Waterbury evening Democrat., 1893-08-01

not sure, that the eve of the corpse now
lying upon the slab of the morgue con-
tains the exact reproduction Of the fea-
lures of the one you seek. With your
permission l will draw ii from them"
Draw it. but how"
by Photographic is my business,
NJ. lie Chef. And this matter, this sub
ject l speak of, l have studied it long
and almost with passion, for hold it to
be, in case OF success, one of the most
useful and beautiful applications OF
modern science. l know it can be done.
l have myself experimental, and in one
instance have reproduced the lineaments
of the physician who had leaned above
the bed of the dying"
The man spoke with animation, and
while speaking his voice Vibrated. his
eyes burned, his whole countenance was
illuminated. irradiated with the light of
n Legitimate pride.
Then SO be it. monsieur" agreed the
chef de surete. Take Your instruments
to the morgue tomorrow morning at 10
o'clock. l will see that the clerk is in
structed. Later on l shall myself be
there. l have the honor, monsieur, to
wish you good morning"
In the obscure nook at the morgue
where he had inclosed himself, in &C
curdance with the arrangements 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 awhile ago with such
fear and infinite precaution.
s nsitized? NitaliZed? At least 1t
should be. and if the conditions Of the
crime were such rs he supposed them.
and the victim before dying had really
seen her murderer's face, the portrait Of
| the assassin would be there under that
| bed Of gelatin en- traine TO melt away.
His throat closed as by grip Of iron,
the operator held himself immovable,
hearing only. with painful distinctness,
the gurgle Of the water as it dripped
| upon the faces of the dead in the sdjoin-
ing 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 to reveal to him all or
| nothing. He rose-that poor, trembling
| photographer rose, say, took it care
| fully by its dripping edges, that plate
1 4ks
closed his eyes, held il to the single ray
of light that filtered through the yellow
pane, TO stagger back with a groan OF
anguish, to let it crash into thousand
pieces. His son! Good heavens! The
fnce of the murderer. the face Of the son
| Five minutes later when Frederick
Bouscal, the photographer, came from
his nook, and the chief de surete, await
ing HIM with impatience. hurried tc
meet him, he saw Immediately by the
pallor of his face, by his somber eyes
that he had nothing good to announce tc
him.
Well" said he, nothing"
NO" responded Bouscal. nothing"
"Allons. no matter. Try it n second
time. Do it again"
''lmp0Ssiblc. The transparency of tn,
cornea is destroyed. l wished to wasl
it, and l burned it through mistake il
the walls. l salute You, NJ. le Chef!
| And Frederick Bouscal turned away.
The next morning the commissaire o
the quarter of Ternes, forwarding to tn
prefecture his regular report, headed i
with the following item:
To-day at 10 o'clock summons to 10
Rue Laugiere. \ call from the con
Clergc. suspicious of charcoal fume
from the room of the Bouscals. man an
wife. his locatares. The door by my or
der was forced. Too late-they wer
dead. both of them, side by side upol
the bed. hrazicr of lighted charcoal
plainly indicating the manner of thei
l"ath, y double suicide-poverty tn
,use."- Tit-Bit Prize Story From tn
French.