et between them. I don't know which
has the strongest power of attraction, vengeance or crime, hatred or
insult. Like a priest who cannot consecrate the host in presence of an
evil spirit, each is ill at ease and distrustful; one is polite, the
other surly, but I know not which; one colors or turns pale, the other
trembles. Often the avenger is as cowardly as the victim. Few men have
the courage to invoke an evil, even when just or necessary, and men are
silent or forgive a wrong from hatred of uproar or fear of some tragic
ending.

This introsusception of our souls and our sentiments created a
mysterious struggle between Taillefer and myself. Since the first
inquiry I had put to him during Monsieur Hermann's narrative, he had
steadily avoided my eye. Possibly he avoided those of all the other
guests. He talked with the youthful, inexperienced daughter of the
banker, feeling, no doubt, like many other criminals, a need of drawing
near to innocence, hoping to find rest there. But, though I was a long
distance from him, I heard him, and my piercing eye fascinated his. When
he thought he could watch me unobserved our eyes met, and his eyelids
dropped immediately.

Weary of this torture, Taillefer seemed determined to put an end to it
by sitting down at a card-table. I at once went to bet on his adversary;
hoping to lose my money. The wish was granted; the player left the table
and I took his place, face to face with the murderer.

"Monsieur," I said, while he dealt the cards, "may I ask if you are
Monsieur Frederic Taillefer, whose family I know very well at Beauvais?"

"Yes, monsieur," he answered.

He dropped the cards, turned pale, put his hands to his head and rose,
asking one of the bettors to take his hand.

"It is too hot here," he cried; "I fear--"

He did not end the sentence. His face expressed intolerable suffering,
and he went out hastily. The master of the house followed him and seemed
to take an anxious interest in his condition. My neighbor and I looked
at each other, but I saw a tinge of bitter sadness or reproach upon her
countenance.

"Do you think your conduct is merciful?" she asked, drawing me to the
embrasure of a window just as I was leaving the card-table, having lost
all my money. "Would you accept the power of reading hearts? Why not
leave things to human justice or divine justice? We may escape one but
we cannot escape the other. Do you think the privilege of a judge of the
court of ass