toine stood silent and motionless, listening if any sound could be
heard near them.

It would be a curious study for the moralist to observe how the first
thought of crime develops itself in the recesses of the human heart, and
how this poisoned germ grows and stifles all other sentiments; an
impressive lesson might be gathered from this struggle of two opposing
principles, however weak it may be, in perverted natures. In cases where
judgment can discern, where there is power to choose between good and
evil, the guilty person has only himself to blame, and the most heinous
crime is only the action of its perpetrator. It is a human action, the
result of passions which might have been controlled, and one's mind is
not uncertain, nor one's conscience doubtful, as to the guilt. But how
can one conceive this taste for murder in a young child, how imagine it,
without being tempted to exchange the idea of eternal sovereign justice
for that of blind-fatality? How can one judge without hesitation
between the moral sense which has given way and the instinct which
displays itself? how not exclaim that the designs of a Creator who
retains the one and impels the other are sometimes mysterious and
inexplicable, and that one must submit without understanding?

"Do you hear them coming?" asked Pierre.

"I hear nothing," replied Antoine, and a nervous shiver ran through all
his members.

"So much the worse. I am tired of being dead; I shall come to life and
run after them. Hold the books, and I will undo the noose."

"If you move, the books will separate; wait, I will hold them."

And he knelt down, and collecting all his strength, gave the pile a
violent push.

Pierre endeavoured to raise his hands to his throat. "What are you
doing?" he cried in a suffocating voice.

"I am paying you out;" replied Antoine, folding his arms.

Pierre's feet were only a few inches from the ground, and the weight of
his body at first bent the bough for a moment; but it rose again, and the
unfortunate boy exhausted himself in useless efforts. At every movement
the knot grew tighter, his legs struggled, his arms sought vainly
something to lay hold of; then his movements slackened, his limbs
stiffened, and his hands sank down. Of so much life and vigour nothing
remained but the movement of an inert mass turning round and round upon
itself.

Not till then did Antoine cry for help, and when the other boys hastened
up they found him crying a