The invention of that Triboccus was quite as useful as that of the steamengine; what a pity his name is not known!" The worthy man had scarcely concluded his reflections when a young maiden of sixteen, wearing a very widebrimmed straw hat, her white skirts dripping with rain and her little bare feet covered with sand, advanced to the doorstep, and said "The Lord bless you!" "Amen," answered Christian solemnly. This young girl was of the purest Scandinavian type, with cheeks of rose pink upon a face of pure whiteness, and long waving tresses, so fair and so silky that the finest wheat straw would hardly bear comparison with it. Her figure was tall and slender, and her blue eyes beamed with inexpressible sweetness. Matre Bernard stood a few moments in rapt admiration, and the woodman, kindly addressing the young girl, said "I am glad to see you, Fuldrade. Irmengarde is still asleep. What a storm it is! Is it coming to an end yet?" "Yes, the wind is driving it down to the plain. It will be over before daylight." Then, without looking at Matre Bernard, she went to sit before the old woman, who now seemed to revive. "Fuldrade," she murmured, "is the great tower yet standing?" "Yes." The aged woman bowed her head, and her lips moved. After the last thunderclaps the rain fell in torrents. All down the valley was heard an incessant loud beating of falling sheets of rain, and the rushing of the swollen stream, then, at intervals, after a brief cessation of rain, again the heavier dashing of repeated and more violent showers. Between the heavy showers the tinkling which Uncle Bernard had distinguished in the distance when he awoke gradually became more distinct, and at last arrived under the window of the hut, and almost immediately five longhorned head of beautiful cows, spotted equally with white and black, appeared at the door. "Why! here's Waldine!" cried Christian, laughing; "she is looking for you, Fuldrade." The gentle creature calmly and quietly came straight in, and seemed to examine old Irmengarde. "Go away!" cried Fuldrade; "go along with the others!" And the obedient heifer turned back to the cabin door. But the falling floods seemed to give her matter for reflection, for she stood quietly there, contemplating the deluge, and slowly swinging her beautiful head, lowing in a deep, subdued tone. The fresh air was now penetrating the hut and bringing with it the sweet perfumes of honeysuckle and wild roses, excited by the freshening rain. All the birds in the woodsredbreasts, thrushes, and blackbirdsformed a concert under the trees; the air was filled with the little lovetales of the happy birds and the fluttering of their eager wings. Then Matre Bernard, recovering from his reverie, took a few paces outside, raised his eyes, and contemplated the white and fleecy clouds hastily crossing the still troubled sky. On the hill opposite he could see the whole herd of cattle, all lying sheltered beneath the overhanging rocks, some lazily extended, their knees bent beneath them, with sleepy eyes; others, with neck outstretched, lowing solemnly. A few young animals were gazing at the hanging festoons of honeysuckle, and seemed to enjoy the balmy air that wafted from them. All these diverse forms and attitudes stood clearly out upon the reddish background of the rock; and the immense expanded vault of the cavern, with its setting of oak and pine whose twisted roots appeared where they had pierced through the rock, gave a majestic air of grandeur to the spectacle. "Well, Matre Bernard," cried Christian, "it is broad daylight; had we not better start?" Then, speaking to Fuldrade, who seemed buried in thought "Fuldrade, this old gentleman cannot drink our kirschwasser, yet I cannot offer him water. Have you anything better?" Fuldrade took up a milkpail, and, with an intelligent glance at Christian, went out. "Wait a moment," she said; "I shall be here directly." She rapidly tripped over the wet meadow; the drops of rain, collecting in the large leaves, poured about her feet in little crystal streams. At her approach to the cave the finest cows arose up as if to greet their young mistress. She patted them all, and, having seated herself, began to milk one, a fine white cow, which, standing motionless, with eyes halfclosed, seemed grateful for the preference. When her pail was full Fuldrade made haste back, and, presenting it to Bernard, said, smiling "Drink as much as you like; that is the way we drink milk warm from the cow in the country." Which was done at once, the good man thanking her many times, and praising the excellence of this frothy milk, flavoured, as it were, with the wild aromatic plants of the Schneberg, Fuldrade seemed pleased with his eulogiums, and Christian, who had slipped on his blouse, standing behind them, staff in hand, waited for the end of these compliments before he cried "Now, master, en route! We have plenty of water now to turn the mill for six weeks without stopping, and I must be back by nine o'clock." And they started, following the gravelly road under the hill. "Adieu!" said Matre Bernard to the young girl, who gently bowed her head without speaking; "farewell! and may God make you always happy!" The next day, about six in the evening, Bernard Hertzog, having returned to Saverne, was seated before his writingdesk, and describing in his chapter upon the antiquities of the Dagsberg, his discovery of the Merovingian arms in the woodman's hut in the Nideck. Then he went on to prove that the name of Tribocci, or Triboques, was derived from the German drei bchenthat is, three beeches. As a convincing proof, he referred to the three trees and the three toads of Nideck, which latter our kings have converted into three fleursdelis. All the antiquaries of Alsace envied him this admirable and interesting discovery. On both banks of the Rhine he was known as doctor, doctissimus, eruditus Bernardus, under which triumphal titles he dilated with honest pride, while he tried to bear his honours with becoming gravity. And now, my dear friends, if you are curious to know what became of old Irmengarde, refer to the second volume of Bernard Hertzog's Archeological Annals, where under date July 16,1836, you will find the following statement "The old teller of legends, Irmengarde, surnamed 'The Soul of the Ruins,' died last night in the hut of the woodman Christian. Wonderful to relate, in the very same hour, almost the same minute, the principal tower of Nideck fell, and was washed away by the waterfall below. "Such is the end of the most ancient monument known of Merovingian architecture, of which Schlosser, the historian, says," etc., etc. THE QUEEN OF THE BEES. "As you go from MotiersNavers to Boudry, on your way to Neufchatel," said the young professor of botany, "you follow a road between two walls of rocks of immense height; they reach a perpendicular elevation of five or six hundred feet, and are hung with wild plants, the mountain basil (thymus alpinus), ferus (polypodium), the whortleberry (vitis idoea), ground ivy, and other climbing plants producing a wonderful effect. "The road winds along this defile; it rises, falls, turns, sometimes tolerably level, sometimes broken and abrupt, according to the thousand irregularities of the ground. Grey rocks almost meet in an arch overhead, others stand wide apart, leaving the distant blue visible, and discovering sombre and melancholylooking depths, and rows of firs as far as the eye could reach. "The Reuss flows along the bottom, sometimes leaping along in waterfalls, then creeping through thickets, or steaming, foaming, and thundering over precipices, while the echoes prolong the tumult and roar of its torrents in one immense endless hum. Since I left Tubingen the weather had continued fine; but when I reached the summit of this gigantic staircase, about two