part I was rendered speechless by the spectacle of so many cripples

without arms or legs; for after all I was beginning to see through most of the extraordinary happenings which had so greatly stirred my mind; and though the cripples, by their presence, explained many things, the presence of the cripples still required explanation, as also did the monstrous union of that splendid woman with that awful shred of humanity.

“True, I realized now that these little ambulating trunks were bound to pass unperceived by me in the narrow garden path lined with verbena, and the road running between two low hedges; and, truth to tell, when at the time I said to myself that it was impossible to avoid seeing any person going down those paths, I had in mind persons who would be standing upright on their two legs.

“The handle of the garden gate itself no longer puzzled me, and in my mind’s eye I saw the invisible hook which had turned it.

“The peculiar noise which I heard was but the creaking made by the small badly oiled wheels of these cars for freaks. Finally, the extraordinary sound like the thunderous beating of a wooden drum, was obviously caused by the many cars and hooks striking the floor when, after an excellent dinner, our friends the cripples indulged in a dance.

“Yes, all this was capable of explanation, but I was conscious as I caught a curious eager gleam in their eyes, and heard the peculiar sound of their nippers, that something terrible still remained to be cleared up, and that all else which had surprised me was of no account.

“Meanwhile Madame Beauvisage promptly appeared, accompanied by her husband. They were greeted with shouts of delight. The little hooks ‘applauded’ them with an infernal din. I was deafened by it. Then I was introduced. Cripples were all over the place: on the tables, chairs, stools, on stands usually occupied by vases, on the sideboard. One of them sat on the shelf of a dresser like a Buddha in his recess. And each one politely held out his hook to me. They seemed for the most part people of good position, with titles and names indicating their relationship to aristocratic families, but I learned afterwards that these were false names given to me for reasons which will be obvious. Lord Wilmer certainly maintained the best front of them all, with his fine golden beard and no less fine mustache which he continually stroked with his hook. He did not leap from chair to table like the others, nor did he have the air of a huge bat taking wing from wall to wall.

* * * * *

“‘We are only waiting for the doctor,’ said the mistress of the house, who every now and then gave me a look of obvious gloom, but quickly resumed her smile for her guests.

“The doctor arrived. He was a cripple but he possessed both arms.

“He offered one of them to Madame Beauvisage and led her to the dining-room. I mean that she touched his arm with the tips of her fingers.

“Covers were laid in the room with the closed shutters. The table, which was laden with flowers and _hors d’œuvre_, was illuminated by a large candelabrum. There was no fruit. The dozen cripples at once leapt upon their chairs and began to pick greedily from the dishes with their hooks. It was not a pleasant sight, and I marveled at the voracity with which these trunks of men, who seemed just before so well-mannered, devoured their food.

“And then suddenly they quietened down; their hooks kept still, and it seemed to me that they lapsed into what is usually described as a ‘painful silence.’

“Every eye was turned on Madame Beauvisage, whose husband sat by her side, and I noticed that she buried her face in her napkin, looking very uncomfortable. Then my friend Gérard, clapping one hook against the other with a flourish, said:

“‘Well, my dear old friends, it can’t be helped. One doesn’t meet the luck of last year every day. But don’t distress yourselves. With the exercise of a little imagination we shall succeed in being as merry as we were then....’

“And turning to me as he lifted the small handle of the glass which stood on the table before him:

“‘Your health my dear Michel. To us all!’

“And each man raised his glass by its handle with the end of his hook. The glasses swung over the table in the quaintest fashion.

“My host went on:

“‘You don’t seem to be equal to the occasion, my dear Michel. I have known you in merrier mood, more up to the mark. Is it because we are “like this” that you are so gloomy? What do you expect? We are what we are. But let us have some amusement. We are met together here, all of us very special friends, to celebrate the time when we became “like this.” Is that not true my friends of the _Daphné_?...’

“Then my old comrade,” Captain Michel went on to explain, heaving a deep sigh, “told us how the _Daphné_, which sailed between France and the Far East, was wrecked; how the crew escaped in the boats, and how these miserable people took refuge on a chance raft.

“Miss Madge, a beautiful young girl who lost her parents in the catastrophe, was also picked up by the raft. Some thirteen persons in all were on it, and at the end of three days the victuals were consumed, and at the end of a week the survivors were dying of hunger. It was then that, as the old song says, they agreed to draw lots as to ‘which should be eaten.’

