all the more so, look you, because the traces of the water donot go much beyond the drawing-room door. "

They remained silent, and exchanged anxious looks. The sameterrible thought occurred to them both. 

"If it were he?"

But why should he have gone into the garden? It could not havebeen to spy on them. 

They did not think of the window. 

"It couldn't have been Clement, " said Bertha, at last. "He wasasleep when I went back, and he is in a calm and deep slumber now. "

Sauvresy, stretched upon his bed, heard what his enemies weresaying. He cursed his imprudence. 

"Suppose, " thought he, "they should think of looking at my gown andslippers!"

Happily this simple idea did not occur to them; after reassuringeach other as well as they were able, they separated; but eachheart carried an anxious doubt. Sauvresy on that night had aterrible crisis in his illness. Delirium, succeeding this ray ofreason, renewed its possession of his brain. The next morning Dr. R--- pronounced him in more danger than ever; and sent a despatchto Paris, saying that he would be detained at Valfeuillu three orfour days. The distemper redoubled in violence; very contradictorysymptoms appeared. Each day brought some new phase of it, whichconfounded the foresight of the doctors. Every time that Sauvresyhad a moment of reason, the scene at the window recurred to him, and drove him to madness again. 

On that terrible night when he had gone out into the snow, he hadnot been mistaken; Bertha was really begging something of Hector. This was it:

M. Courtois, the mayor, had invited Hector to accompany himself andhis family on an excursion to Fontainebleau on the following day. Hector had cordially accepted the invitation. Bertha could not bearthe idea of his spending the day in Laurence's company, and beggedhim not to go. She told him there were plenty of excuses to relievehim from his promise; for instance, he might urge that it would notbe seemly for him to go when his friend lay dangerously ill. Atfirst he positively refused to grant her prayer, but by hersupplications and menaces she persuaded him, and she did not godownstairs until he had sworn that he would write to M. Courtoisthat very evening declining the invitation. He kept his word, buthe was disgusted by her tyrannical behavior. He was tired offorever sacrificing his wishes and his liberty, so that he couldplan nothing, say or promise nothing without consulting this jealouswoman, who would scarcely let him wander out of her sight. Thechain became heavier and heavier to bear, and he began to see thatsooner or later it must be wrenched apart. He had never lovedeither Bertha or Jenny, or anyone, probably; but he now loved themayor's daughter. Her dowry of a million had at first dazzled him, but little by little he had been subdued by Laurence's charms ofmind and person. He, the dissipated rake, was seduced by such graveand naive innocence, such frankness and beauty; he would havemarried Laurence had she been poor--as Sauvresy married Bertha. But he feared Bertha too much to brave her suddenly, and so hewaited. The next day after the quarrel about Fontainebleau, hedeclared that he was indisposed, attributed it to the want ofexercise, and took to the saddle for several hours every dayafterward. But he did not go far; only to the mayor's. Bertha atfirst did not perceive anything suspicious in Tremorel's rides; itreassured her to see him go off on his horse. After some days, however, she thought she saw in him a certain feeling of satisfactionconcealed under the semblance of fatigue. She began to have doubts, and these increased every time he went out; all sorts of conjecturesworried her while he was away. Where did he go? Probably to seeLaurence, whom she feared and detested. The suspicion soon becamea certainty with her. One evening Hector appeared, carrying in hisbutton-hole a flower which Laurence herself had put there, and whichhe had forgotten to take out. Bertha took it gently, examined it, smelt it, and, compelling herself to smile:

"Why, " said she, "what a pretty flower!"

"So I thought, " answered Hector, carelessly, "though I don't knowwhat it is called. "

"Would it be bold to ask who gave it to you?"

"Not at all. It's a present from our good Plantat. "

All Orcival knew that M. Plantat, a monomaniac on flowers, nevergave them away to anyone except Mme. Laurence. Hector's evasionwas an unhappy one, and Bertha was not deceived. 

"You promised me, Hector, " said she, "not to see Laurence any more, and to give up this marriage. "

He tried to reply. 

"Let me speak, " she continued, "and explain yourself afterward. You have broken your word--you are deceiving my confidence! ButI tell you, you shall not marry her!" Then, without awaiting hisreply, she overwhelmed him with reproaches. Why had he come hereat all? She was happy in her home before she knew him. She didnot love Sauvresy, it was true; but she esteemed him, and he wasgood to her. Ignorant of the happiness of true love, she did notdesire it. But he had come, and she could not resist hisfascination. And now, after having engaged her affection, he wasgoing to desert her, to marry another! Tremorel listened to her, perfectly amazed at her audacity. What! She dared to pretend thatit was he who had abused her innocence, when, on the contrary, hehad sometimes been astonished at her persistency! Such was thedepth of her corruption, as it seemed to him, that he wonderedwhether he were her first or her twentieth lover. And she had soled him on, and had so forcibly made him feel the intensity of herwill, that he had been fain still to submit to this despotism. Buthe had now determined to resist on the first opportunity; and heresisted. 

"Well, yes, " said he, frankly, "I did deceive you; I have no fortune--this marriage will give me one; I shall get married. " He went onto say that he loved Laurence less than ever, but that he covetedher money more and more every day. "To prove this, " he pursued, "if you will find me to-morrow a girl who has twelve hundredthousand francs instead of a million, I will marry her in preferenceto Mademoiselle Courtois. "

She had never suspected he had so much courage. She had so longmoulded him like soft wax, and this unexpected conduct disconcertedher. She was indignant, but at the same time she felt thatunhealthy satisfaction that some women feel, when they meet a masterwho subdues them; and she admired Tremorel more than ever before. This time, he had taken a tone which conquered her; she despisedhim enough to think him quite capable of marrying for money. Whenhe had done, she said:

"It's really so, then; you only care for the million of dowry?"

"I've sworn it to you a hundred times. "

"Truly now, don't you love Laurence?"

"I have never loved her, and never shall. " He thought that he wouldthus secure his peace until the wedding-day; once married, he carednot what would happen. What cared he for Sauvresy? Life is only asuccession of broken friendships. What is a friend, after all?One who can and ought to serve you. Ability consists in breakingwith people, when they cease to be useful to you. 

Bertha reflected. 

"Hear me, Hector, " said she at last. "I cannot calmly resignmyself to the sacrifice which you demand. Let me have but a fewdays, to accustom myself to this dreadful blow. You owe me as much--let Clement get well, first. "

He did not expect to see her so gentle and subdued; who would havelooked for such concessions, so easily obtained? The idea of asnare did not occur to him. In his delight he betrayed how herejoiced in his liberty, which ought to have undeceived Bertha; butshe did not perceive it. He grasped her hand, and cried:

"Ah, you are very good--you really love me. "

 XIX

The Count de Tremorel did not anticipate that the respite whichBertha begged would last long. Sauvresy had seemed better duringthe last week. He got up every day, and commenced to go about thehouse; he even received numerous visits from the neighbors; withoutapparent fatigue. But alas, the master of Valfeuillu was only theshadow of himself. His friends would never have recognized in thatemaciated form and white face, and burning, haggard eye, the robustyoung man with red lips and beaming visage whom they remembered. He had suffered so! He did not wish to die before avenging himselfon the wretches who had filched his happiness and his life. Butwhat punishment should he inflict? This fixed idea burning in hisbrain, gave his look a fiery eagerness. Ordinarily, there arethree modes in which a betrayed husband may avenge himself. Hehas the right, and it is almost a duty--to deliver the guilty onesup to the law, which is on his side. He may adroitly watch them, surprise them and kill them. There is a law which does not absolve, but excuses him, in this. Lastly, he may affect a stolidindifference, laugh the first and loudest at his misfortune, drivehis wife from his roof, and leave her to starve. But what poor, wretched methods of vengeance. Give up his wife to the law? Wouldnot that be to offer his name, honor, and life to public ridicule?To put himself at the mercy of a lawyer, who would drag him throughthe mire. They do not defend the erring wife, they attack herhusband. And what satisfaction would he get? Bertha and Tremorelwould be condemned to a year's imprisonment, perhaps eighteenmonths, possibly two years. It seemed to him simpler to kill them. He might go in, fire a revolver at them, and they would not havetime to comprehend it, for their agony would be but for a moment;and then? Then, he must become a prisoner, submit to a trial, invoke the judge's mercy, and risk conviction. As to turning hiswife out of doors, that was to hand her over quietly to Hector. Heimagined them leaving Valfeuillu, hand in hand, happy and smiling, and laughing in his face. At this thought he had a fit of coldrage; his self-esteem adding the sharpest pains to the wounds inhis heart. None of these vulgar methods could satisfy him. Helonged for some revenge unheard-of, strange, monstrous, as histortures were. Then he thought of all the horrible tales he hadread, seeking one to his purpose; he had a right to be particular, and he was determined to wait until he was satisfied. There wasonly one thing that could balk his progress--Jenny's letter. Whathad become of it? Had he lost it in the woods? He had looked forit everywhere, and could not find it. 

He accustomed himself, however, to feign, finding a sort of fiercepleasure in the constraint. He learned to assume a countenancewhich completely hid his thoughts. He submitted to his wife'scaresses without an apparent shudder; and shook Hector by the handas heartily as ever. In the evening, when they were gathered aboutthe drawing-room table, he was the gayest of the three. He builta hundred air-castles, pictured a hundred pleasure-parties, whenhe was able to go abroad again. Hector rejoiced at his returninghealth. 

"Clement is getting on finely, " said he to Bertha, one evening. 

She understood only too well what he meant. 

"Always thinking of Laurence?"

"Did you not permit me to hope?"

"I asked you to wait, Hector, and you have done well not to be ina hurry. I know a young girl who would bring you, not one, butthree millions as dowry. "

This was a painful surprise. He really had no thoughts for anyonebut Laurence, and now a new obstacle presented itself. 

"And who is that?"

She leaned over, and whispered tremblingly in his ear:

"I am Clement's sole heiress; perhaps he'll die; I might be a widowto-morrow. "

Hector was petrified. 

"But Sauvresy, thank God! is getting well fast. "

Bertha fixed her large, clear eyes upon him, and with frightfulcalmness said:

"What do you know about it?"

Tremorel dared not ask what these strange words meant. He was oneof those men who shun explanations, and who, rather than putthemselves on their guard in time, permit themselves to be drawnon by circumstances; soft and feeble beings, who deliberatelybandage their eyes so as not to see the danger which threatensthem, and who prefer the sloth of doubt, and acts of uncertaintyto a definite and open position, which they have not the courageto face. 

Besides, Hector experienced a childish satisfaction in seeingBertha's distress, though he feared and detested her. He conceiveda great opinion of his own value and merit, when he saw thepersistency and desperation with which she insisted on keeping herhold on him. 

"Poor woman!" thought he. "In her grief at losing me, and seeingme another's, she has begun to wish for her husband's death!"

Such was the torpor of his moral sense that he did not see thevileness of Bertha's and his own thoughts. 

Meanwhile Sauvresy's state was not reassuring for Hector's hopesand plans. On the very day when he had this conversation withBertha, her husband was forced to take to his bed again. Thisrelapse took place after he had drank a glass of quinine and water, which he had been accustomed to take just before supper; only, thistime, the symptoms changed entirely, as if one malady had yieldedto another of a very different kind. He complained of a prickingin his skin, of vertigo, of convulsive twitches which contractedand twisted his limbs, especially his arms. He cried out withexcruciating neuralgic pains in the face. He was seized with aviolent, persistent, tenacious craving for pepper, which nothingcould assuage. He was sleepless, and morphine in large dosesfailed to bring him slumber; while he felt an intense chill withinhim, as if the body's temperature were gradually diminishing. Delirium had completely disappeared, and the sick man retainedperfectly the clearness of his mind. Sauvresy bore up wonderfullyunder his pains, and seemed to take a new interest in the businessof his estates. He was constantly in consultation with bailiffsand agents, and shut himself up for days together with notaries andattorneys. Then, saying that he must have distractions, he receivedall his friends, and when no one called, he sent for someacquaintance to come and chat with him in order to forget hisillness. He gave no hint of what he was doing and thinking, andBertha was devoured by anxiety. She often watched for her husband'sagent, when, after a conference of several hours, he came out ofhis room; and making herself as sweet and fascinating as possible, she used all her cunning to find out something which wouldenlighten her as to what he was about. But no one could, or atleast would, satisfy her curiosity; all gave evasive replies, asif Sauvresy had cautioned them, or as if there were nothing to tell. 

No complaints were heard from Sauvresy. He talked constantly ofBertha and Hector; he wished all the world to know their devotionto him; he called them his "guardian angels, " and blessed Heaventhat had given him such a wife and such a friend. Sauvresy'sillness now became so serious that Tremorel began to despair; hebecame alarmed; what position would his friend's death leave himin? Bertha, having become a widow, would be implacable. Heresolved to find out her inmost thoughts at the first opportunity;she anticipated him, and saved him the trouble of broaching thesubject. One afternoon, when they were alone, M. Plantat beingin attendance at the sick man's bedside, Bertha commenced. 

"I want some advice, Hector, and you alone can give it to me. Howcan I find out whether Clement, within the past day or two, has notchanged his will in regard to me?"

"His will?"

"Yes, I've already told you that by a will of which I myself have acopy, Sauvresy has left me his whole fortune. I fear that he mayperhaps revoke it. "

"What an idea!"

"Ah, I have reasons for my apprehensions. What are all these agentsand attorneys doing at Valfeuillu? A stroke of this man's pen mayruin me. Don't you see that he can deprive me of his millions, andreduce me to my dowry of fifty thousand francs?"

"But he will not do it; he loves you--"

"Are you sure of it? I've told you, there are three millions; Imust have this fortune--not for myself, but for you; I want it, Imust have it! But how can I find out--how? how?"

Hector was very indignant. It was to this end, then, that hisdelays had conducted him! She thought that she had a right now todispose of him in spite of himself, and, as it were, to purchasehim. And he could not, dared not, say anything!

"We must be patient, " said he, "and wait--"

"Wait--for what? Till he's dead?"

"Don't speak so. "

"Why not?" Bertha went up to him, and in a low voice, muttered:

"He has only a week to live; and see here--"

She drew a little vial from her pocket, and held it up to him. 

"That is what convinces me that I am not mistaken. "

Hector became livid, and could not stifle a cry of horror. Hecomprehended all now--he saw how it was that Bertha had been soeasily subdued, why she had refrained from speaking of Laurence, her strange words, her calm confidence. 

"Poison!" stammered he, confounded. 

"Yes, poison. "

"You have not used it?"

She fixed a hard, stern look upon him--the look which had subduedhis will, against which he had struggled in vain--and in a calmvoice, emphasizing each word, answered:

"I have used it. "

The count was, indeed, a dangerous man, unscrupulous, not recoilingfrom any wickedness when his passions were to be indulged, capableof everything; but this horrible crime awoke in him all that remainedof honest energy. 

"Well, " he cried, in disgust, "you will not use it again!"

He hastened toward the door, shuddering; she stopped him. 

"Reflect before you act, " said she, coldly. "I will betray thefact of your relations with me; who will then believe that you arenot my accomplice?"

He saw the force of this terrible menace, coming from Bertha. 

"Come, " said she, ironically, "speak--betray me if you choose. Whatever happens, for happiness or misery, we shall no longer beseparated; our destinies will be the same. "

Hector fell heavily into a chair, more overwhelmed than if he hadbeen struck with a hammer. He held his bursting forehead betweenhis hands; he saw himself shut up in an infernal circle, withoutoutlet. 

"I am lost!" he stammered, without knowing what he said, "I am lost!"

He was to be pitied; his face was terribly haggard, great drops ofperspiration stood at the roots of his hair, his eyes wandered asif he were insane. Bertha shook him rudely by the arm, for hiscowardice exasperated her. 

"You are afraid, " she said. "You are trembling! Lost? You wouldnot say so, if you loved me as I do you. Will you be lost becauseI am to be your wife, because we shall be free to love in the faceof all the world? Lost! Then you have no idea of what I haveendured? You don't know, then, that I am tired of suffering, fearing, feigning. "

"Such a crime!"

She burst out with a laugh that made him shudder. 

"You ought to have said so, " said she, with a look full of contempt, "the day you won me from Sauvresy--the day that you stole the wifeof this friend who saved your life. Do you think that was a lesshorrid crime? You knew as well as I did how much my husband lovedme, and that he would have preferred to die, rather than lose methus. "

"But he knows nothing, suspects nothing of it. "

"You are mistaken; Sauvresy knows all. "

"Impossible!"

"All, I tell you--and he has known all since that day when he camehome so late from hunting. Don't you remember that I noticed hisstrange look, and said to you that my husband suspected something?You shrugged your shoulders. Do you forget the steps in thevestibule the night I went to your room? He had been spying on us. Well, do you want a more certain proof? Look at this letter, which I found, crumpled up and wet, in one of his vest pockets. "

She showed him the letter which Sauvresy had forcibly taken fromJenny, and he recognized it well. 

"It is a fatality, " said he, overwhelmed. "But we can separateand break off with each other. Bertha, I can go away. "

"It's too late. Believe me, Hector, we are to-day defending ourlives. Ah, you don't know Clement! You don't know what the furyof a man like him can be, when he sees that his confidence hasbeen outrageously abused, and his trust vilely betrayed. If hehas said nothing to me, and has not let us see any traces of hisimplacable anger, it is because he is meditating some frightfulvengeance. "

This was only too probable, and Hector saw it clearly. 

"What shall we do?" he asked, in a hoarse voice; he was almostspeechless. 

"Find out what change he has made in his will. "

"But how?"

"I don't know yet. I came to ask your advice, and I find you morecowardly than a woman. Let me act, then; don't do anything yourself;I will do all. "

He essayed an objection. 

"Enough, " said she. "He must not ruin us after all--I will see--I will think. "

Someone below called her. She went down, leaving Hector overcomewith despair. 

That evening, during which Bertha seemed happy and smiling, hisface finally betrayed so distinctly the traces of his anguish, thatSauvresy tenderly asked him if he were not ill?

"You exhaust yourself tending on me, my good Hector, " said he. "How can I ever repay your devotion?"

Tremorel had not the strength to reply. 

"And that man knows all, " thought he. "What courage! What fatecan he be reserving for us?"

The scene which was passing before Hector's eyes made his fleshcreep. Every time that Bertha gave her husband his medicine, shetook a hair-pin from her tresses, and plunged it into the littlevial which she had shown him, taking up thus some small, whitegrains, which she dissolved in the potions prescribed by the doctor. 

It might be supposed that Tremorel, enslaved by his horrid position, and harassed by increasing terror, would renounce forever hisproposed marriage with Laurence. Not so. He clung to that projectmore desperately than ever. Bertha's threats, the great obstaclesnow intervening, his anguish, crime, only augmented the violence ofhis love for her, and fed the flame of his ambition to secure heras his wife. A small and flickering ray of hope which lighted thedarkness of his despair, consoled and revived him, and made thepresent more easy to bear. He said to himself that Bertha could notbe thinking of marrying him the day after her husband's death. Months, a whole year must pass, and thus he would gain time; thensome day he would declare his will. What would she have to say?Would she divulge the crime, and try to hold him as her accomplice?Who would believe her? How could she prove that he, who loved andhad married another woman, had any interest in Sauvresy's death?People don't kill their friends for the mere pleasure of it. Wouldshe provoke the law to exhume her husband? She was now in aposition, thought he, wherein she could, or would not exercise herreason. Later on, she would reflect, and then she would be arrestedby the probability of those dangers, the certainty of which did notnow terrify her. 

He did not wish that she should ever be his wife at any price. Hewould have detested her had she possessed millions; he hated hernow that she was poor, ruined, reduced to her own narrow means. And that she was so, there was no doubt, Sauvresy indeed knew all. He was content to wait; he knew that Laurence loved him enough towait for him one, or three years, if necessary. He already hadsuch absolute power over her, that she did not try to combat thethoughts of him, which gently forced themselves on her, penetratedto her soul, and filled her mind and heart. Hector said to himselfthat in the interest of his designs, perhaps it was well thatBertha was acting as she did. He forced himself to stifle hisconscience in trying to prove that he was not guilty. Who thoughtof this crime? Bertha. Who was executing it? She alone. Hecould only be reproached with moral complicity in it, a complicityinvoluntary, forced upon him, imposed somehow by the care for hisown life. Sometimes, however, a bitter remorse seized him. Hecould have understood a sudden, violent, rapid murder; could haveexplained to himself a knife-stroke; but this slow death, givendrop by drop, horribly sweetened by tenderness, veiled under kisses, appeared to him unspeakably hideous. He was mortally afraid ofBertha, as of a reptile, and when she embraced him he shudderedfrom head to foot. 

She was so calm, so engaging, so natural; her voice had the samesoft and caressing tones, that he could not forget it. She plungedher hair-pin into the fatal vial without ceasing her conversation, and he did not surprise her in any shrinking or shuddering, noreven a trembling of the eyelids. She must have been made of brass. Yet he thought that she was not cautious enough; and that she putherself in danger of discovery; and he told her of these fears, and how she made him tremble every moment. 

"Have confidence in me, " she answered. "I want to succeed--I amprudent. "

"But you may be suspected. "

"By whom?"

"Eh! How do I know? Everyone--the servants, the doctor. "

"No danger. And suppose they did suspect?"

"They would make examinations, Bertha; they would make a minutescrutiny. "

She gave a smile of the most perfect security. 

"They might examine and experiment as much as they pleased, theywould find nothing. Do you think I am such a fool as to usearsenic?"

"For Heaven's sake, hush!"

"I have procured one of those poisons which are as yet unknown, andwhich defy all analysis; one of which many doctors--and learnedones, too--could not even tell the symptoms!"

"But where did you get this--this--"

He dared not say, "poison. "

"Who gave you that?" resumed he. 

"What matters it? I have taken care that he who gave it to meshould run the same danger as myself, and he knows it. There'snothing to fear from that quarter. I've paid him enough to smotherall his regrets. "

An objection came to his lips; he wanted to say, "It's too slow;"but he had not the courage, though she read his thought in his eyes. 

"It is slow, because that suits me, " said she. "Before all, Imust know about the will--and that I am trying to find out. "

She occupied herself constantly about this will, and during thelong hours that she passed at Sauvresy's bedside, she gradually, with the greatest craft and delicacy, led her husband's mind inthe direction of his last testament, with such success that hehimself mentioned the subject which so absorbed Bertha. 

He said that he did not comprehend why people did not always havetheir worldly affairs in order, and their wishes fully written down, in case of accident. What difference did it make whether one wereill or well? At these words Bertha attempted to stop him. Suchideas, she said, pained her too much. She even shed real tears, which fell down her cheeks and made her more beautiful andirresistible than before; real tears which moistened her handkerchief. 

"You dear silly creature, " said Sauvresy, "do you think that makesone die?"

"No; but I do not wish it. "

"But, dear, have we been any the less happy because, on the dayafter our marriage, I made a will bequeathing you all my fortune?And, stop; you have a copy of it, haven't you? If you were kind, you would go and fetch it for me. "

She became very red, then very pale. Why did he ask for this copy?Did he want to tear it up? A sudden thought reassured her; peopledo not tear up a document which can be cancelled by a scratch ofthe pen on another sheet of paper. Still, she hesitated a moment. 

"I don't know where it can be. "

"But I do. It is in the left-hand drawer of the glass cupboard;come, please me by getting it. "

While she was gone, Sauvresy said to Hector:

"Poor girl! Poor dear Bertha! If I died, she never would surviveme!"

Tremorel thought of nothing to reply; his anxiety was intense andvisible. 

"And this man, " thought he, "suspects something! No; it is notpossible. "

Bertha returned. 

"I have found it, " said she. 

"Give it to me. "

He took the copy of his will, and read it with evident satisfaction, nodding his head at certain passages in which he referred to hislove for his wife. When he had finished reading, he said:

"Now give me a pen and some ink. "

Hector and Bertha reminded him that it would fatigue him to write;but he insisted. The two guilty ones, seated at the foot of thebed and out of Sauvresy's sight, exchanged looks of alarm. Whatwas he going to write? But he speedily finished it. 

"Take this, " said he to Tremorel, "and read aloud what I have justadded. "

Hector complied with his friend's request, with trembling voice:

 "This day, being sound in mind, though much suffering, I declare that I do not wish to change a line of this will. Never have I loved my wife more--never have I so much desired to leave her the heiress of all I possess, should I die before her. 

 "CLEMENT SAUVRESY. "

Mistress of herself as Bertha was, she succeeded in concealing theunspeakable satisfaction with which she was filled. All her wisheswere accomplished, and yet she was able to veil her delight underan apparent sadness. 

"Of what good is this?" said she, with a sigh. 

She said this, but half an hour afterward, when she was alone withHector, she gave herself up to the extravagance of her delight. 

