ll him 'dear Paul,' and all the rest of
it."

"That looks to me more like the cunning of a murderess than the slyness
of a maniac," I said.

"Most murderers are only maniacs, mad people," answered the professor.
"Men and women are born with a certain tendency of mind which makes them
easily brood over an idea. Their life and circumstances foster one
particular notion, till it gets a predominant weight in their weak
reasoning. The occasion presents itself, and they carry out the plan
they have been forming for years in secret, or even unconsciously. If in
carrying out their ideas they kill anybody, it is called murder. It
makes very little difference what you call it. The law distinguishes
between crimes premeditated and crimes unpremeditated. Murder, willful
and premeditated, involves in my opinion a process of mind so similar to
that found in lunatics that it is impossible to distinguish the one from
the other, and I am quite ready to believe that all premeditated murders
are brought about by mental aberration in the murderer. On the other
hand, manslaughter, quick, sudden, and unplanned, is the result of more
or less inhuman instincts, and those who commit the crime are people who
approach more or less nearly to wild beasts. For the advancement of
science, murderers should not be hanged, but should be kept as
interesting cases of insanity. Much might be learned by carefully
observing the action of their minds upon ordinary occasions. As for
homicides, or manslaughterers,--I wish we could use the English
word,--they are less attractive as a study, and I do not care what
becomes of them. The brain of a freshly killed tiger would be far more
interesting."

"What do you propose to do with Madame Patoff?" I asked. "You do not
suppose that Miss Carvel will marry Alexander Patoff in order to prevent
his mother from murdering Paul?"

"She ought to," answered Cutter, quietly. "It would be most curious to
see whether there would be any change in her fixed dislike of the
younger son."

"And do you mean that that young girl should sacrifice her life to your
experiments?" I asked, rather hotly. I hated the coldness of the man,
and his ruthless determination to make scientific capital out of other
people's troubles.

"I can neither propose nor dispose," he answered. "I only wish that it
might be so. After all, she could be quite as happy with Alexander as
with Paul. I doubt whether she has a strong preference for either."