THE concierge of No. 11 Rue X awoke one fine morning in the middle of August to find his pocketbook gone, with the sum of five hundred francs.

It was a good deal for the Père Bouchu to lose. The money had been placed on a table in the entre-sal that the old man occupied. The only clew to the mystery was that the concierge next door had noticed, a few days before, or rather late at night, a young man walking through the street with a ladder on his back. He had not accosted him, because he had seen him doing nothing suspicious.

"So you're sure he was the robber ?" said Bouchu. "I have told you what I have seen," answered Courbette. "More I cannot say, my dear neighbor. He was large, well-dressed, and had black mustachios."

"And he had a ladder ?"

The young man, seeing that resistance was useless, let himself be taken, more dead than alive.

At the moment when they were leaving the street he turned a glance back to No. 11, and the tears came into his eyes.

The next morning all the neighbors knew of the arrest. Père Bouchu was congratulated on his courage and presence of mind.

"I told you so!" cried Courbette. "I knew the fine gentleman would come back. He has, no doubt, wasted his substance in riotous living, and now comes to devour the substance of us poor people! Does any one know his name?"

"No. He has a very distinguished air. He is certainly not an ordinary man. He says nothing, only he pretends that he did not come to rob. But when one

"Well, what ?"

"I would conceal myself for a few days. I would watch for the robber, without saying anything to any one."

"You think he will come back?"

"I am sure of it-absolutely sure-when he imagines that nothing has been discovered."

Père Bouchu followed this advice. On the third night, between one and two o'clock-one of those clear, soft Summer nights, full of a peaceful charm-the concierge, overcome by fatigue, was about to seek his bed, when it appeared to him that he saw a shadow moving at the corner of the street.

The shadow was a little above medium height, and seemed to move with precaution, looking about as if to see whether it was perceived, examining all the windows, and seeking to stifle the sounds of its footsteps.

"Ah!" said Père Bouchu, "he comes !" and he concealed himself behind his door.

The young man had truly no ladder, but he appeared too anxious for concealment to be innocent-at least, so thought Père Bouchu.

The street was deserted. All the windows were closed, and nowhere a light to be seen. The noise of the last carriage had ceased in the neighboring streets.

The unknown advanced to No. 11, examined the windows, then disappeared precipitately.

"Could he have perceived me ?" thought the concierge, half-opening the door and looking down the street; but he hastened to regain his concealment.

The man had appeared anew, but this time he carried a ladder. It was indeed the person whom Courbette had noticed-it must truly be the robber himself!

Arrived at No. 11, the unknown leaned one end of his ladder softly on the first balcony, looked about anxiously, and then slowly put his foot on the first round.

At this moment the concierge, carried away by his indignation, opened the door quickly, sprang out, clutched the man's shoulder, and cried out with all his might:

"Thieves! thieves !"

A window opened on the first floor, and a piercing cry rent the air. The man strove to free himself, but Bouchu had a strong grip, and before the captive could shake him off the sergent de ville turned the corner of the street.

"Arrest him! Arrest him!" cried Père Bouchu.

ladder, he remains silent and melancholy."

"Well, he ought not to escape. He should be made an example for others."

At this moment the maid from the first floor joined the speakers. She was a trim young person, with a turnedup nose and inquisitive eyes.

"Well!" she cried, "what happened last night? What was the noise about? My mistress is sick this morning."

"Why, don't you know ?"

"I know nothing! I have seen nothing!"

For the tenth time Père Bouchu recounted his exploits. "But are you sure," asked the girl," that the man was a robber."

Cries from all sides.

"Suppose he was-a lover ?"

"A lover? Oh, the time of Romeo is past! No one gives himself trouble now except for money. There is no woman to-day worth passing a night on a ladder against a wall for."

"Nevertheless- began the girl.

"Perhaps he came for you, you take up his defense so warmly," said Père Bouchu, slyly.

"No; but I pity the poor fellow, if he was not a thief." "Well, let him explain

"But if this was a case where he could not explain." "Then it's his affair," said the concierge, abruptly quitting the group, with his hands in his pockets. The girl went up to the first floor to her mistress, who waited with the door half-open.

"Well !" she cried.

"Well, Monsieur Raoul is arrested !" "Arrested!" cried the woman, wringing her hands. "Arrested as a thief!" said the maid.

"Oh, my God!" cried her mistress. "What am I to do? What will become of me ?"

"It appears that the concierge has been robbed, and he is delighted to have seized the robber." "And is there no means of buying the silence of this man ?"

"Oh, madame, the whole Faubourg knows it by this time."

"It is the punishment of Heaven!" woman, throwing herself on her knees. The maid retired.

cried the young "We are lost."

Madame Laure Lefèvre-such was the lady's nameraised herself in a moment, and began walking feverishly through the room, a prey to a frightful agitation.