“Messieurs,” added Captain Michel, in a serious voice, “such things have happened more often perhaps than they have been talked about, for the great blue waters close over these peculiar feats of digestion.

“They were on the point, therefore, of drawing lots on the raft when the doctor’s voice was heard: ‘Mesdames and Messieurs,’ said the doctor, ‘you have lost all your belongings in the wreck of the ship, but I have saved my case of instruments and my forceps for arresting hemorrhage. This is my suggestion: There is no object in any one of us running the risk of being eaten as a whole. Let us, to begin with, draw lots for an arm or leg at will, and we will then see to-morrow what the day brings forth, and perhaps a sail may appear on the horizon.’”

At this point in Captain Michel’s story the four old salts, who up to this had not interrupted, cried:

“Well done!”

“What do you mean ‘well done’?” asked Captain Michel with a frown.

“Yes, ‘well done!’ Your story is a good joke. These people were ready to lose an arm or leg in turn.... That’s a good joke, but there’s nothing frightful about it.”

“So you really find it a good joke!” growled the Captain, bristling with annoyance. “Well, I swear that if you had been seated among all those cripples whose eyes were bulging like live coal, and heard the story, you wouldn’t have found it such a good joke.... And if you had noticed how restless they were in their chairs! And how vigorously they clasped hooks across the table with an obvious delight which I couldn’t make out, but which was none the less frightful for all that.”

“No, no,” broke in Chanlieu once more—that old fellow Chanlieu—“your story is not in the least frightful. It is funny simply because it is logical. Would you like me to tell you the end of the story? You shall say whether I am right or not. The people on the raft drew lots. The lot fell to Miss Madge who was to lose one of her beautiful limbs. Your friend the captain, who is a gentleman, offered his own instead, and he had his four limbs amputated so that Miss Madge should remain unscathed.”

“Yes, old man, you’ve got it. That is so,” exclaimed Captain Michel, who felt a longing to break the heads of these imbeciles who treated his story as a good joke. “Yes, and what’s more, when it was a question of cutting off Miss Madge’s limbs after the survivors, except the young lady and the doctor—who had been left with both arms because they were wanted—had lost all their limbs, Captain Beauvisage had the pluck to have the poor stumps left from the first operation, cut off on a level with his body.”

“And the young lady could do no other than offer the Captain her hand which he had so heroically saved,” interposed Zinzin.

“Why, of course,” growled the Captain in his beard. “And you consider it a good joke!”

“Did they eat all those limbs quite raw?” inquired that ass of a Bagatelle.

Captain Michel struck the table such a resounding blow that the glasses danced like rubber balls.

“That’ll do, shut up,” he exclaimed. “All that I’ve told you is nothing. Now comes the frightful part of it.”

The four friends looked at each other smiling, and Captain Michel grew pale, whereupon seeing that they had carried matters too far they hung their heads.

“Yes, the frightful part of it,” went on Michel with his gloomiest air, “was that these people who were only rescued a month later by a Chinese sailing vessel which landed them somewhere on the Yang-Tse-Kiang where they separated—the frightful part of it was that these people retained a taste for human flesh, and when they returned to Europe arranged to meet together once a year to renew as far as possible the abominable banquet. Well, messieurs, it did not take me long to find that out! First of all there was the scarcely enthusiastic reception accorded to certain dishes, which Madame Beauvisage herself brought to the table. Though she ventured to claim, but with no great assurance, that they were pretty nearly the same thing, the guests were of one mind in abstaining from congratulating her. Only certain slices of tunny-fish were received with any sort of favor, because they were, to use the doctor’s terrible expression, ‘well cut,’ and, ‘if the flavor was not entirely satisfactory at all events the eye was deceived.’ But the cripple with the spectacles met with general approval when he declared that ‘it was not equal to the plumber.’

“When I heard those words I felt my blood run cold,” growled Captain Michel huskily, “for I remembered that about this time the year before a plumber had fallen from a roof near the Arsenal and was killed, and his body was picked up minus an arm.

“Then ... O then ... I could not help thinking of the part which my beautiful neighbor must, of necessity, have played in this horrible, culinary drama, I turned my eyes to her and I noticed that she had put on her gloves again, gloves which covered her arms to the shoulder, and also hastily thrown a wrap over her shoulders which wholly concealed them. The guest on my right, who was the doctor, and, as I have said, was the only man among the cripples with both arms intact, had also put on his gloves.

