handsome face and large flashing eyes. She is a woman of high intellectual capacity, and of great courage.' "Pardon me," said Dantan, interrupting the speaker; "is this a portrait or an ideal sketch ?"

"A little of both, monsieur; but I am taking up your valuable time with my idle speculations. I suppose you have other testimony?"

"Yes, yes," replied Claude Duquesnay. "Perhaps when you hear the next witness, you may change your mind. Guillaume," he continued, speaking to the clerk, "see if Madame Pichaud is without ?"

CHAPTER XII.

THE appearance of the new witness who was ushered in by the clerk was so odd and remarkable as to produce a universal smile. She was a woman past middle age, short and exceedingly fat, with a fresh, ruddy complexion, and two little eyes like black beads. Her costume consisted of a dark cotton frock, an orange-andgreen shawl, and a large straw bonnet trimmed with immense red flowers-a bonnet, whose age would have taxed all the powers of the best antiquarians to determine.

To add to the attractiveness of her appearance, her face was tied up in a foulard handkerchief, which rivaled in brilliancy of color the hues of her shawl, and her large hands were incased in the unfamiliar adornment of coarse white cotton gloves. She did not appear a whit discomposed by the presence of the three gentlemen, but skipped forward, and in the most nonchalant manner took her place in the chair, which poor Stéphanie Marrois had just vacated, exhibiting by this movement a pair of huge feet in carpet slippers, and hose of more than doubtful purity.

"Your name, if you please?" said Claude Duquesnay, with some difficulty repressing the merriment caused by this grotesque figure.

"Jeanne Aglaé Marie Séraphine Pichaud, M'sieur le Juge, portress at No. 25 Rue d'Orville, M'sieur le Juge. Al, yes; and a very hard life indeed for a poor woman; nothing but work, work, work, all day; and as for my pay, why, so to speak, M'sieur le Juge, nothing; and then the tenants coming in all day and all night with a tramp, tramp, like an army, and a noise-oh, mon Dieu! such a noise!--and their boots-see now, M'sieur le Juge, worse than a chiffonier. Ah, yes; a hard life indeed; and it was but this morning I said to Celeste, my gossip (Celeste, M'sieur le Juge, is the portress of 23), 'Celeste,' I said, 'you hear, you hear me ! I make a vow to le bon Dieu. I will quit this business. I have some francs saved. I will take my francs, and go away, away!"

"You are the portress at No. 25 Rue d'Orville?" demanded the judge, breaking in with difficulty on this flow of words, which the little woman poured forth in a high and shrill voice, and with a volubility which was absolutely marvelous.

"As you say, M'sieur le Juge-portress at No. 25 Rue d'Orville. Well, it is true our house is the best on the Square; and then for dirt, I defy you, M'sieur le Juge, to find a speck on my halls; but Grace-à-Dieu! this will not take one to heaven. No, no! As I said, 'Celeste,' says I, 'I will make a vow to le bon Dieu !"

You are acquainted with a woman named Stéphanie Lacroix ?"

"True, M'sieur le Juge. Why should I seek to hide it. Stéphanie Lacroix? Ah, yes; I will not deceive you! Why should I? They will tell you-yes, every

one will tell you that Aglaé Pichaud has nothing to hide. Do you see, M'sieur le Juge, my life is open like that ;" and here the little woman spread her arms widely apart, and gesticulated in a most animated manner. "Yes, indeed; and it is not every one can say that. But you hear me, M'sieur le Juge, if they said the things about me that they do of Franchine-Franchine is at No. 30, m'sieur-I should die; and she-only fancy, M'sieur le Juge-she the mother of children, and with a husband. It is true that poor père Rideau is only a stick; but what, then ?-he is a man all the same."

"And when did you first see this Stéphanie Lacroix ?” inquired the judge, who had been vainly endeavoring to stem the torrent of her words.

