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If a single one of those letters had reached his relations, they would have come and shut him up in a madhouse, to get possession of his property. This he knew, and he used to implore me not to let his deranged state become known. I was not aware of what was in the letters. I never opened them, but laid them aside, hoping always that the Captain would recover his reason, and would then destroy them himself. If I had burned his letters, he might have fancied, after his cure, that I had read them—that is, profited by his helpless condition to pry into his secrets.”

"And you continued for months nursing Captain Lacroix, and bearing with all his paroxysms? You knew that he accused you of wishing to poison him?"

"Oh, yes! When his hallucinations came, he used to call me murderess and thief; and sometimes he threw things at me. But these attacks never lasted long, and in his lucid intervals he would beseech me so piteously not to let him be shut up, that I had not the heart to hand him over to his friends. I continued hoping to the last."

"One question more," said Vitali, with moist eyes. "Those servants of Captain Lacroix whom you discharged had, I presume, misbehaved themselves?"

"Yes; there were a valet and a housemaid who I found were robbing him of his plate, clothes, wine, and of everything else they could smuggle out of the house. It was the Captain himself who told me to send them away, and to take possession of all his keys for him."

"Well, everything is exactly as I thought, Madame Desplans,” exclaimed Vitali, in a sudden and buoyant tone of confidence. "Rely on me-promise me to be trustful and hopeful."

Clotilde shook her head.

"I

"I vow that you shall be acquitted," cried Vitali, adjuringly. swear to heap confusion on the enemies who have foully traduced you, and to make you leave the court with the respect and pity of all honest men and women showering upon your sweet saintly footsteps like flowers.”

"Ah, if I could believe you!" ejaculated Clotilde, stirred by the Corsican's vehemence, and looking at him with eyes in which began to gleam a faint ray of hope.

"Do believe me!" implored Vitali, taking one of her small pale hands and pressing it between both his. "Is there nobody on earth whom you would care to live for-who would have joy in your acquittal -who-?"

"Don't!" exclaimed Clotilde, feverishly withdrawing her hand and abruptly starting back, panting, half wild. "Don't, M. Vitali, put these delusive hopes into my head if they are never to be realised. Will you swear to me that there is the least chance of my being acquitted?"

"There are a thousand chances-all chances are in favour of it!" protested Vitali, ecstatically.

"Ah, then save me! Yes, I implore you to save me!" cried Clotilde, seizing his hands and gazing upon him with impulsive flaming

66

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supplication. whom I love. I can trust you, M. Vitali, for you have said you are my friend-are you not? Well, I will tell you what I have told nobody else the real reason that prevented me from marrying Captain Lacroix, though he so constantly implored me, was that I had plighted my troth to another man. You have never heard of him. His name is Henri de Barre, and he is a young engineer. He had no fortune, else he would have married me a year after my husband's death. So we agreed together that he should go to India, where he had a chance of earning a large sum of money in railroad-cutting, and come back in two years to marry me. His term of absence is almost over now, and if I can be saved, save me. Oh yes, save me, I conjure you, for his sake! But if there is no hope for me, then by your feelings as a man, M. Vitali, I entreat you to so manage that all will be over, and that I shall bedead before he returns! Thus I have given you a secret I thought to carry to my grave; but—but I have another prayer to make. returns to find they have-killed me! tell him from me to take no vengeance on anybody-only ask him to believe in my innocence! Will you promise me that my friend? Why do you look at me so haggardly? Why are you quaking?"

If Henri

Why, indeed? Why had Justin Vitali's face turned to marble? Well might he have moaned at that moment, in the words of the Psalmist, "All thy rivers and floods have gone over me!"

