Chamberss Edinburgh Journal, No. 442 | Page 7

will tell you, Antoine. I set off for Strasbourg yesterday, to see Destouches once again, and entreat him to accept the assignats in part-payment at least. He was not at home. Marguérite, the old servant, said he was gone to the cathedral, not long since reopened. Well, I found the usurer just coming out of the great western entrance, heathen as he is, looking as pious as a pilgrim. I accosted him, told my errand, begged, prayed, stormed! It was all to no purpose, except to attract the notice and comments of the passers-by. Destouches went his way, and I, with fury in my heart, betook myself to a wine-shop--Le Brun's. He would not even change an assignat to take for what I drank, which was not a little; and I therefore owe him for it. When the gendarmes cleared the house at last, I was nearly crazed with rage and drink. I must have been so, or I should never have gone to the Rue Béchard, forced myself once more into the notary's presence, and--and'----
'And what?' quivered the young man, as his father abruptly stopped, startled as before into silence by a sudden rattling of the crazy door. 'And what?'
'And abused him for a flinty-hearted scoundrel, as he is. He ordered me away, and threatened to call the guard. I was flinging out of the house, when Marguérite twitched me by the sleeve, and I stepped aside into the kitchen. "You must not think," she said, "of going home on such a night as this." It was snowing furiously, and blowing a hurricane at the time. "There is a straw pallet," Marguérite added, "where you can sleep, and nobody the wiser." I yielded. The good woman warmed some soup, and the storm not abating, I lay down to rest--to rest, do I say?' shouted Delessert, jumping madly to his feet, and pacing furiously to and fro--'the rest of devils! My blood was in a flame; and rage, hate, despair, blew the consuming fire by turns. I thought how I had been plundered by the mercenary ruffian sleeping securely, as he thought, within a dozen yards of the man he had ruined--sleeping securely just beyond the room containing the secrétaire in which the mortgage-deed of which I had been swindled was deposited'----
'Oh, father!' gasped the son.
'Be silent, boy, and you shall know all! It may be that I dreamed all this, for I think the creaking of a door, and a stealthy step on the stair, awoke me; but perhaps that, too, was part of the dream. However, I was at last wide awake, and I got up and looked out on the cold night. The storm had passed, and the moon had temporarily broken through the heavy clouds by which she was encompassed. Marguérite had said I might let myself out, and I resolved to depart at once. I was doing so, when, looking round, I perceived that the notary's office-door was ajar. Instantly a demon whispered, that although the law was restored, it was still blind and deaf as ever--could not see or hear in that dark silence--and that I might easily baffle the cheating usurer after all. Swiftly and softly, I darted towards the half-opened door--entered. The notary's secrétaire, Antoine, was wide open! I hunted with shaking hands for the deed, but could not find it. There was money in the drawers, and I--I think I should have taken some--did perhaps, I hardly know how--when I heard, or thought I did, a rustling sound not far off. I gazed wildly round, and plainly saw in the notary's bedroom--the door of which, I had not before observed, was partly open--the shadow of a man's figure clearly traced by the faint moonlight on the floor. I ran out of the room, and out of the house, with the speed of a madman, and here--here I am!' This said, he threw himself into a seat, and covered his face with his hands.
'That is a chink of money,' said Le Bossu, who had listened in dumb dismay to his father's concluding narrative. 'You had none, you said, when at the wine-shop.'
'Money! Ah, it may be as I said---- Thunder of heaven!' cried the wretched man, again fiercely springing to his feet, 'I am lost!'
'I fear so,' replied a commissaire de police, who had suddenly entered, accompanied by several gendarmes--'if it be true, as we suspect, that you are the assassin of the notary Destouches.'
The assassin of the notary Destouches! Le Bossu heard but these words, and when he recovered consciousness, he found himself alone, save for the presence of a neighbour, who had been summoned to his assistance.
The procès verbal stated, in addition to much of what has been already related, that the notary had been found dead in his bed,