mitting that he had found at Paris nothing but obscurity and misery, he wrote to her, on the contrary, in the most sanguine terms, that everything was succeeding as he desired, and that he was about to found an important institution for public education. The present outlook was so encouraging that he hoped speedily to realize the long-dreamed-of union; he asked her to send to him her little Joseph, and to follow herself as soon as possible.
To determine Marie Anizat to come and share his lot, he had recourse to all the persuasions which he could bring to bear upon her heart. He wrote to her of his love, of the future of her son, and of the happiness of returning some day to their native home to live in ease and luxury. He wrote on the 16th of January:—
"If Marie loves me, she will come to me in Paris. I desire that you will first send Joseph to me. Until my institution is opened I will send him to an excellent school. I will watch over and advise him. He will sleep and eat with me. I will be a father to him. When Joseph is here, I will find a thousand good reasons for your coming to Paris; we will receive you with open arms, you will be my better half, my aid, and I hope that in our old age we can look back with pleasure upon the bygone times, and bring them to our minds, chatting pleasantly about them before a good open fire in a little white house near Moncayolle and Gettein."
Later, on the 29th of February, after having announced that his project of founding an institution was nearly realized, and that he had established himself in one of the most fashionable quarters of the city, he wrote to her:—
"Oh, how much I need you here! But you tell me to be patient. Well, you be patient yourself, and let Joseph come to me at once. He will be more useful to me than he is to you."
These pressing solicitations at last succeeded, and Marie Anizat consented to be separated from her son. She prepared the necessary clothing for him, and after obtaining money from persons for whom she worked, and having placed one hundred francs in a little box which he carried, she confided him to the care of a lady named Lenoir, who was going to Paris to pass a month, and sent him to Éliçabide, as to the most benevolent protector, the most trustworthy guide, and the most generous friend that her son could find.
Leaving Pau on the 11th of March, Joseph Anizat arrived in Paris on the 14th about three or four o'clock in the afternoon. On the 10th Éliçabide had again written to the mother, fearing that she might hesitate to send the boy, and once more urging his coming.
What did he mean to do, and what designs had already been formed in his mind, that he thus deceived the poor mother, that he so insisted upon the coming of her son, whom he could only make a sharer of his misery?
The results answer only too clearly; but let us listen to Éliçabide himself relating, from his childhood to the day of his crime, his thoughts and impressions, to explain his crimes:—
"I was eleven years old when the first signs of morbid feelings showed themselves. My principles and my self-love struggled violently against the emotions which I felt. Imagination filled, in spite of myself, the void which religion left in my heart. My soul shrank affrighted. Dissatisfied with the manner in which I bore myself in these struggles, I abandoned myself to the most painful thoughts. I persuaded myself at times that I was predestined for hell. I entered the house taciturn and sombre, seeking distraction in my books and my work. To whom could I confide my sufferings? I should only have been mocked, and that I could not endure.
"I was twelve when there took place at Mauléon a revival, during which my mind was entirely given up to religious emotions aroused by the services. The fearful truths of religion made a terrible impression upon me. I could not sleep. There is no need to state the extraordinary things I did, worked upon by a spirit of penitence.
"At thirteen I was confided, to pursue my studies, to the care of the Abbé Vidart, curate of the rural
