ven proof of evil, they laugh at it; doubtful of evil, they
swear that it exists; the good they refuse to recognize. "Who knows?"
Behold the grand formula, the first words that Satan spoke when he saw
heaven closing against him. Alas! for how many evils are those words
responsible? How many disasters and deaths, how many strokes of fateful
scythes in the ripening harvest of humanity! How many hearts, how many
families where there is naught but ruin, since that word was first
heard! "Who knows! Who knows!" Loathsome words! Rather than pronounce
them one should be as sheep who graze about the slaughter-house and know
it not. That is better than to be called a strong spirit, and to read La
Rochefoucauld.

What better illustration could I present than the one I have just given?
My mistress was ready to set out and I had but to say the word. Why did
I delay? What would have been the result if I had started at once on
our trip? Nothing but a moment of apprehension that would have been
forgotten after travelling three days. When with me, she had no thought
but of me; why should I care to solve a mystery that did not threaten my
happiness?

She would have consented, and that would have been the end of it. A kiss
on her lips and all would be well; instead of that, see what I did.

One evening when Smith had dined with us, I retired at an early hour and
left them together. As I closed my door I heard Brigitte order some tea.
In the morning I happened to approach her table, and, sitting beside the
teapot, I saw but one cup. No one had been in that room before me that
morning, so the servant could not have carried away anything that had
been used the night before. I searched everywhere for a second cup but
could find none.

"Did Smith stay late?" I asked of Brigitte.

"He left about midnight."

"Did you retire alone or did you call some one to assist you?"

"I retired alone; every one in the house was asleep."

I continued my search and my hands trembled. In what burlesque comedy is
there a jealous lover so stupid as to inquire what has become of a cup?
Why seek to discover whether Smith and Madame Pierson had drunk from the
same cup? What a brilliant idea that!

Nevertheless I found the cup and I burst into laughter, and threw it
on the floor with such violence that it broke into a thousand pieces. I
ground the pieces under my feet.

Brigitte looked at me without saying a word. During the two succeeding
days she treate