All that society knew was that she had carried her domestic discipline to
excess, had paid dearly for it, and no doubt was desisting and would
henceforth desist from that kind of thing. Enough allowance can hardly be
made in our day for the delicacy society felt about prying into one of its
own gentleman or lady member's treatment of his or her own servants. Who
was going to begin such an inquiry--John Fitz Miller?

And so time passed, and the beautiful and ever sweet and charming Madame
Lalaurie--whether sane or insane we leave to the doctors, except Dr.
Lalaurie--continued to drive daily, yearly, on the gay Bayou Road, to
manage her business affairs, and to gather bright groups around her
tempting board, without their suspicion that she kept her cook in the
kitchen by means of a twenty-four-foot chain fastened to her person and to
the wall or floor.

And yet let this be said to the people's credit, that public suspicion
and indignation steadily grew. But they were still only growing when one
day, the both of April, 1834, the aged cook,--she was seventy,--chained as
she was, purposely set the house on fire. It is only tradition that,
having in a dream the night before seen the drawing-room window curtains
on fire, she seized the happy thought and made the dream a reality. But it
is in the printed record of the day that she confessed the deed to the
mayor of the city.

The desperate stratagem succeeds. The alarm of fire spreads to the street
and a hundred men rush, in, while a crowd throngs the streets. Some are
neighbors, some friends, some strangers. One is M. Montreuil, the
gentleman who has so long been watching his chance to bring the law upon
the house and its mistress. Young D----, a notary's clerk, is another. And
another is Judge Cononge--Aha! And there are others of good and well-known
name!

The fire has got a good start; the kitchen is in flames; the upper stories
are filling with smoke. Strangers run to the place whence it all comes and
fall to fighting the fire. Friends rally to the aid of Monsieur and Madame
Lalaurie. The pretty lady has not lost one wit--is at her very best. Her
husband is as passive as ever.

"This way," she cries; "this way! Take this--go, now, and hurry back, if
you please. This way!" And in a moment they are busy carrying out, and to
places of safety, plate, jewels, robes, and the lighter and costlier
pieces of furniture. "This way, please, gentlemen; that is only the
servant