"Nothing more to fear, " exclaimed she. "Nothing! Now we shallhave liberty, fortune, love, pleasure, life! Why, Hector, we shallhave at least three millions; you see, I've got this will myself, and I shall keep it. No more agents or notaries shall be admittedinto this house henceforth. Now I must hasten!"

The count certainly felt a satisfaction in knowing her to be rich, for he could much more easily get rid of a millionnaire widow thanof a poor penniless woman. Sauvresy's conduct thus calmed manysharp anxieties. Her restless gayety, however, her confidentsecurity, seemed monstrous to Hector. He would have wished formore solemnity in the execution of the crime; he thought that heought at least to calm Bertha's delirium. 

"You will think more than once of Sauvresy, " said he, in a gravertone. 

She answered with a "prrr, " and added vivaciously:

"Of him? when and why? Oh, his memory will not weigh on me veryheavily. I trust that we shall be able to live still at Valfeuillu, for the place pleases me; but we must also have a house at Paris--or we will buy yours back again. What happiness, Hector!"

The mere prospect of this anticipated felicity so shocked Hector, that his better self for the moment got the mastery; he essayed tomove Bertha. 

"For the last time, " said he, "I implore you to renounce thisterrible, dangerous project. You see that you were mistaken--thatSauvresy suspects nothing, but loves you as well as ever. "

The expression of Bertha's face suddenly changed; she sat quitestill, in a pensive revery. 

"Don't let's talk any more of that, " said she, at last. "PerhapsI was mistaken. Perhaps he only had doubts--perhaps, although hehas discovered something, he hopes to win me back by his goodness. But you see--"

She stopped. Doubtless she did not wish to alarm him. 

He was already much alarmed. The next day he went off to Melunwithout a word; being unable to bear the sight of this agony, andfearing to betray himself. But he left his address, and when shesent word that Sauvresy was always crying out for him, he hastilyreturned. Her letter was most imprudent and absurd, and made hishair stand on end. He had intended, on his arrival, to reproachher; but it was she who upbraided him. 

"Why this flight?"

"I could not stay here--I suffered, trembled, felt as if I weredying. "

"What a coward you are!"

He would have replied, but she put her finger on his mouth, andpointed with her other hand to the door of the next room. 

"Sh! Three doctors have been in consultation there for the pasthour, and I haven't been able to hear a word of what they said. Whoknows what they are about? I shall not be easy till they go away. "

Bertha's fears were not without foundation. When Sauvresy had hislast relapse, and complained of a severe neuralgia in the face andan irresistible craving for pepper, Dr. R--- had uttered a significantexclamation. It was nothing, perhaps--yet Bertha had heard it, andshe thought she surprised a sudden suspicion on the doctor's part;and this now disturbed her, for she thought that it might be thesubject of the consultation. The suspicion, however, if there hadever been any, quickly vanished. The symptoms entirely changedtwelve hours later, and the next day the sick man felt pains quitethe opposite of those which had previously distressed him. Thisvery inconstancy of the distemper served to puzzle the doctor'sconclusions. Sauvresy, in these latter days, had scarcely sufferedat all, he said, and had slept well at night; but he had, at times, strange and often distressing sensations. He was evidently failinghourly; he was dying--everyone perceived it. And now Dr. R--- askedfor a consultation, the result of which had not been reached whenTremorel returned. 

The drawing-room door at last swung open, and the calm faces of thephysicians reassured the poisoner. Their conclusions were that thecase was hopeless; everything had been tried and exhausted; no humanresources had been neglected; the only hope was in Sauvresy's strongconstitution. 

Bertha, colder than marble, motionless, her eyes full of tears, seemed so full of grief on hearing this cruel decision, that allthe doctors were touched. 

"Is there no hope then? Oh, my God!" cried she, in agonizing tones. 

Dr. R--- hardly dared to attempt to comfort her; he answered herquestions evasively. 

"We must never despair, " said he, "when the invalid is of Sauvresy'sage and constitution; nature often works miracles when leastexpected. "

The doctor, however, lost no time in taking Hector apart and begginghim to prepare the poor, devoted, loving young lady for the terribleblow about to ensue. 

"For you see, " added he, "I don't think Monsieur Sauvresy can livemore than two days!"

Bertha, with her ear at the keyhole, had heard the doctor'sprediction; and when Hector returned from conducting the physicianto the door, he found her radiant. She rushed into his arms. 

"Now" cried she, "the future truly belongs to us. Only one blackpoint obscured our horizon, and it has cleared away. It is for meto realize Doctor R---'s prediction. " They dined together, as usual, in the dining-room, while one of the chambermaids remained besidethe sick-bed. Bertha was full of spirits which she could scarcelycontrol. The certainty of success and safety, the assurance ofreaching the end, made her imprudently gay. She spoke aloud, evenin the presence of the servants, of her approaching liberty. During the evening she was more reckless than ever. If any of theservants should have a suspicion, or a shadow of one she might bediscovered and lost. Hector constantly nudged her under the tableand frowned at her, to keep her quiet; he felt his blood run coldat her conduct; all in vain. There are times when the armor ofhypocrisy becomes so burdensome that one is forced, cost what itmay, to throw it off if only for an instant. 

While Hector was smoking his cigar, Bertha was more freely pursuingher dream. She was thinking that she could spend the period of hermourning at Valfeuillu, and Hector, for the sake of appearances, would hire a pretty little house somewhere in the suburbs. Theworst of it all was that she would be forced to seem to mourn forSauvresy, as she had pretended to love him during his lifetime. But at last a day would come when, without scandal, she might throwoff her mourning clothes, and then they would get married. Where?At Paris or Orcival?

Hector's thoughts ran in the same channel. He, too, wished to seehis friend under the ground to end his own terrors, and to submitto Bertha's terrible yoke. 

 XX

Time passed. Hector and Bertha repaired to Sauvresy's room; he wasasleep. They noiselessly took chairs beside the fire, as usual, and the maid retired. In order that the sick man might not bedisturbed by the light of the lamp, curtains had been hung so that, when lying down, he could not see the fireplace and mantel. Inorder to see these, he must have raised himself on his pillow andleaned forward on his right arm. But now he was asleep, breathingpainfully, feverish, and shuddering convulsively. Bertha and Hectordid not speak; the solemn and sinister silence was only broken bythe ticking of the clock, or by the leaves of the book which Hectorwas reading. Ten o'clock struck; soon after Sauvresy moved, turnedover, and awoke. Bertha was at his side in an instant; she saw thathis eyes were open. 

"Do you feel a little better, dear Clement?" she asked. 

"Neither better nor worse. "

"Do you want anything?"

"I am thirsty. "

Hector, who had raised his eyes when his friend spoke, suddenlyresumed his reading. 

Bertha, standing by the mantel, began to prepare with great careDr. R---'s last prescription; when it was ready, she took out thefatal little vial as usual, and thrust one of her hair-pins into it. 

She had not time to draw it out before she felt a light touch uponher shoulder. A shudder shook her from head to foot; she suddenlyturned and uttered a loud scream, a cry of terror and horror. 

"Oh!"

The hand which had touched her was her husband's. While she wasbusied with the poison at the mantel, Sauvresy had softly raisedhimself; more softly still, he had pulled the curtain aside, andhad stretched out his arm and touched her. His eyes glitteredwith hate and anger. 

Bertha's cry was answered by another dull cry, or rather groan;Tremorel had seen and comprehended all; he was overwhelmed. 

"All is discovered!" Their eyes spoke these three words to eachother. They saw them everywhere, written in letters of fire. Therewas a moment of stupor, of silence so profound that Hector heard histemples beat. Sauvresy had got back under the bed-clothes again. He laughed loudly, wildly, just as a skeleton might have laughedwhose jaws and teeth rattled together. 

But Bertha was not one of those persons who are overcome by a singleblow, terrible as it might be. She trembled like a leaf; her legsstaggered; but her mind was already at work seeking a subterfuge. What had Sauvresy seen--anything? What did he know? For evenhad he seen the vial, this might be explained. It could only havebeen by simple chance that he had touched her at the moment whenshe was using the poison. All these thoughts flashed across hermind in a moment, as rapid as lightning shooting between the clouds. And then she dared to approach the bed, and, with a frightfullyconstrained smile, to say:

"How you frightened me then!"

He looked at her a moment, which seemed to her an age--and simplyreplied:

"I understand it. "

There was no longer any uncertainty. Bertha saw only too well inher husband's eyes that he knew something. But what--how much?She nerved herself to go on:

"Are you still suffering?"

"No. "

"Then why did you get up?"

He raised himself upon his pillow, and with a sudden strength, hecontinued:

"I got up to tell you that I have had enough of these tortures, that I have reached the limits of human energy, that I cannot endureone day longer the agony of seeing myself put to death slowly, dropby drop, by the hands of my wife and my best friend!"

He stopped. Hector and Bertha were thunderstruck. "I wanted totell you also, that I have had enough of your cruel caution, andthat I suffer. Ah, don't you see that I suffer horribly? Hurry, cut short my agony! Kill me, and kill me at a blow--poisoners!"

At the last word, the Count de Tremorel sprang up as if he hadmoved by a spring, his eyes haggard, his arms stretched out. Sauvresy, seeing this, quickly slipped his hand under the pillow, pulled out a revolver, and pointed the barrel at Hector, crying out:

"Don't advance a step!"

He thought that Tremorel, seeing that they were discovered, wasgoing to rush upon him and strangle him; but he was mistaken. Itseemed to Hector as though he were losing his mind. He fell downas heavily as if he were a log. Bertha was more self-possessed;she tried to resist the torpor of terror which she felt coming on. 

"You are worse, my Clement, " said she. "This is that dreadful feverwhich frightens me so. Delirium--"

"Have I really been delirious?" interrupted he, with a surprised air. 

"Alas, yes, dear, that is what haunts you, and fills your poor sickhead with horrid visions. "

He looked at her curiously. He was really stupefied by thisboldness, which constantly grew more bold. 

"What! you think that we, who are so dear to you, your friends, I, your--"

Her husband's implacable look forced her to stop, and the wordsexpired on her lips. 

"Enough of these lies, Bertha, " resumed Sauvresy, "they are useless. No, I have not been dreaming, nor have I been delirious. The poisonis only too real, and I could tell you what it is without yourtaking it out of your pocket. "

She recoiled as if she had seen her husband's hand stretched out tosnatch the blue vial. 

"I guessed it and recognized it at the very first; for you havechosen one of those poisons which, it is true, leave scarcely anytrace of themselves, but the symptoms of which are not deceptive. Do you remember the day when I complained of a morbid taste forpepper? The next day I was certain of it, and I was not the onlyone. Doctor R---, too, had a suspicion. "

Bertha tried to stammer something; her husband interrupted her. 

"People ought to try their poisons, " pursued he, in an ironicaltone, "before they use them. Didn't you understand yours, or whatits effects were? Why, your poison gives intolerable neuralgia, sleeplessness, and you saw me without surprise, sleeping soundlyall night long! I complained of a devouring fire within me, whileyour poison freezes the blood and the entrails, and yet you are notastonished. You see all the symptoms change and disappear, andthat does not enlighten you. You are fools, then. Now see whatI had to do to divert Doctor R---'s suspicions. I hid the real painswhich your poison caused, and complained of imaginary, ridiculousones. I described sensations just the opposite of those which Ifelt. You were lost, then--and I saved you. "

Bertha's malignant energy staggered beneath so many successive blows. She wondered whether she were not going mad; had she heard aright?Was it really true that her husband had perceived that he was beingpoisoned, and yet said nothing; nay, that he had even deceived thedoctor? Why? What was his purpose?

Sauvresy paused several minutes, and then went on:

"I have held my tongue and so saved you, because the sacrifice ofmy life had already been made. Yes, I had been fatally wounded inthe heart on the day that I learned that you were faithless to me. "

He spoke of his death without apparent emotion; but at the words, "You were faithless to me, " his voice faltered and trembled. 

"I would not, could not believe it at first. I doubted the evidenceof my senses, rather than doubt you. But I was forced to believe atlast. I was no longer anything in my house but a laughing-stock. But I was in your way. You and your lover needed more room andliberty. You were tired of constraint and hypocrisy. Then it wasthat, believing that my death would make you free and rich, youbrought in poison to rid yourselves of me. "

Bertha had at least the heroism of crime. All was discovered; well, she threw down the mask. She tried to defend her accomplice, wholay unconscious in a chair. 

"It is I that have done it all, " cried she. "He is innocent. "

Sauvresy turned pale with rage. 

"Ah, really, " said he, "my friend Hector is innocent! It wasn't he, then, who, to pay me up--not for his life, for he was too cowardlyto kill himself; but for his honor, which he owes to me--took mywife from me? Wretch! I hold out my hand to him when he isdrowning, I welcome him like a brother, and in return, he desolatesmy hearth! . . . And you knew what you were doing, my friend Hector--for I told you a hundred times that my wife was my all here below, my present and my future, my dream and happiness and hope and verylife! You knew that for me to lose her was to die. But if you hadloved her--no, it was not that you loved her; you hated me. Envydevoured you, and you could not tell me to my face, 'You are toohappy. ' Then, like a coward, you dishonored me in the dark. Berthawas only the instrument of your rancor; and she weighs upon youto-day--you despise and fear her. My friend, Hector, you have beenin this house the vile lackey who thinks to avenge his baseness byspitting upon the meats which he puts on his master's table!"

The count only responded by a shudder. The dying man's terriblewords fell more cruelly on his conscience than blows upon his cheek. 

"See, Bertha, " continued Sauvresy, "that's the man whom you havepreferred to me, and for whom you have betrayed me. You neverloved me--I see it now--your heart was never Mine. And I--Iloved you so! From the day I first saw you, you were my onlythought; as if your heart had beaten in place of Mine. Everythingabout you was dear and precious to me; I adored your whims, caprices, even your faults. There was nothing I would not do fora smile from you, so that you would say to me, Thank you, betweentwo kisses. You don't know that for years after our marriage itwas my delight to wake up first so as to gaze upon you as you layasleep, to admire and touch your lovely hair, lying dishevelledacross the pillow. Bertha!"

He softened at the remembrance of these past joys, which would notcome again. He forgot their presence, the infamous treachery, thepoison; that he was about to die, murdered by this beloved wife;and his eyes filled with tears, his voice choked. 

Bertha, more motionless and pallid than marble, listened to himbreathlessly. 

"It is true, then, " continued the sick man, "that these lovely eyesconceal a soul of filth! Ah, who would not have been deceived, asI was? Bertha, what did you dream of when you were sleeping in myarms? Tremorel came, and you thought you saw in him the ideal ofyour dreams. You admired the precocious wrinkles which betrayed anexhausted life, like the fatal seal which marks the fallenarchangel's forehead. Your love, without thought of mine, rushedtoward him, though he did not think of you. You went to evil as ifit were your nature. And yet I thought you more immaculate thanthe Alpine snows. You did not even have a struggle with yourself;you betrayed no confusion which would reveal your first fault tome. You brought me your forehead soiled with his kisses withoutblushing. "

Weariness overcame his energies; his voice became little by littlefeebler and less distinct. 

"You had your happiness in your hands, Bertha, and you carelesslydestroyed it, as the child breaks the toy of whose value he isignorant. What did you expect from this wretch for whom you hadthe frightful courage to kill me, with a kiss upon your lips, slowly, hour by hour? You thought you loved him, but disgustought to have come at last. Look at him, and judge between us. See which is the--man--I, extended on this bed where I shallsoon die, or he shivering there in a corner. You have the energyof crime, but he has only the baseness of it. Ah, if my name wasHector de Tremorel, and a man had spoken as I have just done, that man should live no longer, even if he had ten revolvers likethis I am holding to defend himself with!"

Hector, thus taunted, tried to get up and reply; but his legs wouldnot support him, and his throat only gave hoarse, unintelligiblesounds. Bertha, as she looked at the two men, recognized her errorwith rage and indignation. Her husband, at this moment, seemed toher sublime; his eyes gleamed, his face was radiant; while the other--the other! She felt sick with disgust when she but glanced towardhim. 

Thus all these deceptive chimeras after which she had run, love, passion, poetry, were already hers; she had held them in her handsand she had not been able to perceive it. But what was Sauvresy'spurpose?

He continued, painfully:

"This then, is our situation; you have killed me, you are going tobe free, yet you hate and despise each other--"

He stopped, and seemed to be suffocating; he tried to raise himselfon his pillow and to sit up in bed, but found himself too feeble. 

"Bertha, " said he, "help me get up. "

She leaned over the bed, and taking her husband in her arms, succeeded in placing him as he wished. He appeared more at easein his new position, and took two or three long breaths. 

"Now, " he said, "I should like something to drink. The doctor letsme take a little old wine, if I have a fancy for it; give me some. "

She hastened to bring him a glass of wine, which he emptied andhanded back to her. 

"There wasn't any poison in it, was there?" he asked. 

This ghastly question and the smile which accompanied it, meltedBertha's callousness; remorse had already taken possession of her, as her disgust of Tremorel increased. 

"Poison?" she cried, eagerly, "never!"

"You must give me some, though, presently, so as to help me to die. "

"You die, Clement? No; I want you to live, so that I may redeemthe past. I am a wretch, and have committed a hideous crime--butyou are good. You will live; I don't ask to be your wife, butonly your servant. I will love you, humiliate myself, serve youon my knees, so that some day, after ten, twenty years of expiation, you will forgive me!"

Hector in his mortal terror and anguish, was scarcely able todistinguish what was taking place. But he saw a dim ray of hopein Bertha's gestures and accent, and especially in her last words;he thought that perhaps it was all going to end and be forgotten, and that Sauvresy would pardon them. Half-rising, he stammered:

"Yes, forgive us, forgive us!"

Sauvresy's eyes glittered, and his angry voice vibrated as if itcame from a throat of metal. 

"Forgive!" cried he, "pardon! Did you have pity on me during allthis year that you have been playing with my happiness, during thisfortnight that you have been mixing poison in all my potions?Pardon? What, are you fools? Why do you think I held my tongue, when I discovered your infamy, and let myself be poisoned, andthrew the doctors off the scent? Do you really hope that I didthis to prepare a scene of heartrending farewells, and to giveyou my benediction at the end? Ah, know me better!"

Bertha was sobbing; she tried to take her husband's hand, but herudely repulsed her. 

"Enough of these falsehoods, " said he. "Enough of these perfidies. I hate you! You don't seem to perceive that hate is all that isstill living in me. "

Sauvresy's expression was at this moment ferocious. "It is almosttwo months since I learned the truth; it broke me up, soul and body. Ah, it cost me a good deal to keep quiet--it almost killed me. But one thought sustained me; I longed to avenge myself. My mindwas always bent on that; I searched for a punishment as great asthis crime; I found none, could find none. Then you resolved topoison me. Mark this--that the very day when I guessed about thepoison I had a thrill of joy, for I had discovered my vengeance!"

A constantly increasing terror possessed Bertha, and now stupefiedher, as well as Tremorel. 

"Why do you wish for my death? To be free and marry each other?Very well; I wish that also. The Count de Tremorel will be MadameSauvresy's second husband. "

"Never!" cried Bertha. "No, never!"

"Never!" echoed Hector. 

"It shall be so; nevertheless because I wish it. Oh, my precautionshave been well taken, and you can't escape me. Now hear me. WhenI became certain that I was being poisoned, I began to write aminute history of all three of us; I did more--I have kept ajournal day by day and hour by hour, narrating all the particularsof my illness; then I kept some of the poison which you gave me--"

Bertha made a gesture of denial. Sauvresy proceeded:

"Certainly, I kept it, and I will tell you how. Every time thatBertha gave me a suspicious potion, I kept a portion of it in mymouth, and carefully ejected it into a bottle which I kept hidunder the bolster. Ah, you ask how I could have done all thiswithout your suspecting it, or without being seen by any of theservants. Know that hate is stronger than love, be sure that Ihave left nothing to chance, nor have I forgotten anything. "

Hector and Bertha looked at Sauvresy with a dull, fixed gaze. Theyforced themselves to understand him, but could scarcely do so. 

"Let's finish, " resumed the dying man, "my strength is waning. This very morning, the bottle containing the poison I have preserved, our biographies, and the narrative of my poisoning, have been putin the hands of a trustworthy and devoted person, whom, even ifyou knew him, you could not corrupt. He does not know thecontents of what has been confided to him. The day that you getmarried this friend will give them all up to you. If, however, you are not married in a year from to-day, he has instructions toput these papers and this bottle into the hands of the officers ofthe law. "

A double cry of horror and anguish told Sauvresy that he had wellchosen his vengeance. 

"And reflect, " added he, "that this package once delivered up tojustice, means the galleys, if not the scaffold for both of you. "

Sauvresy had overtasked his strength. He fell panting upon thebed, his mouth open, his eyes filmy, and his features so distortedthat he seemed to be on the point of death. But neither Berthanor Tremorel thought of trying to relieve him. They remainedopposite each other with dilated eyes, stupefied, as if theirthoughts were bent upon the torments of that future which theimplacable vengeance of the man whom they had outraged imposedupon them. They were indissolubly united, confounded in a commondestiny; nothing could separate them but death. A chain strongerand harder than that of the galley-slave bound them together; achain of infamies and crimes, of which the first link was a kiss, and the last a murder by poison. Now Sauvresy might die; hisvengeance was on their heads, casting a cloud upon their sun. Freein appearance, they would go through life crushed by the burden ofthe past, more slaves than the blacks in the American rice-fields. Separated by mutual hate and contempt, they saw themselves rivetedtogether by the common terror of punishment, condemned to aneternal embrace. 

Bertha at this moment admired her husband. Now that he was sofeeble that he breathed as painfully as an infant, she looked uponhim as something superhuman. She had had no idea of suchconstancy and courage allied with so much dissimulation and genius. How cunningly he had found them out! How well he had known how toavenge himself! To be the master, he had only to will it. In acertain way she rejoiced in the strange atrocity of this scene; shefelt something like a bitter pride in being one of the actors in it. At the same time she was transported with rage and sorrow inthinking that she had had this man in her power, that he had beenat her feet. She almost loved him. Of all men, it was he whom shewould have chosen were she mistress of her destinies; and he wasgoing to escape her. 

Tremorel, while these strange ideas crowded upon Bertha's mind, began to come to himself. The certainty that Laurence was nowforever lost for him occurred to him, and his despair was withoutbounds. The silence continued a full quarter of an hour. Sauvresyat last subdued the spasm which had exhausted him, and spoke. 

"I have not said all yet, " he commenced. 

His voice was as feeble as a murmur, and yet it seemed terrible tohis hearers. 

"You shall see whether I have reckoned and foreseen well. Perhaps, when I was dead, the idea of flying and going abroad would strikeyou. I shall not permit that. You must stay at Orcival--atValfeuillu. A--friend--not he with the package--is charged, without knowing the reason for it, with the task of watching you. Mark well what I say--if either of you should disappear for eightdays, on the ninth, the man who has the package would receive aletter which would cause him to resort at once to the police. "

Yes, he had foreseen all, and Tremorel, who had already thought offlight, was overwhelmed. 

"I have so arranged, besides, that the idea of flight shall nottempt you too much. It is true I have left all my fortune toBertha, but I only give her the use of it; the property itself willnot be hers until the day after your marriage. "

Bertha made a gesture of repugnance which her husband misinterpreted. 

"You are thinking of the copy of my will which is in your possession. It is a useless one, and I only added to it some valueless wordsbecause I wanted to put your suspicions to sleep. My true will isin the notary's hands, and bears a date two days later. I can readyou the rough draft of it. "

He took a sheet of paper from a portfolio which was concealed; likethe revolver, under the bolster, and read:

"Being stricken with a fatal malady, I here set down freely, andin the fulness of my faculties, my last wishes:

"My dearest wish is that my well-beloved widow, Bertha, shouldespouse, as soon as the delay enjoined by law has expired, mydear friend, the Count Hector de Tremorel. Having appreciated thegrandeur of soul and nobleness of sentiment which belong to mywife and friend, I know that they are worthy of each other, andthat each will be happy in the other. I die the more peacefully, as I leave my Bertha to a protector whose--"

It was impossible for Bertha to hear more. 

"For pity's sake, " cried she, "enough. "

"Enough? Well, let it be so, " responded Sauvresy. "I have readthis paper to you to show you that while I have arranged everythingto insure the execution of my will; I have also done all that canpreserve to you the world's respect. Yes, I wish that you shouldbe esteemed and honored, for it is you alone upon whom I rely formy vengeance. I have knit around you a net-work which you cannever burst asunder. You triumph; my tombstone shall be, as youhoped, the altar of your nuptials, or else--the galleys. "

Tremorel's pride at last revolted against so many humiliations, somany whip-strokes lashing his face. 

