rself, I committed a dreadful
crime! With lying words I argued away the life of a fellow-creature,
whom, whilst I uttered them, I half believed to be innocent: and
now, when I have attained all I desired, and reached the summit of
my hopes, the Almighty has sent him back upon the earth to blast me
with the sight. Three times this day--three times this day! Again!
again!"--and as he spoke, his wild and dilated eyes fixed themselves
on one of the individuals that surrounded him.

"He is delirious," said they.

"No," said the stranger! "What he says is true enough,--at least
in part;" and bending over the expiring man, he added, "May Heaven
forgive you, Antoine de Chaulieu! I was not executed; one who well
knew my innocence saved my life. I may name him, for he is beyond
the reach of the law now,--it was Claperon, the jailer, who loved
Claudine, and had himself killed Alphonse de Bellefonds from jealousy.
An unfortunate wretch had been several years in the jail for a murder
committed during the frenzy of a fit of insanity. Long confinement
had reduced him to idiocy. To save my life Claperon substituted the
senseless being for me, on the scaffold, and he was executed in my
stead. He has quitted the country, and I have been a vagabond on the
face of the earth ever since that time. At length I obtained, through
the assistance of my sister, the situation of concierge in the Hotel
Marboeuf, in the Rue Grange Bateliere. I entered on my new place
yesterday evening, and was desired to awaken the gentleman on the
third floor at seven o'clock. When I entered the room to do so,
you were asleep, but before I had time to speak you awoke, and I
recognized your features in the glass. Knowing that I could not
vindicate my innocence if you chose to seize me, I fled, and seeing
an omnibus starting for St. Denis, I got on it with a vague idea of
getting on to Calais, and crossing the Channel to England. But having
only a franc or two in my pocket, or indeed in the world, I did not
know how to procure the means of going forward; and whilst I was
lounging about the place, forming first one plan and then another,
I saw you in the church, and concluding you wore in pursuit of me, I
thought the best way of eluding your vigilance was to make my way back
to Paris as fast as I could; so I set off instantly, and walked all
the way; but having no money to pay my night's lodging, I came here
to borrow a couple of livres of my sister Claudine, who liv