“Instead of bothering my head in vain to discover the reason of this fresh eccentricity, I should have done better to follow the advice which Madame Beauvisage gave me at the beginning of this infernal party, namely, to leave the place early—advice which she did not repeat.

“After showing an interest in me during the first part of this amazing feast in which I seemed to discern—I don’t know why—a sort of pity, Madame Beauvisage now avoided looking at me and took a part which greatly grieved me in the most frightful conversation which I have ever heard. These little people with a vigorous clatter of nippers and clinking of glasses indulged in bitter recriminations or warm congratulations with regard to their peculiar appetite.

“To my horror Lord Wilmer, who until then had been most correct, nearly ‘came to hooks’ with the cripple with the monocle, because the latter had once on the raft complained of the former being tough, and the mistress of the house had the greatest difficulty in putting things in their true light by retorting to the monocled bust, who was obviously at the time of the shipwreck a good-looking stripling, that neither was it particularly agreeable to have to put up with ‘an animal that was too young.’”

“That’s also funny,” the old salt Dorat could not help interjecting.

It looked as if Captain Michel would fly at his throat, particularly as the three other mariners seemed to be shaking with inward joy and gave vent to queer little clucks. It was as much as the Captain could do to control himself. After puffing like a seal he turned to the foolhardy Dorat:

“Monsieur you have two arms still, and I have no wish for you to lose one of them, as I did on that particular night, to make you see the frightful part of the story. The cripples had drunk a great deal. Some of them jumped on the table round me, and were gazing at my arms in a very embarrassing manner and I ended by hiding them from sight as far as possible by thrusting my hands deep into my pockets.

“I realized then, and it was a startling thought, why Madame Beauvisage and the doctor, the two persons who still had arms and hands, did not show them. I grasped the meaning of the sudden ferocity which blazed in the eyes of some of them. And at that very moment, as luck would have it, I wanted to use my pocket handkerchief, and instinctively I made a movement which revealed the whiteness of my skin under my sleeve, and three terrible hooks swooped down at once on my wrist and entered my flesh. I uttered a fearful shriek.”

“That’ll do, Captain, that’ll do,” I exclaimed, interrupting Captain Michel’s story. “You were quite right. I’m off. I can’t stand any more.”

“Stay, monsieur,” said the Captain in a peremptory tone. “Stay, monsieur, for I shall soon finish this frightful story which has made four imbeciles laugh. When a man has Phocean blood in his veins,” he added with an accent of unspeakable contempt turning to the four ancient mariners who were obviously choking in their efforts to keep back their laughter, “when a man has Phocean blood in his veins, he can’t get over it.

“And when a man lives in Marseilles he is doomed never to believe in anything. So it is for you, for you alone, monsieur, that I am telling this story, and, be assured, I will pass over the most loathsome details, knowing as I do how much the mind of a gentleman can bear. The tragedy of my martyrdom proceeded so quickly that I can call to mind only their inhuman cries, the protests of some and the rush of others while Madame Beauvisage stood up and murmured:

“‘Be careful not to hurt him!’

“I tried to leap to my feet, but by this time a posse of mad cripples was round me who tripped me up and I crashed to the floor. And I felt their awful hooks hold my flesh captive just as the meat in a butcher’s shop is held captive on its hooks.

“Yes, monsieur, I will spare you the details. I pledged you my word; all the more so as I couldn’t give them to you, for I did not see the operation. The doctor clapped a plug of cotton wool steeped in chloroform on my mouth by way of a gag.

“When I came to myself I was in the kitchen, and I had lost an arm. The cripples were all around me. They had ceased their wrangling. They seemed to be united in the most touching harmony; in reality they were in a state of dazed intoxication which caused them to sway their heads like children who feel the need to go and lie down after eating their fill, and I had not a doubt but that they were beginning, alas! to digest me.... I was stretched at full length on the floor, securely bound, and deprived of all power of movement, but I could both see and hear them. My old comrade, Gérard Beauvisage, had tears of joy in his eyes as he exclaimed:

“‘I should never have thought you would be so tender!’