"You have only forgotten one thing, Sauvresy; that a man can die. "

"Pardon me, " replied the sick man, coldly. "I have foreseen thatalso, and was just going to tell you so. Should one of you diesuddenly before the marriage, the police will be called in. "

"You misunderstood me; I meant that a man can kill himself. "

"You kill yourself? Humph! Jenny, who disdains you almost as muchas I do, has told me about your threats to kill yourself. You!See here; here is my revolver; shoot yourself, and I will forgivemy wife!"

Hector made a gesture of anger, but did not take the pistol. 

"You see, " said Sauvresy, "I knew it well. You are afraid. "Turning to Bertha, he added, "This is your lover. "

Extraordinary situations like this are so unwonted and strangethat the actors in them almost always remain composed and natural, as if stupefied. Bertha, Hector, and Sauvresy accepted, withouttaking note of it, the strange position in which they foundthemselves; and they talked naturally, as if of matters ofevery-day life, and not of terrible events. But the hours flew, and Sauvresy perceived his life to be ebbing from him. 

"There only remains one more act to play, " said he. "Hector, goand call the servants, have those who have gone to bed aroused, Iwant to see them before dying. "

Tremorel hesitated. 

"Come, go along; or shall I ring, or fire a pistol to bring themhere?"

Hector went out; Bertha remained alone with her husband--alone!She had a hope that perhaps she might succeed in making him changehis purpose, and that she might obtain his forgiveness. She kneltbeside the bed. Never had she been so beautiful, so seductive, soirresistible. The keen emotions of the evening had brought herwhole soul into her face, and her lovely eyes supplicated, herbreast heaved, her mouth was held out as if for a kiss, and hernew-born passion for Sauvresy burst out into delirium. 

"Clement, " she stammered, in a voice full of tenderness, "myhusband, Clement!"

He directed toward her a glance of hatred. 

"What do you wish?"

She did not know how to begin--she hesitated, trembled and sobbed. 

"Hector would not kill himself, " said she, "but I--"

"Well, what do you wish to say? Speak!"

"It was I, a wretch, who have killed you. I will not survive you. "

An inexpressible anguish distorted Sauvresy's features. She killherself! If so, his vengeance was vain; his own death would thenappear only ridiculous and absurd. And he knew that Bertha wouldnot be wanting in courage at the critical moment. 

She waited, while he reflected. 

"You are free, " said he, at last, "this would merely be a sacrificeto Hector. If you died, he would marry Laurence Courtois, and ina year would forget even our name. "

Bertha sprang to her feet; she pictured Hector to herself marriedand happy. A triumphant smile, like a sun's ray, brightenedSauvresy's pale face. He had touched the right chord. He mightsleep in peace as to his vengeance. Bertha would live. He knewhow hateful to each other were these enemies whom he left linkedtogether. 

The servants came in one by one; nearly all of them had been longin Sauvresy's service, and they loved him as a good master. Theywept and groaned to see him lying there so pale and haggard, withthe stamp of death already on his forehead. Sauvresy spoke tothem in a feeble voice, which was occasionally interrupted bydistressing hiccoughs. He thanked them, he said, for theirattachment and fidelity, and wished to apprise them that he hadleft each of them a goodly sum in his will. Then turning to Berthaand Hector, he resumed:

"You have witnessed, my people, the care and solicitude with whichmy bedside has been surrounded by this incomparable friend and myadored Bertha. You have seen their devotion. Alas, I know howkeen their sorrow will be! But if they wish to soothe my lastmoments and give me a happy death, they will assent to the prayerwhich I earnestly make, to them, and will swear to espouse eachother after I am gone. Oh, my beloved friends, this seems cruelto you now; but you know not how all human pain is dulled in me. You are young, life has yet much happiness in store for you. Iconjure you yield to a dying man's entreaties!"

They approached the bed, and Sauvresy put Bertha's hand intoHector's. 

"Do you swear to obey me?" asked he. 

They shuddered to hold each other's hands, and seemed nearfainting; but they answered, and were heard to murmur:

"We swear it. "

The servants retired, grieved at this distressing scene, andBertha muttered:

"Oh, 'tis infamous, 'tis horrible!"

"Infamous--yes, " returned Sauvresy, "but not more so than yourcaresses, Bertha, or than your hand-pressures, Hector; not morehorrible than your plans, than your hopes--"

His voice sank into a rattle. Soon the agony commenced. Horribleconvulsions distorted his limbs; twice or thrice he cried out:

"I am cold; I am cold!"

His body was indeed stiff, and nothing could warm it. 

Despair filled the house, for a death so sudden was not looked for. The domestics came and went, whispering to each other, "He is going, poor monsieur; poor madame!"

Soon the convulsions ceased. He lay extended on his back, breathingso feebly that twice they thought his breath had ceased forever. Atlast, a little before ten o'clock, his cheeks suddenly colored andhe shuddered. He rose up in bed, his eye staring, his armstretched out toward the window, and he cried:

"There--behind the curtain--I see them--I see them!"

A last convulsion stretched him again on his pillow. 

Clement Sauvresy was dead!

 XXI

The old justice of the peace ceased reading his voluminous record. His hearers, the detective and the doctor remained silent under theinfluence of this distressing narrative. M. Plantat had read itimpressively, throwing himself into the recital as if he had beenpersonally an actor in the scenes described. 

M. Lecoq was the first to recover himself. 

"A strange man, Sauvresy, " said he. 

It was Sauvresy's extraordinary idea of vengeance which struck himin the story. He admired his "good playing" in a drama in whichhe knew he was going to yield up his life. 

"I don't know many people, " pursued the detective, "capable of sofearful a firmness. To let himself be poisoned so slowly andgently by his wife! Brrr! It makes a man shiver all over!"

"He knew how to avenge himself, " muttered the doctor. 

"Yes, " answered M. Plantat, "yes, Doctor; he knew how to avengehimself, and more terribly than he supposed, or than you can imagine. "

The detective rose from his seat. He had remained motionless, glued to his chair for more than three hours, and his legs werebenumbed. 

"For my part, " said he, "I can very well conceive what an infernalexistence the murderers began to suffer the day after their victim'sdeath. You have depicted them, Monsieur Plantat, with the hand ofa master. I know them as well after your description as if I hadstudied them face to face for ten years. "

He spoke deliberately, and watched for the effect of what he saidin M. Plantat's countenance. 

"Where on earth did this old fellow get all these details?" heasked himself. "Did he write this narrative, and if not, who did?How was it, if he had all this information, that he has saidnothing?"

M. Plantat appeared to be unconscious of the detective's searchinglook. 

"I know that Sauvresy's body was not cold, " said he, "before hismurderers began to threaten each other with death. "

"Unhappily for them, " observed Dr. Gendron, "Sauvresy had foreseenthe probability of his widow's using up the rest of the vial ofpoison. "

"Ah, he was shrewd, " said M. Lecoq, in a tone of conviction, "very shrewd. "

"Bertha could not pardon Hector, " continued M. Plantat, "forrefusing to take the revolver and blow his brains out; Sauvresy, you see, had foreseen that. Bertha thought that if her lover weredead, her husband would have forgotten all; and it is impossible totell whether she was mistaken or not. "

"And nobody knew anything of this horrible struggle that was goingon in the house?"

"No one ever suspected anything. "

"It's marvellous!"

"Say, Monsieur Lecoq, that is scarcely credible. Never wasdissimulation so crafty, and above all, so wonderfully sustained. If you should question the first person you met in Orcival, hewould tell you, as our worthy Courtois this morning told MonsieurDomini, that the count and countess were a model pair and adoredeach other. Why I, who knew--or suspected, I should say--whathad passed, was deceived myself. "

Promptly as M. Plantat had corrected himself, his slip of thetongue did not escape M. Lecoq. 

"Was it really a slip, or not?" he asked himself. 

"These wretches have been terribly punished, " pursued M. Plantat, "and it is impossible to pity them; all would have gone rightly ifSauvresy, intoxicated by his hatred, had not committed a blunderwhich was almost a crime. "

"A crime!" exclaimed the doctor. 

M. Lecoq smiled and muttered in a low tone:

"Laurence. "

But low as he had spoken, M. Plantat heard him. 

"Yes, Monsieur Lecoq, " said he severely. "Yes, Laurence. Sauvresydid a detestable thing when he thought of making this poor girl theaccomplice, or I should say, the instrument of his wrath. Hepiteously threw her between these two wretches, without askinghimself whether she would be broken. It was by using Laurence'sname that he persuaded Bertha not to kill herself. Yet he knew ofTremorel's passion for her, he knew her love for him, and he knewthat his friend was capable of anything. He, who had so wellforeseen all that could serve his vengeance, did not deign toforesee that Laurence might be dishonored; and yet he left herdisarmed before this most cowardly and infamous of men!"

The detective reflected. 

"There is one thing, " said he, "that I can't explain. Why was itthat these two, who execrated each other, and whom the implacablewill of their victim chained together despite themselves, did notseparate of one accord the day after their marriage, when they hadfulfilled the condition which had established their crime?"

The old justice of the peace shook his head. 

"I see, " he answered, "that I have not yet made you understandBertha's resolute character. Hector would have been delighted witha separation; his wife could not consent to it. Ah, Sauvresy knewher well! She saw her life ruined, a horrible remorse laceratedher; she must have a victim upon whom to expiate her errors andcrimes; this victim was Hector. Ravenous for her prey, she wouldnot let him go for anything in the world. "

"I' faith, " observed Dr. Gendron, "your Tremorel was achicken-hearted wretch. What had he to fear when Sauvresy'smanuscript was once destroyed?"

"Who told you it had been destroyed?" interrupted M. Plantat. 

M. Lecoq at this stopped promenading up and down the room, and satdown opposite M. Plantat. 

"The whole case lies there, " said he. "Whether these proofs haveor have not been destroyed. "

M. Plantat did not choose to answer directly. 

"Do you know, " asked he, "to whom Sauvresy confided them forkeeping?"

"Ah, " cried the detective, as if a sudden idea had enlightened him, "it was you. "

He added to himself, "Now, my good man, I begin to see where allyour information comes from. "

"Yes, it was I, " resumed M. Plantat. "On the day of the marriageof Madame Sauvresy and Count Hector, in conformity with the lastwishes of my dying friend, I went to Valfeuillu and asked to seeMonsieur and Madame de Tremorel. Although they were full ofcompany, they received me at once in the little room on theground-floor where Sauvresy was murdered. They were both very paleand terribly troubled. They evidently guessed the purpose of myvisit, for they lost no time in admitting me to an interview. Aftersaluting them I addressed myself to Bertha, being enjoined to do soby the written instructions I had received; this was anotherinstance of Sauvresy's foresight. 'Madame, ' said I, 'I was chargedby your late husband to hand to you, on the day of your secondmarriage, this package, which he confided to my care. ' She took thepackage, in which the bottle and the manuscript were enclosed, with a smiling, even joyous air, thanked me warmly, and went out. The count's expression instantly changed; he appeared very restlessand agitated; he seemed to be on coals. I saw well enough that heburned to rush after his wife, but dared not; I was going to retire;but he stopped me. 'Pardon me, ' said he, abruptly, 'you will permitme, will you not? I will return immediately, ' with which he ranout. When I saw him and his wife a few minutes afterward, theywere both very red; their eyes had a strange expression and theirvoices trembled, as they accompanied me to the door. They hadcertainly been having a violent altercation. "

"The rest may be conjectured, " interrupted M. Lecoq. "She had goneto secrete the manuscript in some safe place; and when her newhusband asked her to give it up to him, she replied, 'Look for it. '"

"Sauvresy had enjoined on me to give it only into her hands. "

"Oh, he knew how to work his revenge. He had it given to his wifeso that she might hold a terrible arm against Tremorel, all readyto crush him. If he revolted, she always had this instrument oftorture at hand. Ah, the man was a miserable wretch, and she musthave made him suffer terribly. "

"Yes, " said Dr. Gendron, "up to the very day he killed her. "

The detective had resumed his promenade up and down the library. 

"The question as to the poison, " said he, "remains. It is a simpleone to resolve, because we've got the man who sold it to her inthat closet. "

"Besides, " returned the doctor, "I can tell something about thepoison. This rascal of a Robelot stole it from my laboratory, andI know only too well what it is, even if the symptoms, so welldescribed by our friend Plantat, had not indicated its name to me. I was at work upon aconite when Sauvresy died; and he was poisonedwith aconitine. "

"Ah, with aconitine, " said M. Lecoq, surprised. "It's the firsttime that I ever met with that poison. Is it a new thing?"

"Not exactly. Medea is said to have extracted her deadliest poisonsfrom aconite, and it was employed in Rome and Greece in criminalexecutions. "

"And I did not know of it! But I have very little time to study. Besides, this poison of Medea's was perhaps lost, as was that ofthe Borgias; so many of these things are!"

"No, it was not lost, be assured. But we only know of it nowadaysby Mathiole's experiments on felons sentenced to death, in thesixteenth century; by Hers, who isolated the active principle, thealkaloid, in 1833 and lastly by certain experiments made byBouchardat, who pretends--"

Unfortunately, when Dr. Gendron was set agoing on poisons, it wasdifficult to stop him; but M. Lecoq, on the other hand, never lostsight of the end he had in view. 

"Pardon me for interrupting you, Doctor, " said he. "But wouldtraces of aconitine be found in a body which had been two yearsburied? For Monsieur Domini is going to order the exhumation ofSauvresy. "

"The tests of aconitine are not sufficiently well known to permitof the isolation of it in a body. Bouchardat tried ioduret ofpotassium, but his experiment was not successful. "

"The deuce!" said M. Lecoq. "That's annoying. "

The doctor smiled benignly. 

"Reassure yourself, " said he. "No such process was in existence--so I invented one. "

"Ah, " cried Plantat. "Your sensitive paper!"

"Precisely. "

"And could you find aconitine in Sauvresy's body?"

"Undoubtedly. "

M. Lecoq was radiant, as if he were now certain of fulfilling whathad seemed to him a very difficult task. 

"Very well, " said he. "Our inquest seems to be complete. Thehistory of the victims imparted to us by Monsieur Plantat gives usthe key to all the events which have followed the unhappy Sauvresy'sdeath. Thus, the hatred of this pair, who were in appearance sounited, is explained; and it is also clear why Hector has ruined acharming young girl with a splendid dowry, instead of making her hiswife. There is nothing surprising in Tremorel's casting aside hisname and personality to reappear under another guise; he killed hiswife because he was constrained to do so by the logic of events. Hecould not fly while she was alive, and yet he could not continue tolive at Valfeuillu. And above all, the paper for which he searchedwith such desperation, when every moment was an affair of life anddeath to him, was none other than Sauvresy's manuscript, hiscondemnation and the proof of his first crime. "

M. Lecoq talked eagerly, as if he had a personal animosity againstthe Count de Tremorel; such was his nature; and he always avowedlaughingly that he could not help having a grudge against thecriminals whom he pursued. There was an account to settle betweenhim and them; hence the ardor of his pursuit. Perhaps it was asimple matter of instinct with him, like that which impels thehunting hound on the track of his game. 

"It is clear enough now, " he went on, "that it was MademoiselleCourtois who put an end to his hesitation and eternal delay. Hispassion for her, irritated by obstacles, goaded him to delirium. On learning her condition, he lost his head and forgot all prudenceand reason. He was wearied, too, of a punishment which began aneweach morning; he saw himself lost, and his wife sacrificing herselffor the malignant pleasure of sacrificing him. Terrified, he tookthe resolution to commit this murder. "

Many of the circumstances which had established M. Lecoq'sconviction had escaped Dr. Gendron. 

"What!" cried he, stupefied. "Do you believe in MademoiselleLaurence's complicity?"

The detective earnestly protested by a gesture. 

"No, Doctor, certainly not; heaven forbid that I should have suchan idea. Mademoiselle Courtois was and is still ignorant of thiscrime. But she knew that Tremorel would abandon his wife for her. This flight had been discussed, planned, and agreed upon betweenthem; they made an appointment to meet at a certain place, on acertain day. "

"But this letter, " said the doctor. 

M. Plantat could scarcely conceal his emotion when Laurence wasbeing talked about. 

"This letter, " cried he, "which has plunged her family into thedeepest grief, and which will perhaps kill poor Courtois, is onlyone more scene of the infamous drama which the count has planned. "

"Oh, " said the doctor, "is it possible?"

"I am firmly of Monsieur Plantat's opinion, " said the detective. "Last evening we had the same suspicion at the same moment at themayor's. I read and re-read her letter, and could have sworn thatit did not emanate from herself. The count gave her a rough draftfrom which she copied it. We mustn't deceive ourselves; this letterwas meditated, pondered on, and composed at leisure. Those were notthe expressions of an unhappy young girl of twenty who was going tokill herself to escape dishonor. "

"Perhaps you are right, " remarked the doctor visibly moved. "Buthow can you imagine that Tremorel succeeded in persuading her todo this wretched act?"

"How? See here, Doctor, I am not much experienced in such things, having seldom had occasion to study the characters of well-brought-upyoung girls; yet it seems to me very simple. Mademoiselle Courtoissaw the time coming when her disgrace would be public, and soprepared for it, and was even ready to die if necessary. "

M. Plantat shuddered; a conversation which he had had with Laurenceoccurred to him. She had asked him, he remembered, about certainpoisonous plants which he was cultivating, and had been anxious toknow how the poisonous juices could be extracted from them. 

"Yes, " said he, "she has thought of dying. "

"Well, " resumed the detective, "the count took her in one of themoods when these sad thoughts haunted the poor girl, and was easilyable to complete his work of ruin. She undoubtedly told him thatshe preferred death to shame, and he proved to her that, being inthe condition in which she was, she had no right to kill herself. He said that he was very unhappy; and that not being free, he couldnot repair his fault; but he offered to sacrifice his life for her. What should she do to save both of them? Abandon her parents, makethem believe that she had committed suicide, while he, on his side, would desert his house and his wife. Doubtless she resisted forawhile; but she finally consented to everything; she fled, andcopied and posted the infamous letter dictated by her lover. "

The doctor was convinced. 

"Yes, " he muttered, "those are doubtless the means he employed. "

"But what an idiot he was, " resumed M. Lecoq, "not to perceive thatthe strange coincidence between his disappearance and Laurence'ssuicide would be remarked! He said to himself, 'Probably peoplewill think that I, as well as my wife, have been murdered; and thelaw, having its victim in Guespin, will not look for any other. '"

M. Plantat made a gesture of impotent rage. 

"Ah, " cried he, "and we know not where the wretch has hid himselfand Laurence. "

The detective took him by the arm and pressed it. 

"Reassure yourself, " said he, coolly. "We'll find him, or my name'snot Lecoq; and to be honest, I must say that our task does not seemto me a difficult one. "

Several timid knocks at the door interrupted the speaker. It waslate, and the household was already awake and about. Mme. Petitin her anxiety and curiosity had put her ear to the key-hole atleast ten times, but in vain. 

"What can they be up to in there?" said she to Louis. "Here they'vebeen shut up these twelve hours without eating or drinking. At allevents I'll get breakfast. "

It was not Mme. Petit, however, who dared to knock on the door; butLouis, the gardener, who came to tell his master of the ravageswhich had been made in his flower-pots and shrubs. At the same timehe brought in certain singular articles which he had picked up onthe sward, and which M. Lecoq recognized at once. 

"Heavens!" cried he, "I forgot myself. Here I go on quietlytalking with my face exposed, as if it was not broad daylight; andpeople might come in at any moment!" And turning to Louis, who wasvery much surprised to see this dark young man whom he had certainlynot admitted the night before, he added:

"Give me those little toilet articles, my good fellow; they belongto me. "

Then, by a turn of his hand, he readjusted his physiognomy of lastnight, while the master of the house went out to give some orders, which M. Lecoq did so deftly, that when M. Plantat returned, hecould scarcely believe his eyes. 

They sat down to breakfast and ate their meal as silently as theyhad done the dinner of the evening before, losing no time about it. They appreciated the value of the passing moments; M. Domini waswaiting for them at Corbeil, and was doubtless getting impatient attheir delay. 

Louis had just placed a sumptuous dish of fruit upon the table, when it occurred to M. Lecoq that Robelot was still shut up in thecloset. 

"Probably the rascal needs something, " said he. 

M. Plantat wished to send his servant to him; but M. Lecoq objected. 

"He's a dangerous rogue, " said he. "I'll go myself. "

He went out, but almost instantly his voice was heard:

"Messieurs! Messieurs, see here!"

The doctor and M. Plantat hastened into the library. 

Across the threshold of the closet was stretched the body of thebone-setter. He had killed himself. 

 XXII

Robelot must have had rare presence of mind and courage to killhimself in that obscure closet, without making enough noise toarouse the attention of those in the library. He had wound astring tightly around his neck, and had used a piece of pencil asa twister, and so had strangled himself. He did not, however, betray the hideous look which the popular belief attributes tothose who have died by strangulation. His face was pale, his eyesand mouth half open, and he had the appearance of one who hasgradually and without much pain lost his consciousness by congestionof the brain. 

"Perhaps he is not quite dead yet, " said the doctor. He quicklypulled out his case of instruments and knelt beside the motionlessbody. 

This incident seemed to annoy M. Lecoq very much; just as everythingwas, as he said, "running on wheels, " his principal witness, whom hehad caught at the peril of his life, had escaped him. M. Plantat, on the contrary, seemed tolerably well satisfied, as if the deathof Robelot furthered projects which he was secretly nourishing, andfulfilled his secret hopes. Besides, it little mattered if theobject was to oppose M. Domini's theories and induce him to changehis opinion. This corpse had more eloquence in it than the mostexplicit of confessions. 

The doctor, seeing the uselessness of his pains, got up. 

"It's all over, " said he. "The asphyxia was accomplished in a veryfew moments. "

The bone-setter's body was carefully laid on the floor in thelibrary. 

"There is nothing more to be done, " said M. Plantat, "but to carryhim home; we will follow on so as to seal up his effects, whichperhaps contain important papers. Run to the mairie, " he added, turning to his servant, "and get a litter and two stout men. "

Dr. Gendron's presence being no longer necessary, he promised M. Plantat to rejoin him at Robelot's, and started off to inquireafter M. Courtois's condition. 

Louis lost no time, and soon reappeared followed, not by two, butten men. The body was placed on a litter and carried away. Robelotoccupied a little house of three rooms, where he lived by himself;one of the rooms served as a shop, and was full of plants, driedherbs, grain, and other articles appertaining to his vocation asan herbist. He slept in the back room, which was better furnishedthan most country rooms. His body was placed upon the bed. Amongthe men who had brought it was the "drummer of the town, " who wasat the same time the grave-digger. This man, expert in everythingpertaining to funerals, gave all the necessary instructions on thepresent occasion, himself taking part in the lugubrious task. 

Meanwhile M. Plantat examined the furniture, the keys of which hadbeen taken from the deceased's pocket. The value of the propertyfound in the possession of this man, who had, two years before, lived from day to day on what he could pick up, were anover-whelming proof against him in addition to the others alreadydiscovered. But M. Plantat looked in vain for any new indicationsof which he was ignorant. He found deeds of the Morin property andof the Frapesle and Peyron lands; there were also two bonds, forone hundred and fifty and eight hundred and twenty francs, signedby two Orcival citizens in Robelot's favor. M. Plantat couldscarcely conceal his disappointment. 

"Nothing of importance, " whispered he in M. Lecoq's ear. "How doyou explain that?"

"Perfectly, " responded the detective. "He was a sly rogue, thisRobelot, and he was cunning enough to conceal his sudden fortuneand patient enough to appear to be years accumulating it. You onlyfind in his secretary effects which he thought he could avowwithout danger. How much is there in all?"

Plantat rapidly added up the different sums, and said:

"About fourteen thousand five hundred francs. "

"Madame Sauvresy gave him more than that, " said the detective, positively. "If he had no more than this, he would not have beensuch a fool as to put it all into land. He must have a hoard ofmoney concealed somewhere. "

"Of course he must. But where?"

"Ah, let me look. "

He began to rummage about, peering into everything in the room, moving the furniture, sounding the floor with his heels, and rappingon the wall here and there. Finally he came to the fireplace, beforewhich he stopped. 

"This is July, " said he. "And yet there are cinders here in thefireplace. "

"People sometimes neglect to clean them out in the spring. "

"True; but are not these very clean and distinct? I don't find anyof the light dust and soot on them which ought to be there afterthey have lain several months. "

He went into the second room whither he had sent the men after theyhad completed their task, and said:

"I wish one of you would get me a pickaxe. "

All the men rushed out; M. Lecoq returned to his companion. 