"Why should I conceal it from you, M'sieur le Juge? It was like this: I was standing in front of my door, just saying a word to my gossip, with my tubs and broom all ready-for, do you see, M'sieur le Juge, I was about to wash off my banquet-when I saw a woman come out of the little shop of Madame Piro. Madame Piro has a shop on the ground-floor of our house, M'sieur le Juge. Well, when I saw this woman, I said to Celeste, 'See, now, Celeste, that is a stranger in Abois. It is true, M'sieur le Juge, the woman had her vail down, and I could not see her face; but what, then? All the same, I saw right straight. She was a stranger, and so I said to Celeste. Well, before my gossip could answer me, up comes the woman, and says, 'Madame Pichaud?' 'Présent.' Then the lady went on to say that Mademoi selle Clementine Piro had sent her to me to inquire for lodgings. Had I a room in the house to let? Ma foi!' I answered, 'yes. Would madame care to see the rooms? Well, M'sieur le Juge, I took the lady up-stairs, and she suited herself with a room, au cinquième, at five francs a week-pay in advance, M'sieur le Juge, and my woman, she paid for a week in advance-and then she said, 'Madame Pichaud, can I have a boy to carry a note for me?' Oh, yes, M'sieur le Juge! Can I have a boy to carry a note for me?' Those were the words. Well, M'sieur le Juge, I am not curious. Oh, no; I am not curious; but when a strange woman comes to your house with nothing for baggage but a small sac de nuit, and asks for a boy to deliver a note- I said, 'To whom pray, madame?' But my lady was dumb. She wanted a boy; that was all. I went down-stairs to get Celeste's nephew; but the gamin was away; so I was forced to take the first boy that passed. While I was waiting, down comes my new lodger herself, with a paper in her hand, and when a boy passed by, will you believe me, M'sieur le Juge, she took him to one side, and foi d'honneur, I did not hear one word she said. Well, when the rascal was gone, my lodger asked might she sit in my little room to wait for the answer. Why, of course, M'sieur le Juge; so we sat down to talk. My lodger was open-oh, so open !-but that devil of a note! 'She was a stranger?' 'Yes.' 'Her name?' Stéphanie Lecroix.' 'Was she going to stay long in Abois ? 'Well, she did not know that; it depended.' After a half-hour back comes that rascal of a boy, but Grace-àDieu! my lodger heard him before me. Crack! she was out of the door, had the answer from the gamin, and had paid and sent him away before I could get my hand on him. Well, she came back into my room, and there she read the note. It must have been a strange one, M'sieur le Juge, for she looked much surprised. I thought perhaps she would speak, but, no. After a moment she said Thank you, Madame Pichaud,' and whiz ! she was off up-stairs like that!" and the little woman snapped her fingers,

"And after that, m'sieur, I saw no more of her for an hour; when, just as I was talking it over with Celeste, down comes my lady, and calls me into my room. 'Would I do her a great favor?' 'Well, perhaps.' There was to be a grand fête to-morrow night at the public garden.' 'Why, yes, a grand fete, indeed, to the Hussars; a fête en masque. My cousin, Baptiste, was a waiter in the garden.' 'Ah! well, that was lucky,' said my lodger. 'Could I get a card for the fête, and a costume? You may believe me, M'sieur le Juge, when she said that, I opened my eyes as wide as two church windows. She went on to say that if I would do that, and keep it a secret, it would be a great favor to her, and she would pay me well for my trouble. Well, M'sieur le Juge, I am not above earning a few francs, and though I thought my lodger was not the kind of a person for such a joke as a fête en masque-for you see, m'sieur, she was plain, oh, so plain! and not young, no, not to say young-well, as I say, I said I would get her the domino and a card. Why, Baptiste could easily procure

one.

This seemed to please my lady greatly, and she gave me some five-franc pieces for Baptiste and for the costume. Well, M'sieur le Juge, not to keep you on pins, the next day Baptiste brought me the card. My lady had not been out of the house since she entered it; oh, no, not so much as the tip of her nose. I brought her her meals from the traiteur's, and she kept as close in her room as a mouse in her hole. I said to myself, 'Aglaé Pichaud, that lodger of yours is going to play some joke on her young man'; and I marveled much, M'sieur le Juge, that a woman, plain like her, should be up to such games. When the night of the fête came around I was all ready, M'sieur le Juge. I had done my part. Oh, yes, I had a costume in my lady's room by early dark."

"And this costume-what was it like ?" inquired the judge, with an expression of eager interest, which was reflected in the eyes of his two companions.

66

Oh, very simple, indeed, M'sieur le Juge. A gray domino and mask, nothing more, upon my word."

At this reply Leon Dantan gave a quick start, and fixed his eye upon Aristide, as if to mark the effect produced by the woman's words upon his friend. If he expected any display of astonishment he was doomed to disappointment, for Vis was not a whit disconcerted by this startling revelation. He appeared as calm as if Madame Pichaud's words had been exactly what he had expected; and his only reply to the inquiring glance of the mayor was an elevation of the eyebrows and a careless shrug of the shoulders.

"Well, madame ?"

"Well, M'sieur le Juge," continued Aglaé, who had only paused for breath, and who now eagerly took up her narrative-"well, m'sieur, my lodger was pleased with her costume; oh, very well pleased. I thought, perhaps, she would go early to the fête; but no, it was quite late when she came down in my little room, and asked me to tie on her mask. Well, m'sieur, I did so; and fixed her hood as well. She was in no hurry, however, for she sat and talked to me for a long time. How long, I cannot well say; but long, yes, quite long. And what did we talk about? Well, who knows? At last my lady left me."

