satyr. The superintendent is quite jealous of him!"
I thought the matter over again, and it seemed very probable to me. "Does she love La Frieze?"
"Yes, he is the chosen lover."
When we arrived at the host'S house a short time afterward, we were surprised to find everybody in a terrible state of excitement. A crime had been committed in the asylum; the gendarmes were there and our host was with them, so we instantly joined them. La Frieze had murdered the superintendent, and they gave us the details, which were horrible. The former butcher had hidden behind a door, and catching hold of the other, had rolled on to the ground with him and bitten him in the throat, tearing out his carotid artery, from which the blood spurted into the murderer's face.
I saw him, La Frieze. His fat face, which had been badly washed, was still blood stained; he had a low forehead, square jaws, pointed ears, sticking out from his head, and flat nostrils, like the muzzle of some wild animal; but above all, I saw Babette.
She was smiling, and at that moment, her eyes had not their monkey-like and ferocious expression; they were pleading and tender, full of the sweetest child-like candor.
"You know," my host said to me in a low voice, "that the poor woman has fallen into senile imbecility, and that is the cause of her looks, which are strange, considering the terrible sight she has seen."
"Do you think so?" the magistrate said. "You must remember that she is not yet sixty, and I do not think that it is a case of senile imbecility, but that she is quite conscious of the crime that has been committed."
"Then why should she smile?"
"Because she is pleased at what she has done."
"Oh! no, you are really too subtle!"
The magistrate suddenly turned to Babette, and, looking at her steadily, he said:
"I suppose you know what has happened, and why this crime was committed?"
She left off smiling, and her pretty, childlike eyes became abominable monkey's eyes again, and then the answer was suddenly to pull up her petticoats and to show us the lower part of her limbs. Yes, the magistrate had been quite right. That old woman had been a Cleopatra, a Diana, a Ninon de l'Enclos, and the rest of her body had remained like a child's even more than her eyes. We were thunderstruck at the sight.
"Pigs! pigs!" La Frieze shouted to us, "you also want to have something to do with her!"
And I saw that actually the magistrate's face was pale and contracted, and that his hands and lips trembled like those of a man caught in the act of doing wrong.