"Surely, " muttered he, as if apart, "these cinders have beendisturbed recently, and if they have been--"

He knelt down, and pushing the cinders away, laid bare the stonesof the fireplace. Then taking a thin piece of wood, he easilyinserted it into the cracks between the stones. 

"See here, Monsieur Plantat, " said he. "There is no cement betweenthese stones, and they are movable; the treasure must be here. "

When the pickaxe was brought, he gave a single blow with it; thestones gaped apart, and betrayed a wide and deep hole between them. 

"Ah, " cried he, with a triumphant air, "I knew it well enough. "

The hole was full of rouleaux of twenty-franc pieces; on countingthem, M. Lecoq found that there were nineteen thousand five hundredfrancs. 

The old justice's face betrayed an expression of profound grief. 

"That, " thought he, "is the price of my poor Sauvresy's life. "

M. Lecoq found a small piece of paper, covered with figures, deposited with the gold; it seemed to be Robelot's accounts. Hehad put on the left hand the sum of forty thousand francs; on theright hand, various sums were inscribed, the total of which wastwenty-one thousand five hundred francs. It was only too clear;Mme. Sauvresy had paid Robelot forty thousand francs for the bottleof poison. There was nothing more to learn at his house. Theylocked the money up in the secretary, and affixed seals everywhere, leaving two men on guard. 

But M. Lecoq was not quite satisfied yet. What was the manuscriptwhich Plantat had read? At first he had thought that it was simplya copy of the papers confided to him by Sauvresy; but it could notbe that; Sauvresy couldn't have thus described the last agonizingscenes of his life. This mystery mightily worried the detectiveand dampened the joy he felt at having solved the crime atValfeuillu. He made one more attempt to surprise Plantat intosatisfying his curiosity. Taking him by the coat-lapel, he drewhim into the embrasure of a window, and with his most innocent air, said:

"I beg your pardon, are we going back to your house?"

"Why should we? You know the doctor is going to meet us here. "

"I think we may need the papers you read to us, to convince MonsieurDomini. "

M. Plantat smiled sadly, and looking steadily at him, replied:

"You are very sly, Monsieur Lecoq; but I too am sly enough to keepthe last key of the mystery of which you hold all the others. "

"Believe me--" stammered M. Lecoq. 

"I believe, " interrupted his companion, "that you would like verywell to know the source of my information. Your memory is too goodfor you to forget that when I began last evening I told you thatthis narrative was for your ear alone, and that I had only oneobject in disclosing it--to aid our search. Why should you wishthe judge of instruction to see these notes, which are purelypersonal, and have no legal or authentic character?"

He reflected a few moments, and added:

"I have too much confidence in you, Monsieur Lecoq, and esteem youtoo much, not to have every trust that you will not divulge thesestrict confidences. What you will say will be of as much weight asanything I might divulge--especially now that you have Robelot'sbody to back your assertions, as well as the money found in hispossession. If Monsieur Domini still hesitates to believe you, youknow that the doctor promises to find the poison which killedSauvresy. "

M. Plantat stopped and hesitated. 

"In short, " he resumed, "I think you will be able to keep silenceas to what you have heard from me. "

M. Lecoq took him by the hand, and pressing it significantly, said:

"Count on me, Monsieur. "

At this moment Dr. Gendron appeared at the door. 

"Courtois is better, " said he. "He weeps like a child; but he willcome out of it. "

"Heaven be praised!" cried the old justice of the peace. "Now, since you've come, let us hurry off to Corbeil; Monsieur Domini, who is waiting for us this morning, must be mad with impatience. "

 XXIII

M. Plantat, in speaking of M. Domini's impatience, did not exaggeratethe truth. That personage was furious; he could not comprehend thereason of the prolonged absence of his three fellow-workers of theprevious evening. He had installed himself early in the morning inhis cabinet, at the court-house, enveloped in his judicial robe; andhe counted the minutes as they passed. His reflections during thenight, far from shaking, had only confirmed his opinion. As hereceded from the period of the crime, he found it very simple andnatural--indeed, the easiest thing in the world to account for. He was annoyed that the rest did not share his convictions, and heawaited their report in a state of irritation which his clerk onlytoo well perceived. He had eaten his breakfast in his cabinet, soas to be sure and be beforehand with M. Lecoq. It was a uselessprecaution; for the hours passed on and no one arrived. 

To kill time, he sent for Guespin and Bertaud and questioned themanew, but learned nothing more than he had extracted from them thenight before. One of the prisoners swore by all things sacred thathe knew nothing except what he had already told; the other preservedan obstinate and ferocious silence, confining himself to the remark:"I know that I am lost; do with me what you please. "

M. Domini was just going to send a mounted gendarme to Orcival tofind out the cause of the delay, when those whom he awaited wereannounced. He quickly gave the order to admit them, and so keenwas his curiosity, despite what he called his dignity, that he gotup and went forward to meet them. 

"How late you are!" said he. 

"And yet we haven't lost a minute, " replied M. Plantat. "We haven'teven been in bed. "

"There is news, then? Has the count's body been found?"

"There is much news, Monsieur, " said M. Lecoq. "But the count'sbody has not been found, and I dare even say that it will not befound--for the very simple fact that he has not been killed. Thereason is that he was not one of the victims, as at first supposed, but the assassin. "

At this distinct declaration on M. Lecoq's part, the judge startedin his seat. 

"Why, this is folly!" cried he. 

M. Lecoq never smiled in a magistrate's presence. "I do not thinkso, " said he, coolly; "I am persuaded that if Monsieur Domini willgrant me his attention for half an hour I will have the honor ofpersuading him to share my opinion. "

M. Domini's slight shrug of the shoulders did not escape thedetective, but he calmly continued:

"More; I am sure that Monsieur Domini will not permit me to leavehis cabinet without a warrant to arrest Count Hector de Tremorel, whom at present he thinks to be dead. "

"Possibly, " said M. Domini. "Proceed. "

M. Lecoq then rapidly detailed the facts gathered by himself and M. Plantat from the beginning of the inquest. He narrated them not asif he had guessed or been told of them, but in their order of timeand in such a manner that each new incident which, he mentionedfollowed naturally from the preceding one. He had completelyresumed his character of a retired haberdasher, with a little pipingvoice, and such obsequious expressions as, "I have the honor, " and"If Monsieur the Judge will deign to permit me;" he resorted to thecandy-box with the portrait, and, as the night before at Valfeuillu, chewed a lozenge when he came to the more striking points. M. Domini's surprise increased every minute as he proceeded; while attimes, exclamations of astonishment passed his lips: "Is itpossible?" "That is hard to believe!"

M. Lecoq finished his recital; he tranquilly munched a lozenge, andadded:

"What does Monsieur the Judge of Instruction think now?"

M. Domini was fain to confess that he was almost satisfied. A man, however, never permits an opinion deliberately and carefully formedto be refuted by one whom he looks on as an inferior, without asecret chagrin. But in this case the evidence was too abundant, and too positive to be resisted. 

"I am convinced, " said he, "that a crime was committed on MonsieurSauvresy with the dearly paid assistance of this Robelot. To-morrowI shall give instructions to Doctor Gendron to proceed at once to anexhumation and autopsy of the late master of Valfeuillu. "

"And you may be sure that I shall find the poison, " chimed in thedoctor. 

"Very well, " resumed M. Domini. "But does it necessarily follow thatbecause Monsieur Tremorel poisoned his friend to marry his widow, heyesterday killed his wife and then fled? I don't think so. "

"Pardon me, " objected Lecoq, gently. "It seems to me thatMademoiselle Courtois's supposed suicide proves at least something. "

"That needs clearing up. This coincidence can only be a matter ofpure chance. "

"But I am sure that Monsieur Tremorel shaved himself--of that wehave proof; then, we did not find the boots which, according tothe valet, he put on the morning of the murder. "

"Softly, softly, " interrupted the judge. "I don't pretend that youare absolutely wrong; it must be as you say; only I give you myobjections. Let us admit that Tremorel killed his wife, that hefled and is alive. Does that clear Guespin, and show that he tookno part in the murder?"

This was evidently the flaw in Lecoq's case; but being convincedof Hector's guilt, he had given little heed to the poor gardener, thinking that his innocence would appear of itself when the realcriminal was arrested. He was about to reply, when footsteps andvoices were heard in the corridor. 

"Stop, " said M. Domini. "Doubtless we shall now hear somethingimportant about Guespin. "

"Are you expecting some new witness?" asked M. Plantat. 

"No; I expect one of the Corbeil police to whom I have given animportant mission. "

"Regarding Guespin?"

"Yes. Very early this morning a young working-woman of the town, whom Guespin has been courting, brought me an excellent photographof him. I gave this portrait to the agent with instructions to goto the Vulcan's Forges and ascertain if Guespin had been seen there, and whether he bought anything there night before last. "

M. Lecoq was inclined to be jealous; the judge's proceedingruffled him, and he could not conceal an expressive grimace. 

"I am truly grieved, " said he, dryly, "that Monsieur the Judgehas so little confidence in me that he thinks it necessary to giveme assistance. "

This sensitiveness aroused M. Domini, who replied:

"Eh! my dear man, you can't be everywhere at once. I think youvery shrewd, but you were not here, and I was in a hurry. "

"A false step is often irreparable. "

"Make yourself easy; I've sent an intelligent man. " At this momentthe door opened, and the policeman referred to by the judgeappeared on the threshold. He was a muscular man about forty yearsold, with a military pose, a heavy mustache, and thick brows, meeting over the nose. He had a sly rather than a shrewd expression, so that his appearance alone seemed to awake all sorts of suspicionsand put one instinctively on his guard. 

"Good news!" said he in a big voice: "I didn't make the journey toParis for the King of Prussia; we are right on the track of thisrogue of a Guespin. "

M. Domini encouraged him with an approving gesture. 

"See here, Goulard, " said he, "let us go on in order if we can. Youwent then, according to my instructions, to the Vulcan's Forges?"

"At once, Monsieur. "

"Precisely. Had they seen the prisoner there?"

"Yes; on the evening of Wednesday, July 8th. "

"At what hour?"

"About ten o'clock, a few minutes before they shut up; so that hewas remarked, and the more distinctly observed. "

The judge moved his lips as if to make an objection, but was stoppedby a gesture from M. Lecoq. 

"And who recognized the photograph?"

"Three of the clerks. Guespin's manner first attracted theirattention. It was strange, so they said, and they thought he wasdrunk, or at least tipsy. Then their recollection was fixed by histalking very fast, saying that he was going to patronize them agreat deal, and that if they would make a reduction in their priceshe would procure for them the custom of an establishment whoseconfidence he possessed, the Gentil Jardinier, which bought a greatmany gardening tools. "

M. Domini interrupted the examination to consult some papers whichlay before him on his desk. It was, he found, the Gentil Jardinierwhich had procured Guespin his place in Tremorel's household. Thejudge remarked this aloud, and added:

"The question of identity seems to be settled. Guespin wasundoubtedly at the Vulcan's Forges on Wednesday night. "

"So much the better for him, " M. Lecoq could not help muttering. 

The judge heard him, but though the remark seemed singular to himhe did not notice it, and went on questioning the agent. 

"Well, did they tell you what Guespin went there to obtain?"

"The clerks recollected it perfectly. He first bought a hammer, a cold chisel, and a file. "

"I knew it, " exclaimed the judge. "And then?"

"Then--"

Here the man, ambitious to make a sensation among his hearers, rolled his eyes tragically, and in a dramatic tone, added:

"Then he bought a dirk knife!"

The judge felt that he was triumphing over M. Lecoq. 

"Well, " said he to the detective in his most ironical tone, "whatdo you think of your friend now? What do you say to this honestand worthy young man, who, on the very night of the crime, leavesa wedding where he would have had a good time, to go and buy ahammer, a chisel, and a dirk--everything, in short, used in themurder and the mutilation of the body?"

Dr. Gendron seemed a little disconcerted at this, but a sly smileoverspread M. Plantat's face. As for M. Lecoq, he had the air ofone who is shocked by objections which he knows he ought toannihilate by a word, and yet who is fain to be resigned to wastetime in useless talk, which he might put to great profit. 

"I think, Monsieur, " said he, very humbly, "that the murderers atValfeuillu did not use either a hammer or a chisel, or a file, andthat they brought no instrument at all from outside--since theyused a hammer. "

"And didn't they have a dirk besides?" asked the judge in abantering tone, confident that he was on the right path. 

"That is another question, I confess; but it is a difficult oneto answer. "

He began to lose patience. He turned toward the Corbeil policeman, and abruptly asked him:

"Is this all you know?"

The big man with the thick eyebrows superciliously eyed this littleParisian who dared to question him thus. He hesitated so long thatM. Lecoq, more rudely than before, repeated his question. 

"Yes, that's all, " said Goulard at last, "and I think it'ssufficient; the judge thinks so too; and he is the only person whogives me orders, and whose approbation I wish for. "

M. Lecoq shrugged his shoulders, and proceeded:

"Let's see; did you ask what was the shape of the dirk bought byGuespin? Was it long or short, wide or narrow?"

"Faith, no. What was the use?"

"Simply, my brave fellow, to compare this weapon with the victim'swounds, and to see whether its handle corresponds to that which lefta distinct and visible imprint between the victim's shoulders. "

"I forgot it; but it is easily remedied. "

"An oversight may, of course, be pardoned; but you can at least tellus in what sort of money Guespin paid for his purchases?"

The poor man seemed so embarrassed, humiliated, and vexed, that thejudge hastened to his assistance. 

"The money is of little consequence, it seems to me, " said he. 

"I beg you to excuse me I don't agree with you, " returned M. Lecoq. "This matter may be a very grave one. What is the most seriousevidence against Guespin? The money found in his pocket. Let ussuppose for a moment that night before last, at ten o'clock, hechanged a one-thousand-franc note in Paris. Could the obtainingof that note have been the motive of the crime at Valfeuillu? No, for up to that hour the crime had not been committed. Where couldit have come from? That is no concern of mine, at present. But ifmy theory is correct, justice will be forced to agree that theseveral hundred francs found in Guespin's possession can and mustbe the change for the note. "

"That is only a theory, " urged M. Domini in an irritated tone. 

"That is true; but one which may turn out a certainty. It remainsfor me to ask this man how Guespin carried away the articles whichhe bought? Did he simply slip them into his pocket, or did he havethem done up in a bundle, and if so, how?"

The detective spoke in a sharp, hard, freezing tone, with a bitterraillery in it, frightening his Corbeil colleague out of hisassurance. 

"I don't know, " stammered the latter. "They didn't tell me--Ithought--"

M. Lecoq raised his hands as if to call the heavens to witness: inhis heart, he was charmed with this fine occasion to revenge himselffor M. Domini's disdain. He could not, dared not say anything tothe judge; but he had the right to banter the agent and visit hiswrath upon him. 

"Ah so, my lad, " said he, "what did you go to Paris for? To showGuespin's picture and detail the crime to the people at Vulcan'sForges? They ought to be very grateful to you; but Madame Petit, Monsieur Plantat's housekeeper, would have done as much. "

At this stroke the man began to get angry; he frowned, and in hisbluffest tone, began:

"Look here now, you--"

"Ta, ta, ta, " interrupted M. Lecoq. "Let me alone, and know whois talking to you. I am Monsieur Lecoq. "

The effect of the famous detective's name on his antagonist wasmagical. He naturally laid down his arms and surrendered, straightway becoming respectful and obsequious. It almost flatteredhim to be roughly handled by such a celebrity. He muttered, in anabashed and admiring tone:

"What, is it possible? You, Monsieur Lecoq!"

"Yes, it is I, young man; but console yourself; I bear no grudgeagainst you. You don't know your trade, but you have done me aservice and you have brought us a convincing proof of Guespin'sinnocence. "

M. Domini looked on at this scene with secret chagrin. His recruitwent over to the enemy, yielding without a struggle to a confessedsuperiority. M. Lecoq's presumption, in speaking of a prisoner'sinnocence whose guilt seemed to the judge indisputable, exasperatedhim. 

"And what is this tremendous proof, if you please?" asked he. 

"It is simple and striking, " answered M. Lecoq, putting on his mostfrivolous air as his conclusions narrowed the field of probabilities. 

"You doubtless recollect that when we were at Valfeuillu we foundthe hands of the clock in the bedroom stopped at twenty minutes pastthree. Distrusting foul play, I put the striking apparatus inmotion--do you recall it? What happened? The clock struck eleven. That convinced us that the crime was committed before that hour. Butdon't you see that if Guespin was at the Vulcan's Forges at ten hecould not have got back to Valfeuillu before midnight? Therefore itwas not--he who did the deed. "

The detective, as he came to this conclusion, pulled out theinevitable box and helped himself to a lozenge, at the same timebestowing upon the judge a smile which said:

"Get out of that, if you can. "

The judge's whole theory tumbled to pieces if M. Lecoq's deductionswere right; but he could not admit that he had been so muchdeceived; he could not renounce an opinion formed by deliberatereflection. 

"I don't pretend that Guespin is the only criminal, " said he. "Hecould only have been an accomplice; and that he was. "

"An accomplice? No, Judge, he was a victim. Ah, Tremorel is agreat rascal! Don't you see now why he put forward the hands? Atfirst I didn't perceive the object of advancing the time five hours;now it is clear. In order to implicate Guespin the crime mustappear to have been committed after midnight, and--"

He suddenly checked himself and stopped with open mouth and fixedeyes as a new idea crossed his mind. The judge, who was bendingover his papers trying to find something to sustain his position, did not perceive this. 

"But then, " said the latter, "how do you explain Guespin's refusalto speak and to give an account of where he spent the night?"

M. Lecoq had now recovered from his emotion, and Dr. Gendron and M. Plantat, who were watching him with the deepest attention, saw atriumphant light in his eyes. Doubtless he had just found asolution of the problem which had been put to him. 

"I understand, " replied he, "and can explain Guespin's obstinatesilence. I should be perfectly amazed if he decided to speak justnow. "

M. Domini misconstrued the meaning of this; he thought he saw in ita covert intention to banter him. 

"He has had a night to reflect upon it, " he answered. "Is not twelvehours enough to mature a system of defence?"

The detective shook his head doubtfully. 

"It is certain that he does not need it, " said he. "Our prisonerdoesn't trouble himself about a system of defence, that I'llswear to. "

"He keeps quiet, because he hasn't been able to get up a plausiblestory. "

"No, no; believe me, he isn't trying to get up one. In my opinion, Guespin is a victim; that is, I suspect Tremorel of having set aninfamous trap for him, into which he has fallen, and in which hesees himself so completely caught that he thinks it useless tostruggle. The poor wretch is convinced that the more he resiststhe more surely he will tighten the web that is woven around him. "

"I think so, too, " said M. Plantat. 

"The true criminal, Count Hector, " resumed the detective, "lost hispresence of mind at the last moment, and thus lost all the advantageswhich his previous caution had gained. Don't let us forget that heis an able man, perfidious enough to mature the most infamousstratagems, and unscrupulous enough to execute them. He knows thatjustice must have its victims, one for every crime; he does notforget that the police, as long as it has not the criminal, isalways on the search with eye and ear open; and he has thrown usGuespin as a huntsman, closely pressed, throws his glove to the bearthat is close upon him. Perhaps he thought that the innocent manwould not be in danger of his life; at all events he hoped to gaintime by this ruse; while the bear is smelling and turning over theglove, the huntsman gains ground, escapes and reaches his place ofrefuge; that was what Tremorel proposed to do. "

The Corbeil policeman was now undoubtedly Lecoq's most enthusiasticlistener. Goulard literally drank in his chief's words. He hadnever heard any of his colleagues express themselves with suchfervor and authority; he had had no idea of such eloquence, and hestood erect, as if some of the admiration which he saw in all thefaces were reflected back on him. He grew in his own esteem as hethought that he was a soldier in an army commanded by such generals. He had no longer any opinion excepting that of his superior. Itwas not so easy to persuade, subjugate, and convince the judge. 

"But, " objected the latter, "you saw Guespin's countenance?"

"Ah, what matters the countenance--what does that prove? Don'twe know if you and I were arrested to-morrow on a terrible charge, what our bearing would be?"

M. Domini gave a significant start; this hypothesis scarcelypleased him. 

"And yet you and I are familiar with the machinery of justice. WhenI arrested Lanscot, the poor servant in the Rue Marignan, his firstwords were: 'Come on, my account is good. ' The morning that PapaTabaret and I took the Viscount de Commarin as he was getting outof bed, on the accusation of having murdered the widow Lerouge, hecried: 'I am lost. ' Yet neither of them were guilty; but both ofthem, the viscount and the valet, equal before the terror of apossible mistake of justice, and running over in their thoughtsthe charges which would be brought against them, had a moment ofoverwhelming discouragement. "

"But such discouragement does not last two days, " said M. Domini. 

M. Lecoq did not answer this; he went on, growing more animatedas he proceeded. 

"You and I have seen enough prisoners to know how deceitfulappearances are, and how little they are to be trusted. It wouldbe foolish to base a theory upon a prisoner's bearing. He whotalked about 'the cry of innocence' was an idiot, just as the manwas who prated about the 'pale stupor' of guilt. Neither crimenor virtue have, unhappily, any especial countenance. The Simongirl, who was accused of having killed her father, absolutelyrefused to answer any questions for twenty-two days; on thetwenty-third, the murderer was caught. As to the Sylvain affair--"

M. Domini rapped lightly on his desk to check the detective. As aman, the judge held too obstinately to his opinions; as a magistratehe was equally obstinate, but was at the same time ready to make anysacrifice of his self-esteem if the voice of duty prompted it. M. Lecoq's arguments had not shaken his convictions, but they imposedon him the duty of informing himself at once, and to either conquerthe detective or avow himself conquered. 

"You seem to be pleading, " said he to M. Lecoq. "There is no needof that here. We are not counsel and judge; the same honorableintentions animate us both. Each, in his sphere, is searching afterthe truth. You think you see it shining where I only discern clouds;and you may be mistaken as well as I. "

Then by an act of heroism, he condescended to add:

"What do you think I ought to do?"

The judge was at least rewarded for the effort he made by approvingglances from M. Plantat and the doctor. But M. Lecoq did not hastento respond; he had many weighty reasons to advance; that, he saw, was not what was necessary. He ought to present the facts, thereand at once, and produce one of those proofs which can be touchedwith the finger. How should he do it? His active mind searchedeagerly for such a proof. 

"Well?" insisted M. Domini. 

"Ah, " cried the detective. "Why can't I ask Guespin two or threequestions?"

The judge frowned; the suggestion seemed to him rather presumptuous. It is formally laid down that the questioning of the accused shouldbe done in secret, and by the judge alone, aided by his clerk. Onthe other hand it is decided, that after he has once beeninterrogated he may be confronted with witnesses. There are, besides, exceptions in favor of the members of the police force. M. Domini reflected whether there were any precedents to apply tothe case. 

"I don't know, " he answered at last, "to what point the law permitsme to consent to what you ask. However, as I am convinced theinterests of truth outweigh all rules, I shall take it on myselfto let you question Guespin. "

He rang; a bailiff appeared. 

"Has Guespin been carried back to prison?"

"Not yet, Monsieur. "

"So much the better; have him brought in here. "

M. Lecoq was beside himself with joy; he had not hoped to achievesuch a victory over one so determined as M. Domini. 

"He will speak now, " said he, so full of confidence that his eyesshone, and he forgot the portrait of the dear defunct, "for I havethree means of unloosening his tongue, one of which is sure tosucceed. But before he comes I should like to know one thing. Doyou know whether Tremorel saw Jenny after Sauvresy's death?"

"Jenny?" asked M. Plantat, a little surprised. 

"Yes. "

"Certainly he did. "

"Several times?"

"Pretty often. After the scene at the Belle Image the poor girlplunged into terrible dissipation. Whether she was smitten withremorse, or understood that it was her conduct which had killedSauvresy, or suspected the crime, I don't know. She began, however, to drink furiously, falling lower and lower every week--"

"And the count really consented to see her again?"

"He was forced to do so; she tormented him, and he was afraid ofher. When she had spent all her money she sent to him for more, and he gave it. Once he refused; and that very evening she wentto him the worse for wine, and he had the greatest difficulty inthe world to send her away again. In short, she knew what hisrelations with Madame Sauvresy had been, and she threatened him;it was a regular black-mailing operation. He told me all aboutthe trouble she gave him, and added that he would not be able toget rid of her without shutting her up, which he could not bringhimself to do. "

"How long ago was their last interview?"

"Why, " answered the doctor, "not three weeks ago, when I had aconsultation at Melun, I saw the count and this demoiselle at ahotel window; when he saw me he suddenly drew back. "

"Then, " said the detective, "there is no longer any doubt--"

He stopped. Guespin came in between two gendarmes. 