VI.

the greatest con

The trial of Clotilde Desplans attracted to Mcourse of strangers that had ever been seen there. How thousands of strangers could hope that there would be room for them in a court of justice which had the greatest difficulty in accommodating two hundred spectators, including unemployed members of the Bar, is one of those mysteries which present themselves whenever there is anything worthy of interest to be seen anywhere. Some sight-seers consoled themselves for their exclusion from the court by lingering about its approaches to catch rumours of what was going on within; others mobbed the yellow prison-van that had borne the alleged poisoner from gaol; the greater number haunted the cafés and exchanged conjectures, or made bets, about the verdict. The general opinion seemed to be that there would be a conviction. The Deputy-Procurator's indictment had somehow got published in the papers (such documents almost always do) before being delivered in court, and the chain of evidence it furnished seemed powerfully strong. It was not widely known that this DeputyProcurator, regarding Justin Vitali as his personal enemy since the offer of the Procurator-Generalship to the latter, had made it a point of honour with himself to obtain the conviction of the Corsican's client, for all means of humbling a rival are good.

VOL. XXXIII.-No. 196.

23.

He rather overleaped his mark, however, for some of the constructions put upon the prisoner's acts seemed a trifle strained even to the minds of a provincial jury and audience, so that the effect of the indictment, as read in a sing-song voice by the Procurator's clerk, was flat. The interrogatory of the prisoner by the presiding judge was the true beginning of the trial, but here a great disappointment was in store for everybody, seeing that Clotilde's answers were so low spoken as to be almost inaudible save to the Bench and jury. This made her numerous enemies, and converted not a few once enthusiastic partisans to a belief in her guilt; for to have obtained tickets of admission after endless difficulties, and then to hear nothing of what is being said, would be trying to the impartiality even of a saint. From the presiding judge's comments it was gathered that the prisoner was giving brief but forcible replies, and that the Bench were growing disposed in her favour. It was whispered that Justin Vitali had been closeted with his client for hours and hours day after day, and that he had coached her as to all questions that could possibly be put to her-moreover, that the presiding judge had a high opinion of Vitali, and would be likely to bring out all points favourable to the prisoner for his sake—which was true.

The witnesses deposed to nothing new-to nothing but what the public had known for weeks past, and they were besides an uninteresting class of persons-Captain Lacroix's relatives especially so. The one was a fat merchant, the other a lean doctor who squinted, and the ladies in court could not kindle a spark of interest in such people, who evidently thought more of the deceased man's millions than of himself. In fine, the first day of the trial passed off uneventfully. Vitali only rose once or twice in the day to put cross questions to witnesses. These questions were keen as blades, and ripped the evidence given into tatters.

Every one remarked the aged look of the brilliant advocate, who was said to be only thirty years old. His shoulders were bent, his face wan and pinched. Those who sat nearest to him noticed that his black hair was streaked with grey. Ever and anon when the witnesses inveighed with more than usual warmth against the prisoner, he turned towards Madame Desplans and nodded with a smile, as if to give her courage. Once he grasped her hand. All day long spectators kept opera-glasses fixed on his features to try and discover traces of anxiety there, and found none. In sum, the impression produced by his attitude was one that did the prisoner good.

On the second day of the trial, which it was known would be the last, the court was more crowded if possible than on the first day; but public speculation as to the result had somehow taken a turn, and without being able to explain why, most people believed that there would be an acquittal. The case of the Prosecution was seen to be flimsy: the answers of Clotilde as published in the morning papers appeared fraught with truth-and then Vitali's perfect composure conveyed a presentiment that the defence would be strong. The Deputy-Procurator did not

damage his prisoner's case by the speech he made. He was violent, often wild, and Vitali twice tripped him up quietly in inaccuracies of fact. When the luncheon adjournment took place, the audience seemed to be saying: "What, had the Prosecution nothing more to say than that? Surely they have a mine in reserve which they will spring by and by."

They had no mine, however: and it was evident from the DeputyProcurator's face when he returned into court that he considered his battle lost. He scowled, and got up to ask Clotilde what was the precise date of her leaving school-why and wherefore no one has yet ascertained.

