The wretched man died
penitent, confessing his crime, and denouncing the cupidity and
thirst of gold which had led him on to murder.
In fifty years from this period, Laurence Bigot had been long dead.
Emerie his son had succeeded him in his office. Etienne Pasquier had
become a learned and reverend old man, with silver hair. He was then
composing his curious and interesting _Recherches sur la France,_ and
there related the almost miraculous discovery of a murder long since
committed--of which discovery he had in his youth been an
eye-witness. It is from his statement that this history is taken.
THE BRIDAL WREATH.
FROM THE ITALIAN OF UESIGLIO.
'This wreath must be finished before the evening. Down with those
tiresome hands; you jumble together all my leaves; you give me one
colour instead of the other: you are spoiling all I have done. Be it
known to you, however, that I am determined you shall not leave Padua
until I have put the last leaf to our garland.'
These pettish words, qualified by the sweetest of smiles, were
addressed by a beautiful girl of sixteen to a young man who was
sitting beside her, and taking a mischievous pleasure in disturbing
her work; now catching hold of her hands; now removing out of her
reach something that she wanted; now playing with her long and
luxuriant hair, which floated negligently on her shoulders:
affectionate interruptions, which left a doubt whether the name of
brother or lover better suited them.
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