“Oh, how miserable I am !” she murmured; "and yet I am innocent. How insane of him to come here at night with a ladder. God knows I never encouraged him! God knows my heart is pure, although I cannot help loving him! Oh, what a sensation this will create ! My husband will hear it, and my child, my poor child - he will be dishonored! Oh, wretched woman! Wretched love!"

And she walked on frantically till fatigue made her drop upon a couch. She was a woman about thirty, in the prime of her beauty. Her black hair fell back in careless curls from a pale and lovely face. Her large eyes, now quenched in tears, were dark, tender, eloquent. Her mouth was sweet and charming. Her figure was well-developed and full of grace. She had been married about eight years to Monsieur Lefèvre, a banker, possessed of a brilliant fortune, but blasé, ruined by excesses-carrying the history of his life in his face. He seemed to exhale an air like a charnel vault. Debauch had left its mark on every feature of his face-on his brow, wrinkled, discolored, but not by age; on his temples, that had taken the hue of old yellow ivory; on his livid, damp lips, and in the eyes without light or warmth. Laure could not regard him attentively without a shudder, without thinking of those hours of evil pleasures whose ravages she read in his debased countenance. She, however, never failed toward him in her duty. She consecrated her life to her child; she lavished upon him all her meed of love, until one day she met Raoul de Faverny.

This young man was twenty-five years old. He was tall, handsome, magnetic. He had spent his patrimony recklessly. His father was dead; his mother had cast him off as a spendthrift. Nevertheless, the young man was not without serious aspirations to do better. He had found the cup of pleasure unsatisfying. He longed for better things. He resolved to work his way back to the esteem of good men, and at this crisis of his life he met Laure, and loved her.

Not with the old transient passion, but with a strong, absorbing love. They recognized each other as kindred souls-though separated by an impassable barrier.

Laure combated the passion that threatened her peace. She did not love her husband, but she was incapable of being unfaithful to him. She wished to fly from Raoul; but she met him every where, and he sent her secretly letters full of passion that she read in spite of herself.

One day she met him in a salon. His looks alarmed her. He seemed to forget all caution. He seized her hand.

"I love you," he said. "You must hear me !" Laure was frightened. He might be overheard. She allowed him to lead her into the conservatory.

"I love you as I had not believed possible!" he cried; "like a maniac, like a fool. I would like to die for you so that you might see how your image is graven on my heart. My blood burns in my veins and beats in my temples when I see you. You are beautiful, and I know you are good; I cannot hope to win you, yet I cannot forget you. I pass my nights under your windows." "But, monsieur, I am married!" stammered poor Laure.

"Do I not know it! Do you think I do not know what you do every day? Do I not read your very thoughts?"

The young woman gazed at Raoul in terror.

"Why should you not love me a little ?" he said. "Give me one word of hope-just one-and I shall be satisfied. If I could know that you think of me some

Laure cast down her own eyes before those burning glances.

"I must not listen," she murmured.

"You must listen-even if you curse me," he cried. "I will confess all-I cannot keep the secret. For the last three nights I have caught glimpses of you without your knowing it. I have climbed up to your balcony." "Upon my balcony!" cried poor Laure, trembling from head to foot.

"Upon your balcony !" replied Raoul. "I knew your husband was absent. This emboldened me. It was so long since I had seen you. I suffered so much from not seeing you. I had watched so many nights without catching a glimpse of your shadow on the curtain. So I took a ladder, leaned it against the wall, and mounted." "But, monsieur, you are insane-you are compromising me cruelly."

"No, no, no!" cried Raoul, in strange excitement. "I will dare all to save you. I will even sacrifice my life. I mounted, and, with face pressed against the blinds, I saw you. You sat there reading. My God, how beautiful you were! I would have given my life a hundred times to have touched your hand, to have obtained one glance-one smile."

Laure became frightfully pale.

"Oh, if any one had seen you!" she gasped. "I would be a lost woman. Don't you see it is my reputation you stake-not your life?"

Raoul was silent a moment; then he said:

"Well, I have been seen by one of your neighbors as I was about to quit the balcony."

Laure gave a cry of affright.

At the end of twelve days, the testimony in the case of Raoul de Faverny was terminated. Bouchu and Courbette persisted in their declarations, and the young man was sent before the Court of Assizes for the approaching session.

When he learned this result, Raoul sank into despair. His brain seemed to give way, and his only thought was to kill himself as speedily as possible. He passed his days in trying the bars of his prison to see if they would bear his weight, and in making ropes of his clothing.

"No, Laure-no, my darling, you shall not do this. It would be one scandal more. It is much better that I should die. Let this lunatic die who has come like a whirlwind into the peace and purity of your life. I have not the right to wish that you should sacrifice to me the confidence of your husband, the honor of your child. I would never accept it. Let me die. Until now I have squandered my life. I have been useful to no one. No one will regret me or think of me to-morrow. Such a life as I have led dies out and leaves no traces. One of your tears is worth a hundred times more than the sor