San Antonio daily light. [volume] (San Antonio, Tex.) 1886-1907, 1889-05-27

on 1 shall myself be there. 1 have the honor,
monsieur to wish you good morning"
In the obscure nook at the morgue where
he had inclosed himself in accordance with
the arrangement made at the office of the
surete, Frederick Bouscal, his body bent, his
face drawn, watched anxiously the result OF
his last washing. The plate was there before
him in its bath of quicksilver, into which he
had dropped it while ago with such fear
and infinite precautions.
Sensitivizedl Vitalized? At least it should
be, and if the conditions of the crime were
such as he supposed them, and the victim be-
fore dying had really seen her murderer's
face, the portrait of the assassin would be
there under that bed of gelatine en- traine to
melt away.
His throat closed as by grip of iron, the
operator held himself immovable, hearing
only with painful dstinctness the gurgle Of
the water as it dripped upon the faces Of the
dead in the adjoining chamber. The plunge of
his blood as it throbbed and hammered
! through the arteries of his heart
And at last the moment came-the moment
that was 10 reveal to him all or nothing He
rose, that poor, trembling photographer, rose,
say, took it carefully by its dripping edges,
that plate upon which his fate was hanging,
half closed his eyes, held it to the single ray
of light that filtered through the yellowed
pane-to stagger back with a groan of an
| guish, to let it crash into a thousand pieces!
His son Great Godl The face of the
murderer, the face of his SON."
Five minutes later, when Frederick Bous-
cal, the photographer, came from his nook,
and the chef de surete, awaiting him with
Impotence, hurried to meet him, he saw i'm
mediately by the pallor of his face, by his
somber eyes, that he had nothing good to an
nounce to him.
"Well," said he, ''nothingr
NO" responded Bouscal, nothing"
GALLONS! no matter; try it a second time;
do it over again"
Impossible! the transparency Of the cor
! nea is destroyed | wished to wash it, and l
burned it through a mistake in the walls l
salute you, u. le Chefr' And Frederick
Bouscal turned away.
The next morning the commissioner of the
! Quarter of Ternes, forwarding to the pre-
lecture his regular report, headed it with the
( following item:
| --,,"Today, at ten O'Clock, summons to 100
| Rue Laugiere. A call from the concierge,
suspicious of charcoal fumes from the room
of the Bouscals, man and wife, his locataires.
The door, by my order, was forced. Too
late-they were dead both Of them, side by
side upon the bed, a brazier of lighted char
coal plainly indicating the manner of their
death. A double sucide-poverty the cause.
"From - Commissare, Quarter of Ternes,
third month, 10th day, lSS-."
Bah, these inventors" murmured NJ.
Theodore, as his secretary concluded the
reading, they are all alike, stupid and rashI
though too, on this occasion, have naught
to boast of But how the devil, he added,
as the memory of that pale, sad face rose up
before him, chow the devil could l think of
! suicide for a cause as trifing as this!"
"a cause as trifing as this!"
All, my worthy chef de surete, it is moi
everything that is known in that prefecture
of thine!-Translated from the French for
The Cincinnati Enquirer by E. c. Waggener.