"she'll go and put them in the great red earthenware pot, where she is

accumulating a sum sufficient to buy the thirty acres adjoining her
little estate at Lescheville. Those thirty acres are worth at least

sixty thousand francs. Such fine fields! Ah! if I had them I'd live
all my days at Lescheville, without other ambition! How my father used

to long for those thirty acres and the pretty brook which winds
through the meadows! But he died without ever being able to buy them.

Many's the time I've played there!"
"Monsieur Wahlenfer, haven't you also your 'hoc erat in votis'?" asked

Wilhelm.
"Yes, monsieur, but it came to pass, and now--"

The good man was silent, and did not finish his sentence.
"As for me," said the landlord, whose face was rather flushed, "I

bought a field last spring, which I had been wanting for ten years."
They talked thus like men whose tongues are loosened by wine, and they

each took that friendly liking to the others of which we are never
stingy on a journey; so that when the time came to separate for the

night, Wilhelm offered his bed to the merchant.
"You can accept it without hesitation," he said, "for I can sleep with

Prosper. It won't be the first, nor the last time either. You are our
elder, and we ought to honor age!"

"Bah!" said the landlord, "my wife's bed has several mattresses; take
one off and put it on the floor."

So saying, he went and shut the window, making all the noise that
prudent operation demanded.

"I accept," said the merchant; "in fact I will admit," he added,
lowering his voice and looking at the two Frenchmen, "that I desired

it. My boatmen seem to me suspicious. I am not sorry to spend the
night with two brave young men, two French soldiers, for, between

ourselves, I have a hundred thousand francs in gold and diamonds in my
valise."

The friendly caution with which this imprudent confidence was received
by the two young men, seemed to reassure the German. The landlord

assisted in taking off one of the mattresses, and when all was
arranged for the best he bade them good-night and went off to bed.

The merchant and the surgeons laughed over the nature of their
pillows. Prosper put his case of surgical instruments and that of

Wilhelm under the end of his mattress to raise it and supply the place
of a bolster, which was lacking. Wahlenfer, as a measure of

precaution, put his valise under his pillow.
"We shall both sleep on our fortune," said Prosper, "you, on your

gold; I, on my instruments. It remains to be seen whether my
instruments will ever bring me the gold you have now acquired."

"You may hope so," said the merchant. "Work and honesty can do
everything; have patience, however."

Wahlenfer and Wilhelm were soon asleep. Whether it was that his bed on
the floor was hard, or that his great fatigue was a cause of

sleeplessness, or that some fatal influence affected his soul, it is
certain that Prosper Magnan continued awake. His thoughts

unconsciously took an evil turn. His mind dwelt exclusively on the
hundred thousand francs which lay beneath the merchant's pillow. To

Prosper Magnan one hundred thousand francs was a vast and ready-made
fortune. He began to employ it in a hundred different ways; he made

castles in the air, such as we all make with eager delight during the
moments preceding sleep, an hour when images rise in our minds

confusedly, and often, in the silence of the night, thought acquires
some magical power. He gratified his mother's wishes; he bought the

thirty acres of meadow land; he married a young lady of Beauvais to
whom his present want of fortune forbade him to aspire. With a hundred

thousand francs he planned a lifetime of happiness; he saw himself
prosperous, the father of a family, rich, respected in his province,

and, possibly, mayor of Beauvais. His brain heated; he searched for
means to turn his fictions to realities. He began with extraordinary

ardor to plan a crime theoretically. While fancying the death of the
merchant he saw distinctly the gold and the diamonds. His eyes were

dazzled by them. His heart throbbed. Deliberation was, undoubtedly,
already crime. Fascinated by that mass of gold he intoxicated himself

morally by murderous arguments. He asked himself if that poor German
had any need to live; he supposed the case of his never having

existed. In short, he planned the crime in a manner to secure himself
impunity. The other bank of the river was occupied by the Austrian

army; below the windows lay a boat and boatman; he would cut the
throat of that man, throw the body into the Rhine, and escape with the

valise; gold would buy the boatman and he could reach the Austrians.
He went so far as to calculate the professionalability he had reached

in the use of instruments, so as to cut through his victim's throat
without leaving him the chance for a single cry.

[Here Monsieur Taillefer wiped his forehead and drank a little water.]
Prosper rose slowly, making no noise. Certain of having waked no one,

he dressed himself and went into the public room. There, with that
fatal intelligence a man suddenly finds on some occasions within him,

with that power of tact and will which is never lacking to prisoners
or to criminals in whatever they undertake, he unscrewed the iron

bars, slipped them from their places without the slightest noise,
placed them against the wall, and opened the shutters, leaning heavily

upon their hinges to keep them from creaking. The moon was shedding
its pale pure light upon the scene, and he was thus enabled to faintly

see into the room where Wilhelm and Wahlenfer were sleeping. There, he
told me, he stood still for a moment. The throbbing of his heart was

so strong, so deep, so sonorous, that he was terrified; he feared he
could not act with coolness; his hands trembled; the soles of his feet

seem planted on red-hot coal; but the execution of his plan was
accompanied by such apparent good luck that he fancied he saw a

species of predestination in this favor bestowed upon him by fate. He
opened the window, returned to the bedroom, took his case of

instruments, and selected the one most suitable to accomplish the
crime.

"When I stood by the bed," he said to me, "I commended myself
mechanically to God."

At the moment when he raised his arm collecting all his strength, he
heard a voice as it were within him; he thought he saw a light. He

flung the instrument on his own bed and fled into the next room, and
stood before the window. There, he conceived the utmosthorror of

himself. Feeling his virtue weak, fearing still to succumb to the
spell that was upon him he sprang out upon the road and walked along

the bank of the Rhine, pacing up and down like a sentinel before the
inn. Sometimes he went as far as Andernach in his hurried tramp; often

his feet led him up the slope he had descended on his way to the inn;
and sometimes he lost sight of the inn and the window he had left open

behind him. His object, he said, was to weary himself and so find
sleep.

But, as he walked beneath the cloudless skies, beholding the stars,
affected perhaps by the purer air of night and the melancholy lapping

of the water, he fell into a reverie which brought him back by degrees
to sane moral thoughts. Reason at last dispersed completely his

momentary frenzy. The teachings of his education, its religious
precepts, but above all, so he told me, the remembrance of his simple

life beneath the parental roof drove out his wicked thoughts. When he
returned to the inn after a long meditation to which he abandoned

himself on the bank of the Rhine, resting his elbow on a rock, he
could, he said to me, not have slept, but have watched untempted

beside millions of gold. At the moment when his virtue rose proudly
and vigorously from the struggle, he knelt down, with a feeling of

ecstasy and happiness, and thanked God. He felt happy, light-hearted,
content, as on the day of his first communion, when he thought himself

worthy of the angels because he had passed one day without sinning in
thought, or word, or deed.

He returned to the inn and closed the window without fearing to make a
noise, and went to bed at once. His moral and physical lassitude was

certain to bring him sleep. In a very short time after laying his head
on his mattress, he fell into that first fantastic somnolence which

precedes the deepest sleep. The senses then grew numb, and life is