The unhappy gardener had aged twenty years in twenty-four hours. His eyes were haggard, his dry lips were bordered with foam. 

"Let us see, " said the judge. "Have you changed your mind aboutspeaking?"

The prisoner did not answer. 

"Have you decided to tell us about yourself?"

Guespin's rage made him tremble from head to foot, and his eyesbecame fiery. 

"Speak!" said he hoarsely. "Why should I?"

He added with the gesture of a desperate man who abandons himself, renounces all struggling and all hope:

"What have I done to you, my God, that you torture me this way?What do you want me to say? That I did this crime--is that whatyou want? Well, then--yes--it was I. Now you are satisfied. Now cut my head off, and do it quick--for I don't want to sufferany longer. "

A mournful silence welcomed Guespin's declaration. What, heconfessed it!

M. Domini had at least the good taste not to exult; he kept still, and yet this avowal surprised him beyond all expression. 

M. Lecoq alone, although surprised, was not absolutely put out ofcountenance. He approached Guespin and tapping him on the shoulder, said in a paternal tone:

"Come, comrade, what you are telling us is absurd. Do you thinkthe judge has any secret grudge against you? No, eh? Do yousuppose I am interested to have you guillotined? Not at all. Acrime has been committed, and we are trying to find the assassin. If you are innocent, help us to find the man who isn't: What wereyou doing from Wednesday evening till Thursday morning?"

But Guespin persisted in his ferocious and stupid obstinacy. 

"I've said what I have to say, " said he. 

M. Lecoq changed his tone to one of severity, stepping back to watchthe effect he was about to produce upon Guespin. 

"You haven't any right to hold your tongue. And even if you do, you fool, the police know everything. Your master sent you on anerrand, didn't he, on Wednesday night; what did he give you? Aone-thousand-franc note?"

The prisoner looked at M. Lecoq in speechless amazement. 

"No, " he stammered. "It was a five-hundred-franc note. "

The detective, like all great artists in a critical scene, wasreally moved. His surprising genius for investigation had justinspired him with a bold stroke, which, if it succeeded, wouldassure him the victory. 

"Now, " said he, "tell me the woman's name. "

"I don't know. "

"You are only a fool then. She is short, isn't she, quite pretty, brown and pale, with very large eyes?"

"You know her, then?" said Guespin, in a voice trembling withemotion. 

"Yes, comrade, and if you want to know her name, to put in yourprayers, she is called--Jenny. "

Men who are really able in some specialty, whatever it may be, neveruselessly abuse their superiority; their satisfaction at seeing itrecognized is sufficient reward. M. Lecoq softly enjoyed histriumph, while his hearers wondered at his perspicacity. A rapidchain of reasoning had shown him not only Tremorel's thoughts, butalso the means he had employed to accomplish his purpose. 

Guespin's astonishment soon changed to anger. He asked himself howthis man could have been informed of things which he had everyreason to believe were secret. Lecoq continued:

"Since I have told you the woman's name, tell me now, how and whythe count gave you a five-hundred-franc note. "

"It was just as I was going out. The count had no change, and didnot want to send me to Orcival for it. I was to bring back therest. "

"And why didn't you rejoin your companions at the wedding in theBatignolles?"

No answer. 

"What was the errand which you were to do for the count?"

Guespin hesitated. His eyes wandered from one to another of thosepresent, and he seemed to discover an ironical expression on allthe faces. It occurred to him that they were making sport of him, and had set a snare into which he had fallen. A great despairtook possession of him. 

"Ah, " cried he, addressing M. Lecoq, "you have deceived me. Youhave been lying so as to find out the truth. I have been such afool as to answer you, and you are going to turn it all against me. "

"What? Are you going to talk nonsense again?"

"No, but I see just how it is, and you won't catch me again! NowI'd rather die than say a word. "

The detective tried to reassure him; but he added:

"Besides, I'm as sly as you; I've told you nothing but lies. "

This sudden whim surprised no one. Some prisoners intrenchthemselves behind a system of defence, and nothing can divert themfrom it; others vary with each new question, denying what they havejust affirmed, and constantly inventing some new absurdity whichanon they reject again. M. Lecoq tried in vain to draw Guespinfrom his silence; M. Domini made the same attempt, and also failed;to all questions he only answered, "I don't know. "

At last the detective waxed impatient. 

"See here, " said he to Guespin, "I took you for a young man ofsense, and you are only an ass. Do you imagine that we don't knowanything? Listen: On the night of Madame Denis's wedding, youwere getting ready to go off with your comrades, and had justborrowed twenty francs from the valet, when the count called you. He made you promise absolute secrecy (a promise which, to do youjustice, you kept); he told you to leave the other servants atthe station and go to Vulcan's Forges, where you were to buy forhim a hammer, a file, a chisel, and a dirk; these you were to carryto a certain woman. Then he gave you this famous five-hundred-francnote, telling you to bring him back the change when you returnednext day. Isn't that so?"

An affirmative response glistened in the prisoner's eyes; still, he answered, "I don't recollect it. "

"Now, " pursued M. Lecoq, "I'm going to tell you what happenedafterwards. You drank something and got tipsy, and in short spenta part of the change of the note. That explains your fright whenyou were seized yesterday morning, before anybody said a word toyou. You thought you were being arrested for spending that money. Then, when you learned that the count had been murdered during thenight, recollecting that on the evening before you had bought allkinds of instruments of theft and murder, and that you didn't knoweither the address or the name of the woman to whom you gave upthe package, convinced that if you explained the source of themoney found in your pocket, you would not be believed--then, instead of thinking of the means to prove your innocence, youbecame afraid, and thought you would save yourself by holding yourtongue. "

The prisoner's countenance visibly changed; his nerves relaxed;his tight lips fell apart; his mind opened itself to hope. But hestill resisted. 

"Do with me as you like, " said he. 

"Eh! What should we do with such a fool as you?" cried M. Lecoqangrily. "I begin to think you are a rascal too. A decent fellowwould see that we wanted to get him out of a scrape, and he'd tellus the truth. You are prolonging your imprisonment by your ownwill. You'd better learn that the greatest shrewdness consists intelling the truth. A last time, will you answer?"

Guespin shook his head; no. 

"Go back to prison, then; since it pleases you, " concluded thedetective. He looked at the judge for his approval, and added:

"Gendarmes, remove the prisoner. "

The judge's last doubt was dissipated like the mist before the sun. He was, to tell the truth, a little uneasy at having treated thedetective so rudely; and he tried to repair it as much as he could. 

"You are an able man, Monsieur Lecoq, " said he. "Without speakingof your clearsightedness, which is so prompt as to seem almost likesecond sight, your examination just now was a master-piece of itskind. Receive my congratulations, to say nothing of the rewardwhich I propose to recommend in your favor to your chiefs. "

The detective at these compliments cast down his eyes with theabashed air of a virgin. He looked tenderly at the dear defunct'sportrait, and doubtless said to it:

"At last, darling, we have defeated him--this austere judge who soheartily detests the force of which we are the brightest ornament, makes his apologies; he recognizes and applauds our services. "

He answered aloud:

"I can only accept half of your eulogies, Monsieur; permit me tooffer the other half to my friend Monsieur Plantat. "

M. Plantat tried to protest. 

"Oh, " said he, "only for some bits of information! You would haveferreted out the truth without me all the same. "

The judge arose and graciously, but not without effort, extendedhis hand to M. Lecoq, who respectfully pressed it. 

"You have spared me, " said the judge, "a great remorse. Guespin'sinnocence would surely sooner or later have been recognized; butthe idea of having imprisoned an innocent man and harassed him withmy interrogatories, would have disturbed my sleep and tormented myconscience for a long time. "

"God knows this poor Guespin is not an interesting youth, " returnedthe detective. "I should be disposed to press him hard were I notcertain that he's half a fool. "

M. Domini gave a start. 

"I shall discharge him this very day, " said he, "this very hour. "

"It will be an act of charity, " said M. Lecoq; "but confound hisobstinacy; it was so easy for him to simplify my task. I might beable, by the aid of chance, to collect the principal facts--theerrand, and a woman being mixed up in the affair; but as I'm nomagician, I couldn't guess all the details. How is Jenny mixedup in this affair? Is she an accomplice, or has she only beenmade to play an ignorant part in it? Where did she meet Guespinand whither did she lead him? It is clear that she made the poorfellow tipsy so as to prevent his going to the Batignolles. Tremorel must have told her some false story--but what?"

"I don't think Tremorel troubled his head about so small a matter, "said M. Plantat. "He gave Guespin and Jenny some task, withoutexplaining it at all. "

M. Lecoq reflected a moment. 

"Perhaps you are right. But Jenny must have had special orders toprevent Guespin from putting in an alibi. "

"But, " said M. Domini, "Jenny will explain it all to us. "

"That is what I rely on; and I hope that within forty-eight hoursI shall have found her and brought her safely to Corbeil. "

He rose at these words, took his cane and hat, and turning to thejudge, said:

"Before retiring--"

"Yes, I know, " interrupted M. Domini, "you want a warrant to arrestHector de Tremorel. "

"I do, as you are now of my opinion that he is still alive. "

"I am sure of it. "

M. Domini opened his portfolio and wrote off a warrant as follows:

"By the law:"We, judge of instruction of the first tribunal, etc. , consideringarticles 91 and 94 of the code of criminal instruction, command andordain to all the agents of the police to arrest, in conformitywith the law, one Hector de Tremorel, etc. "

When he had finished, he said:

"Here it is, and may you succeed in speedily finding this greatcriminal. "

"Oh, he'll find him, " cried the Corbeil policeman. 

"I hope so, at least. As to how I shall go to work, I don't knowyet. I will arrange my plan of battle to-night. "

The detective then took leave of M. Domini and retired, followedby M. Plantat. The doctor remained with the judge to makearrangements for Sauvresy's exhumation. 

M. Lecoq was just leaving the court-house when he felt himselfpulled by the arm. He turned and found that it was Goulard whocame to beg his favor and to ask him to take him along, persuadedthat after having served under so great a captain he must inevitablybecome a famous man himself. M. Lecoq had some difficulty ingetting rid of him; but he at length found himself alone in thestreet with the old justice of the peace. 

"It is late, " said the latter. "Would it be agreeable to you topartake of another modest dinner with me, and accept my cordialhospitality?"

"I am chagrined to be obliged to refuse you, " replied M. Lecoq. "But I ought to be in Paris this evening. "

"But I--in fact, I--was very anxious to talk to you--about--"

"About Mademoiselle Laurence?"

"Yes; I have a plan, and if you would help me--"

M. Lecoq affectionately pressed his friend's hand. 

"I have only known you a few hours, " said he, "and yet I am asdevoted to you as I would be to an old friend. All that is humanlypossible for me to do to serve you, I shall certainly do. "

"But where shall I see you? They expect me to-day at Orcival. "

"Very well; to-morrow morning at nine, at my rooms. No--RueMontmartre. "

"A thousand thanks; I shall be there. "

When they had reached the Belle Image they separated. 

 XXIV

Nine o'clock had just struck in the belfry of the church of St. Eustache, when M. Plantat reached Rue Montmartre, and entered thehouse bearing the number which M. Lecoq had given him. 

"Monsieur Lecoq?" said he to an old woman who was engaged in gettingbreakfast for three large cats which were mewing around her. Thewoman scanned him with a surprised and suspicious air. M. Plantat, when he was dressed up, had much more the appearance of a fine oldgentleman than of a country attorney; and though the detectivereceived many visits from all sorts of people, it was rarely thatthe denizens of the Faubourg Saint Germaine rung his bell. 

"Monsieur Lecoq's apartments, " answered the old woman, "are on thethird story, the door facing the stairs. "

The justice of the peace slowly ascended the narrow, ill-lightedstaircase, which in its dark corners was almost dangerous. He wasthinking of the strange step he was about to take. An idea hadoccurred to him, but he did not know whether it were practicable, and at all events he needed the aid and advice of the detective. He was forced to disclose his most secret thoughts, as it were, to confess himself; and his heart beat fast. The door opposite thestaircase on the third story was not like other doors; it was ofplain oak, thick, without mouldings, and fastened with iron bars. It would have looked like a prison door had not its sombreness beenlightened by a heavily colored engraving of a cock crowing, withthe legend "Always Vigilant. " Had the detective put his coat ofarms up there? Was it not more likely that one of his men had doneit? After examining the door more than a minute, and hesitatinglike a youth before his beloved's gate, he rang the bell. Acreaking of locks responded, and through the narrow bars of thepeephole he saw the hairy face of an old crone. 

"What do you want?" said the woman, in a deep, bass voice. 

"Monsieur Lecoq. "

"What do you want of him?"

"He made an appointment with me for this morning. "

"Your name and business?"

"Monsieur Plantat, justice of the peace at Orcival. "

"All right. Wait. "

The peephole was closed and the old man waited. 

"Peste!" growled he. "Everybody can't get in here, it seems. "Hardly had this reflection passed through his mind when the dooropened with a noise as of chains and locks. He entered, and theold crone, after leading him through a dining-room whose solefurniture was a table and six chairs, introduced him to a largeroom, half toilet-room and half working-room, lighted by two windowslooking on the court, and guarded by strong, close bars. 

"If you will take the trouble to sit, " said the servant, "MonsieurLecoq will soon be here; he is giving orders to one of his men. "

But M. Plantat did not take a seat; he preferred to examine thecurious apartment in which he found himself. The whole of oneside of the wall was taken up with a long rack, where hung thestrangest and most incongruous suits of clothes. There werecostumes belonging to all grades of society; and on some woodenpegs above, wigs of all colors were hanging; while boots and shoesof various styles were ranged on the floor. A toilet-table, covered with powders, essences, and paints, stood between thefireplace and the window. On the other side of the room was abookcase full of scientific works, especially of physic andchemistry. The most singular piece of furniture in the apartment, however, was a large ball, shaped like a lozenge, in black velvet, suspended beside the looking-glass. A quantity of pins were stuckin this ball, so as to form the letters composing these two names:HECTOR-JENNY. 

These names glittering on the black background attracted the oldman's attention at once. This must have been M. Lecoq's reminder. The ball was meant to recall to him perpetually the people of whomhe was in pursuit. Many names, doubtless, had in turn glittered onthat velvet, for it was much frayed and perforated. An unfinishedletter lay open upon the bureau. 

M. Plantat leaned over to read it; but he took his trouble fornothing, for it was written in cipher. 

He had no sooner finished his inspection of the room than the noiseof a door opening made him turn round. He saw before him a man ofhis own age, of respectable mien, and polite manners, a little bald, with gold spectacles and a light-colored flannel dressing-gown. 

M. Plantat bowed, saying:

"I am waiting here for Monsieur Lecoq. "

The man in gold spectacles burst out laughing, and clapped hishands with glee. 

"What, dear sir, " said he, "don't you know me? Look at me well--it is I--Monsieur Lecoq!" And to convince him, he took off hisspectacles. Those might, indeed, be Lecoq's eyes, and that hisvoice; M. Plantat was confounded. 

"I never should have recognized you, " said he. 

"It's true, I have changed a little--but what would you have? It'smy trade. "

And pushing a chair toward his visitor, he pursued:

"I have to beg a thousand pardons for the formalities you've hadto endure to get in here; it's a dire necessity, but one I can'thelp. I have told you of the dangers to which I am exposed; theypursue me to my very door. Why, last week a railway porter broughta package here addressed to me. Janouille--that's my old woman--suspected nothing, though she has a sharp nose, and told him tocome in. He held out the package, I went up to take it, when pif!paf! off went two pistol-shots. The package was a revolver wrappedup in oilcloth, and the porter was a convict escaped from Cayenne, caught by me last year. Ah, I put him through for this though!"

He told this adventure carelessly, as if it were the most naturalthing in the world. 

"But let's not starve ourselves to death, " he continued, ringingthe bell. The old hag appeared, and he ordered her to bring onbreakfast forthwith, and above all, some good wine. 

"You are observing my Janouille, " remarked he, seeing that M. Plantat looked curiously at the servant. "She's a pearl, my dearfriend, who watches over me as if I were her child, and would gothrough the fire for me. I had a good deal of trouble the otherday to prevent her strangling the false railway porter. I pickedher out of three or four thousand convicts. She had been convictedof infanticide and arson. I would bet a hundred to one that, during the three years that she has been in my service, she has noteven thought of robbing me of so much as a centime. "

But M. Plantat only listened to him with one ear; he was trying tofind an excuse for cutting Janouille's story short, and to lead theconversation to the events of the day before. 

"I have, perhaps, incommoded you a little this morning, MonsieurLecoq?"

"Me? then you did not see my motto--'always vigilant?' Why, I'vebeen out ten times this morning; besides marking out work for threeof my men. Ah, we have little time to ourselves, I can tell you. I went to the Vulcan's Forges to see what news I could get of thatpoor devil of a Guespin. "

"And what did you hear?"

"That I had guessed right. He changed a five-hundred-franc notethere last Wednesday evening at a quarter before ten. "

"That is to say, he is saved?"

"Well, you may say so. He will be, as soon as we have found MissJenny. "

The old justice of the peace could not avoid showing his uneasiness. 

"That will, perhaps, be long and difficult?"

"Bast! Why so? She is on my black ball there--we shall have her, accidents excepted, before night. "

"You really think so?"

"I should say I was sure, to anybody but you. Reflect that thisgirl has been connected with the Count de Tremorel, a man of theworld, a prince of the mode. When a girl falls to the gutter, afterhaving, as they say, dazzled all Paris for six months with herluxury, she does not disappear entirely, like a stone in the mud. When she has lost all her friends there are still her creditors, whofollow and watch her, awaiting the day when fortune will smile onher once more. She doesn't trouble herself about them, she thinksthey've forgotten her; a mistake! I know a milliner whose head isa perfect dictionary of the fashionable world; she has often doneme a good turn. We will go and see her if you say so, afterbreakfast, and in two hours she will give us Jenny's address. Ah, if I were only as sure of pinching Tremorel!"

M. Plantat gave a sigh of relief. The conversation at last tookthe turn he wished. 

"You are thinking of him, then?" asked he. 

"Am I?" shouted M. Lecoq, who started from his seat at the question. "Now just look at my black ball there. I haven't thought of anybodyelse, mark you, since yesterday; I haven't had a wink of sleep allnight for thinking of him. I must have him, and I will!"

"I don't doubt it; but when?"

"Ah, there it is! Perhaps to-morrow, perhaps in a month; it dependson the correctness of my calculations and the exactness of my plan. "

"What, is your plan made?"

"And decided on. "

M. Plantat became attention itself. 

"I start from the principle that it is impossible for a man, accompanied by a woman, to hide from the police. In this case, the woman is young, pretty, and in a noticeable condition; threeimpossibilities more. Admit this, and we'll study Hector'scharacter. He isn't a man of superior shrewdness, for we havefound out all his dodges. He isn't a fool, because his dodgesdeceived people who are by no means fools. He is then a mediumsort of a man, and his education, reading, relations, and dailyconversation have procured him a number of acquaintances whom hewill try to use. Now for his mind. We know the weakness of hischaracter; soft, feeble, vacillating, only acting in the lastextremity. We have seen him shrinking from decisive steps, tryingalways to delay matters. He is given to being deceived byillusions, and to taking his desires for accomplished events. Inshort, he is a coward. And what is his situation? He has killedhis wife, he hopes he has created a belief in his own death, he haseloped with a young girl, and he has got nearly or quite a millionof francs in his pocket. Now, this position admitted, as well asthe man's character and mind, can we by an effort of thought, reasoning from his known actions, discover what he has done in suchand such a case? I think so, and I hope I shall prove it to you. "

M. Lecoq rose and promenaded, as his habit was, up and down theroom. "Now let's see, " he continued, "how I ought to proceed inorder to discover the probable conduct of a man whose antecedents, traits, and mind are known to me. To begin with, I throw off myown individuality and try to assume his. I substitute his will formy own. I cease to be a detective and become this man, whatever heis. In this case, for instance, I know very well what I should doif I were Tremorel. I should take such measures as would throw allthe detectives in the universe off the scent. But I must forgetMonsieur Lecoq in order to become Hector de Tremorel. How would aman reason who was base enough to rob his friend of his wife, andthen see her poison her husband before his very eyes? We alreadyknow that Tremorel hesitated a good while before deciding to committhis crime. The logic of events, which fools call fatality, urgedhim on. It is certain that he looked upon the murder in every pointof view, studied its results, and tried to find means to escape fromjustice. All his acts were determined on long beforehand, andneither immediate necessity nor unforeseen circumstances disturbedhis mind. The moment he had decided on the crime, he said tohimself: 'Grant that Bertha has been murdered; thanks to myprecautions, they think that I have been killed too; Laurence, with whom I elope, writes a letter in which she announces hersuicide; I have money, what must I do?' The problem, it seems tome, is fairly put in this way. "

"Perfectly so, " approved M. Plantat. 

"Naturally, Tremorel would choose from among all the methods offlight of which he had ever heard, or which he could imagine, thatwhich seemed to him the surest and most prompt. Did he meditateleaving the country? That is more than probable. Only, as he wasnot quite out of his senses, he saw that it was most difficult, ina foreign country, to put justice off the track. If a man fliesfrom France to escape punishment, he acts absurdly. Fancy a manand woman wandering about a country of whose language they areignorant; they attract attention at once, are observed, talkedabout, followed. They do not make a purchase which is not remarked;they cannot make any movement without exciting curiosity. Thefurther they go the greater their danger. If they choose to crossthe ocean and go to free America, they must go aboard a vessel; andthe moment they do that they may be considered as good as lost. You might bet twenty to one they would find, on landing on the otherside, a detective on the pier armed with a warrant to arrest them. I would engage to find a Frenchman in eight days, even in London, unless he spoke pure enough English to pass for a citizen of theUnited Kingdom. Such were Tremorel's reflections. He recollecteda thousand futile attempts, a hundred surprising adventures, narrated by the papers; and it is certain that he gave up the ideaof going abroad. "

"It's clear, " cried M. Plantat, "perfectly plain and precise. Wemust look for the fugitives in France. "

"Yes, " replied M. Lecoq. "Now let's find out where and how peoplecan hide themselves in France. Would it be in the provinces?Evidently not. In Bordeaux, one of our largest cities, people stareat a man who is not a Bordelais. The shopkeepers on the quays sayto their neighbors: 'Eh! do you know that man?' There are twocities, however, where a man may pass unnoticed--Marseilles andLyons; but both of these are distant, and to reach them a longjourney must be risked--and nothing is so dangerous as the railwaysince the telegraph was established. One can fly quickly, it'strue; but on entering a railway carriage a man shuts himself in, and until he gets out of it he remains under the thumb of thepolice. Tremorel knows all this as well as we do. We will put allthe large towns, including Lyons and Marseilles, out of thequestion. "

"In short, it's impossible to hide in the provinces. "

"Excuse me--there is one means; that is, simply to buy a modestlittle place at a distance from towns and railways, and to go andreside on it under a false name. But this excellent project isquite above Tremorel's capacity, and requires preparatory stepswhich he could not risk, watched as he was by his wife. The fieldof investigation is thus much narrowed. Putting aside foreignparts, the provinces, the cities, the country, Paris remains. Itis in Paris that we must look for Tremorel. "

M. Lecoq spoke with the certainty and positiveness of amathematical professor; the old justice of the peace listened, asdo the professor's scholars. But he was already accustomed to thedetective's surprising clearness, and was no longer astonished. During the four-and-twenty hours that he had been witnessing M. Lecoq's calculations and gropings, he had seized the process andalmost appropriated it to himself. He found this method ofreasoning very simple, and could now explain to himself certainexploits of the police which had hitherto seemed to him miraculous. But M. Lecoq's "narrow field" of observation appeared still immense. 

"Paris is a large place, " observed the old justice. 

M. Lecoq smiled loftily. 

"Perhaps so; but it is mine. All Paris is under the eye of thepolice, just as an ant is under that of the naturalist with hismicroscope. How is it, you may ask, that Paris still holds somany professional rogues? Ah, that is because we are hampered bylegal forms. The law compels us to use only polite weapons againstthose to whom all weapons are serviceable. The courts tie ourhands. The rogues are clever, but be sure that our cleverness ismuch greater than theirs. "

"But, " interrupted M. Plantat, "Tremorel is now outside the law;we have the warrant. "

"What matters it? Does the warrant give me the right to search anyhouse in which I may have reason to suppose he is hiding himself?No. If I should go to the house of one of Hector's old friends hewould kick me out of doors. You must know that in France the policehave to contend not only with the rogues, but also with the honestpeople. "

M. Lecoq always waxed warm on this subject; he felt a strongresentment against the injustice practised on his profession. Fortunately, at the moment when he was most excited, the black ballsuddenly caught his eye. 