It was two o'clock when Vitali rose to address the jury. The afternoon sun was shining with a mellow light on his face and on that of the prisoner behind him, and both of them seemed to stand in a glory. During two hours he spoke, and with a quiet force, a dignity, a beauty of eloquence that kept his hearers enthralled. The women who heard him, and who are faultless judges in such cases, said he must have a great grief at heart, for at times it was as though a stream of tears ran through his utterances. But he never quavered or faltered, never missed the thread of his discourse, never let emotion jar upon the melody of his soft, earnest, persuasive tone. He spoke without notes-so full was he of his case-so well did he remember every fact, every date. As his speech progressed, the proofs accumulated by the Prosecution seemed to melt like blocks of ice under the sun. Then one by one he took up the atoms, crushed and reduced them to water till nothing seemed to remain, nothing but a universal belief in the prisoner's innocence. When he saw that he had carried his jury-and none had a quicker eye to a jury's mood than Vitali-he came to his peroration. Turning towards Clotilde, who was crying, he pointed to her, and in a voice of unspeakable pity, respect, and kindness, said: "Gentlemen, I leave her in your hands. Look at her. Has she the appearance of a murderess?"

The jury returned their verdict without leaving the box. It was "Not Guilty," on all counts, and a tremendous cheer arose in court. At this moment a young man in travelling garb scaled the seats which separated the auditorium from the court, rushed across the pretorium, and flung himself into Vitali's arms.

"Ah, I can guess," said Vitali in a trembling voice. "You are M. Henri de Barre. Take your bride, sir, and Heaven be with you both!" Saying which he placed the young man's hand in those of Clotilde, who was stretching them across the dock, between the two gendarmes her late custodians, who were brushing honest drops from their eyes.

Some two hours later the beadle of the Church of St. Gudule being about to close the doors of the church, noticed that there was a stranger in one of the lateral chapels. He walked up to him and apprised him that dusk had come. The stranger was kneeling and sobbing like a child. As he rose to go, the beadle opened his eyes, for it struck him that the grief-stricken man bore a strange resemblance to Justin Vitali, whose name was just then in everybody's mouth-even those of beadles.

468

Thoughts of an Outsider: the Ethics of Vivisection.

SOME philosophers have asserted that all human language has been developed out of interjections. According to the "Pooh-pooh" theory, as Prof. Max Müller calls it, the primitive savage could only utter emotional cries. I am greatly inclined to accept the doctrine on other grounds, I believe, disputable-when I read a leading article. There one may see plainly that whole columns of rhetoric may be developed out of a simple exclamation. As in the Arabian Nights, a vast pillar of smoke rises out of a vessel which you may hold in your hand. The gentlemen who summarise such articles in the evening papers might adopt a briefer notation if they would consider this plain fact. It would be generally enough to say that one journalist exclaims Hurrah! another, Pooh-pooh! a third, Yah-yah! whilst a fourth utters a prolonged Hum-m-m. There is a certain class of questions in which this is specially obvious. Unimaginable piles of rhetoric might be reduced to the two opposite yells-Brute! and Sentimentalist! Each party has a hearty dislike of its opponents, and uses as many words as possible in expressing it; but, when their essence is extracted, it comes to the simple shriek of hostility. Generally speaking, I would rather be denounced as a sentimentalist than as a brute, for, in spite of all that may be said to the contrary, I do not think that there is at present an over-supply of tenderness and thoughtfulness in the world at large. Still I would rather have reasons than shrieks, even though the shrieking should be performed on the most harmonious of instruments. Shrieking, of all varieties, is a radically bad element in the conduct of human affairs. We have lately heard a good deal of it in relation to an unpleasant subject. Vivisectors and anti-vivisectors have deafened each other with the rival warcries of science and humanity till, as I fancy, they have rather darkened the question. An outsider has no right to discuss fully a question which requires special knowledge; and in this case many of the facts alleged are so hideous that it is better only to hint at them. The bare statement of the charges seems to stain the imagination. They may excite unjust prejudice; they certainly jar one's nerves. Leaving them to be discussed by qualified persons, I wish to speak only of some of the shrieks which have been used, like drums at an execution, to drown the voice of humanity or of science. If they were once silenced, the question might perhaps be simply stated and easily answered.

One proposition may be laid down from which no one will openly dissent. Useless torture inflicted upon animals deserves, as Mr. Darwin

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