misery, and in her own destitution, she sank into the debasing snare, and became the concubine of her father's servant.

Loupian hardly existed, his misfortunes had nearly overturned his mind. One evening whilst walking in a dark alley of the gardens of the Tuileries, a man masked presented himself to his attention, "Loupian," he exclaimed, "do you remember 1807 ?" "Wherefore?"-"Do you recollect the crime you perpetrated at that period?"-"The crime !" "An infamous contrivance by which you plunged your friend Pieaud into a dungeon; do you remember that ?""Ah! God has punished me heavily for it." "No, but Picaud himself, who to accomplish his vengeance, stabbed Chaubard on the pont des Arts, poisoned Solari, made your daughter a thief's wife, and laid the trap into which your son has fallen! He it is that has caused your wife to die of a broken-heart, and lowered your daughter to a life of disgrace. Yes, in your servant Prosper, recognize Picaud, but let it be at the moment when he accomplishes his NUMBER THREE."

A dagger stab, home to the heart, followed the last word; there was one feeble cry, and vengeance was complete; but Picaud almost at the moment, fell stunned by a heavy blow, and only recovered his consciousness of life to find himself gagged, wrapped up and bound, and rapidly conveyed from the scene where his last revenge had been consummated. In whose hands was he? A gendarme would not have taken such precautions, even if he suspected that accomplices were lurking near, a call would have sufficed to arouse the sentinels was it a robber? If so, how singular his proceedings! At all events, Picaud had fallen into a trap at the very moment when he dispatched his last victim.

In about half an hour he was freed from the large mantle in which he had been wrapped, and the gag was removed, he was lying on a sofa bed, the air was damp and thick, and the place appeared to be a cave belonging in all appearance to an abandoned quarry. It was partly furnished, there was a Prussian stove, the smoke from which found vent in the crevices above, a kitchen lamp afforded a murky light, and in front of Picaud, there stood a man, with folded arms, and gloomy aspect.

The obscurity that pervaded the place, the agitation which Picaud naturally experienced, and the change which ten years of misery and despair can effect upon the human fea

tures, prevented the assassin of Loupian from recognizing the individual who appeared before him like a phantom, he watched in silence for a word explanatory of his future fate, and ten minutes elapsed without either of the men breaking the awful silence.

"Well! Picaud," at length the stranger said, "what name will you bear now? Shall it be that which you received from your father? Shall it be the one you assumed on your release from Fenestrelle, will you be the abbé Baldini, or the café-waiter Prosper? Your inventive genius perhaps, will furnish you with a fifth. With you vengeance has been a pastime, or rather a raging madness, of which you should. have had a horror if you had not sold your soul to the demon; you have sacrificed the last ten years of your life to pursue three wretches whom you ought to have spared, you have committed horrible crimes, and have drawn me with you into the abyss."

"You, who are you?"

I

"I am your accomplice, a villain who for your accursed diamond has sold the lives of my friends, your gold was deadly to me, the avarice kindled by you in my bosom has never been extinguished, the thirst of riches rendered me furious. and guilty; I slew the jeweller who deceived me, I had to fly with my wife who died in exile, and I, having ventured to return, was arrested, tried, condemned, I have undergone exposure and branding, I have dragged the ball; at last happening to escape, I wished, in my turn, to attack and punish this abbè Baldini who pursues and punishes others so severely. hastened to Naples, no one there knew him, I sought the tomb of Picaud, and learned that Picaud was still living; but how did I obtain that knowledge? No one, not even the Pope, shall ever wrest that secret from me. Thence I betake myself in pursuit of this pretended dead man, but when I find him, two assassinations have already attested his vengeance, the children of Loupian have been ruined, his house burned, his property destroyed;-This evening I had resolved to visit the wretched man, but the devil was still a little in advance of me, and I was only in time to seize his murderer. But now I have you, I can repay the mischief you have done to myself, and prove that the people of our country have strong hands as well as good memories-I am Antoine Allut."

Picaud answered not, strange ideas passed through his mind; sustained until now by the intoxicating love of revenge. he had in some degree forgotten his immense fortune and the enjoyments it could impart. But now when vengeance was accomplished, and when he only thought of living amidst all the delights that riches could impart, he had fallen into the hands of a man equally implacable as he had proved himself. These reflections passed wildly through his brain, and he gnawed in his rage, the cords with which his limbs were bound; Allut held him and constrained him to cease his efforts.

Then he thought, rich as I am, can I not with fair promises and with a considerable sum free myself from this enemy? I have given more than 100,000 francs to discover the names of my victims; can I not give that, or even twice that, to escape the present peril in which I am involved?

Then fear and avarice combined to prevent any offer to his captor, and he thought that by feigning poverty he would escape for perhaps, a few crowns; at length he spoke"Where am I?"

