his
adversaries, and was, up to the day of his death, the most terrible of
all the bandits whose memory we have preserved."

The sun disappeared behind Monte Cinto and the tall shadow of the granite
mountain went to sleep on the granite of the valley. We quickened our
pace in order to reach before night the little village of Albertaccio,
nothing but a pile of stones welded into the stone flanks of a wild
gorge. And I said as I thought of the bandit:

"What a terrible custom your vendetta is!"

My companion answered with an air of resignation:

"What would you have? A man must do his duty!"

THE GRAVE

The seventeenth of July, one thousand eight hundred and eighty-three, at
half-past two in the morning, the watchman in the cemetery of Besiers,
who lived in a small cottage on the edge of this field of the dead, was
awakened by the barking of his dog, which was shut up in the kitchen.

Going down quickly, he saw the animal sniffing at the crack of the door
and barking furiously, as if some tramp had been sneaking about the
house. The keeper, Vincent, therefore took his gun and went out.

His dog, preceding him, at once ran in the direction of the Avenue
General Bonnet, stopping short at the monument of Madame Tomoiseau.

The keeper, advancing cautiously, soon saw a faint light on the side of
the Avenue Malenvers, and stealing in among the graves, he came upon a
horrible act of profanation.

A man had dug up the coffin of a young woman who had been buried the
evening before and was dragging the corpse out of it.

A small dark lantern, standing on a pile of earth, lighted up this
hideous scene.

Vincent sprang upon the wretch, threw him to the ground, bound his hands
and took him to the police station.

It was a young, wealthy and respected lawyer in town, named Courbataille.

He was brought into court. The public prosecutor opened the case by
referring to the monstrous deeds of the Sergeant Bertrand.

A wave of indignation swept over the courtroom. When the magistrate sat
down the crowd assembled cried: "Death! death!" With difficulty the
presiding judge established silence.

Then he said gravely:

"Defendant, what have you to say in your defense?"

Courbataille, who had refused counsel, rose. He was a handsome fellow,
tall, brown, with a frank face, energetic manner and a fearless eye.

Paying no attention to the whistlings in the room, he began to speak in a
voice that was low and veiled at fi