leagues distant from the little hamlet of Novisaigne, I suddenly noticed great grey clouds begin passing overhead, which soon filled up the defile entirely; this vapour was so dense that it soon penetrated my clothes as a heavy dew would have done. "Although it was only two in the afternoon, the sky became clouded over as if darkness was coming on; and I foresaw a heavy storm was about to break over my head. "I consequently began looking about for shelter, and I saw through one of those wide openings which afford you a perspective view of the Alps, about two or three hundred yards distant on the slope leading down to the lake, an ancientlooking grey chlet, mosscovered, with its small round windows and sloping roof loaded with large stones, its stairs outside the house, with a carved rail, and its basketshaped balcony, on which the Swiss maidens generally hang their snowy linen and scarlet petticoats to dry. "Precisely as I was looking down, a tall woman in a black cap was folding and collecting the linen which was blowing about in the wind. "To the left of this building a very large apiary supported on beams, arranged like a balcony, formed a projection above the valley. "You may easily believe that without the loss of a moment I set off bounding through the heather to seek for shelter from the coming storm, and well it was I lost no time, for I had hardly laid my hand on the handle of the door before the hurricane burst furiously overhead; every gust of wind seemed about to carry the cottage bodily away; but its foundations were strong, and the security of the good people within, by the warmth of their reception, completely reassured me about the probability of any accident. "The cottage was inhabited by Walter Young, his wife Catherine, and little Raesel, their only daughter. "I remained three days with them; for the wind, which went down about midnight, had so filled the valley of Neufchatel with mist, that the mountain where I had taken refuge was completely enveloped in it; it was impossible to walk twenty yards from the door without experiencing great difficulty in finding it again. "Every morning these good people would say, when they saw me buckle on my knapsack "'What are you about, Mr. Hennetius? You cannot mean to go yet; you will never arrive anywhere. In the name of Heaven stay here a little longer!' "And Young would open the door and exclaim "'Look there, sir; you must be tired of your life to risk it among these rocks. Why, the dove itself would be troubled to find the ark again in such a mist as this.' "One glance at the mountain side was enough for me to make up my mind to put my stick back again in the corner. "Walter Young was a man of the old times. He was nearly sixty; his grand head wore a calm and benevolent expressiona real Apostle's head. His wife, who always wore a black silk cap, pale and thoughtful, resembled him much in disposition. Their two profiles, as I looked at them defined sharply against the little panes of glass in the chalet's windows, recalled to my mind those drawings of Albert Durer the sight of which carried me back to the age of faith and the patriarchal manners of the fifteenth century. The long brown rafters of the ceiling, the deal table, the ashen chairs with the carved backs, the tin drinkingcups, the sideboard with its oldfashioned painted plates and dishes, the crucifix with the Saviour carved in box on an ebony cross, and the wormeaten clockcase with its many weights and its porcelain dial, completed the illusion. "But the face of their little daughter Raesel was still more touching. I think I can see her now, with her flat horsehair cap and watered black silk ribbons, her trim bodice and broad blue sash down to her knees, her little white hands crossed in the attitude of a dreamer, her long fair curlsall that was graceful, slender, and ethereal in nature. Yes, I can see Raesel now, sitting in a large leathern armchair, close to the blue curtain of the recess at the end of the room, smiling as she listened and meditated. "Her sweet face had charmed me from the first moment I saw her and I was continually on the point of inquiring why she wore such an habitually melancholy air, why did she hold her pale face down so invariably, and why did she never raise her eyes when spoken to? "Alas! the poor child had been blind from her birth. "She had never seen the lake's vast expanse, nor its blue sheet blending so harmoniously with the sky, the fishermen's boats which ploughed its surface, the wooded heights which crowned it and cast their quivering reflection on its waters, the rocks covered with moss, the green Alpine plants in their vivid and brilliant colouring; nor had she ever watched the sun set behind the glaciers, nor the long shades of evening draw across the valleys, nor the golden broom, nor the endless heathernothing. None of these things had she ever seen; nothing of what we saw every day from the windows of the chalet. "'What an ironical commentary on the gifts of Fortune!' thought I, as I sat looking out of the window at the mist, in expectation of the sun's appearing once more, 'to be blind in this place! here in presence of Nature in its sublimest form, of such limitless grandeur! To be blind! Oh, Almighty God, who shall dare to dispute Thy impenetrable decrees, or who shall venture to murmur at the severity of Thy justice, even when its weight falls on an innocent child? But to be thus blind in the presence of Thy grandest creations, of creations which ceaselessly renew our enthusiasm, our love, and our adoration for Thy genius, Thy power, and Thy goodness; of what crime can this poor child have been guilty thus to deserve Thy chastisement?' "And my reflections continually reverted to this topic. "I asked myself, too, what compensation Divine pity could make its creature for the deprival of its greatest blessing, and, finding none, I began to doubt its power. "'Man, in his presumption,' said the royal poet, 'dares to glorify himself in his knowledge, and judge the Eternal. But his wisdom is but folly, and his light darkness.' "Oh that day one of Nature's great mysteries was revealed to me, doubtless with the purpose of humbling my vanity, and of teaching me that nothing is impossible to God, and that it is in His power only to multiply our senses, and by so doing gratify those who please Him." Here the young professor took a pinch from his tortoiseshell snuffbox, raised his eyes to the ceiling with a contemplative air, and then, after a short pause, continued in these terms "Does it not often happen to you, ladies, when you are in the country in fine weather in summer, especially after a brief storm, when the air is warm, and the exhalations from the ground filling it with the perfume of thousands of plants, and their sweet scent penetrates and warms you; when the foliage from the trees in the solitary avenues, as well as from the bushes, seems to lean over you as if it sought to take you in its arms and embrace you; when the minutest flowers, the humble daisy, the blue forgetmenot, the convolvulus in the hedgerows raise their heads and follow you with a longing lookdoes it not happen to you to experience an inexpressible sensation of languor, to sigh for no apparent reason, and even to feel inclined to shed tears, and to ask yourselves, 'Why does this feeling of love oppress me? why do my knees bend under me? whence these tears?' "Whence indeed, ladies? Why from life, and the thousands of living things which surround you, lean to you, and call to you to stay with them, while they gently murmur, 'We love you; love us, and do not leave us.' "You can easily imagine, then, the deep enthusiastic feeling and the religious sentiment of a person always in a similar state of ecstasy. Even if blind, abandoned by his friends, do you think there is nothing to