red in the Rue des Juifs. Some days before that Christina Haas, the
old midwife, was also killed, as well as the agate dealer Seligmann of
the Rue Durlach. So look out for yourself, dear Kasper, and see that
your passport is all right."

While she was speaking, Dame Gredel's voice came again from below:
"Annette! will you come here? The good-for-nothing child, leaving me to
do all the work!"

And the sound of men's voices calling for wine, beer, ham, or sausages
mingled with her own. Further delay was out of the question. Annette
hastened down the stairs, crying as she went: "Goodness, ma'am! what has
happened? One would think that the house were afire!" Wilfred crossed
the room and closed the door behind her; then returning to his chair, we
looked at each other, not without a feeling of apprehension.

"That is singular news," he said; "your passport is all right, I
suppose?" "Certainly," And I produced my papers. "Good! Mine is too, for
I had it made out just before leaving. But nevertheless, these murders
do not augur us any good. I am afraid we shall not be able to do much
business here; many of the families will be in mourning; and then, too,
the bother and pettifogging of the authorities." "Pshaw! you take too
gloomy a view of it," I replied.

We continued to discuss these singular happenings until after midnight.
The glow from our little stove lighted up the angle of the roof, the
square window with its three cracked panes, the straw strewn about the
floor, the blackened beams propped against each other, and the little
firwood table that cast its uncertain shadow upon the worm-eaten
ceiling. From time to time, a mouse, enticed by the warmth, would dart
like an arrow along the wall. The wind howled in the chimney and whirled
the snow about the gutters. I was dreaming of Annette; the silence was
complete. Suddenly Wilfred exclaimed, throwing off his jacket: "It is
time for sleep. Put another stick on the fire and we will go to bed!"
"We can't do better than that," I replied. So saying, I drew off
my boots, and a moment later we stretched out on the straw with the
coverlid tucked under our chins and a log under our heads for a pillow.
Wilfred lost no time in getting to sleep. The light from the stove
flickered and trembled; the wind redoubled its force outside, and as
I lay thus with a sense of perfect contentment, I, too, dozed off. At
about two o'clock in the morning I was awakened by a strange noise.
I thought