"Tis no matter where you are, but you are beyond the aid of succour or mercy, you are mine, solely mine, the slave of my will, and subject even to my caprice." Picaud smiled disdainfully. Allut tacitly commented on his disdain by tightening the rope still more, and then he proceeded to sup, but offered not a morsel to Picaud.

"I am hungry," exclaimed the prisoner.

"How much will you pay for bread and water if I give it to you?"

"I have no money."

"You have sixteen millions of francs and more," replied Allut, and he recapitulated that they were invested in the funds of England, Holland, Italy, and France."

Picaud was excessively agitated

"You dream" said he.

"Well then, my friend, dream that you eat."

He went out, left Picaud bound, and remained absent until seven in the morning; when he returned he breakfasted; at the sight of the food Picaud became ravenous, "give me some food," he exclaimed.

"What will you pay for bread and water?"

Nothing."

"Well then, we shall see who will be weary of his resolution first."

He departed again and returned at three in the afternoon; it was now twenty-eight hours since Picaud had tasted food, he implored mercy of his gaoler, and offered twenty sous for one pound of bread.

"Listen," said Allut, "I shall give you food twice a day, and you shall pay each time twenty-five thousand francs." Picaud yelled, writhed himself upon his bed; the other remained tranquil.

"I have spoken the last word," said he, "take your own time, you had no mercy on my friends, you shall have no pity from me."

The miserable prisoner passed the remainder of the day and the succeeding night in bonds, raging with famine and despair. His physical energies were gone, he became convulsed, and then Allut perceived that his victim and his future hopes were both flying from his power. In his rage he tore his hair, stamped and cursed his own folly, but perceiving what he considered a sneer on the face of the wretched Picaud, he grasped a knife-one blow and all was ended; nothing remained for him but to fly, and he succeeded in reaching England.

There, having fallen sick in 1828, and having been reclaimed to a sense of horror at his past offences, he made a confession to a French Catholic clergyman, detailed to the ecclesiastic all the particulars of this fearful narrative, and signed his name to each page. He died reconciled to God, and was interred with christian rites, and by his desire, after his death the abbè P forwarded the document to the Parisian Police accompanied by the following letter:

Monsieur le Prefet,

:

I have had the gratification of restoring to feelings of contrition, a man fearfully guilty. It was his opinion, in which I fully concurred, that it might be useful to communicate to you the details of a series of abominable offences of which he has been at once the agent and one of the objects. By attending to the directions furnished in the annexed statement, the subterranean apartment may be discovered in which the remains of the wretched Picaud lie, a melancholy victim to his own passions and unrelenting revenge. May God forgive him; man in his pride usurps the prerogative of the deity, he seeks for vengeance, and by vengeance he is

crushed.

Antoine Allut has sought in vain to discover where and how the

funds of his victim were deposited; no registry, title or document, or sum of money, ever fell into his hands; inclosed are references as to two lodgments which under other names, Picaud is supposed to have had in Paris.

Even on the bed of death Antoine Allut refused to inform me of the means whereby he acquired a knowledge of the proceedings stated in his memoire, or how he became acquainted with the crimes and fortune of Picaud; only once, about an hour before he expired, he said to me Father, the faith of no man can be more lively than mine, for I have seen and heard the voice of a soul separated from the body to which it belonged.'

There was at that time no indication of delirium about Allut; he had just pronounced deliberately his profession of faith. The men of this age are presumptuous, to them incredulity appears a proof of wisdom. The ways of God are infinite, to his dispensations we should offer submission, and to his goodness adoration. I have the honor to be, &c."

Before we advert to any other case, as forming material for the construction of the romance before us, we are tempted into finding fault with one of its incidents, which appears most unnatural, and therefore most improbable; we refer to the scene between the ruined merchant and his son, in which a father acknowledges his intention to commit suicide, and ultimately persuades his son to acquiesce in such a crime, nay, even to use to his parent, with the fatal pistols lying before him, prepared for the catastrophe, the expression, "die in peace, my father, I will live ;" this is, we repeat, unnatural and improbable. The English are said to be a suicidal people, amongst whom, a November day produces throat-cutting, pistoling, and poisoning; but in England, was there ever an instance of suicide being the subject of consultation between. parent and child? O! never, nor do we believe, that such could appear to our continental neighbours, more consistent with the state and feelings of society amongst them, than it is amongst ourselves. We now have to notice the character of the poisoner, Madame de Villefort. Many of our readers would suppose that she has been copied from the Marchioness de Brinvilliers, or that some of the revelations of La Voisin, respecting her aristocratic customers, suggested the character to Dumas. We conceive however, that the "family poisoner” is a reproduction of Madame de Vartelle, whose crimes were consummated about the year 1739, and respecting whom we subjoin the following facts:

Monsieur de M. member of the parliament of Paris, came one day in great mystery to speak to Monsieur Herault, the