“Madame Beauvisage was not present, but she, too, must have taken part in the feast, for I heard some one ask Gérard how ‘she liked her share.’

“Yes, monsieur, I have finished my story. I have finished my story. Those loathsome cripples having satisfied their weakness, must have at last realized the full extent of their iniquity. They made themselves scarce, and Madame Beauvisage, of course, escaped with them. They left the doors wide open but no one came to set me free until four days afterwards, when I was pretty well dead with hunger....

“Those miserable wretches had not even left the bone behind!”

THE GOLD AXE

Many years ago I was at Gersau, a small health resort on the Lake of the Four Forest Cantons, a few miles from Lucerne. I wanted to complete certain work, and I had arranged to spend the autumn in the quiet of this delightful village whose ancient pointed roofs were reflected in the romantic waters of the lake on which William Tell sailed in days of old.

It was the end of autumn, and tourists had scattered, while the many hideous Tartarins who had descended upon us from Germany with their alpenstocks, their puttees and their little round hats decked with the indispensable feather, had returned to their lager beer, their sauerkraut and their “big concerts,” leaving the country between Pilatus, the Mythen and the Rigi free to us at last.

Not more than half-a-dozen of us foregathered in the hotel at meal time, and when evening came related our experiences of the day or indulged in a little music.

An old lady, always enveloped in deep mourning, who when the little hotel was swarming with noisy visitors had never addressed a word to any one, and seemed the embodiment of woe, stood revealed as a pianist of the first rank, and without waiting to be pressed, played Chopin to us and, in particular, a certain lullaby by Schumann which she rendered with such exquisite tenderness that she brought tears to our eyes.

We were all so grateful to her for the pleasant hours which she enabled us to pass, that we joined together to present her, at the moment of her departure, with a slight souvenir of our stay at Gersau.

One of us who went that day to Lucerne undertook to buy the gift. He returned in the evening with a gold brooch in the form of a small axe.

Neither on that evening nor the following one did the old lady make her appearance; and the visitors who were leaving entrusted the gold brooch to my care.

Her luggage was still in the hotel, and I was prepared to see her return, sooner or later, reassured as to her well-being by the proprietor who told me that she was in the habit of disappearing for a day or two, and he had no reason to feel anxious about her.

As a matter of fact the day before my departure, as I was making a final tour of the lake and had pulled up a few steps from Tell’s Chapel, I saw the old lady standing at the entrance of the building.

Never until then had I been impressed by the unspeakable distress depicted on her face down which the tears were coursing, and never had I so clearly observed the traces, which were still manifest, of her former beauty. She caught sight of me, lowered her veil, and walked toward the lake. Nevertheless, I did not hesitate to overtake her, and bowing, expressed the visitors’ regret that we were about to lose her; and then, as I had the gift on me, I presented her with the small case containing the gold axe.

She opened it with a sweet, far-away smile, but no sooner did she perceive the jewel inside than she began to tremble with emotion, and drew back some distance from me, as though she had something to fear from my presence, and with an insensate gesture threw the brooch into the lake.

I displayed so much amazement at this unaccountable reception that she begged my forgiveness and burst into a fit of sobbing. A seat stood in this secluded spot, and we both sat down. And after a few lamentations against the decrees of fate which left me quite at a loss, she confided to me her strange, melancholy story which I was never to forget. For, in truth, I know of no more terrible destiny than that which befell the old lady in the black veil, who had played Schumann’s lullaby to us with such exquisite emotion.

* * * * *

“I will tell you the whole story,” she said, “for I am about to leave for ever this country which I determined to visit for the last time. And then you will understand why it was that I threw the little gold axe into the lake.

“I was born in Geneva, monsieur. We belonged to one of the leading families and were rich, but some unfortunate speculations on the stock exchange ruined my father, who died from the shock. When I was eighteen I was a beautiful girl without a dowry. My mother gave up all hope of marrying me. And yet she yearned to make sure of my future before she went to join my father.

“I was twenty-four when a suitor whom every one looked upon as an unhoped-for chance appeared.

“A young man from Briesgau who was accustomed to spend the summer in Switzerland and whose acquaintance we made in the casino at Evian, fell in love with me, and I liked him. Herbert Gutmann was a tall young fellow, kindly, unobtrusive and good-natured. He seemed to unite qualities alike of heart and mind. He possessed a certain affluence without being actually wealthy. His father was still engaged in business, and made him an allowance in order that he might travel until the time came for him to succeed him in his business. We were all intending to visit the elder Gutmann at his place in Todtnau, in the Black Forest, when the state of my mother’s health greatly hastened the course of events.

