deri in the same tone of badinage, "how could it become a mourning bride to adorn herself with these glittering jewels? No—no! I have quite disengaged my affections from the goldsmith, and would not think of him any more, were it not indeed that his frightful figure, as he lay murdered, and was carried close by me, so often recurs to my recollection."—"How is this?" said the king; "you saw Cardillac then on the night of the murder?" De Scuderi now related in few words, how chance (for she did not venture to speak of Brusson,) had brought her to the goldsmith's house, just after the alarm of his death had been given. She described the wild grief of Madelon, the deep impression that had been made on her own mind by the appearance and conduct of the beautiful girl; in consequence of which she had rescued her from the violent hands of Desgrais, and brought her away, followed by the loud applause of the multitude. De Scuderi's tones were clear and musical, and her eloquence was powerful.—She contrived always to give additional interest to the narrative, and perceiving that Louis was favorably disposed, she came to the scenes with la Regnie, with Desgrais, and at length even with Olivier Brusson. The king had indeed listened attentively to de Scuderi's story, insomuch that he seemed to have quite forgot the irritability and anger which he had before manifested, whenever any allusion was made to that criminal. He never once checked the lady's discourse, but occasionally, by his interjections of surprise or approval, betrayed how deeply he was interested. Before Louis was in the least aware of her intentions, and while he was under the full impression of her eloquence, de Scuderi had thrown herself at his feet, and implored his royal clemency in behalf of the unfortunate prisoner.
"What can all this mean, Mademoiselle?" cried the king, raising her up by both hands, and leading her to a chair.—"You surprise me beyond measure. What you have now related is indeed a very strange and affecting story, but who can tell whether Brusson's confessions are really true, or mere
