the torture. The fearful sufferings of the rack
were unable to extort from the unhappy man
the confession of a crime which he had not
committed.

On the 27th, a definitive sentence was
pronounced, quashing the sentence of death
delivered by the Châtelet, and ordering further
inquiries against Lebrun and his wife during
the space of a year: Lebrun, meanwhile, to be
detained in prison, and his wife to remain at
liberty. The question of the nullity of the
legacy, and of damages, was reserved. In
consequence of this sentence, Lebrun, who had
hitherto been kept in strict seclusion, had at
last the consolation of seeing his wife and
friends. But he did not enjoy the favour long.
His body had been crushed by the rack, his
spirit was broken down by grief. A week after
the sentence, he expired, protesting his
innocence and pardoning his judges. It is to be
remarked that public opinion, ready as it is to
believe any accusation, never once admitted his
culpability. His body was buried in front of
the altar to the Virgin, in St. Barthélemy's
church. His funeral was attended by crowds
of sorrowing relations and friends.

Scarcely was poor Lebrun laid in his grave,
when proofs of his innocence appeared in all
directions. What a few persons had suspected,
and what still fewer had clearly perceived, became
evident to the eyes of the public at large.
They found Berry. A lieutenant of the horse
patrol arrested him at Sens, where he lived by
horse-dealing, on the 27th of March, a month
after the sentence delivered at La Tournelle.
When they laid hands upon him, he offered the
leader of the brigade a purse full of louis-d'ors
if he would let him go. They found upon
him a watch which Madame Mazel had worn
the day before her death.

Berry (whose real name was Gerlat) was, as
we have said, born at Bourges, where his father
and mother still resided. His first situation had
been with a canon in his native town; he then
lived as domestic with a M. Benard de Rosé;
and from thence he passed into Madame Mazel's
service.

Transferred to Paris, several witnesses
deposed that they had seen him there at the time
of the murder. This he stoutly denied.

The facts imputed by public rumour to the
Abbé Poulard, were too grave and glaring to
make it possible to refrain from arresting him.
He was taken to the Conciergerie and confronted
with Berry. From that moment, all trace of
him is lost. He disappeared, and was never
mentioned afterwards. Doubtless, to avoid the
scandal of an ecclesiastic's being mixed up with
an affair of murder, perhaps also to avert a
disgraceful exposure from the powerful family
of the De Savonnières, they handed over the
excommunicated monk to the tender mercies of
the Church authorities.

As to Berry, he was left to his fate. His
guilt became manifest as soon as people chose
to see it. The shirt and the cravat had really
belonged to him. The napkin twisted into a
cap fitted his head exactly. The knife had been
seen in his hands, and the victim's watch was
found on his person. It was impossible to
entertain a doubt. But had Lebrun been
Berry's accomplice? The latter, unable to deny
participating in the murder, endeavoured,
nevertheless, to accuse the valet-de-chambre of
having suggested it: but on the day of his
execution he acknowledged the truth, and
relieved his conscience of that calumny. In
the presence of Reporter Le Nain and
Counsellor Gilbert he made a circumstantial
statement, from which it appears that he, Gerlat,
alias Berry, was the sole perpetrator of the
murder and the theft.

"I arrived in Paris," he said, " on Wednesday,
the 23rd of November, 1689, and put up
at the sign of the Golden Waggon. My plans
were laid. I was perfectly acquainted with the
disposition and the habits of the Mazel
establishment. The following Friday was the day
I selected for the execution of my design. At
dusk, I quickly slipped in by the great door,
which was left open; there was nobody in the
court. I then mounted noiselessly into the
little attic which you reach by passing through
the corn-loft. I remained there until Sunday,
watching my opportunity, and living on some
potatoes and a little bread which I had brought
with me.

"On Sunday morning, I was on the alert.
At the first stroke of eleven I began my
preparations; I well knew that at that hour
Madame Mazel usually went to mass. I came
down slowly from the attic, using every
precaution. Madame's chamber was wide open,
and nobody in it. From the dust, I judged that
the maids had only just finished putting it to
rights. Without loss of time, I tried to creep
under the bed, but found it impossible to do so
with my coat on. Fearing a surprise, I rapidly
returned to the attic, where I took off my coat
and under-waistcoat, and came down again to
the chamber in my shirt-sleeves. It was still
unoccupied.

"I slipped under the bed, and soon heard
my former mistress come back from church.
She fidgeted about, grumbled, scolded, and
made a fuss. I kept quiet and snug, holding
my breath.

"She went to vespers. When I heard the
carriage roll out at the great gate, I came from
under the bed, where I was ill at ease. My
hat incommoded me, so I left it there and took
a napkin from behind the looking-glass, and
tied it up so as to form a cap. I also took
advantage of the opportunity to tie up the bell-
ropes to the curtain-rods.

"Evening was coming on; all was ready. I
warmed myself and enjoyed a short doze in
madame's arm-chair, until I heard the carriage
roll into the court. I then got under the bed
again, and remained there until midnight.

"Madame Mazel had been in bed an hour;
I expected to find her fast asleep, but her eyes
were wide open. She stared at me. ' I want
money!' I said. She tried to sit up in the bed.