erwhelmed at the extraordinary nature of the
incident, and at the completeness of the proof with which Dacre had
exposed its real meaning. In a vague way I remembered some details of
the woman's career, her unbridled debauchery, the cold-blooded and
protracted torture of her sick father, the murder of her brothers for
motives of petty gain. I recollected also that the bravery of her end
had done something to atone for the horror of her life, and that all
Paris had sympathized with her last moments, and blessed her as a
martyr within a few days of the time when they had cursed her as a
murderess. One objection, and one only, occurred to my mind.

"How came her initials and her badge of rank upon the filler? Surely
they did not carry their mediaeval homage to the nobility to the point
of decorating instruments of torture with their titles?"

"I was puzzled with the same point," said Dacre, "but it admits of a
simple explanation. The case excited extraordinary interest at the
time, and nothing could be more natural than that La Reynie, the head
of the police, should retain this filler as a grim souvenir. It was
not often that a marchioness of France underwent the extraordinary
question. That he should engrave her initials upon it for the
information of others was surely a very ordinary proceeding upon his
part."

"And this?" I asked, pointing to the marks upon the leathern neck.

"She was a cruel tigress," said Dacre, as he turned away. "I think it
is evident that like other tigresses her teeth were both strong and
sharp."

The New Catacomb

"Look here, Burger," said Kennedy, "I do wish that you would confide in
me."

The two famous students of Roman remains sat together in Kennedy's
comfortable room overlooking the Corso. The night was cold, and they
had both pulled up their chairs to the unsatisfactory Italian stove
which threw out a zone of stuffiness rather than of warmth. Outside
under the bright winter stars lay the modern Rome, the long, double
chain of the electric lamps, the brilliantly lighted cafes, the rushing
carriages, and the dense throng upon the footpaths. But inside, in the
sumptuous chamber of the rich young English archaeologist, there was
only old Rome to be seen. Cracked and timeworn friezes hung upon the
walls, grey old busts of senators and soldiers with their fighting
heads and their hard, cruel faces peered out from the corners. On the
centre table, amidst a litter of insc