And so time passed, and the beautiful and ever sweet and charming Madame Lalaurie—­whether sane or insane we leave to the doctors, except Dr. Lalaurie—­continued to drive daily, yearly, on the gay Bayou Road, to manage her business affairs, and to gather bright groups around her tempting board, without their suspicion that she kept her cook in the kitchen by means of a twenty-four-foot chain fastened to her person and to the wall or floor.

And yet let this be said to the people’s credit, that public suspicion and indignation steadily grew.  But they were still only growing when one day, the both of April, 1834, the aged cook,—­she was seventy,—­chained as she was, purposely set the house on fire.  It is only tradition that, having in a dream the night before seen the drawing-room window curtains on fire, she seized the happy thought and made the dream a reality.  But it is in the printed record of the day that she confessed the deed to the mayor of the city.

The desperate stratagem succeeds.  The alarm of fire spreads to the street and a hundred men rush, in, while a crowd throngs the streets.  Some are neighbors, some friends, some strangers.  One is M. Montreuil, the gentleman who has so long been watching his chance to bring the law upon the house and its mistress.  Young D——­, a notary’s clerk, is another.  And another is Judge Cononge—­Aha!  And there are others of good and well-known name!

The fire has got a good start; the kitchen is in flames; the upper stories are filling with smoke.  Strangers run to the place whence it all comes and fall to fighting the fire.  Friends rally to the aid of Monsieur and Madame Lalaurie.  The pretty lady has not lost one wit—­is at her very best.  Her husband is as passive as ever.

“This way,” she cries; “this way!  Take this—­go, now, and hurry back, if you please.  This way!” And in a moment they are busy carrying out, and to places of safety, plate, jewels, robes, and the lighter and costlier pieces of furniture.  “This way, please, gentlemen; that is only the servants’ quarters.”

The servants’ quarters—­but where are the servants?

Madame’s answers are witty but evasive.  “Never mind them now—­save the valuables!”

Somebody touches Judge Canonge—­“Those servants are chained and locked up and liable to perish.”

“Where?”

“In the garret rooms.”

He hurries towards them, but fails to reach them, and returns, driven back and nearly suffocated by the smoke.  He looks around him—­this is no sketch of the fancy; we have his deposition sworn before a magistrate next day—­and sees some friends of the family.  He speaks to them: 

“I am told”—­so and so—­“can it be?  Will you speak to Monsieur or to Madame?” But the friends repulse him coldly.