envy in his lot? or that his destiny is not infinitely happier than our own? For my own part I have not the slightest doubt of it. "But you will, doubtless, say such a condition is impossiblethe mind of man would break down under such a load of happiness. And, moreover, whence could such happiness be derived? What organs could transmit, and where could it find, such a sensation of universal life? "This, ladies, is a question to which I can give you no answer; but I ask you to listen and then judge. "The very day I arrived at the chalet I had made a singular remarkthe blind girl was especially uneasy about the bees. "While the wind was roaring without Raesel sat with her head on her hands listening attentively. "'Father,' said she, 'I think at the end of the apiary the third hive on the right is still open. Go and see. The wind blows from the north; all the bees are home; you can shut the hive.' "And her father having gone out by a side door, when he returned he said "'It is all right, my child; I have closed the hive.' "Half an hour afterwards the girl, rousing herself once more from her reverie, murmured "'There are no more bees about, but under the roof of the apiary there are some waiting; they are in the sixth hive near the door; please go and let them in, father.' "The old man left the house at once. He was away more than a quarter of an hour; then he came back and told his daughter that everything was as she wished itthe bees had just gone into their hive. "The child nodded, and replied "'Thank you, father.' "Then she seemed to doze again. "I was standing by the stove, lost in a labyrinth of reflections; how could that poor blind girl know that from such or such a hive there were still some bees absent, or that such a hive had been left open? This seemed inexplicable to me; but having been in the house hardly one hour, I did not feel justified in asking my hosts any questions with regard to their daughter, for it is sometimes painful to talk to people on subjects which interest them very nearly. I concluded that Young gave way to his daughter's fancies in order to induce her to believe she was of some service in the family, and that her forethought protected the bees from several accidents. That seemed the simplest explanation I could imagine, and I thought no more about it. "About seven we supped on milk and cheese, and when it was time to retire Young led me into a goodsized room on the first floor, with a bed and a few chairs in it, panelled in fir, as is generally the case in the greater number of Swiss chlets. You are only separated from your neighbours by a deal partition, and you can hear every footstep and nearly every word. "That night I was lulled to sleep by the whistling of the wind and the sound of the rain beating against the windowpanes. The next day the wind had gone down and we were enveloped in mist. When I awoke I found my windows quite white, quite padded with mist. When I opened my window the valley looked like an immense stove; the tops of a few firtrees alone showed their outlines against the sky; below, the clouds were in regular layers down to the surface of the lake; everything was calm, motionless, and silent. "When I went down to the sittingroom I found my hosts seated at table, about to begin breakfast. "'We have been waiting for you,' cried Young gaily. "'You must excuse us,' said the mother; 'this is our regular breakfast hour.' "'Of course, of course; I am obliged to you for not noticing my laziness.' "Raesel was much more lively than the preceding evening; she had a fresh colour in her cheeks. "'The wind has gone down,' said she; 'the storm has passed away without doing any harm.' "'Shall I open the apiary?' asked Young. "'No, not yet; the bees would lose themselves in this mist. Besides, everything is drenched with rain; the brambles and mosses are full of water; the least puff of wind would drown many of them. We must wait a little while. I know what is the matter they feel dull, they want to work; they are tormented at the idea of devouring their honey instead of making it. But I cannot afford to lose them. Many of the hives are weakthey would starve in winter. We will see what the weather is like tomorrow.' "The two old people sat and listened without making any observations. "About nine the blind girl proposed to go and visit her bees; Young and Catherine followed her, and I did the same, from a very natural feeling of curiosity. "We passed through the kitchen by a door which opened on to a terrace. Above us was the roof of the apiary; it was of thatch, and from its ledge honeysuckle and wild grapes hung in magnificent festoons. The hives were arranged on three shelves. "Raesel went from one to the other, patting them, and murmuring "'Have a little patience; there is too much mist this morning. Ah! the greedy ones, how they grumble!' "And we could hear a vague humming inside the hive, which increased in intensity until she had passed. "That awoke all my curiosity once more. I felt there was some strange mystery which I could not fathom, but what was my surprise, when, as I went into the sittingroom, I heard the blind girl say in a melancholy tone of voice "'No, father, I would rather not see at all today than lose my eyes. I will sing, I will do something or other to pass the time, never mind what; but I will not let the bees out.' "While she was speaking in this strange manner I looked at Walter Young, who glanced out of the window and then quietly replied "'You are right, child; I think you are right. Besides, there is nothing to see; the valley is quite white. It is not worth looking at.' "And while I sat astounded at what I heard, the child continued "'What lovely weather we had the day before yesterday! Who would have thought that a storm on the lake would have caused all this mist? Now one must fold up its wings and crawl about like a wretched caterpillar.' "Then again, after a few moments' silence "'How I enjoyed myself under the lofty pines on the Grinderwald! How the honeydew dropped from the sky! It fell from every branch. What a harvest we made, and how sweet the air was on the shores of the lake, and in the rich Tannemath pasturesthe green moss, and the sweetsmelling herbs! I sang, I laughed, and we filled our cells with wax and honey. How delightful to be everywhere, see everything, to fly humming about the woods, the mountains, and the valleys!' "There was a fresh silence, while I sat, with mouth and eyes open, listening with the greatest attention, not knowing what to think or what to say. "'And when the shower came,' she went on, 'how frightened we were! A great humblebee, sheltered under the same fern as myself, shut his eyes at every flash; a grasshopper had sheltered itself under its great green branches, and some poor little crickets had scrambled up a poppy to save themselves from drowning. But what was most frightful was a nest of warblers quite close to us in a bush. The mother hovered round about us, and the little ones opened their beaks, yellow as far as their windpipes. How frightened we were! Good Lord, we were frightened indeed! Thanks be to Heaven, a puff of wind carried us off to the mountain side; and now the vintage is over we must not expect to get out again so soon.' "On hearing these descriptions of Nature so true, at this worship of day and light, I could no longer entertain the least doubt on the subject. "'The blind girl sees,' said I to myself; 'she sees through thousands of eyes; the apiary is her life, her soul. Every bee carries a part of her away into space, and then returns drawn to her by thousands of invisible threads. The blind girl penetrates the flowers and the mosses; she revels in their perfume; when the sun shines she is everywhere; in the mountain side, in the valleys, in the forests, as far as her sphere of