"And what hour was this ?"

"I cannot say, M'sieur le Juge. I did not look at the clock at that time; but it was late-oh, yes; quite late! After my lady left me, I set to work darning my stockings, and well, M'sieur le Juge, after some time, I think -yes-perhaps I must have fallen asleep. When I woke up I felt curious like. I stretched myself and looked at the clock. It said half-past ten. This astonished me much, M'sieur le Juge, for I thought it must be much later. Well, when I come to look, what do I see? My clock had stopped, I wound it up and started it again, and just as I was taking away the key, somebody comes rap, rap, at my door. I opened it, and there is my lady, come back already from the fête. Well, she comes in, and takes off her mask and domino. I wanted to hear, m'sieur, of course, of the fête; but, no, my lady was tired. She bundled up her domino and mask, and begged me to take them back to the costumer in the morning, and without a word she was off to her room." "And you cannot tell me," demanded the judge, "at what hour this woman returned from the fête ?” "Impossible, m'sieur. There was that clock ticking along like a good one. But eleven o'clock? I know that was not the time, m'sieur. Well, early the next morning, I took the costume back to the costumer's, and, grand Dieu! what was the first thing that I heard from the man-that poor Monsieur Marrois had been murdered! Whew! that was news indeed; and I hurried home to tell Celeste. While my gossip and I were talking it over, down comes my lodger, and, when she hears the news, will you believe me, M'sieur le Juge, she fell, as it were, all in a heap, her face white-oh, yeswhite as a meal-sack. Well, she gets me in my little room, and makes me tell her the whole thing, which surprised me much, m'sieur, seeing that she was at the fête herself, and so I told her." "And she said?"

"She said, will you believe me, M'sieur le Juge? 'that all that must have happened after she left,' and that was all I could get out of her; for, up she goes to her room, and shuts herself up again as close-as close-—— Well, see, now, M'sieur le Juge, for three days that woman kept in her room; no one saw her but me when I carried her her meals; and I tell you she looked bad-oh, so bad! Those days made an old woman of her. Well, one day, when I was serving her dinner, she asked me if there was any more news of the gentleman who was killed at the fête. Well, then, I told her no, but that I might hear something that day, as I was going to M'sieur Marrois's notary to take him the rent. She looked up in surprise, and asked me if I knew M'sieur Marrois. Mon Dieu! what a question! Did I know M'sieur Marrois, my landlord! Oh, go along, then! I should think so. She seemed surprised to hear that M'sieur Marrois was my landlord; so, then, I told her he was one of the richest men in Abois. This seemed to stagger her, and then, after a long time, grand Dieu! she told me M'sieur Marrois was her husband. Well, m'sieur, when that woman told me that, you might have knocked me down with a straw. I thought she was going crazy; but, no, she went to her little sac, and brought out a printed paper, which she said was her marriage certificate. Well, m'sieur, to make an end of it, it was I who told her she had better see the lawyer, for M'sienr Marrois was a very rich man; and so I took her to the notary; and, ma foi! that is all about it."

"And, since that time, has the woman been residing in your house?"

"Just the same as before, M'sieur le Juge, as quiet as a lamb."

"And that is all you know?" "Everything; on my word, M'sieur le Juge." "Did you ever speak of this to any one before?" "Well, then, yes, M'sieur le Juge. There comes along a thin man in black, with hair so black, so black, and this m'sieur he asks me all kinds of questions, and I told him-what had I to hide ?-I told him everything. Oh, yes; I told him how frightened my lodger looked, when my cousin Baptiste told us about the strange woman who was with M'sieur Marrois at the fête, ard how the gendarmes were hunting for her. But what, then? The poor thing! it was her husband. Do you see, her husband,M'sieur le Juge, and

66 "And

SO

SOME HISTORICAL ANTIPATHIES.. THE celebrated Erasmus, though a native of Rotterdam, had such an aversion to fish, that the smell of it threw him into a fever. Ambrose Paré had a patient who could never see an eel without fainting; and another who would fall into convulsions at the sight of a carp. What would have been the effect of an electric eel on these gentlemen? Joseph Scaliger and

those who had

been cats did

not love dogs, etc. Amatus

THE measure of life is not length, but honesty.

a rose, and always kept his house when they were in bloom. Scaliger mentions the same about lilies, and Bayle about honey. Bayle himself turned pale at the sight of watercresses. Tycho-Brahé fainted at the sight of a fox; Henry III. of France, at that of a cat; Marshal d'Albret, at a pig. A lady, wonderful enough, could not endure the feel of silk or satin.

LAUGHING EYES

I LOVED a lass with laughing eyes
And lips of ruby red,

And learnt the loving glance to prize
That seemed so fondly shed.

