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the Pale Eyes
Monsieur Pierre Agénor De Vargnes, the Examining Magistrate, was
the exact opposite of a practical joker. He was dignity, staidness,
correctness personified. As a sedate man, he was quite incapable of
being guilty, even in his dreams, of anything resembling a practical
joke, however remotely. I know nobody to whom he could be
compared, unless it be the present president of the French Republic. I
think it is useless to carry the analogy any further, and having said thus
much, it will be easily understood that a cold shiver passed through me
when Monsieur Pierre Agénor de Vargnes did me the honor of sending
a lady to await on me.
At about eight o'clock, one morning last winter, as he was leaving the
house to go to the Palais de Justice, his footman handed him a card, on
which was printed:
DOCTOR JAMES FERDINAND, Member of the Academy of
Medicine, Port-au-Prince, Chevalier of the Legion of Honor.
At the bottom of the card there was written in pencil:

From Lady Frogère.
Monsieur de Vargnes knew the lady very well, who was a very
agreeable Creole from Hayti, and whom he had met in many
drawing-rooms, and, on the other hand, though the doctor's name did
not awaken any recollections in him, his quality and titles alone
required that he should grant him an interview, however short it might
be. Therefore, although he was in a hurry to get out, Monsieur de
Vargnes told the footman to show in his early visitor, but to tell him
beforehand that his master was much pressed for time, as he had to go
to the Law Courts.
When the doctor came in, in spite of his usual imperturbability, he
could not restrain a movement of surprise, for the doctor presented that
strange anomaly of being a negro of the purest, blackest type, with the
eyes of a white man, of a man from the North, pale, cold, clear, blue
eyes, and his surprise increased, when, after a few words of excuse for
his untimely visit, he added, with an enigmatical smile:
"My eyes surprise you, do they not? I was sure that they would, and, to
tell you the truth, I came here in order that you might look at them well,
and never forget them."
His smile, and his words, even more than his smile, seemed to be those
of a madman. He spoke very softly, with that childish, lisping voice,
which is peculiar to negroes, and his mysterious, almost menacing
words, consequently, sounded all the more as if they were uttered at
random by a man bereft of his reason. But his looks, the looks of those
pale, cold, clear, blue eyes, were certainly not those of a madman. They
clearly expressed menace, yes, menace, as well as irony, and, above all,
implacable ferocity, and their glance was like a flash of lightning,
which one could never forget.
"I have seen," Monsieur de Vargnes used to say, when speaking about
it, "the looks of many murderers, but in none of them have I ever
observed such a depth of crime, and of impudent security in crime."
And this impression was so strong, that Monsieur de Vargnes thought

that he was the sport of some hallucination, especially as when he
spoke about his eyes, the doctor continued with a smile, and in his most
childish accents: "Of course, Monsieur, you cannot understand what I
am saying to you, and I must beg your pardon for it. To-morrow you
will receive a letter which will explain it all to you, but, first of all, it
was necessary that I should let you have a good, a careful look at my
eyes, my eyes, which are myself, my only and true self, as you will
see."
With these words, and with a polite bow, the doctor went out, leaving
Monsieur de Vargnes extremely surprised, and a prey to this doubt, as
he said to himself:
"Is he merely a madman? The fierce expression, and the criminal
depths of his looks are perhaps caused merely by the extraordinary
contrast between his fierce looks and his pale eyes."
And absorbed in these thoughts, Monsieur de Vargnes unfortunately
allowed several minutes to elapse, and then he thought to himself
suddenly:
"No, I am not the sport of any hallucination, and this is no case of an
optical phenomenon. This man is evidently some terrible criminal, and
I have altogether failed in my duty in not arresting him myself at once,
illegally, even at the risk of my life."
The judge ran downstairs in pursuit of the doctor, but it was too late; he
had disappeared. In the afternoon, he called on Madame Frogère, to ask
her whether she could tell him anything about the matter. She, however,