pale but impassive. The people against whom
her silk dress rustled as she passed, shrunk
back with instinctive aversion. Attempts to
ascertain from the comtesse what bad really
become of Marie Boudon were equally
ineffectual. Every one suspected foul play.

The pleadings on either side were finished.
To a final question, Besson replied by
vehemently protesting his innocence. The jury
retired to their room, and in five-and-twenty
minutes returned with a verdict of Guilty,
without extenuating circumstances. Besson's
composure could hold out no longer; a livid
pallor overspread his countenance; his bloodshot
eyes rolled in their orbits. The president
pronounced sentence of death. The condemned
man hid his face in his hands; his legs bent
under him; they dragged him away.

This, strange as it may seem, was not the final
catastrophe. In consequence of a legal flaw in
the proceedings, the case was sent to be tried
again before the Assize Court of the Rhône at
Lyons. As far as regarded the prisoner, the
whole ground had to be gone over again. The
entire country was in a state of excitement. At
Lyons, even more than at Le Puy, public curiosity
was fixed on the mother and daughter. The
popular instinct felt that the real interest of the trial
centred in them. But the general expectation
was again disappointed. A few days before
the assizes were opened, it was noised about
that the ladies, summoned by writ, could not
be found at any of their usual residences. It
was said they were hidden in some convent, or
that they had fled to Sardinia. Neither could
Marie Boudon be discovered. Those significative
facts spoke for themselves.

In all its leading points the trial was a
repetition of the former one. At last, both the
prosecution and the defence had finished the
task which had taken more than a couple of
years to complete. The president summed up
impartially, requesting the jury to decide three
questions: the first, concerning wilful homicide;
the second, premeditation; the third (in case of
a negative answer to the first), the prisoner's
complicity in the crime.

During the absence of the jury the witnesses
from the Velay gave a final proof of their
proverbial habits. They showed great anxiety to
receive their pay, carefully secured it in their
leather purses, and almost all went away without
waiting to hear the verdict.

In five-and-thirty minutes the jury returned,
answering by a majority " Yes" to the first
question; by a majority " Yes" to the second;
and silent as to extenuating circumstances.
Besson, who was recalled to hear the verdict
read, did not seem to comprehend its meaning.
But when the procureur-general called for the
sentence of death upon him and its execution
in one of the public places in Le Puy, the
strength which had kept him up gave way at
once; his head drooped, he wept, he dried his
eyes mechanically; and when, after sentence
was pronounced, the gendarmes led him away,
they were obliged to support him until he
reached the prison in a fainting state.

On the 29th of December, 1842, the convict
appealed against the sentence. On the 17th of
February, 1843, the Court of Cassation
rejected his appeal. When Besson learnt that
there was no further hope, he wept profusely.
But, in spite of all appeals made to him, he
refused to utter a word of avowal. " What
would be the good of speaking?" he asked. " It
would get a good many people into trouble.'*
Then he added, " What daunts me is not my
death; I would just as soon make an end of it
as not; it is that frightful journey (to the place
of execution) which will seem everlasting."

On the 27th of March, 1842, he was put into
a postchaise escorted by gendarmes. He was
calm during the first half of the journey. But
when, peeping through the blinds, he caught
sight of the wild hills and pine woods of the
Velay, he became greatly agitated. At the
glimpse of Saint Holstein, his native village,
and the road leading to Chamblas, he sobbed
convulsively. An hour afterwards he had the
torture of feeling the carriage mount the slope
of Mont Anis, on which the town of Le Puy is
situated.

Next day he walked through an immense
crowd from his prison to the Martouret. His
step was firm, his countenance resigned. The
only indication of inward suffering was an ashy
paleness, which his black beard rendered still
more striking. On reaching the guillotine he
struggled for an instant with the executioner's
assistants; a moment afterwards he carried into
eternity the secret of the mother and daughter.
Were they the victims of circumstances? or
were they guilty?

                            SUN-RAYS.

     THE rising sun with radiant finger raised
        Points to his realms above,
     To guide a world benighted and amazed,
         For there stand God and love.

     At noon upmounted to his lordliest height,
        Full in his noble prime;
     The sun sends down his ladders of the light,
        And yet no thought will climb.

     Wearied at length his fiery wrath is hurled,
        Red on the evening sky;
     Till every cloud is blushing for a world
        That will not look on high.

           RICH AND POOR BANKRUPTS.

SOME years ago I was in business as a builder.
Like too many who follow that calling, I
commenced with a capital which was far too small
to do any good with, and I worked nearly all
the undertakings I had in hand upon the
borrowing system. If I saw or happened to find
anywhere near London a piece of ground which
was to be let on what is called a building lease,
I rented it, and so soon as I had money enough
at my banker's to pay the labourers a few weeks'
wages, I set to work, and ran up half a dozen or
more houses. The bricks cost me little, for I
always made them myself, and generally