were tired and soon fell asleep. I was wakened
by a noise in the stable below. One instant of
listening, and I wakened Amante, placing my
hand on her mouth, to prevent any exclamation
in her half-roused state. We heard my husband
speaking about his horse to the ostler. It was
his voice. I am sure of it. Amante said so too.
We durst not move to rise and satisfy ourselves.
For five minutes or so he went, on giving
directions. Then he left the stable, and softly stealing
to our window, we saw him cross the court
and re-enter the inn. We consulted as to what
we should do. We feared to excite remark or
suspicion by descending and leaving our chamber,
or else immediate escape was our strongest
idea. Then the ostler left the stable, locking
the door on the outside.

"We must try and drop through the window
—- if, indeed, it is well to go at all," said Amante.

With reflection came wisdom. We should
excite suspicion by leaving without paying our
bill. We were on foot, and might easily be
pursued. So we sat on our bed's edge, talking
and shivering, while from across the court the
laughter rang merrily, and the company slowly
dispersed one by one, their lights flitting past
the windows as they went up-stairs and settled
each one to his rest.

We crept into our bed, holding each other
tight, and listening to every sound, as if we
thought we were tracked, and might meet
our death at any moment. In the dead of
night, just at the profound stillness preceding
the turn into another day, we heard a soft,
cautious step crossing the yard. The key into
the stable was turned— some one came into the
stable—we felt rather than heard him there. A
horse started a little, and made a restless
movement with his feet, then whinnied recognition.
He who had entered made two or three low
sounds to the animal, and then led him into the
court. Amante sprang to the window with the
noiseless activity of a cat. She looked out, but
dared not speak a word. We heard the great
door into the street open—a pause for mounting,
and the horse's footsteps were lost in
distance.

Then, Amante came back to me. "It was
he! he is gone!" said she, and once more we
lay down trembling and shaking.

This time we fell sound asleep. We slept
long and late. We were wakened by many
hurrying feet, and many confused voices; all
the world seemed awake and astir. We rose
and dressed ourselves, and coming down we
looked around among the crowd collected in the
court-yard, in order to assure ourselves he was
not there before we left the shelter of the
stable.

The instant we were seen two or three people
rushed to us.

"Have you heard?— Do you know?— That
poor young lady—oh, come and see!" and so we
were hurried, almost in spite of ourselves, across
the court and up the great open stairs of the
main building of the inn, into a bed-chamber,
where lay the beautiful young German lady, so
full of graceful pride the night before, now white
and still in death. By her stood the French
maid, crying and gesticulating.

"Oh, madame! if you had but suffered me to
stay with you! Oh! the baron, what will he
say?" and so she went on. Her state had but
just, been discovered; it had been supposed that
she was fatigued, and was sleeping late, until
a few minutes before. The surgeon of the
town had been sent for, and the landlord of the
inn was trying vainly to enforce order until he
came, and from time to time drinking little
cups of brandy, and offering them to the guests,
who were all assembled there, pretty much as
the servants were doing in the court-yard.

At last the surgeon came. All fell back, and
hung on the words that were to fall from his
lips.

"See!" said the landlord. " This lady came
last night by the diligence with her maid.
Doubtless a great lady, for she must have a
private sitting-room——"

"She was Madame the Baroness de RÅ“der,"
said the French maid.

—" And was difficult to please in the matter of
supper, and a sleeping-room. She went to bed
well, though fatigued. Her maid left her—— "

"I begged to be allowed to sleep in her room,
as we were in a strange inn, of the character of
which we knew nothing; but she would not let
me, my mistress was such a great lady."

—"And slept with my servants," continued the
landlord. "This morning we thought madame was
still slumbering, but when eight, nine, ten, and
near eleven o'clock came, I bade her maid use
my pass-key and enter her room——"

"The door was not locked, only closed.
And here she was found—dead is she not,
monsieur?—with her face down on her pillow,
and her beautiful hair all scattered wild; she
never would let me tie it up, saying it made her
head ache. Such hair!" said the waiting-maid,
lifting up a long golden tress and letting it fall
again.

I remembered Amante's words the night
before, and crept close up to her.

Meanwhile the doctor was examining the
body underneath the bed-clothes, which the
landlord, until now, had not allowed to be
disarranged. The surgeon drew out his hand, all
bathed and stained with blood; and holding
up a short sharp-knife, with a piece of paper
fastened round it.

"Here has been foul play," he said. "The
deceased lady has been murdered. This dagger
was aimed straight at her heart." Then, putting
on his spectacles, he read the writing on the
bloody paper, dimmed and horribly obscured as
it was:

NUMÉRO UN.
Ainsi les Chauffeurs se vengent.

"Let us go!" said I to Amante. " Oh, let
us leave this horrible place!"

"Wait a little," said she. "Only a few
minutes more. It will be better."

Immediately the voices of all proclaimed
their suspicions of the cavalier who had arrived