Clotilde rushed out of the house, carrying her boy and tugging her girl by the ear. She staggered to the fireplace and thrust it into the heart of the dying flames. Independently of other risks, and of the chance of breaking his neck in the descent, he was aware that to reach the leads he should have to break open six of the strongest doors of the prison. The necessity which had previously existed of leaving the ghastly evidence of the murderous deed undisturbed,—the presence of the mangled corpse,—the bustle of the inquest, at which her attendance was required,—all these circumstances produced a harrowing effect upon the young girl's imagination. “Beats me.
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