my head is not right; but this diseased head,—is it not your only support, poor child? Well, you shall die before being stained by contact with a society that will perhaps abandon you after having forced you to dishonor yourself. You shall be the first of the victims that my hands must sacrifice. I— Kill!— Yes; but where can I find the strength?
"A horrible trembling seized my limbs. I could not think connectedly; my head fell upon my breast. I threw myself upon the bed, dressed as I was. In a few moments I was sleeping soundly.
"I awoke, and went to seek the child; I took him tenderly in my arms, and thanked Mademoiselle Lenoir, with all the politeness possible for the care she had taken of him during the journey.
"Joseph, whom I overwhelmed with questions, replied with an air of suffering, and told me that he had eaten some fruit on the journey, and felt unwell. I hastened to open the little box containing his things, and made the child drink a glass of liquor, which relieved him. Thinking a little exercise would do him good, I took a long walk with him, to his great enjoyment. The poor boy was all eyes, and I actually forgot myself, in looking with him at the thousand things which had never attracted my attention before. Suddenly a black cloud seemed to envelop my brain. Joseph is happy; he must die! There was no longer any question; it was a sad but absolute necessity. Nothing should save him. I would have killed him there in the street rather than that he should escape me.
"We turned our steps to the Palais-Royal, and I left him in one of the paths there, telling him to wait for me and not leave the spot. I returned to my room. I placed his little box in my trunk, and I took a hammer. Where should Joseph die? I did not know. We would go from Paris, and leave the rest to chance.
"While the child dined, I wrote a letter to Marie to advise her of Joseph's safe arrival. The child, saying that his mother had wished him to write, added a few words after I had finished."
This horrible letter, of which Éliçabide here speaks, was as follows:—
"I have received Joseph in my arms, after having run from one diligence office to another, not knowing by what route he would come. Why do you not come speedily yourself, you provoking one! I need you more than I can tell; see if you cannot hasten. . . . Joseph is in good health, and you may be sure I will do all in my power to make him enjoy himself in Paris. Adieu, Marie, my well-beloved. I am yours always."
At the bottom of this was a postscript written by the young Anizat, perhaps at the dictation of Éliçabide himself.
My dear Mamma,—I arrived in Paris at four o'clock in the afternoon. M. Éliçabide came to meet me and kissed me, but I did not know him on account of his beard, which is long under his chin. Paris is very beautiful, my dear mamma, and I think I shall enjoy it very much. I have already seen the Palais-Royal and many magnificent streets, walking with M. Éliçabide.
Adieu, my dear mamma! I kiss you tenderly, as also my dear sister Mathilde.
Thy son,Joseph.
Éliçabide continues as follows:—
"Going out from the restaurant, we walked toward the boulevards; I with the idea of taking an omnibus which would carry us out of Paris. The first one we met ran to Pantin. After reaching Petite-Villette, we stopped at the turn of a little road near the last houses in the village. The child wished to get out and play. That gave me, as it were, an electric shock. It shall be here! God wills it!
"We walked down the little road by the houses. A footpath led us into a field. While the child was playing, I struck him a blow with the hammer when he was not looking. He did not give the slightest sign of life. At the sight of the motionless body I believed myself dreaming. I lifted him up. I spoke to him. Dead! dead! Ah, let him not return to life, poor child! I struck him upon the temple, and seeking another instrument of death, to make sure of extinguishing life, I seized my knife with my contracted hand and cut the boy's throat.
"I attempted to fly on seeing the blood which flowed profusely. My strength left me, and I fell a few steps from my victim. Providence did not permit that at the very gates of Paris, at half-past eight in the evening, at ten steps from the highway, in a place open on every side, in a bright moonlight, there should be found a single witness of this frightful scene.
