ng for the coming of the phantoms. Yes; for the blood beats in
my temples,--? my ears ring,--my head turns--as when they are about to
appear! Yes; I was not deceived; here they are,--they advance from the
depths of darkness,--they advance! How pale they are; and their blood,
how it flows,--red and smoking! It frightens you,--you struggle. Well,
be still, you shall not see the phantoms,--no, you shall not see them. I
have pity on you; I will make you blind. You shall be, like
me,--eyeless!"

Here the Schoolmaster paused. The Chouette uttered a cry so horrible
that Tortillard, alarmed, bounded off the step, and stood up. The horrid
shrieks of the Chouette served to place the copestone on the fury of the
Schoolmaster.

"Sing," he said, in a low voice, "sing, Chouette,--night-bird! Sing your
song of death! You are happy; you do not see three phantoms of those we
have assassinated,--the little old man in the Rue du Roule, the drowned
woman, the cattle-dealer. I see them; they approach; they touch me. Ah,
so cold,--so cold! Ah!"

The last gleam of sense of this unhappy wretch was lost in this cry of
condemnation. He could no longer reason, but acted and roared like a
wild beast, and only obeyed the savage instinct of destruction for
destruction. A hurried trampling was now heard, interrupted frequently
at intervals with a heavy sound, which appeared like a box of bones
bounding against a stone, upon which it was intended to be broken.
Sharp, convulsive shrieks, and a burst of hellish laughter accompanied
each of these blows. Then there was a gasp of agony. Then--nothing.

Suddenly a distant noise of steps and voices reached the depths of the
subterranean vault. Tortillard, frozen with terror by the fearful scene
at which he had been present without seeing it, perceived several
persons holding lights, who descended the staircase rapidly. In a moment
the cave was full of agents of safety, led by Narcisse Borel. The
Municipal Guards followed. Tortillard was seized on the first steps of
the cellar, with the Chouette's basket still in his hand.

Narcisse Borel, with some of his men, descended into the Schoolmaster's
cavern. They all paused, struck by the appalling sight. Chained by the
leg to an enormous stone placed in the middle of the cave, the
Schoolmaster, with his hair on end, his long beard, foaming mouth, was
moving like a wild beast about his den, drawing after him by the two
legs the dead carcase of the Chouette, wh