attraction extends.' "I sat confounded at this strange magnetic influence, and felt tempted to exclaim "'Honour, glory, honour to the power, the wisdom, and the infinite goodness of the Eternal God! For Him nothing is impossible. Every day, every instant of our lives reveals to us His magnificence.' "While I was lost in these enthusiastic reflections, Raesel addressed me with a quiet smile. "'Sir,' said she. "'What, my child?' "'You are very much surprised at me, and you are not the first person who has been so. The rector Hegel, of Neufchatel, and other travellers have been here on purpose to see me they thought I was blind. You thought so too, did you not?' "'I did indeed, my dear child, and I thank the Lord that I was mistaken.' "'Yes,' said she, 'I know you are a good manI can tell it by your voice. When the sun shines I shall open my eyes to look at you, and when you leave here I will accompany you to the foot of the mountain.' "Then she began to laugh most artlessly. "'Yes,' said she, 'you shall have music in your ears, and I will seat myself on your cheek; but you must take caretake care. You must not touch me, or I should sting you. You must promise not to be angry.' "'I promise you, Raesel, I promise you I will not,' I said with tears in my eyes, 'and, moreover, I promise you never to kill a bee or any other insect except those which do harm.' "'They are the eyes of the Lord,' she murmured. 'I can only see by my own poor bees, but He has every hive, every ant's nest, every leaf, every blade of grass. He lives, He feels, He loves, He suffers, He does good by means of all these. Oh, Monsieur Hennetius, you are right not to pain the Lord, who loves us so much!' "Never in my life had I been so moved and affected, and it was a full minute before I could ask her "'So, my dear child, you see by your bees; will you explain to me how that is?' "'I cannot tell, Monsieur Hennetius; it may be because I am so fond of them. When I was quite a little child they adopted me, and they have never once hurt me. At first I liked to sit for hours in the apiary all alone and listen to their humming for hours together. I could see nothing then, everything was dark to me; but insensibly light came upon me. At first I could see the sun a little, when it was very hot, then a little more, with the wild vine and the honeysuckle like a shade over me, then the full light of day. I began to emerge from myself; my spirit went forth with the bees. I could see the mountains, the rocks, the lake, the flowers and mosses, and in the evening, when quite alone, I reflected on these things. I thought how beautiful they were, and when people talked of this and that, of whortleberries, and mulberries, and heaths, I said to myself, "I know what all these things are likethey are black, or brown, or green." I could see them in my mind, and every day I became better acquainted with them, thanks to my dear bees; and therefore I love them dearly, Monsieur Hennetius. If you knew how it grieves me when the time comes for robbing them of their wax and their honey!' "'I believe you, my childI believe it does.' "My delight at this wonderful discovery was boundless. "Two days longer Raesel entertained me with a description of her impressions. She was acquainted with every flower, every Alpine plant, and gave me an account of a great number which have as yet received no botanical names, and which are probably only to be found in inaccessible situations. "The poor girl was often much affected when she spoke of her dear friends, some little flowers. "'Often and often,' said she, 'I have talked for hours with the golden broom or the tender blueeyed forgetmenot, and shared in their troubles. They all wished to quit the earth and fly about; they all complained of their being condemned to dry up in the ground, and of being exposed to wait for days and weeks ere a drop of dew came to refresh them.' "And so Raesel used to repeat to me endless conversations of this sort. It was marvellous! If you only heard her you would be capable of falling in love with a dogrose, or of feeling a lively sympathy and a profound sentiment of compassion for a violet, its misfortunes and its silent sufferings. "What more can I tell you, ladies? It is painful to leave a subject where the soul has so many mysterious emanations; there is such a field for conjecture; but as everything in this world must have an end, so must even the pleasantest dreams. "Early in the morning of the third day of my stay a gentle breeze began to roll away the mist from off the lake. I could see its folds become larger every second as the wind drove them along, leaving one blue corner in the sky, and then another; then the tower of a village church, some green pinnacles on the tops of the mountains, then a row of firs, a valley, all the time the immense mass of vapour slowly floated past us; by ten it had left us behind it, and the great cloud on the dry peaks of the Chasseron still wore a threatening aspect; but a last effort of the wind gave it a different direction, and it disappeared at last in the gorges of SaintCroix. "Then the mighty nature of the Alps seemed to me to have grown young again; the heather, the tall pines, the old chestnuttrees dripping with dew, shone with vigorous health; there was something in the view of them joyous, smiling, and serious all at once. One felt the hand of God was in it allHis eternity. "I went downstairs lost in thought; Raesel was already in the apiary. Young opened the door and pointed her out to me sitting in the shade of the wild vine, with her forehead resting on her hands, as if in a doze. "'Be careful,' said he to me, 'not to awake her; her mind is elsewhere; she sleeps; she is wandering about; she is happy.' "The bees were swarming about by thousands, like a flood of gold over a precipice. "I looked on at this wonderful sight for some seconds, praying the Lord would continue His love for the poor child. "Then turning round "'Master Young,' said I, 'it is time to go.' "He buckled my knapsack on for me himself, and put my stick into my hand. "Mistress Catherine looked on kindly, and they both accompanied me to the threshold of the chlet. "'Farewell!' said Walter, grasping my hand; 'a pleasant journey; and think of us sometimes!' "'I can never forget you,' I replied, quite melancholy; 'may your bees flourish, and may Heaven grant you are as happy as you deserve to be!' "'So be it, M. Hennetius,' said good Dame Catherine; 'amen; a happy journey, and good health to you.' "I moved off. "They remained on the terrace until I reached the road. "Thrice I turned round and waved my cap, and they responded by waving their hands. "Good people; why cannot we meet with such every day?' "Little Raesel accompanied me to the foot of the mountain, as she had promised. For a long time her musical hum lightened the fatigue of my journey; I seemed to recognise her in every bee which came buzzing about my ears, and I fancied I could hear her say in a small shrill tone of voice "'Courage, M. Hennetius, courage; it is very hot, is it not? Come, let me give you a kiss; don't be afraid; you know we are very good friends.' "It was only at the end of the valley that she took leave of me, when the sound of the lake drowned her gentle voice; but her idea followed me all through my journey, nor do I think it will ever leave me."  