Year: 1878

On the evening of September 10, 17Se
Pablo Mortione, a peddler, trading
among the scattered villages of the
French and Spanish Pyreneesapplied for
shelter from the approaching storm at
the house of Antonio Maschez, small
farmer, who lived a couple of miles from
st Pol de Leon, in the Andorre Pass
He was we'll known to the farmer, as
indeed he was to every one else for
twenty miles around, and met with a
cordial reception from both Maschez and
his wife, a stalwart Cordovan woman,
who ruled her husband and her house
hold with a rod of iron. Both, indeed,
professed extreme pleasure in seeing
him, and with true mountain hospitality
made him welcome to the best the house
afforded.


While waiting the preparation OF sup
per in the great kitchen of the farm
house, Mortione whiled away the time
by displaying the contents of his pack
to the little daughter of his host and
hostess, and the mother in more than
one instance neglected her cookery to
feast her eyes, sparkling with cupidity,
upon the gorgeous fabrics, the gaudy
handkerchief, the flashy jewelry, and a
host of other attributes to the peddler's
stock in trade.


When at last supper was announced,
she devoted herself to a minute inspec-
ton oft the pack while the owner satisfied
the cravings of his appetite with an
ample meal. That over, he bundled his
stock together, and pleading the weari-
ness OF long days journey, went to bed
on the floor of the next room. The little
girl also retired to her pallet in a remote
corner Of the same apartment.


Shortly after Maschez, who had gone
out to secure his cattle from the storm
and split some billets of frewood, re-
turned. He bore an armful of wood
and heavy hatchet with which he had
been cutting it. He found his wife
pacing restlessly up and down the
kitchen, every now and then pausing at
the door Of the bed room to listen to the
heavy breathing of the tired peddler,
already fast asleep, with his precious
pack as pillow. As he threw the wood
noisily into the fireplace, she turned
upon him with warning gesture.


"Caramba, Wife, what ails you?" he
asked, in amazement.


'Pahl Quiet. Do you hear how
soundly he sleeps?"


We'll, he has had long journey to-
day, and is tired enough to sleep we'll"


He must never wake from that
sleepl" hissed the wife, close to his ear.


How"


HE must never wake, l say. Listen,
Antonio Machez. That man has enough
wealth to make us rich, and with the
contents of his pack / can dress better
than the alcaldi's wife, who will break
her heart with envy. He must diel"


What do you mean" cried the hor
rorstricken farmer, starting back.


"Quiet, you poor, cowardly fool" said
his wife, fastening on his shoulder with
a grip of iron, and snatching the sharp
hatchet from his hand. "If you are
afraid to do it, 1 am not"


"Do you mean to murder him?"


aAy, and you too, if you give the
alarm"


Standing in awe of his wife, as he did,
the father dared not utter another word |
of expostulation. Clinging to the side
of the fireplace for support, the miserable
man watched the muderess stealthily |
approach the bed room door. She set
the candle close to the threshold, so as to
obtain sufficient light for her purpose
without running any risk of disturbing
her intended victim.


In a moment more her figure disap-
peared in the gloom of her room where
her child and her guest were sleeping.
At this instance terrific crash of thun-
der and lightning shook the earth, and
the tempest broke down the narrow pass
in which the house was situated, with
frantic nowl. All earthly noises were
drowned in the conflict of the elements
A vivid flash of lightning, however,
revealed the figure of Madame Maschez
standing in the doorway. She still held
the hatchet in her hand, bat it was drip
ping blood. !


In the brief moment which had passed,