ces for the burial of the dead, and the
cool, dark church, with its mingled odor of incense and flowers, became
more and more quiet as the soothing influences crept over the hearts of
those assembled there. Mass was over, and the priest, coming out from
the chancel, knelt before the tall crucifix which stood at the foot of
the coffins and began the most touching of all prayers, "Non intres in
judicium," when a sudden movement was heard at the lower end of the
church, a stifled cry of alarm instantly hushed, and in another moment
Marcelline, who had followed the cortege, like the other servants, on
foot, walked slowly and with a perfectly composed and steady step up the
aisle, made her reverence to the Host which was concealed in the
tabernacle before her, and then stood facing the priest, who without
pausing finished his prayer and rose from his knees.

"What wouldst thou have, my daughter," he asked with dignity, "that thou
dost disturb the holy services of the Church?"

There was a slight pause. Marcelline seemed to steady herself: then
putting her hand on the coffin of Alphege Cherbuliez, she said in a
high, monotonous voice which rang through the building and reached even
the watchers on the green without, "I killed Doctor Alphege Cherbuliez
with my own hands. No one helped me and no one saw me. You can turn
Pierre Lambas and Gerard Grol loose."

There was a sudden stir like the rushing of a mighty wind through the
church, but the priest waved his hand and the people were still.

"What was your motive?" he asked without moving.

The woman had never turned her head, and now answered him in the same
overstrained key: "He starved my mistress to death. I saw her slowly
dying of hunger and thirst day after day, and I made up my mind to kill
him as soon as I could get the chance. I had to wait and wait," she went
on, her voice sinking a little, "till at last it was too late."

She stopped, suddenly stooped and kissed her mistress's coffin: then
wheeling round and facing the congregation, who sat spellbound, she
shook her clenched fist at them. "Ah!" she said, speaking in a terrible
voice, "you knew, you must have known--friends and cousins and brothers,
ay, daughters too--that bread--_bread_!--was what she wanted. Who heard
her cry for food? Who heard her beg and pray and implore for one little
sip of milk, one little bite of meat?" Her voice rose to a shriek as she
went on, but such was the force of her passion that