ound subsequently that all the screws but one that held up the
heavy tester over the bed of the duchess, had been removed, and the
holes filled with wax; it is certain that the duke partly unscrewed
the bolt that fastened the door of her dressing-room.

On the evening of the family's arrival in Paris, the father and
children went in a carriage to see Mademoiselle de Luzy. She told
the duke that she could get a good situation, provided the duchess
would give her a certificate of good conduct; and the duke at parting
promised to obtain it for her.

The whole family went to bed early, that they might be ready to
start for the seaside betimes upon the morrow. The children's rooms
were in a wing of the building, at some distance from the chambers
of their father and mother. The concierge and his wife slept in
their lodge. Towards one o'clock in the morning they were awakened
by screams; but they lay still, imagining that the noise came from
the Champs Elysees. Then they heard the loud ringing of a bell,
and starting from their bed, rushed into the main building. The
noise had proceeded from the duchess's chamber. They knocked at
the door, but there was no answer, only low moans. They consulted
together, and then roused the maid and valet, who were sleeping in
the attic chambers. Again they knocked, and there was no answer.
The valet then went to the duke's room, which looked upon the garden
and communicated with the dressing-room of the duchess by a balcony
and window as well as by the door. The duke opened the door of
his chamber. He was in his dressing-gown. When he heard what was
the matter, he went at once through the window into the duchess's
chamber. There a scene of carnage unparalleled, I think, in the
history of murder met their eyes. The duchess was lying across
her bed, not yet quite dead, but beyond the power of speech. There
were more than forty wounds on her body. She must have struggled
desperately. The walls were bloody, the bell-rope was bloody, and
the floor was bloody. The nightdress of the duchess was saturated
with blood. Her hands were cut almost to pieces, as if she had
grasped the blade of the knife that killed her. The furniture was
overturned in all parts of the room.[1]

[Footnote 1: We were then living near the Hotel Sebastini. The
excitement in the neighborhood the next morning is indescribable.]

At once the valet and the concierge ran for the police, for members
of the family, and for a do