Her every movement has a grace,
Her accents music yield,
And none could find a fairer face,
Though far they went afield.

A smaller foot no dandy shoe E'er held in its embrace ; A neater ankle never grew

Than's circled by her lace.

Alas! the loves of men are vain,

And woman's heart is more so,

I might as well have spared my pain, And wooed a marble torso;

For when I asked her to be wed,
Imagine the effect, sir,

Her answer had, which archly said: "My husband might object, sir""

A MISCHIEVOUS CODICIL.

BY FRANCES B. CURRIE.

MADAME LA BRIE was out of temper. Her servants, knowing this to be a fact, went about with serious faces, and as though momentarily expecting to be dismissed from her service.

If she had been any common personage no one would have been greatly concerned about her bad humor, particularly as she was seldom in a good one; but madame was no plebeian. In her own circle she was an autocrat, for she was the most fashionable woman of le beau monde of "Quality Hill.”

The only creature in madame's house who was indifferent to her choleric mood was the direct cause of all the disturbance.

She was madame's ward, and was named Inez Stafford. She had been summoned into her guardian's presence to receive a reprimand, and she now had the temerity to engage herself with some trifling fancy-work under madame's offended eyes.

This girl, who was an American, was twenty years old, and had a figure which was a personal affront to Madame La Brie.

She had a ripe, warm complexion which had not yet been spoiled by late hours and fashionable dissipation. She was also possessed of a quantity of chestnut hair which was guiltless of "switches, "rats," "Saratoga waves," and all the other paraphernalia of a fashionable top-knot.

She had a fashion of dropping her eyelids until their heavy lashes covered her eyes. When she condescended to raise them, however, she displayed her chief beauty a pair of deep, Italian eyes.

"You are too ignorant, too uncivilized to appreciate your advantages," madame was saying. "You were born and bred in a dull country town where you were associated with rough farmers and their coarse wives. You went to 'paring-bees' and quilting-parties, and believed, no doubt, that you were having a round of fashionable dissipation? You knew absolutely nothing of the requirements of society. Indeed, you were a raw country girl when I pulled you out from the social quagmire you had been in, and brought yon here to New York. Think what a homespun creature you were two years ago, and

then go to that mirror and note the change I have made in your appearance."

"I can't," the girl said, unconcernedly. "I would drop stitches and spoil my knitting."

"Never mind your tiresome knitting," madame said, crossly, "and listen to me. As I told you before, I have changed your country dress. I now intend to make a greater change in your abominable country manners. I can no longer tolerate your conduct toward my nephew, Eugene La Brie. If he was your footman, you could not treat him with more indifference.

"I could not feel any more indifferent to Monsieur La Brie if he was my footman," the young lady remarked.

"Monsieur Eugene compliments you by asking your hand in marriage," madame continued. "As I am your legal guardian, he has properly approached me first upon this subject. Although you are totally unused to society, my nephew is willing to overlook your defects and to marry you."

"Your nephew is needlessly magnanimous, for nothing in the world would induce me to marry Monsieur Eugene."

Miss Stafford would have left the room, but Madame La Brie caught her by the arm and detained her.

"Recollect that you are not a free agent," she said, harshly. "Your father's will was peculiar, and you forfeit your fortune if you are disobedient. Before you came here you did as you pleased. Now you must do as I please."

Miss Stafford had no wish to discuss the subject of her matrimonial alliance, so she made her escape as soon as possible.

While in madame's presence she had been the embodiment of insouciance, but as soon as she was alone in her own apartments her manner changed.

If her guardian had applied her eye to the keyhole, she would have discovered that Miss Inez had been playing a part, and was in truth secretly agitated.

While her father was lying upon his death-bed, he made a will, bequeathing the bulk of his property to his only child. He also appointed his friend, Madame La Brie, sole executrix of his estate and guardian to his daughter Inez, during the remaining three years of her minority.

John Stafford had led a quiet, uneventful life in a Kentucky village, and he may have felt some qualms of conscience because he had allowed Inez but few social advantages.

After leaving Madame La Brie a sufficient sum to compensate her for the trouble, he stipulated that she should introduce his daughter to society.

These were the original terms of the will, and with these Inez would naturally have been satisfied; but there had been a codicil added, which changed the aspect of affairs and threatened to make a wreck of her life. This codicil stated that in case Inez Stafford should marry against the wish of her guardian, Madame La Brie, the property should immediately be transferred to an industrial institution, of which John Stafford had been a director.

Miss Stafford had never understood this freak of her father's, which had given Madame La Brie such authority over her.

He had been indulgent and generous to her while he lived, and had never thwarted her wishes. Why had he desired to be more exacting after his death than before? Why had he wished to force her into an undesirable marriage, or else to rob her of her birthright?

She was sitting alone, asking herself these questions,