avowal, extorted by his surprise and terror, the coincidence of date between this clandestine recall and the assassination of my father constituted an undeniable proof. I read and re-read those accusing pages--as I had read and re-read my father's letters written at the same time--first in the cab, and then in the solitude of my own apartment, and the horrible plot which had made me fatherless was fully revealed to me with all its terrible details. It happened that I was well acquainted with the street in which Jacques played the part of tempter to Edmond; Joseph Dediot, my former schoolfellow at Versailles, had a lodging close to it in the Rue Cuvier for some years after he and I had left school, and I used constantly to drop in the morning or the afternoon to pass an hour or two with him, or take him to one of the restaurants on the Quay, from whence we could look out upon the green water of the Seine, the busy workmen on the Quay, and the long line of boats. Often and gaily had I trodden that pavement on which the two accomplices walked while they were keeping their rendezvous of crime. How plainly I saw them, coming and going between the gas lamps! I heard the sound of their footsteps, I distinguished the voice of the man who was to be my stepfather. That insinuating and impassioned voice uttered words fraught with consequences to the whole of my life, words which were the death-warrant of my father and also of my aunt; for the malady that killed her had its origin in grief. I, myself, had suffered severely in my childhood, was suffering cruelly at this very moment on account of the words spoken in that place. And then there came to me an equally distinct vision of the infamous scoundrel whose bite still made it painful for me to move my left shoulder. I saw him arranging his disordered dress after I had left his room, strapping his trunks, calling the waiter, asking for his bill, paying it with one of the notes which I had flung to him, and leaving the house. His luggage was hoisted up on the carriage, and he was driven off in haste to a railway station--no doubt that of Le Nord, because it is nearest to the frontier. He took the first train and departed, and never more should I hold him at my mercy. Again rage seized upon me! He had not yet had time to get very far away. What if I were to go to the Prefecture de Police? My description of him would be sufficient; he would be arrested. I had sworn to him by my father's memory that I would let him go free. Well, what then? An oath to such a wretch! He would be arrested; they would be arrested--and my mother? What of her? For the first time since the suspicion of the fatal truth had dawned upon me, I recoiled from the thought of her. At the moment my anger burned so fiercely at the image of the escaping murderer, that I reproached myself, as though it were a weakness, for the filial pity which had induced me to sacrifice one-half of my vengeance to the peace of my dearly-beloved mother.