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The Project Gutenberg eBook of The Mystery of the Yellow Room This ebook is for the use of anyone anywhere in the United States and most other parts of the world at no cost and with almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or reuse it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included with this ebook or online at www.gutenberg.org. If you are not located in the United States, you will have to check the laws of the country where you are located before using this eBook. Title The Mystery of the Yellow Room Author Gaston Leroux Release date March 1, 1999 [eBook 1685] Most recently updated April 15, 2023 Language English Credits Transcribed and produced by Brian Raiter  START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE MYSTERY OF THE YELLOW ROOM  The Mystery of the Yellow Room Extraordinary Adventures of Joseph Rouletabille Reporter by Gaston Leroux Contents I In which we Begin not to Understand II "In which Joseph Rouletabille Appears for the First Time III A Man Has Passed like a Shadow through the Blinds IV In the Bosom of Wild Nature V In which Joseph Rouletabille Makes a Remark to Monsieur Robert Darzac which Produces its Little Effect VI In the Heart of the Oak Grove VII In which Rouletabille Sets out on an Expedition under the Bed VIII The Examining Magistrate Questions Mademoiselle Stangerson IX Reporter and Detective X We shall have to eat Red MeatNow XI In which Frdric Larsan Explains how the Murderer was Able to get out of The Yellow Room XII Frdric Larsans Cane XIII The Presbytery has Lost Nothing of its Charm, nor the Garden its Brightness XIV I Expect the Assassin this Evening XV The Trap XVI Strange Phenomenon of the Dissociation of Matter XVII The Inexplicable Gallery XVIII Rouletabille has Drawn a Circle between the Two Bumps on his Forehead XIX Rouletabille Invites me to Breakfast at the Donjon Inn XX An Act of Mademoiselle Stangerson XXI On the Watch XXII The Incredible Body XXIII The Double Scent XXIV Rouletabille Knows the Two Halves of the Murderer XXV Rouletabille Goes on a Journey XXVI In which Joseph Rouletabille is Awaited with Impatience XXVII In which Joseph Rouletabille Appears in all his Glory XXVIII In which it is Proved that one does not Always Think of Everything XXIX The Mystery of Mademoiselle Stangerson Frontispiece A portrait of a young man, dressed in a suit and leaning against a chimneypiece. Joseph Rouletabille Chapter I. In Which We Begin not to Understand It is not without a certain emotion that I begin to recount here the extraordinary adventures of Joseph Rouletabille. Down to the present time he had so firmly opposed my doing it that I had come to despair of ever publishing the most curious of police stories of the past fifteen years. I had even imagined that the public would never know the whole truth of the prodigious case known as that of The Yellow Room, out of which grew so many mysterious, cruel, and sensational dramas, with which my friend was so closely mixed up, if,  propos of a recent nomination of the illustrious Stangerson to the grade of grandcross of the Legion of Honour, an evening journalin an article, miserable for its ignorance, or audacious for its perfidyhad not resuscitated a terrible adventure of which Joseph Rouletabille had told me he wished to be for ever forgotten. The Yellow Room! Who now remembers this affair which caused so much ink to flow fifteen years ago? Events are so quickly forgotten in Paris. Has not the very name of the Nayves trial and the tragic history of the death of little Menaldo passed out of mind? And yet the public attention was so deeply interested in the details of the trial that the occurrence of a ministerial crisis was completely unnoticed at the time. Now The Yellow Room trial, which preceded that of the Nayves by some years, made far more noise. The entire world hung for months over this obscure problemthe most obscure, it seems to me, that has ever challenged the perspicacity of our police or taxed the conscience of our judges. The solution of the problem baffled everybody who tried to find it. It was like a dramatic rebus with which old Europe and new America alike became fascinated. That is, in truthI am permitted to say, because there cannot be any authors vanity in all this, since I do nothing more than transcribe facts on which an exceptional documentation enables me to throw a new lightthat is because, in truth, I do not know that, in the domain of reality or imagination, one can discover or recall to mind anything comparable, in its mystery, with the natural mystery of The Yellow Room. That which nobody could find out, Joseph Rouletabille, aged eighteen, then a reporter engaged on a leading journal, succeeded in discovering. But when, at the Assize Court, he brought in the key to the whole case, he did not tell the whole truth. He only allowed so much of it to appear as sufficed to ensure the acquittal of an innocent man. The reasons which he had for his reticence no longer exist. Better still, the time has come for my friend to speak out fully. You are going to know all; and, without further preamble, I am going to place before your eyes the problem of The Yellow Room as it was placed before the eyes of the entire world on the day following the enactment of the drama at the Chteau du Glandier. On the 25th of October, 1892, the following note appeared in the latest edition of the Temps A frightful crime has been committed at the Glandier, on the border of the forest of SainteGenevive, above EpinaysurOrge, at the house of Professor Stangerson. On that night, while the master was working in his laboratory, an attempt was made to assassinate Mademoiselle Stangerson, who was sleeping in a chamber adjoining this laboratory. The doctors do not answer for the life of Mdlle. Stangerson. The impression made on Paris by this news may be easily imagined. Already, at that time, the learned world was deeply interested in the labours of Professor Stangerson and his daughter. These laboursthe first that were attempted in radiographyserved to open the way for Monsieur and Madame Curie to the discovery of radium. It was expected the Professor would shortly read to the Academy of Sciences a sensational paper on his new theory,the Dissociation of Matter,a theory destined to overthrow from its base the whole of official science, which based itself on the principle of the Conservation of Energy. On the following day, the newspapers were full of the tragedy. The Matin, among others, published the following article, entitled A Supernatural Crime These are the only details, wrote the anonymous writer in the Matinwe have been able to obtain concerning the crime of the Chteau du Glandier. The state of despair in which Professor Stangerson is plunged, and the impossibility of getting any information from the lips of the victim, have rendered our investigations and those of justice so difficult that, at present, we cannot form the least idea of what has passed in The Yellow Room in which Mdlle. Stangerson, in her nightdress, was found lying on the floor in the agonies of death. We have, at least, been able to interview Daddy Jacquesas he is called in the countryan old servant in the Stangerson family. Daddy Jacques entered The Yellow Room at the same time as the Professor. This chamber adjoins the laboratory. Laboratory and Yellow Room are in a pavilion at the end of the park, about three hundred metres (a thousand feet) from the chteau.  It was halfpast twelve at night, this honest old man told us, and I was in the laboratory, where Monsieur Stangerson was still working, when the thing happened. I had been cleaning and putting instruments in order all the evening and was waiting for Monsieur Stangerson to go to bed. Mademoiselle Stangerson had worked with her father up to midnight; when the twelve strokes of midnight had sounded by the cuckooclock in the laboratory, she rose, kissed Monsieur Stangerson and bade him goodnight. To me she said bon soir, Daddy Jacques as she passed into The Yellow Room. We heard her lock the door and shoot the bolt, so that I could not help laughing, and said to Monsieur There s Mademoiselle doublelocking herself in,she must be afraid of the Bte du bon Dieu!  