be said of other stories which are really pathological studies, such as Qui Sait? which treats of a madman's grotesque illusion; Un Cas de Divorce, and one or two more of the same sort. La Petite Rogue, a longer tale, describes the atrocious crime of a previously reputable citizen, and contains at least one powerful situation. But the fact is that the grisly shapes which haunt the debatable land between the kingdoms of Vice and Crime and Madness can hardly be focused for purposes of artistic fiction. People curious in such arcana will be better advised to collect facts from "the intelligent police officer" in charge of an actual case, and pathology from a Charcot or a Crichton-Browne. Le Fou, which relates how a venerable judge was in reality a homicidal maniac, guilty of countless untraced murders, is only remarkable as affording perhaps the sole instance in which Maupassant, intending to be impressive, is positively ridiculous. Still the false notes are few, and this branch of the subject would have needed little notice, but for the accident of its undue prominence in this country, which is unjust to a great artist.
In his few war-sketches, and scenes of military life, Maupassant never again approached the excellence of Boule de Suif. The episode of Walter
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