"The devil!" exclaimed he, "I was forgetting Hector. "

M. Plantat, though listening patiently to his companion's indignantutterances, could not help thinking of the murderer. 

"You said that we must look for Tremorel in Paris, " he remarked. 

"And I said truly, " responded M. Lecoq in a calmer tone. "I havecome to the conclusion that here, perhaps within two streets ofus, perhaps in the next house, the fugitives are hid. But let's goon with our calculation of probabilities. Hector knows Paris toowell to hope to conceal himself even for a week in a hotel orlodging-house; he knows these are too sharply watched by the police. He had plenty of time before him, and so arranged to hire apartmentsin some convenient house. "

"He came to Paris three or four times some weeks ago. "

"Then there's no longer any doubt about it. He hired someapartments under a false name, paid in advance, and to-day he iscomfortably ensconced in his new residence. "

M. Plantat seemed to feel extremely distressed at this. 

"I know it only too well, Monsieur Lecoq, " said he, sadly. "Youmust be right. But is not the wretch thus securely hidden from us?Must we wait till some accident reveals him to us? Can you searchone by one all the houses in Paris?"

The detective's nose wriggled under his gold spectacles, and thejustice of the peace, who observed it, and took it for a good sign, felt all his hopes reviving in him. 

"I've cudgelled my brain in vain--" he began. 

"Pardon me, " interrupted M. Lecoq. "Having hired apartments, Tremorel naturally set about furnishing them. "

"Evidently. "

"Of course he would furnish them sumptuously, both because he isfond of luxury and has plenty of money, and because he couldn'tcarry a young girl from a luxurious home to a garret. I'd wagerthat they have as fine a drawing-room as that at Valfeuillu. "

"Alas! How can that help us?"

"Peste! It helps us much, my dear friend, as you shall see. Hector, as he wished for a good deal of expensive furniture, did not haverecourse to a broker; nor had he time to go to the Faubourg St. Antoine. Therefore, he simply went to an upholsterer. "

"Some fashionable upholsterer--"

"No, he would have risked being recognized. It is clear that heassumed a false name, the same in which he had hired his rooms. Hechose some shrewd and humble upholsterer, ordered his goods, madesure that they would be delivered on a certain day, and paid forthem. "

M. Plantat could not repress a joyful exclamation; he began to seeM. Lecoq's drift. 

"This merchant, " pursued the latter, "must have retained his richcustomer in his memory, this customer who did not beat him down, and paid cash. If he saw him again, he would recognize him. "

"What an idea!" cried M. Plantat, delighted. "Let's get photographsand portraits of Tremorel as quick as we can--let's send a man toOrcival for them. "

M. Lecoq smiled shrewdly and proceeded:

"Keep yourself easy; I have done what was necessary. I slippedthree of the count's cartes-de-visite in my pocket yesterday duringthe inquest. This morning I took down, out of the directory, thenames of all the upholsterers in Paris, and made three lists ofthem. At this moment three of my men, each with a list and aphotograph, are going from upholsterer to upholsterer showing themthe picture and asking them if they recognize it as the portrait ofone of their customers. If one of them answers 'yes, ' we've gotour man. "

"And we will get him!" cried the old man, pale with emotion. 

"Not yet; don't shout victory too soon. It is possible that Hectorwas prudent enough not to go to the upholsterer's himself. In thiscase we are beaten in that direction. But no, he was not so slyas that--"

M. Lecoq checked himself. Janouille, for the third time, openedthe door, and said, in a deep bass voice:

"Breakfast is ready. "

Janouille was a remarkable cook; M. Plantat had ample experience ofthe fact when he began upon her dishes. But he was not hungry, andcould not force himself to eat; he could not think of anything buta plan which he had to propose to his host, and he had thatoppressive feeling which is experienced when one is about to dosomething which has been decided on with hesitation and regret. The detective, who, like all men of great activity, was a greateater, vainly essayed to entertain his guest, and filled his glasswith the choicest Chateau Margaux; the old man sat silent and sad, and only responded by monosyllables. He tried to speak out and tostruggle against the hesitation he felt. He did not think, when hecame, that he should have this reluctance; he had said to himselfthat he would go in and explain himself. Did he fear to beridiculed? No. His passion was above the fear of sarcasm or irony. And what did he risk? Nothing. Had not M. Lecoq already divinedthe secret thoughts he dared not impart to him, and read his heartfrom the first? He was reflecting thus when the door-bell rang. Janouille went to the door, and speedily returned with theannouncement that Goulard begged to speak with M. Lecoq, and askedif she should admit him. 

"Certainly. "

The chains clanked and the locks scraped, and presently Goulardmade his appearance. He had donned his best clothes, with spotlesslinen, and a very high collar. He was respectful, and stood asstiffly as a well-drilled grenadier before his sergeant. 

"What the deuce brought you here?" said M. Lecoq, sternly. "Andwho dared to give you my address?"

"Monsieur, " said Goulard, visibly intimidated by his reception, "please excuse me; I was sent by Doctor Gendron with this letterfor Monsieur Plantat. "

"Oh, " cried M. Plantat, "I asked the doctor, last evening, to letme know the result of the autopsy, and not knowing where I shouldput up, took the liberty of giving your address. "

M. Lecoq took the letter and handed it to his guest. "Read it, read it, " said the latter. "There is nothing in it to conceal. "

"All right; but come into the other room. Janouille, give this mansome breakfast. Make yourself at home, Goulard, and empty a bottleto my health. "

When the door of the other room was closed, M. Lecoq broke the sealof the letter, and read:

"MY DEAR PLANTAT:

"You asked me for a word, so I scratch off a line or two which Ishall send to our sorcerer's--"

"Oh, ho, " cried M. Lecoq. "Monsieur Gendron is too good, tooflattering, really!"

No matter, the compliment touched his heart. He resumed the letter:

"At three this morning we exhumed poor Sauvresy's body. Icertainly deplore the frightful circumstances of this worthy man'sdeath as much as anyone; but on the other hand, I cannot helprejoicing at this excellent opportunity to test the efficacy of mysensitive paper--"

"Confound these men of science, " cried the indignant Plantat. "Theyare all alike!"

"Why so? I can very well comprehend the doctor's involuntarysensations. Am I not ravished when I encounter a fine crime?"

And without waiting for his guest's reply, he continued reading theletter:

"The experiments promised to be all the more conclusive asaconitine is one of those drugs which conceal themselves mostobstinately from analysis. I proceed thus: After heating thesuspected substances in twice their weight of alcohol, I drop theliquid gently into a vase with edges a little elevated, at thebottom of which is a piece of paper on which I have placed my tests. If my paper retains its color, there is no poison; if it changes, the poison is there. In this case my paper was of a light yellowcolor, and if we were not mistaken, it ought either to becomecovered with brown spots, or completely brown. I explained thisexperiment beforehand to the judge of instruction and the expertswho were assisting me. Ah, my friend, what a success I had! Whenthe first drops of alcohol fell, the paper at once became a darkbrown; your suspicions are thus proved to be quite correct. Thesubstances which I submitted to the test were liberally saturatedwith aconitine. I never obtained more decisive results in mylaboratory. I expect that my conclusions will be disputed in court;but I have means of verifying them, so that I shall surely confoundall the chemists who oppose me. I think, my dear friend, that youwill not be indifferent to the satisfaction I feel--"

M. Plantat lost patience. 

"This is unheard-of!" cried he. "Incredible! Would you say, now, that this poison which he found in Sauvresy's body was stolen fromhis own laboratory? Why, that body is nothing more to him than'suspected matter!' And he already imagines himself discussing themerits of his sensitive paper in court!"

"He has reason to look for antagonists in court. "

"And meanwhile he makes his experiments, and analyzes with thecoolest blood in the world; he continues his abominable cooking, boiling and filtering, and preparing his arguments--!"

M. Lecoq did not share in his friend's indignation; he was not sorryat the prospect of a bitter struggle in court, and he imagined agreat scientific duel, like that between Orfila and Raspail, theprovincial and Parisian chemists. 

"If Tremorel has the face to deny his part in Sauvresy's murder, "said he, "we shall have a superb trial of it. "

This word "trial" put an end to M. Plantat's long hesitation. 

"We mustn't have any trial, " cried he. 

The old man's violence, from one who was usually so calm andself-possessed, seemed to amaze M. Lecoq. 

"Ah ha, " thought he, "I'm going to know all. " He added aloud:

"What, no trial?"

M. Plantat had turned whiter than a sheet; he was trembling, andhis voice was hoarse, as if broken by sobs. 

"I would give my fortune, " resumed he "to avoid a trial--everycentime of it, though it doesn't amount to much. But how can wesecure this wretch Tremorel from a conviction? What subterfugeshall we invent? You alone, my friend, can advise me in thefrightful extremity to which you see me reduced, and aid me toaccomplish what I wish. If there is any way in the world, youwill find it and save me--"

"But, my--"

"Pardon--hear me, and you will comprehend me. I am going to be frankwith you, as I would be with myself; and you will see the reason ofmy hesitation, my silence, in short, of all my conduct since thediscovery of the crime. "

"I am listening. "

"It's a sad history, Lecoq. I had reached an age at which a man'scareer is, as they say, finished, when I suddenly lost my wife andmy two sons, my whole joy, my whole hope in this world. I foundmyself alone in life, more lost than the shipwrecked man in themidst of the sea, without a plank to sustain me. I was a soullessbody, when chance brought me to settle down at Orcival. There Isaw Laurence; she was just fifteen, and never lived there acreature who united in herself so much intelligence, grace, innocence, and beauty. Courtois became my friend, and soon Laurencewas like a daughter to me. I doubtless loved her then, but I didnot confess it to myself, for I did not read my heart clearly. Shewas so young, and I had gray hairs! I persuaded myself that mylove for her was like that of a father, and it was as a father thatshe cherished me. Ah, I passed many a delicious hour listening toher gentle prattle and her innocent confidences; I was happy whenI saw her skipping about in my garden, picking the roses I hadreared for her, and laying waste my parterres; and I said tomyself that existence is a precious gift from God. My dream thenwas to follow her through life. I fancied her wedded to somegood man who made her happy, while I remained the friend of thewife, after having been the confidant of the maiden. I took goodcare of my fortune, which is considerable, because I thought ofher children, and wished to hoard up treasures for them. Poor, poor Laurence!"

M. Lecoq fidgeted in his chair, rubbed his face with hishandkerchief, and seemed ill at ease. He was really much moretouched than he wished to appear. 

"One day, " pursued the old man, "my friend Courtois spoke to me ofher marriage with Tremorel; then I measured the depth of my love. I felt terrible agonies which it is impossible to describe; it waslike a long-smothered fire which suddenly breaks forth and devourseverything. To be old, and to love a child! I thought I wasgoing crazy; I tried to reason, to upbraid myself, but it was ofno avail. What can reason or irony do against passion? I keptsilent and suffered. To crown all, Laurence selected me as herconfidant--what torture! She came to me to talk of Hector; sheadmired in him all that seemed to her superior to other men, sothat none could be compared with him. She was enchanted with hisbold horseback riding, and thought everything he said sublime. "

"Did you know what a wretch Tremorel was?"

"Alas, I did not yet know it. What was this man who lived atValfeuillu to me? But from the day that I learned that he wasgoing to deprive me of my most precious treasure, I began tostudy him. I should have been somewhat consoled if I had foundhim worthy of her; so I dogged him, as you, Monsieur Lecoq, clingto the criminal whom you are pursuing. I went often to Paris tolearn what I could of his past life; I became a detective, andwent about questioning everybody who had known him, and the moreI heard of him the more I despised him. It was thus that I foundout his interviews with Jenny and his relations with Bertha. "

"Why didn't you divulge them?"

"Honor commanded silence. Had I a right to dishonor my friend andruin his happiness and life, because of this ridiculous, hopelesslove? I kept my own counsel after speaking to Courtois about Jenny, at which he only laughed. When I hinted something against Hectorto Laurence, she almost ceased coming to see me. "

"Ah! I shouldn't have had either your patience or your generosity. "

"Because you are not as old as I, Monsieur Lecoq. Oh, I cruellyhated this Tremorel! I said to myself, when I saw three women ofsuch different characters smitten with him, 'what is there in himto be so loved?'"

"Yes, " answered M. Lecoq, responding to a secret thought, "womenoften err; they don't judge men as we do. "

"Many a time, " resumed the justice of the peace, "I thought ofprovoking him to fight with me, that I might kill him; but thenLaurence would not have looked at me any more. However, I shouldperhaps have spoken at last, had not Sauvresy fallen ill and died. I knew that he had made his wife and Tremorel swear to marry eachother; I knew that a terrible reason forced them to keep theiroath; and I thought Laurence saved. Alas, on the contrary she waslost! One evening, as I was passing the mayor's house, I saw aman getting over the wall into the garden; it was Tremorel. Irecognized him perfectly. I was beside myself with rage, and sworethat I would wait and murder him. I did wait, but he did not comeout that night. "

M. Plantat hid his face in his hands; his heart bled at therecollection of that night of anguish, the whole of which he hadpassed in waiting for a man in order to kill him. M. Lecoq trembledwith indignation. 

"This Tremorel, " cried he, "is the most abominable of scoundrels. There is no excuse for his infamies and crimes. And yet you wantto save him from trial, the galleys, the scaffold which await him. "

The old man paused a moment before replying. Of the thoughts whichnow crowded tumultuously in his mind, he did not know which toutter first. Words seemed powerless to betray his sensations; hewanted to express all that he felt in a single sentence. 

"What matters Tremorel to me?" said he at last. "Do you think Icare about him? I don't care whether he lives or dies, whether hesucceeds in flying or ends his life some morning in the PlaceRoquette. "

"Then why have you such a horror of a trial?"

"Because--"

"Are you a friend to his family, and anxious to preserve the greatname which he has covered with mud and devoted to infamy?"

"No, but I am anxious for Laurence, my friend; the thought of hernever leaves me. "

"But she is not his accomplice; she is totally ignorant--there'sno doubt of it--that he has killed his wife. "

"Yes, " resumed M. Plantat, "Laurence is innocent; she is only thevictim of an odious villain. It is none the less true, though, that she would be more cruelly punished than he. If Tremorel isbrought before the court, she will have to appear too, as a witnessif not as a prisoner. And who knows that her truth will not besuspected? She will be asked whether she really had no knowledgeof the project to murder Bertha, and whether she did not encourageit. Bertha was her rival; it is natural to suppose that shehated her. If I were the judge I should not hesitate to includeLaurence in the indictment. "

"With our aid she will prove victoriously that she was ignorant ofall, and has been outrageously deceived. "

"May be; but will she be any the less dishonored and forever lost?Must she not, in that case, appear in public, answer the judge'squestions, and narrate the story of her shame and misfortunes?Must not she say where, when, and how she fell, and repeat thevillain's words to her? Can you imagine that of her own free willshe compelled herself to announce her suicide at the risk ofkilling her parents with grief? No. Then she must explain whatmenaces forced her to do this, which surely was not her own idea. And worse than all, she will be compelled to confess her love forTremorel. "

"No, " answered the detective. "Let us not exaggerate anything. You know as well as I do that justice is most considerate with theinnocent victims of affairs of this sort. "

"Consideration? Eh! Could justice protect her, even if it would, from the publicity in which trials are conducted? You might touchthe magistrates' hearts; but there are fifty journalists who, sincethis crime, have been cutting their pens and getting their paperready. Do you think that, to please us, they would suppress thescandalous proceedings which I am anxious to avoid, and which thenoble name of the murderer would make a great sensation? Does notthis case unite every feature which gives success to judicialdramas? Oh, there's nothing wanting, neither unworthy passion, nor poison, nor vengeance, nor murder. Laurence represents in itthe romantic and sentimental element; she--my darling girl--willbecome a heroine of the assizes; it is she who will attract thereaders of the Police Gazette; the reporters will tell when sheblushes and when she weeps; they will rival each other in describingher toilet and bearing. Then there will be the photographersbesieging her, and if she refuses to sit, portraits of some hussyof the street will be sold as hers. She will yearn to hide herself--but where? Can a few locks and bars shelter her from eagercuriosity? She will become famous. What shame and misery! If sheis to be saved, Monsieur Lecoq, her name must not be spoken. I askof you, is it possible? Answer me. "

The old man was very violent, yet his speech was simple, devoid ofthe pompous phrases of passion. Anger lit up his eyes with astrange fire; he seemed young again--he loved, and defended hisbeloved. 

M. Lecoq was silent; his companion insisted. 

"Answer me. "

"Who knows?"

"Why seek to mislead me? Haven't I as well as you had experiencein these things? If Tremorel is brought to trial, all is over withLaurence! And I love her! Yes, I dare to confess it to you, andlet you see the depth of my grief, I love her now as I have neverloved her. She is dishonored, an object of contempt, perhaps stilladores this wretch--what matters it? I love her a thousand timesmore than before her fall, for then I loved her without hope, whilenow--"

He stopped, shocked at what he was going to say. His eyes fellbefore M. Lecoq's steady gaze, and he blushed for this shameful yethuman hope that he had betrayed. 

"You know all, now, " resumed he, in a calmer tone; "consent to aidme, won't you? Ah, if you only would, I should not think I hadrepaid you were I to give you half my fortune--and I am rich--"

M. Lecoq stopped him with a haughty gesture. 

"Enough, Monsieur Plantat, " said he, in a bitter tone, "I can do aservice to a person whom I esteem, love and pity with all my soul;but I cannot sell such a service. "

"Believe that I did not wish--"

"Yes, yes, you wished to pay me. Oh, don't excuse yourself, don'tdeny it. There are professions, I know, in which manhood andintegrity seem to count for nothing. Why offer me money? Whatreason have you for judging me so mean as to sell my favors? Youare like the rest, who can't fancy what a man in my position is. If I wanted to be rich--richer than you--I could be so in afortnight. Don't you see that I hold in my hands the honor andlives of fifty people? Do you think I tell all I know? I havehere, " added he, tapping his forehead, "twenty secrets that I couldsell to-morrow, if I would, for a plump hundred thousand apiece. "

He was indignant, but beneath his anger a certain sad resignationmight be perceived. He had often to reject such offers. 

"If you go and resist this prejudice established for ages, and saythat a detective is honest and cannot be otherwise, that he istenfold more honest than any merchant or notary, because he hastenfold the temptations, without the benefits of his honesty; ifyou say this, they'll laugh in your face. I could get togetherto-morrow, with impunity, without any risk, at least a million. Who would mistrust it? I have a conscience, it's true; but alittle consideration for these things would not be unpleasant. When it would be so easy for me to divulge what I know of thosewho have been obliged to trust me, or things which I have surprised, there is perhaps a merit in holding my tongue. And still, thefirst man who should come along to-morrow--a defaulting banker, a ruined merchant, a notary who has gambled on 'change--wouldfeel himself compromised by walking up the boulevard with me! Apoliceman--fie! But old Tabaret used to say to me, that thecontempt of such people was only one form of fear. "

M. Plantat was dismayed. How could he, a man of delicacy, prudenceand finesse, have committed such an awkward mistake? He had justcruelly wounded this man, who was so well disposed toward him, andhe had everything to fear from his resentment. 

"Far be it from me, dear friend, " he commenced, "to intend theoffence you imagine. You have misunderstood an insignificantphrase, which I let escape carelessly, and had no meaning at all. "

M. Lecoq grew calmer. 

"Perhaps so. You will forgive my being so susceptible, as I ammore exposed to insults than most people. Let's leave the subject, which is a painful one, and return to Tremorel. "

M. Plantat was just thinking whether he should dare to broach hisprojects again, and he was singularly touched by M. Lecoq'sdelicately resuming the subject of them. 

"I have only to await your decision, " said the justice of the peace. 

"I will not conceal from you, " resumed M. Lecoq, "that you areasking a very difficult thing, and one which is contrary to my duty, which commands me to search for Tremorel, to arrest him, and deliverhim up to justice. You ask me to protect him from the law--"

"In the name of an innocent creature whom you will thereby save. "

"Once in my life I sacrificed my duty. I could not resist thetears of a poor old mother, who clung to my knees and imploredpardon for her son. To-day I am going to exceed my right, and torisk an attempt for which my conscience will perhaps reproach me. I yield to your entreaty. "

"Oh, my dear Lecoq, how grateful I am!" cried M. Plantat, transported with joy. 

But the detective remained grave, almost sad, and reflected. 

"Don't let us encourage a hope which may be disappointed, " heresumed. "I have but one means of keeping a criminal like Tremorelout of the courts; will it succeed?"

"Yes, yes. If you wish it, it will!"

M. Lecoq could not help smiling at the old man's faith. 

"I am certainly a clever detective, " said he. "But I am only a manafter all, and I can't answer for the actions of another man. Alldepends upon Hector. If it were another criminal, I should say Iwas sure. I am doubtful about him, I frankly confess. We ought, above all, to count upon the firmness of Mademoiselle Courtois;can we, think you?"

"She is firmness itself. "

"Then there's hope. But can we really suppress this affair? Whatwill happen when Sauvresy's narrative is found? It must beconcealed somewhere in Valfeuillu, and Tremorel, at least, did notfind it. "

"It will not be found, " said M. Plantat, quickly. 

"You think so?"

"I am sure of it. "

M. Lecoq gazed intently at his companion, and simply said:

"Ah!"

But this is what he thought: "At last I am going to find out wherethe manuscript which we heard read the other night, and which isin two handwritings, came from. "

After a moment's hesitation, M. Plantat went on:

"I have put my life in your hands, Monsieur Lecoq; I can, ofcourse, confide my honor to you. I know you. I know that, happenwhat may--"

"I shall keep my mouth shut, on my honor. "

"Very well. The day that I caught Tremorel at the mayor's, Iwished to verify the suspicions I had, and so I broke the seal ofSauvresy's package of papers. "

"And you did not use them?"

"I was dismayed at my abuse of confidence. Besides, had I the rightto deprive poor Sauvresy, who was dying in order to avenge himself, of his vengeance?"

"But you gave the papers to Madame de Tremorel?"

"True; but Bertha had a vague presentiment of the fate that was instore for her. About a fortnight before her death she came andconfided to me her husband's manuscript, which she had taken careto complete. I broke the seals and read it, to see if he had dieda violent death. "

"Why, then, didn't you tell me? Why did you let me hunt, hesitate, grope about--"

"I love Laurence, Monsieur Lecoq, and to deliver up Tremorel was toopen an abyss between her and me. "

The detective bowed. "The deuce, " thought he, "the old justice isshrewd--as shrewd as I am. Well, I like him, and I'm going to givehim a surprise. "

M. Plantat yearned to question his host and to know what the solemeans of which he spoke were, which might be successful in preventinga trial and saving Laurence, but he did not dare to do so. 

The detective bent over his desk lost in thought. He held a pencilin his hand and mechanically drew fantastic figures on a large sheetof white paper which lay before him. He suddenly came out of hisrevery. He had just solved a last difficulty; his plan was nowentire and complete. He glanced at the clock. 

"Two o'clock, " cried he, "and I have an appointment between threeand four with Madame Charman about Jenny. "

"I am at your disposal, " returned his guest. 

"All right. When Jenny is disposed of we must look after Tremorel;so let's take our measures to finish it up to-day. "

"What! do you hope to do everything to-day--"

"Certainly. Rapidity is above all necessary in our profession. Itoften takes a month to regain an hour lost. We've a chance now ofcatching Hector by surprise; to-morrow it will be too late. Eitherwe shall have him within four-and-twenty hours or we must changeour batteries. Each of my three men has a carriage and a goodhorse; they may be able to finish with the upholsterers within anhour from now. If I calculate aright, we shall have the addressin an hour, or at most in two hours, and then we will act. "

Lecoq, as he spoke, took a sheet of paper surmounted by his arms outof his portfolio, and rapidly wrote several lines. 

"See here, " said he, "what I've written to one of my lieutenants. "

"MONSIEUR JOB--"Get together six or eight of our men at once and take them to thewine merchant's at the corner of the Rue des Martyrs and the RueLamartine; await my orders there. "

"Why there and not here?"

"Because we must avoid needless excursions. At the place I havedesignated we are only two steps from Madame Charman's and nearTremorel's retreat; for the wretch has hired his rooms in thequarter of Notre Dame de Lorette. "

M. Plantat gave an exclamation of surprise. 

"What makes you think that?"

The detective smiled, as if the question seemed foolish to him. 