Monsieur did not even hear me, he was so deeply absorbed in what he was doing. Just then we heard the distant miawing of a cat. Is that going to keep us awake all night? I said to myself; for I must tell you, Monsieur, that, to the end of October, I live in an attic of the pavilion over The Yellow Room, so that Mademoiselle should not be left alone through the night in the lonely park. It was the fancy of Mademoiselle to spend the fine weather in the pavilion; no doubt, she found it more cheerful than the chteau and, for the four years it had been built, she had never failed to take up her lodging there in the spring. With the return of winter, Mademoiselle returns to the chteau, for there is no fireplace in The Yellow Room.  We were staying in the pavilion, thenMonsieur Stangerson and me. We made no noise. He was seated at his desk. As for me, I was sitting on a chair, having finished my work and, looking at him, I said to myself What a man!what intelligence!what knowledge! I attach importance to the fact that we made no noise; for, because of that, the assassin certainly thought that we had left the place. And, suddenly, while the cuckoo was sounding the half after midnight, a desperate clamour broke out in The Yellow Room. It was the voice of Mademoiselle, crying Murder!murder!help! Immediately afterwards revolver shots rang out and there was a great noise of tables and furniture being thrown to the ground, as if in the course of a struggle, and again the voice of Mademoiselle calling, Murder!help!Papa!Papa!  You may be sure that we quickly sprang up and that Monsieur Stangerson and I threw ourselves upon the door. But alas! it was locked, fast locked, on the inside, by the care of Mademoiselle, as I have told you, with key and bolt. We tried to force it open, but it remained firm. Monsieur Stangerson was like a madman, and truly, it was enough to make him one, for we heard Mademoiselle still calling Help!help! Monsieur Stangerson showered terrible blows on the door, and wept with rage and sobbed with despair and helplessness.  It was then that I had an inspiration. The assassin must have entered by the window! I cried;I will go to the window! and I rushed from the pavilion and ran like one out of his mind.  The inspiration was that the window of The Yellow Room looks out in such a way that the park wall, which abuts on the pavilion, prevented my at once reaching the window. To get up to it one has first to go out of the park. I ran towards the gate and, on my way, met Bernier and his wife, the gatekeepers, who had been attracted by the pistol reports and by our cries. In a few words I told them what had happened, and directed the concierge to join Monsieur Stangerson with all speed, while his wife came with me to open the park gate. Five minutes later she and I were before the window of The Yellow Room.  The moon was shining brightly and I saw clearly that no one had touched the window. Not only were the bars that protect it intact, but the blinds inside of them were drawn, as I had myself drawn them early in the evening, as I did every day, though Mademoiselle, knowing that I was tired from the heavy work I had been doing, had begged me not to trouble myself, but leave her to do it; and they were just as I had left them, fastened with an iron catch on the inside. The assassin, therefore, could not have passed either in or out that way; but neither could I get in.  It was unfortunate,enough to turn ones brain! The door of the room locked on the inside and the blinds on the only window also fastened on the inside; and Mademoiselle still calling for help!No! she had ceased to call. She was dead, perhaps. But I still heard her father, in the pavilion, trying to break down the door.  With the concierge I hurried back to the pavilion. The door, in spite of the furious attempts of Monsieur Stangerson and Bernier to burst it open, was still holding firm; but at length, it gave way before our united efforts,and then what a sight met our eyes! I should tell you that, behind us, the concierge held the laboratory lampa powerful lamp, that lit the whole chamber.  I must also tell you, monsieur, that The Yellow Room is a very small room. Mademoiselle had furnished it with a fairly large iron bedstead, a small table, a nightcommode, a dressingtable, and two chairs. By the light of the big lamp we saw all at a glance. Mademoiselle, in her nightdress, was lying on the floor in the midst of the greatest disorder. Tables and chairs had been overthrown, showing that there had been a violent struggle. Mademoiselle had certainly been dragged from her bed. She was covered with blood and had terrible marks of fingernails on her throat,the flesh of her neck having been almost torn by the nails. From a wound on the right temple a stream of blood had run down and made a little pool on the floor. When Monsieur Stangerson saw his daughter in that state, he threw himself on his knees beside her, uttering a cry of despair. He ascertained that she still breathed. As to us, we searched for the wretch who had tried to kill our mistress, and I swear to you, monsieur, that, if we had found him, it would have gone hard with him!  But how to explain that he was not there, that he had already escaped? It passes all imagination!Nobody under the bed, nobody behind the furniture!All that we discovered were traces, bloodstained marks of a mans large hand on the walls and on the door; a big handkerchief red with blood, without any initials, an old cap, and many fresh footmarks of a man on the floor,footmarks of a man with large feet whose bootsoles had left a sort of sooty impression. How had this man got away? How had he vanished? Dont forget, monsieur, that there is no chimney in The Yellow Room. He could not have escaped by the door, which is narrow, and on the threshold of which the concierge stood with the lamp, while her husband and I searched for him in every corner of the little room, where it is impossible for anyone to hide himself. The door, which had been forced open against the wall, could not conceal anything behind it, as we assured ourselves. By the window, still in every way secured, no flight had been possible. What then?I began to believe in the Devil.  But we discovered my revolver on the floor!Yes, my revolver! Oh! that brought me back to the reality! The Devil would not have needed to steal my revolver to kill Mademoiselle. The man who had been there had first gone up to my attic and taken my revolver from the drawer where I kept it. We then ascertained, by counting the cartridges, that the assassin had fired two shots. Ah! it was fortunate for me that Monsieur Stangerson was in the laboratory when the affair took place and had seen with his own eyes that I was there with him; for otherwise, with this business of my revolver, I dont know where we should have been,I should now be under lock and bar. Justice wants no more to send a man to the scaffold!  The editor of the Matin added to this interview the following lines We have, without interrupting him, allowed Daddy Jacques to recount to us roughly all he knows about the crime of The Yellow Room. We have reproduced it in his own words, only sparing the reader the continual lamentations with which he garnished his narrative. It is quite understood, Daddy Jacques, quite understood, that you are very fond of your masters; and you want them to know it, and never cease repeating itespecially since the discovery of your revolver. It is your right, and we see no harm in it. We should have liked to put some further questions to Daddy JacquesJacquesLouis Moustierbut the inquiry of the examining magistrate, which is being carried on at the chteau, makes it impossible for us to gain admission at the Glandier; and, as to the oak wood, it is guarded by a wide circle of policemen, who are jealously watching all traces that can lead to the pavilion, and that may perhaps lead to the discovery of the assassin. We have also wished to question the concierges, but they are invisible. Finally, we have waited in a roadside inn, not far from the gate of the chteau, for the departure of Monsieur de Marquet, the magistrate of Corbeil. At halfpast five we saw him and his clerk and, before he was able to enter his carriage, had an opportunity to ask him the following question  Can you, Monsieur de Marquet, give us any information as to this affair, without inconvenience to the course of your inquiry?  