"But listen further, for I have not yet finished my catalogue of crimes. Previously to that a man had entrusted me with one hundred thousand crowns. I contrived to waylay and blow out his brains, making it appear he had fallen by his own hand. Afterwards, when his sister claimed the money entrusted to my charge, I denied all knowledge of it. Now, then, I have proclaimed myself a malefactor, guilty of every crime. Will you not open your door, and admit a lover so ardent, so impatient as myself?" "Jacques," exclaimed the creole, with much excitement, "I admire,--love,--nay, adore you!" "Let a thousand deaths come!" cried the notary, in a state of enthusiastic delight impossible to describe, "I will brave them all! Oh, you are right! Were I ever so young, so handsome, or so seducing, I could not hope for joy such as now swells my heart. But delay not, charmer of my soul,--give me the key, or yourself undo the bolts which separate us. I can endure this torturing suspense no longer!" The creole took from the lock, which she had carefully secured beforehand, the key so ardently prayed for, and, handing it to the notary through the aperture, said, in a languishing tone of utter abandonnement: "Jacques, my senses seem forsaking me,--my brain is on fire,--I know not what I do or say." "You are mine, then, at length, my adorable beauty!" cried he, with a wild shout of savage exultation, and hastily turning the key in the lock. But the firmly bolted door yielded not yet. "Come, beloved of my heart!" murmured Cecily, in a languid voice; "bless me with your presence,--come!" "The bolt! The bolt!" gasped out Jacques Ferrand, breathless with his exertions to force open the door. "But what if you have been deceiving me?" cried the creole, as though a sudden thought had seized her; "if you have only invented the secrets with which you affect to entrust me, to mock at my credulity, to ensnare my confidence?" The notary appeared thunderstruck with surprise at this fresh expression of doubt, at the very moment when he believed himself upon the point of attaining his wishes; to find a new obstacle arise when he considered success certain drove him almost furious. He rapidly thrust his hand into his breast, opened his waistcoat, impatiently snapped a steel chain, to which was suspended a small red morocco pocketbook, took it, and showing it to Cecily, through the aperture, cried, in a thick, palpitating voice: "This book contains papers that would bring me to a scaffold; only undo the bolts which deny me entrance to your presence, and this book, with all its precious documents, is yours." "Oh, then, let us seal the compact!" exclaimed Cecily, as, drawing back the bolt with as much noise as possible with one hand, with the other she seized the pocketbook.