“Conscious that she no longer possessed the physical strength to travel, my mother hurriedly returned to Geneva, where she received from the civil authorities of Todtnau, to whom she had written, the most satisfactory information in respect of Herbert and his family. Herbert’s father had begun life as an ordinary woodcutter, and then had left the district, returning to it with a small fortune which he had ‘made in timber.’ That was all, at least, that was known of him in Todtnau.

“This was enough to induce my mother to press forward the formalities of my marriage, which took place a week before her death. She died with her mind at rest for, as she said, she felt ‘reassured about my future.’

“My husband helped me to overcome the grief which this sore trial caused me by his constant goodness and solicitude. Before we set out for Todtnau we came here to Gersau to spend a week, and then to my great surprise we undertook a long journey instead of making our visit to Herbert’s father. My sorrow would have gradually been dispelled if, as the days sped by, I had not noticed, almost with dismay, that my husband was more and more becoming a prey to melancholy.

“I was more surprised than I can express, because Herbert had seemed to me of a humorous disposition, open, unrestrained and extremely frank. Was I to discover that the liveliness which he used to display was forced, and veiled some deep mortification? Alas, his sighs when he thought himself alone, and the agitation which sometimes disturbed his night’s rest, scarcely left room for doubt, and I made up my mind to question him.

“At the first word that I ventured to speak on the subject he made answer by bursting into laughter, treating me as a silly little goose and kissing me passionately, which merely served to strengthen my conviction that I was in the presence of some painful mystery.

“I could not hide from myself that there was something in Herbert’s demeanor which was very like ‘remorse.’ And yet I could have sworn that he was incapable of committing, I will not say a low or mean action, but even one lacking in propriety.

“It was then that the fate which had dogged my footsteps, struck us another blow in the person of my father-in-law of whose death we learnt whilst we were in Scotland. This grievous piece of news depressed my husband more than I can say. He remained the whole night without uttering a word, nor did he shed tears nor appear to listen to the words of consolation by which I, in my turn, endeavored to rouse his spirit. He seemed to be overwhelmed. At last, when the light was beginning to dawn, he rose from the arm-chair in which he had sat huddled, and turning toward me a face terribly distorted by suffering, said in a harrowing voice:

“‘Come, Elizabeth, we shall have to go back. We shall have to go back.’

“These words seemed to possess a significance from the tone in which they were spoken which I failed to understand. A return to the land of his father’s was quite natural at a moment like that, and I could not see why he should fight against the necessity of going home. From that day onward Herbert changed completely; he grew extraordinarily silent, and more than once I came upon him sobbing wildly.

“The grief which the loss of a beloved father might occasion could not entirely explain the horror of our position, for there is nothing more terrible than mystery, the deep mystery which steals in between two beings who are devoted to each other, and separates them from their happiness....

“We reached Todtnau in time to breathe a prayer over the newly made grave.

“This little town in the Black Forest, at no great distance from Höllenthal, was a dreary spot; and there was scarcely any society in it for me. The Gutmann’s house, in which we took up our abode, lay on the borders of a forest.

“It was a gloomy chalet standing in its own grounds, and our one visitor was an old clockmaker in the place, who was said to be rich and had been the elder Gutmann’s friend. He appeared from time to time at the lunch or dinner hour, in order to get himself invited.

“I had no liking for this manufacturer of cuckoo-clocks, this petty usurer, for though he was rich, he was a miser and incapable of the least nicety of feeling. Nor did Herbert care for Frantz Basckler, though he continued out of respect for the memory of his father to keep on friendly terms with him.

“Basckler, who had no children, had told the elder Gutmann times out of number that Herbert was his only heir. Herbert spoke to me about it one day with the most sincere aversion, and I had once more an opportunity of appreciating the strictness of his conscience.

“‘Would you like to be the heir of this sordid old miser who made his fortune by ruining all the clockmakers in Höllenthal?’

“‘Certainly not,’ I returned. ‘Your father left us a certain amount of property, and with what you can honestly earn we shall have enough to live on even if Heaven chooses to send us a child.’