"Don't you recollect that the envelope of the letter addressed byMademoiselle Courtois to her family to announce her suicide borethe Paris postmark, and that of the branch office of Rue St. Lazare?Now listen to this: On leaving her aunt's house, Laurence must havegone directly to Tremorel's apartments, the address of which he hadgiven her, and where he had promised to meet her on Thursday morning. She wrote the letter, then, in his apartments. Can we admit thatshe had the presence of mind to post the letter in another quarterthan that in which she was? It is at least probable that she wasignorant of the terrible reasons which Tremorel had to fear a searchand pursuit. Had Hector foresight enough to suggest this trick toher? No, for if he wasn't a fool he would have told her to postthe letter somewhere outside of Paris. It is therefore scarcelypossible that it was posted anywhere else than at the nearestbranch office. "

These suppositions were so simple that M. Plantat wondered he hadnot thought of them before. But men do not see clearly in affairsin which they are deeply interested; passion dims the eyes, as heatin a room dims a pair of spectacles. He had lost, with hiscoolness, a part of his clearsightedness. His anxiety was verygreat; for he thought M. Lecoq had a singular mode of keeping hispromise. 

"It seems to me, " he could not help remarking, "that if you wishto keep Hector from trial, the men you have summoned together willbe more embarrassing than useful. "

M. Lecoq thought that his guest's tone and look betrayed a certaindoubt, and was irritated by it. 

"Do you distrust me, Monsieur Plantat?"

The old man tried to protest. 

"Believe me--"

"You have my word, " resumed M. Lecoq, "and if you knew me betteryou would know that I always keep it when I have given it. I havetold you that I would do my best to save Mademoiselle Laurence; butremember that I have promised you my assistance, not absolutesuccess. Let me, then, take such measures as I think best. "

So saying, he rang for Janouille. 

"Here's a letter, " said he when she appeared, "which must be sentto Job at once. "

"I will carry it. "

"By no means. You will be pleased to remain here and wait for themen that I sent out this morning. As they come in, send them tothe wine merchant's at the corner of the Rue des Martyrs; you knowit--opposite the church. They'll find a numerous company there. "

As he gave his orders, he took off his gown, assumed a long blackcoat, and carefully adjusted his wig. 

"Will Monsieur be back this evening?" asked Janouille. 

"I don't know. "

"And if anybody comes from over yonder?"

"Over yonder" with a detective, always means "the house"--otherwisethe prefecture of police. 

"Say that I am out on the Corbeil affair. "

M. Lecoq was soon ready. He had the air, physiognomy, and mannersof a highly respectable chief clerk of fifty. Gold spectacles, anumbrella, everything about him exhaled an odor of the ledger. 

"Now, " said he to M. Plantat. "Let's hurry away. " Goulard, whohad made a hearty breakfast, was waiting for his hero in thedining-room. 

"Ah ha, old fellow, " said M. Lecoq. "So you've had a few wordswith my wine. How do you find it?"

"Delicious, my chief; perfect--that is to say, a true nectar. "

"It's cheered you up, I hope. "

"Oh, yes, my chief. "

"Then you may follow us a few steps and mount guard at the door ofthe house where you see us go in. I shall probably have to confidea pretty little girl to your care whom you will carry to MonsieurDomini. And open your eyes; for she's a sly creature, and veryapt to inveigle you on the way and slip through your fingers. "

They went out, and Janouille stoutly barricaded herself behind them. 

 XXV

Whosoever needs a loan of money, or a complete suit of clothes inthe top of the fashion, a pair of ladies' boots, or an Indiancashmere; a porcelain table service or a good picture; whosoeverdesires diamonds, curtains, laces, a house in the country, or aprovision of wood for winter fires--may procure all these, andmany other things besides, at Mme. Charman's. 

Mme. Charman lives at 136, Rue Notre Dame de Lorette, on thefirst story above the ground-floor. Her customers must give madamesome guarantee of their credit; a woman, if she be young and pretty, may be accommodated at madame's at the reasonable rate of twohundred per cent interest. Madame has, at these rates, considerablecustom, and yet has not made a large fortune. She must necessarilyrisk a great deal, and bears heavy losses as well as receives largeprofits. Then she is, as she is pleased to say, too honest; andtrue enough, she is honest--she would rather sell her dress off herback than let her signature go to protest. 

Madame is a blonde, slight, gentle, and not wanting in a certaindistinction of manner; she invariably wears, whether it be summeror winter, a black silk dress. They say she has a husband, but noone has ever seen him, which does not prevent his reputation forgood conduct from being above suspicion. However, honorable as maybe Mme. Charman's profession, she has more than once had businesswith M. Lecoq; she has need of him and fears him as she does fire. She, therefore, welcomed the detective and his companion--whom shetook for one of his colleagues--somewhat as the supernumerary of atheatre would greet his manager if the latter chanced to pay him avisit in his humble lodgings. 

She was expecting them. When they rang, she advanced to meet themin the ante-chamber, and greeted M. Lecoq graciously and smilingly. She conducted them into her drawing-room, invited them to sit inher best arm-chairs, and pressed some refreshments upon them. 

"I see, dear Madame, " began M. Lecoq, "that you have received mylittle note. "

"Yes, Monsieur Lecoq, early this morning; I was not up. "

"Very good. And have you been so kind as to do the service I asked?"

"How can you ask me, when you know that I would go through the firefor you? I set about it at once, getting up expressly for thepurpose. "

"Then you've got the address of Pelagie Taponnet, called Jenny?"

"Yes, I have, " returned Mme. Charman, with an obsequious bow. "IfI were the kind of woman to magnify my services, I would tell youwhat trouble it cost me to find this address, and how I ran allover Paris and spent ten francs in cab hire. "

"Well, let's come to the point. "

"The truth is, I had the pleasure of seeing Miss Jenny day beforeyesterday. "

"You are joking!"

"Not the least in the world. And let me tell you that she is avery courageous and honest girl. "

"Really!"

"She is, indeed. Why, she has owed me four hundred and eightyfrancs for two years. I hardly thought the debt worth much, asyou may imagine. But Jenny came to me day before yesterday all outof breath and told me that she had inherited some money, and hadbrought me what she owed me. And she was not joking, either; forher purse was full of bank notes, and she paid me the whole of mybill. She's a good girl!" added Mme. Charman, as if profoundlyconvinced of the truth of her encomium. 

M. Lecoq exchanged a significant glance with the old justice; thesame idea struck them both at the same moment. These bank-notescould only be the payment for some important service rendered byJenny to Tremorel. M. Lecoq, however, wished for more preciseinformation. 

"What was Jenny's condition before this windfall?" asked he. 

"Ah, Monsieur Lecoq, she was in a dreadful condition. Since thecount deserted her she has been constantly falling lower and lower. She sold all she had piece by piece. At last, she mixed with theworst kind of people, drank absinthe, they say, and had nothing toput to her back. When she got any money she spent it on a parcelof hussies instead of buying clothes. "

"And where is she living?"

"Right by, in a house in the Rue Vintimille. "

"If that is so, " replied M. Lecoq, severely, "I am astonished thatshe is not here. "

"It's not my fault, dear Monsieur Lecoq; I know where the nest is, but not where the bird is. She was away this morning when I sentfor her. "

"The deuce! But then--it's very annoying; I must hunt her up atonce. "

"You needn't disturb yourself. Jenny ought to return before fouro'clock, and one of my girls is waiting for her with orders tobring her here as soon as she comes in, without even letting her goup to her room. "

"We'll wait for her then. "

M. Lecoq and his friend waited about a quarter of an hour, when Mme. Charman suddenly got up. 

"I hear my girl's step on the stairs, " said she. 

"Listen to me, " answered M. Lecoq, "if it is she, manage to makeJenny think that it was you who sent for her; we will seem to havecome in by the merest chance. "

Mme. Charman responded by a gesture of assent. She was goingtowards the door when the detective detained her by the arm. 

"One word more. When you see me fairly engaged in conversation withher, please be so good as to go and overlook your work-people inthe shops. What I have to say will not interest you in the least. "

"I understand. "

"But no trickery, you know. I know where the closet of your bedroomis, well enough to be sure that everything that is said here may beoverheard in it. "

Mme. Charman's emissary opened the door; there was a loud rustlingof silks along the corridor; and Jenny appeared in all her glory. She was no longer the fresh and pretty minx whom Hector had known--the provoking large-eyed Parisian demoiselle, with haughty headand petulant grace. A single year had withered her, as a too hotsummer does the roses, and had destroyed her fragile beauty beyondrecall. She was not twenty, and still it was hard to discern thatshe had been charming, and was yet young. For she had grown oldlike vice; her worn features and hollow cheeks betrayed thedissipations of her life; her eyes had lost their long, languishinglids; her mouth had a pitiful expression of stupefaction; andabsinthe had broken the clear tone of her voice. She was richlydressed in a new robe, with a great deal of lace and a jaunty hat;yet she had a wretched expression; she was all besmeared withrouge and paint. 

When she came in she seemed very angry. 

"What an idea!" she cried, without taking the trouble to bow toanyone; "what sense is there in sending for me to come here inthis way, almost by force, and by a very impudent young woman?"

Mme. Charman hastened to meet her old customer, embraced her inspite of herself, and pressed her to her heart. 

"Why, don't be so angry, dear--I thought you would be delightedand overwhelm me with thanks. "

"I? What for?"

"Because, my dear girl, I had a surprise in store for you. Ah, I'mnot ungrateful; you came here yesterday and settled your accountwith me, and to-day I mean to reward you for it. Come, cheer up;you're going to have a splendid chance, because just at this momentI happen to have a piece of exquisite velvet--"

"A pretty thing to bring me here for!"

"All silk, my dear, at thirty francs the yard. Ha, 'tis wonderfullycheap, the best--"

"Eh! What care I for your 'chance?' Velvet in July--are you makingfun of me?"

"Let me show it to you, now. "

"Never! I am expected to dinner at Asnieres, and so--"

She was about to go away despite Mme. Charman's attempts to detainher, when M. Lecoq thought it was time to interfere. 

"Why, am I mistaken?" cried he, as if amazed; "is it really MissJenny whom I have the honor of seeing?"

She scanned him with a half-angry, half-surprised air, and said:

"Yes, it is I; what of it?"

"What! Are you so forgetful? Don't you recognize me?"

"No, not at all. "

"Yet I was one of your admirers once, my dear, and used to breakfastwith you when you lived near the Madeleine; in the count's time, you know. "

He took off his spectacles as if to wipe them, but really to launcha furious look at Mme. Charman, who, not daring to resist, beat ahasty retreat. 

"I knew Tremorel well in other days, " resumed the detective. "And--by the bye, have you heard any news of him lately?"

"I saw him about a week ago. "

"Stop, though--haven't you heard of that horrible affair?"

"No. What was it?"

"Really, now, haven't you heard? Don't you read the papers? Itwas a dreadful thing, and has been the talk of all Paris for thepast forty-eight hours. "

"Tell me about it, quick!"

"You know that he married the widow of one of his friends. He wasthought to be very happy at home; not at all; he has murdered hiswife with a knife. "

Jenny grew pale under her paint. 

"Is it possible?" stammered she. She seemed much affected, but notvery greatly surprised, which M. Lecoq did not fail to remark. 

"It is so possible, " he resumed, "that he is at this moment inprison, will soon be tried, and without a doubt will be convicted. "

M. Plantat narrowly observed Jenny; he looked for an explosion ofdespair, screams, tears, at least a light nervous attack; he wasmistaken. 

Jenny now detested Tremorel. Sometimes she felt the weight of herdegradation, and she accused Hector of her present ignominy. Sheheartily hated him, though she smiled when she saw him, got as muchmoney out of him as she could, and cursed him behind his back. Instead of bursting into tears, she therefore laughed aloud. 

"Well done for Tremorel, " said she. "Why did he leave me? Goodfor her too. "

"Why so?"

"What did she deceive her husband for? It was she who took Hectorfrom me--she, a rich, married woman! But I've always said Hectorwas a poor wretch. "

"Frankly, that's my notion too. When a man acts as Tremorel hastoward you, he's a villain. "

"It's so, isn't it?"

"Parbleu! But I'm not surprised at his conduct. For his wife'smurder is the least of his crimes; why, he tried to put it off uponsomebody else!"

"That doesn't surprise me. "

"He accused a poor devil as innocent as you or I, who might havebeen condemned to death if he hadn't been able to tell where hewas on Wednesday night. "

M. Lecoq said this lightly, with intended deliberation, so as towatch the impression he produced on Jenny. 

"Do you know who the man was?" asked she in a tremulous voice. 

"The papers said it was a poor lad who was his gardener. "

"A little man, wasn't he, thin, very dark, with black hair?"

"Just so. "

"And whose name was--wait now--was--Guespin. "

"Ah ha, you know him then?"

Jenny hesitated. She was trembling very much, and evidentlyregretted that she had gone so far. 

"Bah!" said she at last. "I don't see why I shouldn't tell what Iknow. I'm an honest girl, if Tremorel is a rogue; and I don't wantthem to condemn a poor wretch who is innocent. "

"You know something about it, then?"

"Well, I know nearly all about it--that's honest, ain't it? Abouta week ago Hector wrote to me to meet him at Melun; I went, foundhim, and we breakfasted together. Then he told me that he was verymuch annoyed about his cook's marriage; for one of his servants wasdeeply in love with her, and might go and raise a rumpus at thewedding. "

"Ah, he spoke to you about the wedding, then?"

"Wait a minute. Hector seemed very much embarrassed, not knowinghow to avoid the disturbance he feared. Then I advised him to sendthe servant off out of the way on the wedding-day. He thought amoment, and said that my advice was good. He added that he hadfound a means of doing this; on the evening of the marriage hewould send the man on an errand for me, telling him that the affairwas to be concealed from the countess. I was to dress up--as achambermaid, and wait for the man at the cafe in the Place duChatelet, between half-past nine and ten that evening; I was to sitat the table nearest the entrance on the right, with a bouquet inmy hand, so that he should recognize me. He would come in and giveme a package; then I was to ask him to take something, and so gethim tipsy if possible, and then walk about Paris with him tillmorning. "

Jenny expressed herself with difficulty, hesitating, choosing herwords, and trying to remember exactly what Tremorel said. 

"And you, " interrupted M. Lecoq, "did you believe all this storyabout a jealous servant?"

"Not quite; but I fancied that he had some intrigue on foot, and Iwasn't sorry to help him deceive a woman whom I detested, and whohad wronged me. "

"So you did as he told you?"

"Exactly, from beginning to end; everything happened just as Hectorhad foreseen. The man came along at just ten o'clock, took me fora maid, and gave me the package. I naturally offered him a glassof beer; he took it and proposed another, which I also accepted. He is a very nice fellow, this gardener, and I passed a verypleasant evening with him. He knew lots of queer things, and--"

"Never mind that. What did you do then?"

"After the beer we had some wine, then some beer again, then somepunch, then some more wine--the gardener had his pockets full ofmoney. He was very tipsy by eleven and invited me to go and havea dance with him at the Batignolles. I refused, and asked him toescort me back to my mistress at the upper end of the ChampsElysees. We went out of the cafe and walked up the Rue de Rivoli, stopping every now and then for more wine and beer. By two o'clockthe fellow was so far gone that he fell like a lump on a bench nearthe Arc de Triomphe, where he went to sleep; and there I left him. "

"Well, where did you go?"

"Home. "

"What has become of the package?"

"Oh, I intended to throw it into the Seine, as Hector wished, butI forgot it; you see, I had drunk almost as much as the gardener--so I carried it back home with me, and it is in my room now. "

"Have you opened it?"

"Well--what do you think?"

"What did it contain?"

"A hammer, two other tools and a large knife. "

Guespin's innocence was now evident, and the detective's foresightwas realized. 

"Guespin's all right, " said M. Plantat. "But we must know--"

M. Lecoq interrupted him; he knew now all he wished. Jenny couldtell him nothing more, so he suddenly changed his tone from awheedling one to abrupt severity. 

"My fine young woman, " said he, "you have saved an innocent man, but you must repeat what you have just said to the judge ofinstruction at Corbeil. And as you might lose yourself on the way, I'll give you a guide. "

He went to the window and opened it; perceiving Goulard on thesidewalk, he cried out to him:

"Goulard, come up here. "

He turned to the astonished Jenny, who was so frightened that shedared not either question him or get angry, and said:

"Tell me how much Tremorel paid you for the service you renderedhim. "

"Ten thousand francs; but it is my due, I swear to you; for hepromised it to me long ago, and owed it to me. "

"Very good; it can't be taken away from you. " He added, pointingout Goulard who entered just then: "Go with this man to your room, take the package which Guespin brought you, and set out at once forCorbeil. Above all, no tricks, Miss--or beware of me!"

Mme. Charman came in just in time to see Jenny leave the room withGoulard. 

"Lord, what's the matter?" she asked M. Lecoq. 

"Nothing, my dear Madame, nothing that concerns you in the least. And so, thank you and good-evening; we are in a great hurry. "

 XXVI

When M. Lecoq was in a hurry he walked fast. He almost ran downthe Rue Notre Dame de Lorette, so that Plantat had greatdifficulty in keeping up with him; and as he went along he pursuedhis train of reflection, half aloud, so that his companion caughthere and there a snatch of it. 

"All goes well, " he muttered, "and we shall succeed. It's seldomthat a campaign which commences so well ends badly. If Job is atthe wine merchant's, and if one of my men has succeeded in hissearch, the crime of Valfeuillu is solved, and in a week peoplewill have forgotten it. "

He stopped short on reaching the foot of the street opposite thechurch. 

"I must ask you to pardon me, " said he to the old justice, "forhurrying you on so and making you one of my trade; but yourassistance might have been very useful at Madame Charman's, andwill be indispensable when we get fairly on Tremorel's track. "

They went across the square and into the wine shop at the corner ofthe Rue des Martyrs. Its keeper was standing behind his counterturning wine out of a large jug into some litres, and did not seemmuch astonished at seeing his new visitors. M. Lecoq was quite athome (as he was everywhere), and spoke to the man with an air ofeasy familiarity. 

"Aren't there six or eight men waiting for somebody here?" he asked. 

"Yes, they came about an hour ago. "

"Are they in the big back room?"

"Just so, Monsieur, " responded the wine merchant, obsequiously. 

He didn't exactly know who was talking to him, but he suspected himto be some superior officer from the prefecture; and he was notsurprised to see that this distinguished personage knew the ins andouts of his house. He opened the door of the room referred towithout hesitation. Ten men in various guises were drinking thereand playing cards. On M. Lecoq's entrance with M. Plantat, theyrespectfully got up and took off their hats. 

"Good for you, Job, " said M. Lecoq to him who seemed to be theirchief, "you are prompt, and it pleases me. Your ten men will bequite enough, for I shall have the three besides whom I sent outthis morning. "

M. Job bowed, happy at having pleased a master who was not veryprodigal in his praises. 

"I want you to wait here a while longer, " resumed M. Lecoq, "for myorders will depend on a report which I am expecting. " He turned tothe men whom he had sent out among the upholsterers:

"Which of you was successful?"

"I, Monsieur, " replied a big white-faced fellow, with insignificantmustaches. 

"What, you again, Palot? really, my lad, you are lucky. Step intothis side room--first, though, order a bottle of wine, and ask theproprietor to see to it that we are not disturbed. "

These orders were soon executed, and M. Plantat being duly ensconcedwith them in the little room, the detective turned the key. 

"Speak up now, " said he to Palot, "and be brief. "

"I showed the photograph to at least a dozen upholsterers withoutany result; but at last a merchant in the Faubourg St. Germain, named Rech, recognized it. "

"Tell me just what he said, if you can. "

"He told me that it was the portrait of one of his customers. Amonth ago this customer came to him to buy a complete set offurniture--drawing-room, dining-room, bed-room, and the rest--fora little house which he had just rented. He did not beat him downat all, and only made one condition to the purchase, and that was, that everything should be ready and in place, and the curtains andcarpets put in, within three weeks from that time; that is a weekago last Monday. "

"And what was the sum-total of the purchase?"

"Eighteen thousand francs, half paid down in advance, and half onthe day of delivery. "

"And who carried the last half of the money to the upholsterer?"

"A servant. "

"What name did this customer give?"

"He called himself Monsieur James Wilson; but Monsieur Rech saidhe did not seem like an English-man. "

"Where does he live?"

"The furniture was carried to a small house, No. 34 Rue St. Lazare, near the Havre station. "

M. Lecoq's face, which had up to that moment worn an anxiousexpression, beamed with joy. He felt the natural pride of acaptain who has succeeded in his plans for the enemy's destruction. He tapped the old justice of the peace familiarly on the shoulder, and pronounced a single word:

"Nipped!"

Palot shook his head. 

"It isn't certain, " said he. 

"Why?"

"You may imagine, Monsieur Lecoq, that when I got the address, having some time on my hands, I went to reconnoitre the house. "

"Well?"

"The tenant's name is really Wilson, but it's not the man of thephotograph, I'm certain. "

M. Plantat gave a groan of disappointment, but M. Lecoq was not soeasily discouraged. 

"How did you find out?"

"I pumped one of the servants. "

"Confound you!" cried M. Plantat. "Perhaps you roused suspicions. "

"Oh, no, " answered M. Lecoq. "I'll answer for him. Palot is apupil of mine. Explain yourself, Palot. "

"Recognizing the house--an elegant affair it is, too--I said tomyself: 'I' faith, here's the cage; let's see if the bird is init. ' I luckily happened to have a napoleon in my pocket; and Islipped it without hesitation into the drain which led from thehouse to the street-gutter. "

"Then you rang?"

"Exactly. The porter--there is a porter--opened the door, andwith my most vexed air I told him how, in pulling out myhandkerchief, I had dropped a twenty-franc piece in the drain, andbegged him to lend me something to try to get it out. He lent mea poker and took another himself, and we got the money out with nodifficulty; I began to jump about as if I were delighted, and beggedhim to let me treat him to a glass of wine. "

"Not bad. "

"Oh, Monsieur Lecoq, it is one of your tricks, you know. My porteraccepted my invitation, and we soon got to be the best friends inthe world over some wine in a shop just across the street from thehouse. We were having a jolly talk together when, all of a sudden, I leaned over as if I had just espied something on the floor, andpicked up--the photograph, which I had dropped and soiled a littlewith my foot. 'What, ' cried I, 'a portrait?' My new friend tookit, looked at it, and didn't seem to recognize it. Then, to becertain, I said, 'He's a very good-looking fellow, ain't he now?Your master must be some such a man. ' But he said no, that thephotograph was of a man who was bearded, while his master was asclean-faced as an abbe. 'Besides, ' he added, 'my master is anAmerican; he gives us our orders in French, but Madame and he alwaystalk English together. '"

M. Lecoq's eye glistened as Palot proceeded. 

"Tremorel speaks English, doesn't he?" asked he of M. Plantat. 

"Quite well; and Laurence too. "

"If that is so, we are on the right track, for we know that Tremorelshaved his beard off on the night of the murder. We can go on--"

Palot meanwhile seemed a little uneasy at not receiving the praisehe expected. 

"My lad, " said M. Lecoq, turning to him, "I think you have doneadmirably, and a good reward shall prove it to you. Being ignorantof what we know, your conclusions were perfectly right. But let'sgo to the house at once; have you got a plan of the ground-floor?"

"Yes, and also of the first floor above. The porter was not dumb, and so he gave me a good deal of information about his master andmistress, though he has only been there two days. The lady isdreadfully melancholy, and cries all the time. "

"We know it; the plan--"

"Below, there is a large and high paved arch for the carriages topass through; on the other side is a good-sized courtyard, at theend of which are the stable and carriage-house. The porter's lodgeis on the left of the arch; on the right a glass door opens on astaircase with six steps, which conducts to a vestibule into whichthe drawing-room, dining-room, and two other little rooms open. The chambers are on the first floor, a study, a--"

"Enough, " M. Lecoq said, "my plan is made. "

And rising abruptly, he opened the door, and followed by M. Plantatand Palot, went into the large room. All the men rose at hisapproach as before. 

"Monsieur Job, " said the detective, "listen attentively to what Ihave to say. As soon as I am gone, pay up what you owe here, andthen, as I must have you all within reach, go and install yourselvesin the first wine-shop on the right as you go up the Rue d'Amsterdam. Take your dinner there, for you will have time--but soberly, youunderstand. "

He took two napoleons out of his pocket and placed them on thetable, adding:

"That's for the dinner. "

M. Lecoq and the old justice went into the street, followed closelyby Palot. The detective was anxious above all to see for himselfthe house inhabited by Tremorel. He saw at a glance that theinterior must be as Palot had described. 

"That's it, undoubtedly, " said he to M. Plantat; "we've got thegame in our hands. Our chances at this moment are ninety to ten. "

"What are you going to do?" asked the justice, whose emotionincreased as the decisive moment approached. 

"Nothing, just yet, I must wait for night before I act. As it istwo hours yet before dark, let's imitate my men; I know a restaurantjust by here where you can dine capitally; we'll patronize it. "

And without awaiting a reply, he led M. Plantat to a restaurant inthe Passage du Havre. But at the moment he was about to open thedoor, he stopped and made a signal. Palot immediately appeared. 