It is impossible for us to do it, replied Monsieur de Marquet. I can only say that it is the strangest affair I have ever known. The more we think we know something, the further we are from knowing anything! We asked Monsieur de Marquet to be good enough to explain his last words; and this is what he said,the importance of which no one will fail to recognise  If nothing is added to the material facts so far established, I fear that the mystery which surrounds the abominable crime of which Mademoiselle Stangerson has been the victim will never be brought to light; but it is to be hoped, for the sake of our human reason, that the examination of the walls, and of the ceiling of The Yellow Rooman examination which I shall tomorrow intrust to the builder who constructed the pavilion four years agowill afford us the proof that may not discourage us. For the problem is this we know by what way the assassin gained admission,he entered by the door and hid himself under the bed, awaiting Mademoiselle Stangerson. But how did he leave? How did he escape? If no trap, no secret door, no hidingplace, no opening of any sort is found; if the examination of the wallseven to the demolition of the paviliondoes not reveal any passage practicablenot only for a human being, but for any being whatsoeverif the ceiling shows no crack, if the floor hides no underground passage, one must really believe in the Devil, as Daddy Jacques says!  And the anonymous writer in the Matin added in this articlewhich I have selected as the most interesting of all those that were published on the subject of this affairthat the examining magistrate appeared to place a peculiar significance to the last sentence One must really believe in the Devil, as Jacques says. The article concluded with these lines We wanted to know what Daddy Jacques meant by the cry of the Bte du Bon Dieu. The landlord of the Donjon Inn explained to us that it is the particularly sinister cry which is uttered sometimes at night by the cat of an old woman,Mother Angenoux, as she is called in the country. Mother Angenoux is a sort of saint, who lives in a hut in the heart of the forest, not far from the grotto of SainteGenevive. The Yellow Room, the Bte du Bon Dieu, Mother Angenoux, the Devil, SainteGenevive, Daddy Jacques,here is a well entangled crime which the stroke of a pickaxe in the wall may disentangle for us tomorrow. Let us at least hope that, for the sake of our human reason, as the examining magistrate says. Meanwhile, it is expected that Mademoiselle Stangersonwho has not ceased to be delirious and only pronounces one word distinctly, Murderer! Murderer!will not live through the night. In conclusion, and at a late hour, the same journal announced that the Chief of the Sret had telegraphed to the famous detective, Frdric Larsan, who had been sent to London for an affair of stolen securities, to return immediately to Paris. Chapter II. In Which Joseph Rouletabille Appears for the First Time I remember as well as if it had occurred yesterday, the entry of young Rouletabille into my bedroom that morning. It was about eight oclock and I was still in bed reading the article in the Matin relative to the Glandier crime. But, before going further, it is time that I present my friend to the reader. I first knew Joseph Rouletabille when he was a young reporter. At that time I was a beginner at the Bar and often met him in the corridors of examining magistrates, when I had gone to get a permit to communicate for the prison of Mazas, or for SaintLazare. He had, as they say, a good nut. He seemed to have taken his headround as a bulletout of a box of marbles, and it is from that, I think, that his comrades of the pressall determined billiardplayershad given him that nickname, which was to stick to him and be made illustrious by him. He was always as red as a tomato, now gay as a lark, now grave as a judge. How, while still so younghe was only sixteen and a half years old when I saw him for the first timehad he already won his way on the press? That was what everybody who came into contact with him might have asked, if they had not known his history. At the time of the affair of the woman cut in pieces in the Rue Oberskampfanother forgotten storyhe had taken to one of the editors of the Epoque,a paper then rivalling the Matin for information,the left foot, which was missing from the basket in which the gruesome remains were discovered. For this left foot the police had been vainly searching for a week, and young Rouletabille had found it in a drain where nobody had thought of looking for it. To do that he had dressed himself as an extra sewerman, one of a number engaged by the administration of the city of Paris, owing to an overflow of the Seine. When the editorinchief was in possession of the precious foot and informed as to the train of intelligent deductions the boy had been led to make, he was divided between the admiration he felt for such detective cunning in a brain of a lad of sixteen years, and delight at being able to exhibit, in the morgue window of his paper, the left foot of the Rue Oberkampf. This foot, he cried, will make a great headline. Then, when he had confided the gruesome packet to the medical lawyer attached to the journal, he asked the lad, who was shortly to become famous as Rouletabille, what he would expect to earn as a general reporter on the Epoque? Two hundred francs a month, the youngster replied modestly, hardly able to breathe from surprise at the proposal. You shall have two hundred and fifty, said the editorinchief; only you must tell everybody that you have been engaged on the paper for a month. Let it be quite understood that it was not you but the Epoque that discovered the left foot of the Rue Oberkampf. Here, my young friend, the man is nothing, the paper everything. Having said this, he begged the new reporter to retire, but before the youth had reached the door he called him back to ask his name. The other replied Joseph Josephine. That s not a name, said the editorinchief, but since you will not be required to sign what you write it is of no consequence. The boyfaced reporter speedily made himself many friends, for he was serviceable and gifted with a good humour that enchanted the most severetempered and disarmed the most zealous of his companions. At the Bar caf, where the reporters assembled before going to any of the courts, or to the Prefecture, in search of their news of crime, he began to win a reputation as an unraveller of intricate and obscure affairs which found its way to the office of the Chief of the Sret. When a case was worth the trouble and Rouletabillehe had already been given his nicknamehad been started on the scent by his editorinchief, he often got the better of the most famous detective. It was at the Bar caf that I became intimately acquainted with him. Criminal lawyers and journalists are not enemies, the former need advertisement, the latter information. We chatted together, and I soon warmed towards him. His intelligence was so keen, and so original!and he had a quality of thought such as I have never found in any other person. Some time after this I was put in charge of the law news of the Cri du Boulevard. My entry into journalism could not