“I had no sooner uttered these words than I saw my Herbert turn as white as a sheet. I put my arms round him, for I thought that he was about to faint, but the blood returned to his face, and he exclaimed in forcible tones:

“‘Yes, yes, the only true thing is to have the approbation of one’s conscience.’

“And so saying he rushed wildly from the room.

“Sometimes he was away for a day or two on business, which consisted, he told me, of buying plantations of standing trees and selling them again to contractors. He did not work the whole thing himself but left to others the task of turning the trees into sleepers for railways, if the wood was of inferior quality, and posts and ships’ masts if it was of the best quality. The essential thing was to display expert judgment; and he had acquired his knowledge of timber from his father.

“He never took me away with him on any of his journeys. He left me alone in the house with an old maid-servant who had received me with ill-disguised hostility. I kept out of her way and wept in secret, for I was not happy. I felt convinced that Herbert was hiding something from me, something which was obsessing his mind, and which I too who knew nothing, was never able to dismiss from my thoughts.

“And then the great forest frightened me. And the servant frightened me. And old Basckler frightened me. And the old house! It was very large with staircases everywhere leading to passages into which I dared not venture. At the end of one of them in particular, stood a small room. I had seen my husband enter it two or three times, but I myself had never set foot in it.

“I could not pass the door of this room, which was always closed, without a tremor. It was to this study that Herbert was wont to retire, so he told me, to make up his accounts and balance his books, but it was also to this room that he retired alone to bewail his secret.

“One night after he had set out on one of his journeys and I was vainly endeavoring to sleep, my attention was attracted by a slight sound under my window which I had left partly open on account of the extreme heat. I got out of bed with every precaution. The sky was overcast and great clouds hid the stars from sight. It was as much as I could do to discern the threatening shadows of the nearest trees which faced the house.

“I could not clearly distinguish my husband and the maid-servant until they passed under my window, walking on the lawn with infinite caution so that I should not hear the sound of their footsteps and carrying between them a sort of long, somewhat narrow trunk which I had never before seen. They entered the chalet and I did not hear nor see them again for the next ten minutes.

“My anguish exceeded anything that it is possible to conceive. Why were they hiding themselves from me? How was it that I had not heard the coming of the chaise which usually brought Herbert home? Just then I seemed to catch in the distance the neighing of a horse, and the maid-servant appeared, crossed the lawn, vanished into the darkness, and soon returned leading our mare unharnessed over the soft ground. Never had they taken so many precautions to prevent me from waking up!

“Growing more and more surprised that Herbert did not come to our room as was his custom after his return at night, I hastily slipped on a dressing-gown and wandered into the darkness of the passage. My steps turned quite naturally toward the little study of which I stood in so much fear. And I had only just entered the corridor which led to it when I heard my husband say in a rough, muffled voice to the maid-servant who was mounting the stairs:

“‘Water! Bring me some water. Hot water of course. It won’t come off.’

“I stopped short and held my breath. Besides I could not breathe. I was stifling. I was filled with the presentiment that some dreadful misfortune had befallen us. Suddenly I was once more startled by my husband’s voice:

“‘Ah, at last! That’s done it. It’s come off.’

“My husband and the old woman were still talking in low tones and I heard his step. That brought me to myself and I fled to my bedroom and locked myself in. Soon he knocked at the door and I went through the form of pretending to be asleep and to wake up, and at last I opened the door. I held a candle in my hand which fell to the floor when I caught sight of the look on his face.

“‘What’s the matter?’ he asked. ‘Are you still asleep? Do go back to bed.’

“I made a movement to light the candle again, but he stopped me and I threw myself on the bed. I spent a cruel night.

“Herbert turned and tossed and sighed beside me and could not sleep. He did not speak a word. At daybreak he rose, pressed an icy kiss on my brow and left the room. When I got downstairs the old woman gave me a note from him in which he stated that he was obliged to go away again for a couple of days.

“At eight o’clock that morning I learned from workmen on their way to Neustadt, that old Basckler had been found murdered in a small cottage which he possessed at Höllenthal, where he sometimes spent the night when his business of money-lending kept him too long among his peasant-debtors. Basckler had received a terrible blow with an axe which had split his head in two. It was undoubtedly the work of a woodman.

