face of the dead man, whom he now kicked in
his passion. Though the form of their speech
was as if they were speaking to equals, yet in
their tone there was something of fear. I am
sure my husband was their superior, or captain,
or somewhat. He replied to them almost as if
he were scoffing at them, saying it was such an
expenditure of labour having to do with fools;
that, ten to one, the woman was only telling
the simple truth, and that she was frightened
enough by discovering her master in his room
to be thankful to escape and return to her
mistress, to whom he could easily explain on the
morrow how he happened to return in the dead
of night. But his companions fell to cursing
me, and saying that since M. de la Tourelle had
been married He was fit for nothing but to dress
himself fine and scent himself with perfume;
that, as for me, they could have got him twenty
girls prettier, and with far more spirit in
them. He quietly answered that I suited him,
and that was enough. All this time they were
doing something— I could not see what— to the
corpse; sometimes they were too busy rifling
the dead body, I believe, to talk; again they let
it fall with a heavy, resistless thud, and took to
quarrelling. They taunted my husband with
angry vehemence, enraged at his scoffing and
scornful replies, his mocking laughter. Yes,
holding up his poor dead victim, the better to
strip him of whatever he wore that was valu-
able, I heard my husband laugh just as he had
done when exchanging repartees in the little
salon of the Rupprechts at Carlsruhe. I hated
and dreaded him from that moment. At length,
as if to make an end of the subject, he said,
with cool determination in his voice,

"Now, my good friends, what is the use of
all this talking, when you know in your hearts
that, if I suspected my wife of knowing more
than I chose of my affairs, she would not outlive
the day? Remember Victorine. Because she
merely joked about my affairs in an imprudent
manner, and rejected my advice to keep a
prudent tongue to see what she liked, but ask
nothing and say nothing— she has gone a long
journey— longer than to Paris."

"But this one is different to her; we knew
all that Madame Victorine knew, she was such
a chatterbox; but this one may find out a vast
deal, and never breathe a word about it, she
is so sly. Some fine day we may have the
country raised, and the gendarmes down upon
us from Strasburg, and all owing to your pretty
doll, with her cunning ways of coming over
you."

I think this roused M. de la Tourelle a little
from his contemptuous indifference, for he
ground an oath through his teeth, and said,
"Feel! this dagger is sharp, Henri. If my wife
breathes a word, and I am such a fool as not
to have stopped her mouth effectually before she
can bring down gendarmes upon us, just let that
good steel find its way to my heart. Let her
guess but one tittle, let her have but one slight
suspicion that I am not a 'grand propriétaire,'
much less imagine that I am a chief of chauffeurs,
and she follows Victorine on the long journey
beyond Paris that very day."

"She'll outwit you yet; or I never judged
women well. Those still silent ones are the
devil. She'll be off during some of your
absences, having picked out some secret that will
break us all on the wheel."

"Bah!" said his voice; and then in a minute
he added, "Let her go if she will. But, where
she goes, I will follow; so don't cry before
you're hurt."

By this time, they had nearly stripped the
body; and the conversation turned on what
they should do with it. I learnt that the dead
man was the Sieur de Poissy, a neighbouring
gentleman, whom I had often heard of as hunting
with my husband. I had never seen him, but
they spoke as if he had come upon them while they
were robbing some Cologne merchant, torturing
him after the cruel practice of the chauffeurs, by
roasting the feet of their victims in order to
compel them to reveal any hidden circumstances
connected with their wealth, of which the chauffeurs
afterwards made use; and this Sieur de
Poissy coming down upon them, and recognising
M. de la Tourelle, they had killed him, and brought
him hither after nightfall. I heard him, whom I
called my husband, laugh his little light laugh
as he spoke of the way in which the dead body
had been strapped before one of the riders, in
such a way that it appeared to any passer-by as
if, in truth, the murderer were tenderly supporting
some sick person. He repeated some mocking
reply of double meaning, which he himself
had given to some one who made inquiry. He
enjoyed the play upon words, softly applauding
his own wit. And all the time the poor helpless
outstretched arms of the dead lay close to
his dainty boot! Then another stooped (my
heart stopped beating), and picked up a letter
lying on the ground a letter that had dropped
out of M. de Poissy's pocket a letter from his
wife, full of tender words of endearment and
pretty babblings of love. This was read aloud,
with coarse ribald comments on every sentence,
each trying to outdo the previous speaker.
When they came to some pretty words about a
sweet Maurice, their little child away with its
mother on some visit, they laughed at M. de la
Tourelle, and told him that he would be hearing
such woman's drivelling some day. Up to that
moment, I think, I had only feared him, but his
unnatural, half-ferocious reply made me hate
even more than I dreaded him. But now they
grew weary of their savage merriment; the
jewels and watch had been apprised, the money
and papers examined; and apparently there was
some necessity for the body being interred
quietly and before daybreak. They had not
dared to leave him where he was slain for fear
lest people should come and recognise him, and
raise the hue and cry upon them. For they all
along spoke as if it was their constant endeavour
to keep the immediate neighbourhood of
Les Rochers in the most orderly and trauquil
condition, so as never to give cause for visits
from the gendarmes. They disputed a little as