"I give you two hours to get yourself up so that the porter won'trecognize you, and to have some dinner. You are an upholsterer'sapprentice. Now clear out; I shall wait for you here. "

M. Lecoq was right when he said that a capital dinner was to behad in the Passage du Havre; unfortunately M. Plantat was not in astate to appreciate it. As in the morning, he found it difficultto swallow anything, he was so anxious and depressed. He longed toknow the detective's plans; but M. Lecoq remained impenetrable, answering all inquiries with:

"Let me act, and trust me. "

M. Plantat's confidence was indeed very great; but the more hereflected, the more perilous and difficult seemed the attempt tosave Tremorel from a trial. The most poignant doubts troubled andtortured his mind. His own life was at stake; for he had sworn tohimself that he would not survive the ruin of Laurence in beingforced to confess in full court her dishonor and her love forHector. 

M. Lecoq tried hard to make his companion eat something, to take atleast some soup and a glass of old Bordeaux; but he soon saw theuselessness of his efforts and went on with his dinner as if hewere alone. He was very thoughtful, but any uncertainty of theresult of his plans never entered his head. He drank much andoften, and soon emptied his bottle of Leoville. Night having nowcome on the waiters began to light the chandeliers, and the twofriends found themselves almost alone. 

"Isn't it time to begin?" asked the old justice, timidly. 

"We have still nearly an hour, " replied M. Lecoq, consulting hiswatch; "but I shall make my preparations now. "

He called a waiter, and ordered a cup of coffee and writingmaterials. 

"You see, " said he, while they were waiting to be served, "we musttry to get at Laurence without Tremorel's knowing it. We must havea ten minutes' talk with her alone, and in the house. That is acondition absolutely necessary to our success. "

M. Plantat had evidently been expecting some immediate and decisiveaction, for M. Lecoq's remark filled him with alarm. 

"If that's so, " said he mournfully, "it's all over with ourproject. "

"How so?"

"Because Tremorel will not leave Laurence by herself for a moment. "

"Then I'll try to entice him out. "

"And you, you who are usually so clear-sighted, really think thathe will let himself be taken in by a trick! You don't consider hissituation at this moment. He must be a prey to boundless terrors. We know that Sauvresy's declaration will not be found, but he doesnot; he thinks that perhaps it has been found, that suspicions havebeen aroused, and that he is already being searched for and pursuedby the police. "

"I've considered all that, " responded M. Lecoq with a triumphantsmile, "and many other things besides. Well, it isn't easy todecoy Tremorel out of the house. I've been cudgelling my brainabout it a good deal, and have found a way at last. The ideaoccurred to me just as we were coming in here. The Count de Tremorel, in an hour from now, will be in the Faubourg St. Germain. It's trueit will cost me a forgery, but you will forgive me under thecircumstances. Besides, he who seeks the end must use the means. "

He took up a pen, and as he smoked his cigar, rapidly wrote thefollowing:

"MONSIEUR WILSON:

"Four of the thousand-franc notes which you paid me arecounterfeits; I have just found it out by sending them to mybanker's. If you are not here to explain the matter before teno'clock, I shall be obliged to put in a complaint this eveningbefore the procureur. 

"RECH. "

"Now, " said M. Lecoq, passing the letter to his companion. "Do youcomprehend?"

The old justice read it at a glance and could not repress a joyfulexclamation, which caused the waiters to turn around and stare athim. 

"Yes, " said he, "this letter will catch him; it'll frighten him outof all his other terrors. He will say to himself that he mighthave slipped some counterfeit notes among those paid to theupholsterer, that a complaint against him will provoke an inquiry, and that he will have to prove that he is really Monsieur Wilsonor he is lost. "

"So you think he'll come out?"

"I'm sure of it, unless he has become a fool. "

"I tell you we shall succeed then, for this is the only seriousobstacle--"

He suddenly interrupted himself. The restaurant door opened ajar, and a man passed his head in and withdrew it immediately. 

"That's my man, " said M. Lecoq, calling the waiter to pay for thedinner, "he is waiting for us in the passage; let us go. "

A young man dressed like a journeyman upholsterer was standing inthe passage looking in at the shop-windows. He had long brownlocks, and his mustache and eyebrows were coal-black. M. Plantatcertainly did not recognize him as Palot, but M. Lecoq did, andeven seemed dissatisfied with his get-up. 

"Bad, " growled he, "pitiable. Do you think it is enough, in orderto disguise yourself, to change the color of your beard? Look inthat glass, and tell me if the expression of your face is not justwhat it was before? Aren't your eye and smile the same? Then yourcap is too much on one side, it is not natural; and your hand isput in your pocket awkwardly. "

"I'll try to do better another time, Monsieur Lecoq, " Palotmodestly replied. 

"I hope so; but I guess your porter won't recognize you to-night, and that is all we want. "

"And now what must I do?"

"I'll give you your orders; and be very careful not to blunder. First, hire a carriage, with a good horse; then go to the wine-shopfor one of our men, who will accompany you to Monsieur Wilson'shouse. When you get there ring, enter alone and give the porterthis letter, saying that it is of the utmost importance. Thisdone, put yourself with your companion in ambuscade before the house. If Monsieur Wilson goes out--and he will go out or I am not Lecoq--send your comrade to me at once. As for you, you will followMonsieur Wilson and not lose sight of him. He will take a carriage, and you will follow him with yours, getting up on the hackman'sseat and keeping a lookout from there. Have your eyes open, for heis a rascal who may feel inclined to jump out of his cab and leaveyou in pursuit of an empty vehicle. "

"Yes, and the moment I am informed--"

"Silence, please, when I am speaking. He will probably go to theupholsterer's in the Rue des Saints-Peres, but I may be mistaken. He may order himself to be carried to one of the railway stations, and may take the first train which leaves. In this case, you mustget into the same railway carriage that he does, and follow himeverywhere he goes; and be sure and send me a despatch as soonas you can. "

"Very well, Monsieur Lecoq; only if I have to take a train--"

"What, haven't you any money?"

"Well--no, my chief. "

"Then take this five-hundred-franc note; that's more than isnecessary to make the tour of the world. Do you comprehendeverything?"

"I beg your pardon--what shall I do if Monsieur Wilson simplyreturns to his house?"

"In that case I will finish with him. If he returns, you will comeback with him, and the moment his cab stops before the house givetwo loud whistles, you know. Then wait for me in the street, takingcare to retain your cab, which you will lend to Monsieur Plantat ifhe needs it. "

"All right, " said Palot, who hastened off without more ado. 

M. Plantat and the detective, left alone, began to walk up and downthe gallery; both were grave and silent, as men are at a decisivemoment; there is no chatting about a gaming-table. M. Lecoqsuddenly started; he had just seen his agent at the end of thegallery. His impatience was so great that he ran toward him, saying:

"Well?"

"Monsieur, the game has flown, and Palot after him!"

"On foot or in a cab?"

"In a cab. "

"Enough. Return to your comrades, and tell them to hold themselvesready. "

Everything was going as Lecoq wished, and he grasped the oldjustice's hand, when he was struck by the alteration in his features. 

"What, are you ill?" asked he, anxiously. 

"No, but I am fifty-five years old, Monsieur Lecoq, and at that agethere are emotions which kill one. Look, I am trembling at themoment when I see my wishes being realized, and I feel as if adisappointment would be the death of me. I'm afraid, yes, I'mafraid. Ah, why can't I dispense with following you?"

"But your presence is indispensable; without your help I can donothing:"

"What could I do?"

"Save Laurence, Monsieur Plantat. "

This name restored a part of his courage. 

"If that is so--" said he. He began to walk firmly toward thestreet, but M. Lecoq stopped him. 

"Not yet, " said the detective, "not yet; the battle now depends onthe precision of our movements. A single fault miserably upsetsall my combinations, and then I shall be forced to arrest anddeliver up the criminal. We must have a ten minutes' interviewwith Mademoiselle Laurence, but not much more, and it isabsolutely necessary that this interview should be suddenlyinterrupted by Tremorel's return. Let's make our calculations. It will take the rascal half an hour to go to the Rue desSaints-Peres, where he will find nobody; as long to get back; letus throw in fifteen minutes as a margin; in all, an hour and aquarter. There are forty minutes left us. "

M. Plantat did not reply, but his companion said that he could notstay so long on his feet after the fatigues of the day, agitatedas he was, and having eaten nothing since the evening before. Heled him into a neighboring cafe, and forced him to eat a biscuit anddrink a glass of wine. Then seeing that conversation would beannoying to the unhappy old man, he took up an evening paper andsoon seemed to be absorbed in the latest news from Germany. Theold justice, his head leaning on the back of his chair and his eyeswandering over the ceiling, passed in mental review the events ofthe past four years. It seemed to him but yesterday that Laurence, still a child, ran up his garden-path and picked his roses andhoneysuckles. How pretty she was, and how divine were her greateyes! Then, as it seemed, between dusk and dawn, as a rose bloomson a June night, the pretty child had become a sweet and radiantyoung girl. She was timid and reserved with all but him--was henot her old friend, the confidant of all her little griefs and herinnocent hopes? How frank and pure she was then; what a heavenlyignorance of evil!

Nine o'clock struck; M. Lecoq laid down his paper. 

"Let us go, " said he. 

M. Plantat followed him with a firmer step, and they soon reachedM. Wilson's house, accompanied by Job and his men. 

"You men, " said M. Lecoq, "wait till I call before you go in; Iwill leave the door ajar. "

He rang; the door swung open; and M. Plantat and the detective wentin under the arch. The porter was on the threshold of his lodge. 

"Monsieur Wilson?" asked M. Lecoq. 

"He is out. "

"I will speak to Madame, then. "

"She is also out. "

"Very well. Only, as I must positively speak with Madame Wilson, I'm going upstairs. "

The porter seemed about to resist him by force; but, as Lecoq nowcalled in his men, he thought better of it and kept quiet. 

M. Lecoq posted six of his men in the court, in such a positionthat they could be easily seen from the windows on the first floor, and instructed the others to place themselves on the oppositesidewalk, telling them to look ostentatiously at the house. Thesemeasures taken, he returned to the porter. 

"Attend to me, my man. When your master, who has gone out, comesin again, beware that you don't tell him that we are upstairs; asingle word would get you into terribly hot water--"

"I am blind, " he answered, "and deaf. "

"How many servants are there in the house?"

"Three; but they have all gone out. "

The detective then took M. Plantat by the arm, and holding himfirmly:

"You see, my dear friend, " said he, "the game is ours. Come along--and in Laurence's name, have courage!"

 XXVII

All M. Lecoq's anticipations were realized. Laurence was not dead, and her letter to her parents was an odious trick. It was reallyshe who lived in the house as Mme. Wilson. How had the lovelyyoung girl, so much beloved by the old justice, come to such adreadful extremity? The logic of life, alas, fatally enchains allour determinations to each other. Often an indifferent action, little wrongful in itself, is the beginning of an atrocious crime. Each of our new resolutions depends upon those which have precededit, and is their logical sequence just as the sum-total is theproduct of the added figures. Woe to him who, being seized with adizziness at the brink of the abyss, does not fly as fast aspossible, without turning his head; for soon, yielding to anirresistible attraction, he approaches, braves the danger, slips, and is lost. Whatever thereafter he does or attempts he will rolldown the faster, until he reaches the very bottom of the gulf. 

Tremorel had by no means the implacable character of an assassin;he was only feeble and cowardly; yet he had committed abominablecrimes. All his guilt came from the first feeling of envy withwhich he regarded Sauvresy, and which he had not taken the painsto subdue. Laurence, when, on the day that she became enamouredof Tremorel, she permitted him to press her hand, and kept it fromher mother, was lost. The hand-pressure led to the pretence ofsuicide in order to fly with her lover. It might also lead toinfanticide. 

Poor Laurence, when she was left alone by Hector's departure to theFaubourg St. Germain, on receiving M. Lecoq's letter, began toreflect upon the events of the past year. How unlooked-for andrapidly succeeding they had been! It seemed to her that she hadbeen whirled along in a tempest, without a second to think or actfreely. She asked herself if she were not a prey to some hideousnightmare, and if she should not presently awake in her prettymaidenly chamber at Orcival. Was it really she who was there ina strange house, dead to everyone, leaving behind a withered memory, reduced to live under a false name, without family or friendshenceforth, or anyone in the world to help her feebleness, at themercy of a fugitive like herself, who was free to break to-morrowthe bonds of caprice which to-day bound him to her? Was it she, too, who was about to become a mother, and found herself sufferingfrom the excessive misery of blushing for that maternity which isthe pride of pure young wives? A thousand memories of her pastlife flocked through her brain and cruelly revived her despair. Her heart sank as she thought of her old friendships, of her mother, her sister, the pride of her innocence, and the pure joys of thehome fireside. 

As she half reclined on a divan in Hector's library, she weptfreely. She bewailed her life, broken at twenty, her lost youth, her vanished, once radiant hopes, the world's esteem, and her ownself-respect, which she should never recover. 

Of a sudden the door was abruptly opened. 

Laurence thought it was Hector returned, and she hastily rose, passing her handkerchief across her face to try to conceal hertears. 

A man whom she did not know stood upon the threshold, respectfullybowing. She was afraid, for Tremorel had said to her many timeswithin the past two days, "We are pursued; let us hide well;" andthough it seemed to her that she had nothing to fear, she trembledwithout knowing why. 

"Who are you?" she asked, haughtily, "and who has admitted you here?What do you want?"

M. Lecoq left nothing to chance or inspiration; he foresaweverything, and regulated affairs in real life as he would thescenes in a theatre. He expected this very natural indignation andthese questions, and was prepared for them. The only reply he madewas to step one side, thus revealing M. Plantat behind him. 

Laurence was so much overcome on recognizing her old friend, that, in spite of her resolution, she came near falling. 

"You!" she stammered; "you!"

The old justice was, if possible, more agitated than Laurence. Wasthat really his Laurence there before him? Grief had done its workso well that she seemed old. 

"Why did you seek for me?" she resumed. "Why add another grief tomy life? Ah, I told Hector that the letter he dictated to me wouldnot be believed. There are misfortunes for which death is the onlyrefuge. "

M. Plantat was about to reply, but Lecoq was determined to take thelead in the interview. 

"It is not you, Madame, that we seek, " said he, "but Monsieur deTremorel. "

"Hector! And why, if you please? Is he not free?"

M. Lecoq hesitated before shocking the poor girl, who had been buttoo credulous in trusting to a scoundrel's oaths of fidelity. Buthe thought that the cruel truth is less harrowing than the suspenseof intimations. 

"Monsieur de Tremorel, " he answered, "has committed a great crime. "

"He! You lie, sir. "

The detective sorrowfully shook his head. 

"Unhappily I have told you the truth. Monsieur de Tremorel murderedhis wife on Wednesday night. I am a detective and I have a warrantto arrest him. "

He thought this terrible charge would overwhelm Laurence; he wasmistaken. She was thunderstruck, but she stood firm. The crimehorrified her, but it did not seem to her entirely improbable, knowing as she did the hatred with which Hector was inspired byBertha. 

"Well, perhaps he did, " cried she, sublime in her energy and despair;"I am his accomplice, then--arrest me. "

This cry, which seemed to proceed from the most senseless passion, amazed the old justice, but did not surprise M. Lecoq. 

"No, Madame, " he resumed, "you are not this man's accomplice. Besides, the murder of his wife is the least of his crimes. Do youknow why he did not marry you? Because in concert with Bertha, hepoisoned Monsieur Sauvresy, who saved his life and was his bestfriend. We have the proof of it. "

This was more than poor Laurence could bear; she staggered and fellupon a sofa. But she did not doubt the truth of what M. Lecoq said. This terrible revelation tore away the veil which, till then, hadhidden the past from her. The poisoning of Sauvresy explained allHector's conduct, his position, his fears, his promises, his lies, his hate, his recklessness, his marriage, his flight. Still shetried not to defend him, but to share the odium of his crimes. 

"I knew it, " she stammered, in a voice broken by sobs, "I knew itall. "

The old justice was in despair. 

"How you love him, poor child!" murmured he. 

This mournful exclamation restored to Laurence all her energy; shemade an effort and rose, her eyes glittering with indignation:

"I love him!" cried she. "I! Ah, I can explain my conduct to you, my old friend, for you are worthy of hearing it. Yes, I did lovehim, it is true--loved him to the forgetfulness of duty, toself-abandonment. But one day he showed himself to me as he was;I judged him, and my love did not survive my contempt. I wasignorant of Sauvresy's horrible death. Hector confessed to me thathis life and honor were in Bertha's hands--and that she loved him. I left him free to abandon me, to marry, thus sacrificing more thanmy life to what I thought was his happiness; yet I was not deceived. When I fled with him I once more sacrificed myself, when I saw thatit was impossible to conceal my shame. I wanted to die. I lived, and wrote an infamous letter to my mother, and yielded to Hector'sprayers, because he pleaded with me in the name of my--of ourchild!"

M. Lecoq, impatient at the loss of time, tried to say something;but Laurence would not listen to him. 

"But what matter?" she continued. "I loved him, followed him, andam his! Constancy at all hazards is the only excuse for a fault likemine. I will do my duty. I cannot be innocent when Hector hascommitted a crime; I desire to suffer half the punishment. "

She spoke with such remarkable animation that the detectivedespaired of calming her, when two whistles in the street struckhis ear. Tremorel was returning and there was not a moment to belost. He suddenly seized Laurence by the arm. 

"You will tell all this to the judges, Madame, " said he, sternly. "My orders are only for M. De Tremorel. Here is the warrant toarrest him. "

He took out the warrant and laid it upon the table. Laurence, bythe force of her will, had become almost calm. 

"You will let me speak five minutes with the Count de Tremorel, will you not?" she asked. 

M. Lecoq was delighted; he had looked for this request, andexpected it. 

"Five minutes? Yes, " he replied. "But abandon all hope, Madame, of saving the prisoner; the house is watched; if you look in thecourt and in the street you will see my men in ambuscade. Besides, I am going to stay here in the next room. "

The count was heard ascending the stairs. 

"There's Hector!" cried Laurence, "quick, quick! conceal yourselves!"

She added, as they were retiring, in a low tone, but not so low asto prevent the detective from hearing her:

"Be sure, we will not try to escape. "

She let the door-curtain drop; it was time. Hector entered. Hewas paler than death, and his eyes had a fearful, wanderingexpression. 

"We are lost!" said he, "they are pursuing us. See, this letterwhich I received just now is not from the man whose signature itprofesses to bear; he told me so himself. Come, let us go, letus leave this house--"

Laurence overwhelmed him with a look full of hate and contempt, and said:

"It is too late. "

Her countenance and voice were so strange that Tremorel, despitehis distress, was struck by it, and asked:

"What is the matter?"

"Everything is known; it is known that you killed your wife. "

"It's false!"

She shrugged her shoulders. 

"Well, then, it is true, " he added, "for I loved you so--"

"Really! And it was for love of me that you poisoned Sauvresy?"

He saw that he was discovered, that he had been caught in a trap, that they had come, in his absence, and told Laurence all. He didnot attempt to deny anything. 

"What shall I do?" cried he, "what shall I do?"

Laurence drew him to her, and muttered in a shuddering voice:

"Save the name of Tremorel; there are pistols here. "

He recoiled, as if he had seen death itself. 

"No, " said he. "I can yet fly and conceal myself; I will go alone, and you can rejoin me afterward. "

"I have already told you that it is too late. The police havesurrounded the house. And--you know--it is the galleys, or--thescaffold!"

"I can get away by the courtyard. "

"It is guarded; look. "

He ran to the window, saw M. Lecoq's men, and returned half madand hideous with terror. 

"I can at least try, " said he, "by disguising myself--"

"Fool! A detective is in there, and it was he who left thatwarrant to arrest you on the table. "

He saw that he was lost beyond hope. 

"Must I die, then?" he muttered. 

"Yes, you must; but before you die write a confession of yourcrimes, for the innocent may be suspected--"

He sat down mechanically, took the pen which Laurence held out tohim, and wrote:

"Being about to appear before God, I declare that I alone, andwithout accomplices, poisoned Sauvresy and murdered the Countessde Tremorel, my wife. "

When he had signed and dated this, Laurence opened a bureau drawer;Hector seized one of the brace of pistols which were lying in it, and she took the other. But Tremorel, as before at the hotel, andthen in the dying Sauvresy's chamber, felt his heart fail him as heplaced the pistol against his forehead. He was livid, his teethchattered, and he trembled so violently that he let the pistol drop. 

"Laurence, my love, " he stammered, "what will--become of you?"

"Me! I have sworn that I will follow you always and everywhere. Do you understand?"

"Ah, 'tis horrible!" said he. "It was not I who poisoned Sauvresy--it was she--there are proofs of it; perhaps, with a goodadvocate--"

M. Lecoq did not lose a word or a gesture of this tragical scene. Either purposely or by accident, he pushed the door-curtain, whichmade a slight noise. 

Laurence thought the door was being opened, that the detective wasreturning, and that Hector would fall alive into their hands. 

"Miserable coward!" she cried, pointing her pistol at him, "shoot, or else--"

He hesitated; there was another rustle at the door; she fired. 

Tremorel fell dead. 

Laurence, with a rapid movement, took up the other pistol, and wasturning it against herself, when M. Lecoq sprung upon her and torethe weapon from her grasp. 

"Unhappy girl!" cried he, "what would you do?"

"Die. Can I live now?"

"Yes, you can live, " responded M. Lecoq. "And more, you ought tolive. "

"I am a lost woman--"

"No, you are a poor child lured away by a wretch. You say you arevery guilty; perhaps so; live to repent of it. Great sorrows likeyours have their missions in this world, one of devotion andcharity. Live, and the good you do will attach you once more tolife. You have yielded to the deceitful promises of a villain. Remember, when you are rich, that there are poor innocent girlsforced to lead a life of miserable shame for a morsel of bread. Go to these unhappy creatures, rescue them from debauchery, andtheir honor will be yours. "

M. Lecoq narrowly watched Laurence as he spoke, and perceived thathe had touched her. Still, her eyes were dry, and were lit up witha strange light. 

"Besides, your life is not your own--you know. "

"Ah, " she returned, "I must die now, even for my child, if I wouldnot die of shame when he asks for his father--"

"You will reply, Madame, by showing him an honest man and an oldfriend, who is ready to give him his name--Monsieur Plantat. "

The old justice was broken with grief; yet he had the strength tosay:

"Laurence, my beloved child, I beg you accept me--"

These simple words, pronounced with infinite gentleness andsweetness, at last melted the unhappy young girl, and determinedher. She burst into tears. 

She was saved. 

M. Lecoq hastened to throw a shawl which he saw on a chair abouther shoulders, and passed her arm through M. Plantat's, saying tothe latter:

"Go, lead her away; my men have orders to let you pass, and Palotwill lend you his carriage. "

"But where shall we go?"

"To Orcival; Monsieur Courtois has been informed by a letter fromme that his daughter is living, and he is expecting her. Come, lose no time. "

M. Lecoq, when he was left alone, listened to the departure of thecarriage which took M. Plantat and Laurence away; then he returnedto Tremorel's body. 

"There, " said he to himself, "lies a wretch whom I have killedinstead of arresting and delivering him up to justice. Have I donemy duty? No; but my conscience will not reproach me, because I haveacted rightly. "

And running to the staircase, he called his men. 

 XXVIII

The day after Tremorel's death, old Bertaud and Guespin were set atliberty, and received, the former four thousand francs to buy a boatand new tackle, and the latter ten thousand francs, with a promiseof a like sum at the end of the year, if he would go and live inhis own province. Fifteen days later, to the great surprise of theOrcival gossips, who had never learned the details of these events, M. Plantat wedded Mlle. Laurence Courtois; and the groom and bridedeparted that very evening for Italy, where it was announced theywould linger at least a year. 

As for Papa Courtois, he has offered his beautiful domain at Orcivalfor sale; he proposes to settle in the middle of France, and is onthe lookout for a commune in need of a good mayor. 

M. Lecoq, like everybody else, would, doubtless, have forgotten theValfeuillu affair, had it not been that a notary called on himpersonally the other morning with a very gracious letter fromLaurence, and an enormous sheet of stamped paper. This was noother than a title deed to M. Plantat's pretty estate at Orcival, "with furniture, stable, carriage-house, garden, and otherdependencies and appurtenances thereunto belonging, " and someneighboring acres of pleasant fields. 

"Prodigious!" cried M. Lecoq. "I didn't help ingrates, after all!I am willing to become a landed proprietor, just for the rarity ofthe thing. "