but strengthen the ties which united me to Rouletabille. After a while, my new friend being allowed to carry out an idea of a judicial correspondence column, which he was allowed to sign Business, in the Epoque, I was often able to furnish him with the legal information of which he stood in need. Nearly two years passed in this way, and the better I knew him, the more I learned to love him; for, in spite of his careless extravagance, I had discovered in him what was, considering his age, an extraordinary seriousness of mind. Accustomed as I was to seeing him gay and, indeed, often too gay, I would many times find him plunged in the deepest melancholy. I tried then to question him as to the cause of this change of humour, but each time he laughed and made me no answer. One day, having questioned him about his parents, of whom he never spoke, he left me, pretending not to have heard what I said. While things were in this state between us, the famous case of The Yellow Room took place. It was this case which was to rank him as the leading newspaper reporter, and to obtain for him the reputation of being the greatest detective in the world. It should not surprise us to find in the one man the perfection of two such lines of activity if we remember that the daily press was already beginning to transform itself and to become what it is todaythe gazette of crime. Moroseminded people may complain of this; for myself I regard it a matter for congratulation. We can never have too many arms, public or private, against the criminal. To this some people may answer that, by continually publishing the details of crimes, the press ends by encouraging their commission. But then, with some people we can never do right. Rouletabille, as I have said, entered my room that morning of the 26th of October, 1892. He was looking redder than usual, and his eyes were bulging out of his head, as the phrase is, and altogether he appeared to be in a state of extreme excitement. He waved the Matin with a trembling hand, and cried Well, my dear Sainclair,have you read it? The Glandier crime? Yes; The Yellow Room!What do you think of it? I think that it must have been the Devil or the Bte du Bon Dieu that committed the crime. Be serious! Well, I dont much believe in murderers who make their escape through walls of solid brick. I think Daddy Jacques did wrong to leave behind him the weapon with which the crime was committed and, as he occupied the attic immediately above Mademoiselle Stangersons room, the builders job ordered by the examining magistrate will give us the key of the enigma and it will not be long before we learn by what natural trap, or by what secret door, the old fellow was able to slip in and out, and return immediately to the laboratory to Monsieur Stangerson, without his absence being noticed. That, of course, is only an hypothesis. Rouletabille sat down in an armchair, lit his pipe, which he was never without, smoked for a few minutes in silenceno doubt to calm the excitement which, visibly, dominated himand then replied Young man, he said, in a tone the sad irony of which I will not attempt to render, young man, you are a lawyer and I doubt not your ability to save the guilty from conviction; but if you were a magistrate on the bench, how easy it would be for you to condemn innocent persons!You are really gifted, young man! He continued to smoke energetically, and then went on No trap will be found, and the mystery of The Yellow Room will become more and more mysterious. That s why it interests me. The examining magistrate is right; nothing stranger than this crime has ever been known. Have you any idea of the way by which the murderer escaped? I asked. None, replied Rouletabillenone, for the present. But I have an idea as to the revolver; the murderer did not use it. Good Heavens! By whom, then, was it used? Whyby Mademoiselle Stangerson. I dont understand,or rather, I have never understood, I said. Rouletabille shrugged his shoulders. Is there nothing in this article in the Matin by which you were particularly struck? Nothing,I have found the whole of the story it tells equally strange. Well, butthe locked doorwith the key on the inside? That s the only perfectly natural thing in the whole article. Really!And the bolt? The bolt? Yes, the boltalso inside the rooma still further protection against entry? Mademoiselle Stangerson took quite extraordinary precautions! It is clear to me that she feared someone. That was why she took such precautionseven Daddy Jacquess revolverwithout telling him of it. No doubt she did nt wish to alarm anybody, and least of all, her father. What she dreaded took place, and she defended herself. There was a struggle, and she used the revolver skilfully enough to wound the assassin in the handwhich explains the impression on the wall and on the door of the large, bloodstained hand of the man who was searching for a means of exit from the chamber. But she did nt fire soon enough to avoid the terrible blow on the right temple. Then the wound on the temple was not done with the revolver? The paper does nt say it was, and I dont think it was; because logically it appears to me that the revolver was used by Mademoiselle Stangerson against the assassin. Now, what weapon did the murderer use? The blow on the temple seems to show that the murderer wished to stun Mademoiselle Stangerson,after he had unsuccessfully tried to strangle her. He must have known that the attic was inhabited by Daddy Jacques, and that was one of the reasons, I think, why he must have used a quiet weapon,a lifepreserver, or a hammer. All that does nt explain how the murderer got out of The Yellow Room,  I observed. Evidently, replied Rouletabille, rising, and that is what has to be explained. I am going to the Chteau du Glandier, and have come to see whether you will go with me. I? Yes, my boy. I want you. The Epoque has definitely entrusted this case to me, and I must clear it up as quickly as possible. But in what way can I be of any use to you? Monsieur Robert Darzac is at the Chteau du Glandier. That s true. His despair must be boundless. I must have a talk with him. Rouletabille said it in a tone that surprised me. Is it becauseyou think there is something to be got out of him? I asked. Yes. That was all he would say. He retired to my sittingroom, begging me to dress quickly. I knew Monsieur Robert Darzac from having been of great service to him in a civil action, while I was acting as secretary to Matre Barbet Delatour. Monsieur Robert Darzac, who was at that time about forty years of age, was a professor of physics at the Sorbonne. He was intimately acquainted with the Stangersons, and, after an assiduous seven years courtship of the daughter, had been on the point of marrying her. In spite of the fact that she has become, as the phrase goes, a person of a certain age, she was still remarkably goodlooking. While I was dressing I called out to Rouletabille, who was impatiently moving about my sittingroom Have you any idea as to the murderers station in life? Yes, he replied; I think if he is nt a man in society, he is, at least, a man belonging to the upper class. But that, again, is only an impression. What has led you to form it? Well,the greasy cap, the common handkerchief, and the marks of the rough boots on the floor, he replied. I understand, I said; murderers dont leave traces behind them which tell the truth. We shall make something out of you yet, my dear Sainclair, concluded Rouletabille. Chapter III. A Man Has Passed like a Shadow through the Blinds Half an hour later Rouletabille and I were on the platform of the Orleans station, awaiting the departure of the train which was to take us to EpinaysurOrge. On the platform we found Monsieur de Marquet and his Registrar, who represented the Judicial Court of Corbeil.