"Guilty, with extenuating circumstances.
The sentence, Hard labour for life."

"And the crime?"

"In the first place, it is doubtful to me whether
a crime was committed; secondly, if a crime there
was, I believe the prisoner innocent of it. There
might have been a crime; but he was not the guilty
party. The imputed offence was fratricide."

"He has therefore at least escaped the
guillotine."

"Yes; and, through the mitigation of our
law's severity, he was also spared the branding
on the shoulder with the letters T. F. P.,
' Travaux Forcés à Perpetuité.' But in this very
place where we are now walking up and down,
and which you have called our town's unroofed
saloon, he was subjected to an infliction now also
abolished, namely, an hour's public exposure on
a scaffold, as infamous, fratricide, and civilly
dead."

"And probably hooted and insulted accordingly?"

"Exactly the contrary. The propriety of his
attitude and behaviour, coinciding with the
general belief of his innocence and pity for his
consequently cruel position, gained him
universal sympathy. Instead of harsh words, or
worse, a collection of money was made on the
spot, to procure him comforts during his journey
to the place of punishment."

"But what was the cause of this discrepancy
between the popular feeling and the jury's
verdict?"

"Well; the case is difficult as well as curious,
and still remains in some measure mysterious.
You are aware of the innumerable and bitter
disputes occasioned in France by the minute
division of property. For a square foot of ground,
for half a tree, for a crumbling mud wall, for a
creaking bit of furniture, sometimes even for a
few pots and pans or half-worn clothes, families
will fall into variance. This was another instance
of quarrel caused by a trumpery inheritance
unfairly appropriated. Alexandre Fourrier
and his elder brother, Pierre François, each
believed that the other had got more than his share,
and consequently indulged in very unbrotherly
expressions of feeling. François was even heard
to use words threatening his brother's life.
' Mind what you are about,' he said. ' Je te tue;
I'll kill you.'"

"That was very bad."

"Yes and No. Hard words break no bones.
Hot-tempered people, under provocation, often
say more than they have the slightest intention
of meaning. Listen to the compliments often
interchanged between husband and wife amongst
our lower classes, and then see how they make
it up afterwards. Parents, even with you,
sometimes tell their children they will break their
necks; and yet they do not break them the more
for that. I hold that François's ' je te tue ' was
not a bit more serious in its real purport.

"It would, nevertheless, have an ugly look
when proved in evidence."

"True; and could Francois have foreseen the
consequences, he would have curbed his temper
and held his tongue. Had he really intended to
commit the murder, he would have refrained from
announcing that intention."

"At least, it was a great imprudence."

"Doubtless, as was proved by the event. The
other fearing, or pretending to fear, that his life
was in danger, procured a pistol, which he
constantly carried, loaded, in his pocket. One
evening he was found lying in a field, close to a half-
open gate, bleeding to death from a wound in
the hip. The pistol in his pocket was discharged.
Carried into the house, the only articulate and
intelligible words which he uttered before
expiring were ' Cochon de frère!'—'Pig of a
brother! ' Those words were the cause of François's
condemnation."

"And well they might be."

"They might merely be the delirious expression
of his habitual train of thought. There were
marks of footprints brought as evidence against
François. His counsel insisted that the shoes in
question should be tried on the father, who
refused. They were tried on by force, and found
to fit him perfectly. After François's condemnation
there came out very grave charges against
the father, a man of fierce passions and moody
temper. The whole family were thrown into
prison—father, mother, sisters and all. I hold
that, for his mother's sake, François had said
nothing against his father. I believe him to
have been a martyr, sacrificing himself and
letting matters take their course on her account.
The father hung himself in prison."

"Very strange that, if he had done no wrong."

"The family were immediately set at liberty.
The father's suicide was construed into a
confession of guilt. From that moment everybody
believed in the innocence of the convicted
prisoner. It is certain that if the suicide had
preceded instead of following the condemnation, it
would have been productive of the same benefit
to the convict as it was to the rest of the family.
But it happened too late. Judgment had been
pronounced, and could not be reversed. He was
first sent to Brest, where he figured under the
singular No. of 333,550. He is now, as I have
told you, at Toulon. By great exertions his
sentence has been remitted from hard labour for
life to a limited period—an immense alleviation.
But he has still four years to remain in confinement.
We are trying further to diminish that.
As to the labour, he has been relieved of it by
being classed with the ' incurables.' See him at
Toulon. Your visit may possibly do good."

Before starting, Fourrier's mother and sister,
apprised of my intention, came to meet me at
the avocat's house. The first, a hale, apple-
cheeked old woman, could hardly speak for
emotion; but, without asking leave, kissed me
affectionately, as if I were her child himself.
The sister, a tidy, middle-aged, hard-working
woman, burst into tears as soon as she entered
the room, seized my hand, and stammered out as