unfortunate I am!" he cried. "This woman died in my house, I assure
you--died suddenly, before I could call a doctor. I was alone; I might
have been accused, imprisoned, perhaps condemned for a crime I did
not commit. Do not ruin me! You leave Paris to-night, you need not be
uneasy; no one would know that I employed you, if this unhappy affair
should ever be discovered. I do not know your name, I do not wish to
know it, and I tell you mine, it is Ducoudray. I give myself up to you,
but have some pity!--if not for me, yet for my wife and my two little
children--for these poor creatures whose only support I am!"

Seeing that the mason was touched, Derues opened the chest.

"Look," he said, "examine the body of this woman, does it show any mark
of violent death? My God!" he continued, joining his hands and in tones
of despairing agony,--"my God, Thou who readest all hearts, and who
knowest my innocence, canst Thou not ordain a miracle to save an honest
man? Wilt Thou not command this dead body to bear witness for me?"

The mason was stupefied by this flow of language. Unable to restrain his
tears, he promised to keep silence, persuaded that Derues was innocent,
and that appearances only were against him. The latter, moreover, did
not neglect other means of persuasion; he handed the mason two gold
pieces, and between them they buried the body of Madame de Lamotte.

However extraordinary this fact, which might easily be supposed
imaginary, may appear, it certainly happened. In the examination at
his trial. Derues himself revealed it, repeating the story which had
satisfied the mason. He believed that this man had denounced him: he was
mistaken, for this confidant of his crime, who might have been the
first to put justice on his track, never reappeared, and but for Derues'
acknowledgment his existence would have remained unknown.

This first deed accomplished, another victim was already appointed.
Trembling at first as to the consequences of his forced confession,
Derues waited some days, paying, however, his creditor as promised.
He redoubles his demonstrations of piety, he casts a furtive glance on
everyone he meets, seeking for some expression of distrust. But no
one avoids him, or points him out with a raised finger, or whispers
on seeing him; everywhere he encounters the customary expression of
goodwill. Nothing has changed; suspicion passes over his head without
alighting there. He is reassured, and resumes his wor