Waterbury evening Democrat., 1888-06-13

the poor old mother of the murdered mason groaned and cursed by turns, as wild as lun. atic in her grief. Catissou was almost crazy
 always seeing before her that creeping hand hideous and horrible gliding across the shutter hke spider or crab.
 We did all we could, continued the Briga- dier, resuming his narrative, to find the scoundrel who had killed this poor man, but m vain, the evidence was SO slight-none, in 1act, but the hand which Catherine had told
 me of now for the first time. We knew of no one with hand like it in all the country, ana questioning all the men who worked for Coussac, or had worked for him for years
 Dack, we found that they knew of none eltner In short none like it had ever been seen. Not the slightest suspicion could be attacned to any one in the neighborhood. They were all honest. straightforward people, friendly to Coussac, and with only one fault, 1 a too great love for the beautiful liquor made from the white chestnut-no crime, as you sec; besides mono of them had known that 1 had Known that Mons. Saburdy had conflded the payment of these bills to his master mason.
 Sacre Bieu! who the was the miserable the blackguard, with q paw like tho ono that Cattisou had seen? A month, perhaps, after Coussac's daughter had told mo of this hid- eous hand, butcher boy of the the Aigue- perse came to the gendarmerie to say to me that he remembered to have seen one like it on the arm of bad tempered fellow who had 1 once quarreled with lad of his acquaint- ance. He had drawn a knife in the quarrel, and the butcher boy had noticed in drawing the knife, n big Nontron blade, that he had q strangely curious hand, tho fingers short as thumbs, and as square as the tips as if cut
 with a hatchet Very interesting, all this, for
 he knife that mad killed Leonard Coussac was Nontron also. But here the butchers informaton ended-wllat had become of the l man he knew not. and.no ono but he had seen him at Limoges. Still we searched and beat l the bushes as if hunting game-all in vain.
 AS for me, ragged, absolutely ragged, for had said to Catissou looking her as straight | in the face as shc had once looked me:
 What will you give, Mile Catherine, to the one who will bring you by tho neck the 1 assassian who killed your father?"
 Shc did not reply, in words at least but her great black oyes seemed to blaze. To weep .nd to promise everything that desired. All | the same, neither nor man of the Twelfth Legion, from chief to soldiers, was able to place his hands upon the rascal Seeing this l Catissou lost patience.
 "Sncc none of you can find him." she said to mo firmly none of you-ah well, I'll find l him mysclfw &Gf E She still had her grandmother with her. this unhappy child, a good woman, in her way, bat, since the murder of her son, mute IS stone, ferocious as hungry tiger, and l murmuring from morning till night. ''Why, why do they not bring to me the murderer l of my son?' From tho moment when she had set herself 70 the answering of this problem Catherine | Coussac gave up her business of drcss-mak- ,ng, and asked from the authorities the priv lege of running the fairs. Such request | tonishcd rne and all who knew her but what istonished mo moro than any thing else was 70 see little later at all the fetes and fcstiv- ties at St. Loup St. Martial, Limoges nnd tho ] other districts georgeous travelling wagon | or van, built of plank or canvas, and plac- arded from top to bottom with eufngies and portraits of Catherine Coussac herself arrnycd l in pink tights, q star~pangled vest and short skirts, with inscription above ncr head in let- 1 sers foot long calling her "I4a Femme Silure | the Electric Woman" What name? What | strange unreasonable fancy t3 enroll herself thus !Tnong the mounaebanks of the fairs, I poor helpless devils, forever bending their | backs beneath a shelter tont eating on the grass, sleeping by the roadsi6e and striving | always for the pleasure of othsss. No matter | what their own misery, likr the carcass of | the Aorse that dragged their vehicles!
 Yts, 1t was already sufficiently ridiculous to place herself among them, but to inscribe her | self foreign artist-a femme silure-was more ridiculous still. And do you know what It is to be silure said Tharaud, stopping to change his position on the chair, n human l torpedo that you cannot touch without re- l ceiving m electric shock? And 1t was this, a | silure-a fish that carries in its body pow 1 erful battery that Catherine Coussac now claimed to be, q being who at a touch would send a strange, inexplicable force pricking ] along your veins like needles!
 l But had no need to touch her to be elec- trifled; a look was enough for me. An but you should have seen her ten years ago-a little fat perhaps, but pretty as a rose under | the barbe of lace that women have since dis l carded for bopnets; her eyes, her figure her | complexion! There were plenty of beautiful women in Limoges at that time. but none, | give you my word, as beautiful as she. . There was no need of an orchestra like that 1 of circus to bring crowd about the van of | tho Femme Silure; no need of an advance agent, as in theatres; no, not at all she had but to show herself, and the crowd and the money were there waiting at her feet.
 1 One day at Magnac-Laval also passed into the van of the electric woman. She was there on her little stage, and below her, squatting like a witch, tho old Mother Coussac, her hard eyes staring straight before her, straight | into the faces of all who entered, as If to read l their very souls. advanced. Catherine rec ognized me, and while stood beside her mute as fish, for she was prettier than ever with her stage dress, her short skirts, her we'll turned ankles, and feet as small as childs, she laughed and tested with me,
 Ut is useless" she said at last, becoming suddenly grave and sombre, useless for you to show me your hand; it is not tho hand am seeking"
 | Instantly understood the bravo girl, what 1t was she was doing and seeking, and why she ran the country as n montcbank at fairs. She had neither forgotten nor forgiven the death of her father-she was seeking the hand, the miserable blood-stainod hand that had taken that fathers lie, and With no other evidence than those spatula fingers had set herself to tho task of hunting them down,
 Difficult? So it was something, the search for rascal by the shape of his fingers,
 like hunting a needle in a haystack, neverthe- less, not impossible, for there is always & chance of a murderers lingering around the spot where he has committed the crime.
 Blood is magnetizer and draws I swear it upon my word and calling. The assassin was
 far from Limoges at the present time; but
 who could tell. he might return, and then, as
 the electric woman, better than any one else.
 Catissou would have chance to gee him-his hand at any rate which she had never forpot