“I returned to the house as best I could. And once more my feet led me toward the little study. I could not explain exactly what was passing in my mind, but after the words which I had overheard during the night and the look on Herbert’s face, I felt a need to see what that room contained. Just then the servant observed me and exclaimed maliciously:

“‘Leave that room alone. You know quite well that M. Gutmann has forbidden you to touch it. A lot of good it would do you to know what’s inside.’

“And she walked away with a fiendish laugh.

“I took my bed, suffering from high fever. I was ill for a fortnight. Herbert looked after me with maternal solicitude. It seemed to me that I had been the sport of some evil dream, and it was enough now to see his good-natured face to confirm my impression that I was not in a normal condition on the night when I fancied that I had seen and heard so many extraordinary things. Moreover the murderer of Basckler had been arrested. He was a woodman belonging to Bergen whom the old miser had ‘bled’ too freely and who had taken his revenge by ‘bleeding’ his persecutor in his turn.

“This woodman, a man named Mathis Müller, never ceased to protest his innocence, but though not a single trace of blood was found on his clothes and his axe was almost like new steel, there was, it seems, sufficient evidence of his guilt to bring him to justice.

“Our circumstances were in no way affected, as we imagined they might be, by old Basckler’s death, and Herbert looked in vain for a will which did not exist.

“To my surprise its absence considerably upset him, and one day when I questioned him about it he answered irritably:

“‘Well, yes, if you want to know, I was relying a great deal on that will—a great deal.’

“And as he spoke a black look came over his face, and the terrible face which I had seen on the mysterious night rose up before me, and after that never left me. It was like a mask which I was always ready to place over Herbert’s face even when it was naturally kind and sad.

“During Mathis Müller’s trial at Freiburg I eagerly read the newspapers; and certain words which fell from the counsel for the defense haunted me day and night:

“‘Until you have discovered the axe with which the deed was done and the murderer’s blood-stained clothes, you cannot convict Mathis Müller.’

“Nevertheless Mathis Müller was found guilty and sentenced to death, and I am bound to say that the verdict strangely affected my husband. At night he dreamt of nothing but Mathis Müller. I was terrified of him and my thoughts also terrified me.

“Oh, I longed to know the truth! I was determined to know the truth. What was the meaning of those words ‘It won’t come off?’

“What was the nature of the work upon which he was engaged in the mysterious little study during the night?

“One night I rose and groping in the dark stole his keys from him. I crept into the corridors. I went to the kitchen to fetch a lantern. With chattering teeth I reached the forbidden room ... I opened the door and my eyes at once fell on the trunk—the oblong trunk which had so greatly perplexed me.

“It was locked, but I had no difficulty in finding the small key on the bunch ... I unlocked it and raised the lid. I went down on my knees in order to see better, and the sight that met my eyes forced a cry of horror from me....

“The trunk contained blood-stained clothes and the axe which had struck the blow still spotted with rust....

* * * * *

“How I managed, after what I had seen, to live with Herbert through the few weeks which preceded the convicted man’s execution I cannot tell....

“I was afraid that he might kill me....

“How was it that my attitude, the dread that possessed me, failed to enlighten him? The fact is that at that time his mind was wholly a prey to fears not less great than my own. The thought of Mathis Müller never left him.

“To enable him to escape the obsession, apparently, he now shut himself up in the little study, and I sometimes heard him delivering tremendous blows, which made the floor and walls resound, as if he were fighting with his axe against the ghosts and phantoms which beset him.

“Strange to say, and it seemed at first impossible to understand, Herbert recovered his calmness a couple of days before Müller’s execution—the calmness of marble, the calmness of a statue. That evening he said:

“‘I am going away to-morrow morning early. I have some important business to do near Freiburg. I shall probably be away for a couple of days. Don’t worry.’

“It was at Freiburg that the execution was to take place, and I had the impression that Herbert’s composure was the result of the resolution that he had taken.

“He was going to give himself up!

“The thought was so much of a relief to me that for the first time for many a night I fell into a sound sleep. It was broad daylight when I awoke. My husband had already left the house.

“I dressed in haste and without saying a word to the old servant I started for Todtnau. Here, I took a conveyance and drove to Freiburg. I reached Freiburg when the light had begun to wane. I went at once to the Court House, and the first person whom I saw entering the building was my husband. I stood rooted to the spot. And as Herbert did not come out again I felt sure that he had surrendered and was being held there at the disposal of the authorities.

