y informing him of the circumstances--that I should go by
the first train in the morning, instead of staying to breakfast with the
other guests who slept in the house.

At intervals during the night I wondered uneasily how things were going on
at Maison Rouge. Again and again the same question occurred to me, on my
journey home in the early morning--the morning of the first of March. As
the event proved, but one person in my house knew what really happened at
the stables on Francis Raven's birthday. Let Joseph Rigobert take my place
as narrator, and tell the story of the end to You--as he told it, in times
past, to his lawyer and to Me.

FOURTH (AND LAST) NARRATIVE

STATEMENT OF JOSEPH RIGOBERT: ADDRESSED TO THE ADVOCATE WHO DEFENDED HIM
AT HIS TRIAL

Respected Sir,--On the twenty-seventh of February I was sent, on business
connected with the stables at Maison Rouge, to the city of Metz. On the
public promenade I met a magnificent woman. Complexion, blond.
Nationality, English. We mutually admired each other; we fell into
conversation. (She spoke French perfectly--with the English accent.) I
offered refreshment; my proposal was accepted. We had a long and
interesting interview--we discovered that we were made for each other. So
far, Who is to blame?

Is it my fault that I am a handsome man--universally agreeable as such to
the fair sex? Is it a criminal offense to be accessible to the amiable
weakness of love? I ask again, Who is to blame? Clearly, nature. Not the
beautiful lady--not my humble self.

To resume. The most hard-hearted person living will understand that two
beings made for each other could not possibly part without an appointment
to meet again.

I made arrangements for the accommodation of the lady in the village near
Maison Rouge. She consented to honor me with her company at supper, in my
apartment at the stables, on the night of the twenty-ninth. The time fixed
on was the time when the other servants were accustomed to retire--eleven
o'clock.

Among the grooms attached to the stables was an Englishman, laid up with a
broken leg. His name was Francis. His manners were repulsive; he was
ignorant of the French language. In the kitchen he went by the nickname of
the "English Bear." Strange to say, he was a great favorite with my master
and my mistress. They even humored certain superstitious terrors to which
this repulsive person was subject--terrors into the nature of which I,