adame Jules and Ferragus through the opening of
the wall, and struck them with terror.

"Go and see what it means, Clemence," said her father.

Clemence ran rapidly down the little staircase, found the door into
Madame Gruget's apartment wide open, heard the cries which echoed from
the upper floor, went up the stairs, guided by the noise of sobs, and
caught these words before she entered the fatal chamber:--

"You, monsieur, you, with your horrid inventions,--you are the cause of
her death!"

"Hush, miserable woman!" replied Jules, putting his handkerchief on the
mouth of the old woman, who began at once to cry out, "Murder! help!"

At this instant Clemence entered, saw her husband, uttered a cry, and
fled away.

"Who will save my child?" cried the widow Gruget. "You have murdered
her."

"How?" asked Jules, mechanically, for he was horror-struck at being seen
by his wife.

"Read that," said the old woman, giving him a letter. "Can money or
annuities console me for that?"

Farewell, mother! I bequeeth you what I have. I beg your pardon
for my forlts, and the last greef to which I put you by ending my
life in the river. Henry, who I love more than myself, says I have
made his misfortune, and as he has drifen me away, and I have lost
all my hops of merrying him, I am going to droun myself. I shall
go abov Neuilly, so that they can't put me in the Morg. If Henry
does not hate me anny more after I am ded, ask him to berry a pore
girl whose hart beet for him only, and to forgif me, for I did
rong to meddle in what didn't consern me. Tak care of his wounds.
How much he sufered, pore fellow! I shall have as much corage to
kill myself as he had to burn his bak. Carry home the corsets I
have finished. And pray God for your daughter.

Ida.

"Take this letter to Monsieur de Funcal, who is upstairs," said Jules.
"He alone can save your daughter, if there is still time."

So saying he disappeared, running like a man who has committed a crime.
His legs trembled. The hot blood poured into his swelling heart in
torrents greater than at any other moment of his life, and left it again
with untold violence. Conflicting thoughts struggled in his mind, and
yet one thought predominated,--he had not been loyal to the being he
loved most. It was impossible for him to argue with his conscience,
whose voice, rising high with conviction, came like an echo of those
inward cries of his love during the crue