“The prison at that time was next the Court House. I walked round it like a mad-woman. All that night I wandered about the streets, returning every now and then to this gloomy building, and the first gleams of day were beginning to break when my eyes encountered two men clad in black frock-coats mounting the front steps of the Court.

“I ran up to them and said that I wanted to see the public prosecutor as soon as possible, as I had a communication of the utmost gravity to make to him about the Basckler murder.

“As it happened, one of the gentlemen was the public prosecutor, and he invited me to accompany him to his office. Here I explained who I was and said that he must have received a visit from my husband the night before. He told me that he had in fact seen him, and then as he took refuge in silence I threw myself on my knees before him beseeching him to have pity on me and tell me whether Herbert had confessed his crime. He seemed surprised, helped me to rise to my feet, and questioned me.

“Slowly I told him the story of my life, such as I have told it to you, and at last I described the awful discovery which I had made in the little study in the chalet at Todtnau. I ended by declaring that I should never have allowed an innocent man to be executed, and that had not my husband given himself up, I should not have hesitated to inform the police. And then I asked him as a final act of mercy, to be allowed to see Herbert.

“‘Yes, you shall see him, madame,’ he returned. ‘Please come with me.’

“He took me, more dead than alive, to the prison, through the corridors and up a staircase. Here he stood me before a small barred window which jutted over a large hall and left me, telling me to have patience. A number of other persons soon took up their positions at this window, and looked into the hall without speaking.

“I did as they did. It was as though I was fastened to the bars, and I had the feeling that I was about to witness some monstrous spectacle.

“The hall was gradually lined with a number of persons all of whom maintained a mournful silence. Daylight now rendered the scene more visible. In the center of the hall we could clearly discern a heavy block of wood, and some one behind me exclaimed:

“‘That’s the headman’s block!’

“So Müller was to be executed! An icy perspiration began to trickle down my forehead, and I cannot say even now how it was that I did not fall into a dead faint. A door opened, and a procession appeared headed by the condemned man, quivering in his shirt which was cut low and showed his bare neck. His hands were bound behind his back, and he was supported by two warders. A minister of religion was murmuring in his ear.

“The wretched man began to speak. In a few trembling words he confessed his crime and asked forgiveness of God and man. A civic officer took note of the confession and read out the sentence of the Court; and then the two warders thrust the convict on his knees and placed his head on the block.

“Mathis Müller might have already been dead for all the sign of life he gave, when a man with bare arms carrying an axe on his shoulder, stepped forward from the side where he had hitherto remained in the background.

“This man placed his hand upon the prisoner’s head, waved the two warders aside, lifted the axe and struck a terrible blow. Nevertheless he had to strike a second time before the head fell. Then he picked it up by the hair and stood erect.

“How was it that I was able to watch the unspeakably horrible sight until the end? Yet I could not remove my eyes from this scene of blood, and it seemed as though there was still something for me to see, and indeed my eyes did see ... they saw, when holding in his shaking hand the abominable trophy the executioner drew himself up and raised his eyes.

“I uttered a piercing shriek, ‘Herbert!’ and fell unconscious.

* * * * *

“Now, monsieur, you know my story. I had married the public executioner. The axe which I had discovered in the little study was the executioner’s axe; the blood-stained clothes were the executioner’s clothes.

“Next day I fled to the house of an old relative, and I very nearly lost my reason; and I don’t know how it is that I am still in this world.

“As for my husband, who could not live without me, for he loved me more than anything on earth, he was found two months later hanging in our room. I received a last letter from him:

“‘Forgive me, Elizabeth. I have tried every sort of occupation. I was dismissed as soon as it was discovered that I was the son of my father. I was forced at an early age to make up my mind to take up the succession of his work. You will understand now how it is that the office of public executioner descends from father to son. I was born an honest man, and the only crime that I have ever committed in my life was to conceal the truth from you.... Farewell!’”

* * * * *

While I stood gazing in dumb amazement at the spot in the lake where the lady in black had thrown the little gold axe, she disappeared in the distance.

THE END

Transcriber’s Notes:

• Text enclosed by underscores is in italics (_italics_). • Text enclosed by pluses is in small caps (+small caps+). • Obvious typographical errors have been silently corrected.