one dared enquire the origin of what he saw,
until the judge arriving, demanded: "Who has done this?"

"I," feebly answered the advocate, ghastly pale, and yet leaning
for support on the fatal balustrade. Alas! what a change! His
countenance was grown haggard, and his white hair hung dishrevelled
about his collapsed visage, like icicles round the pinched countenance
of Winter. Despair was in his look, and he uttered the name of
Amanda, and gazed bewildered around him, as if awaking from a
sorrowful dream; and now began to whimper, to gaze upon the pall-like
gown, and now to call upon the spirit that had flown--as a scared
bird from a bush--forth from the body that lay beneath it.

"Narcisse," he feebly cried, "Narcisse, my son,--for thou wert
yet my son,--Narcisse, Narcisse," he reiterated piteously; and the
Sheriff advanced in his purple gown, and girt with his golden hilted
sword, laid his hand on the shoulder of the old man, the lately
proud advocate, but now wretched culprit, as a sign of his being
put under arrest. But none else moved; the Sheriff himself shrinking
from ordering the constable to give effect to the signal. All seemed
transfixed with pain or chained with horror, as in tremulous tones
of touching tenderness the slayer continued to call upon the dead.

"Narcisse, my son, my son," he cried in agony; "Oh, I have killed
thee, child; oh, thou art dead, dead, dead.--But thou didst steal
thy sister; yes, I know thou didst; ay, that thou didst, and hast
delivered her to dishonor, therefore have I killed thee. Come,
Amanda, come hither, dearest, and behold thy brother; behold thy
father, see what he has done, and all for thee. Yes, I did it, all
you curious crowd. Amanda, oh, where art thou? let me see thee ere
I die: Amanda dear, Amanda;" and at the words, Amanda, leaning on
the arm of Claude, and followed by the elder Montigny and Andre
Duchatel, appeared upon the corridor, a sweet smile playing upon
her features, and hastening forwards she fell upon the neck of her
guardian, who was still leaning against the balustrade, pale,
haggard and forlorn. Her companions, restrained by astonishment
and fear, gazed aloof and mute, whilst the wretched criminal, eyeing
them with a look of misery and suspicion, in a tone of inexpressible
sadness at length exclaimed:

"Come you to see me, then, before I die; do you come to triumph
over me, Seigneur Montigny? Look, see there, but do not touch it,
for it is abhorred, a