In her white breast a knife was buried up to the hilt, and from the cruel wound the blood had oozed. She had been murdered! The recollection of the events immediately following this ghastly discovery is but faint. I have a hazy belief that my mind became temporarily unhinged, that I left the place without informing any one of the tragedy; then, walking many miles through the forest, I reached a railway station, whence I returned to Brussels. The one thing most in my mind was the terrible look of blank despair in the glazed eyes. I have never forgotten it. I shall carry its remembrance with me to the grave. That awful look of reproach has ever since been uppermost in my memory. Try how I will, I cannot rid myself of its hideous presence. ------------------------------------------------------------------------ A bright, crisp morning in December. Hurrying down the Montagne de la Cour, where I chanced to have business, I came face to face with Clementine Sucaret, who, warmly clad in furs, was enjoying that harmless pastime so dear to the feminine heart-- inspecting shop windows. We had bid each other farewell three years before. She then left Brussels to fulfil engagements as a dancer in London and Paris, and since I heard nothing of her. Greeting me with the same winsome smile and merry manner as of old, she inquired whither I was going. When I explained that my business was important, and did not admit of delay, she requested that she might accompany me, at the same time inviting me to _dejeuner_ with her afterwards, an arrangement to which I consented without reluctance. As we walked together, she commenced describing her adventures and successes, declaring that, after all, it was pleasant to return among old friends and cherished recollections. I was well aware at what she hinted when she said this, for I was one of her oldest friends, and had known her when she was only a _figurante_ at the Theatre de la Monnaie, and lived with her decrepit and bibulous old father, a _concierge_, in the Rue du Trone. It was then that her cheerful, good-natured disposition and handsome face had fascinated me, causing me to forsake Mariette. The thought inflicted a sharp twinge of remorse, for the tragedy in the little cottage was still fresh in my memory. Having left her for a moment while I made a call, I rejoined her. Laughing and chattering, she chaffingly alluded to our former attachment, and pouted in feigned displeasure at what she termed my inconstancy. Down the Rue de la Regence we had sauntered slowly, and were passing the imposing facade of the Palais de Justice, when suddenly she stopped, and, uttering an exclamation of surprise at the proportions of the vast building which had been completed in her absence, requested me to take her to see the interior. Mounting the broad flight of granite steps, we passed into the magnificent marble hall. Strange how Fate is constantly our mistress and rules our every action.