“This old wretch,” I said to myself, “is the cause of it all; she alone has conceived these crimes, and has consummated them.  But by what means?  Has she had recourse to cunning alone, or has she obtained the intervention of invisible powers?” I walked to and fro in my retreat.  An inward voice cried out:  “It is not in vain that Providence permitted you to see Fledermausse contemplating the agonies of her victim.  It is not in vain that the soul of the poor young man came in the form of a butterfly of the night to awake you.  No, no; all this was not accidental, Christian.  The heavens impose upon you a terrible mission.  If you do not accomplish it, tremble lest you fall yourself into the hands of the old murderess!  Perhaps, at this moment, she is preparing her snares in the darkness.”

During several days these hideous images followed me without intermission.  I lost my sleep; it was impossible for me to do anything; my brush fell from my hand; and, horrible to confess, I found myself sometimes gazing at the crossbeam with a sort of complacency.  At last I could endure it no longer, and one evening I descended the ladder and hid myself behind the door of Fledermausse, hoping to surprise her fatal secret.

From that time no day passed in which I was not en route, following the old wretch, watching, spying, never losing sight of her; but she was so cunning, had a scent so subtile that, without even turning her head, she knew I was behind her.

However, she feigned not to perceive this; she went to the market, to the butcher’s, like any good, simple woman, only hastening her steps and murmuring confused words.

At the close of the month I saw that it was impossible for me to attain my object in this way, and this conviction made me inexpressibly sad.

“What can I do?” I said to myself.  “The old woman divines my plans; she is on her guard; every hope abandons me.  Ah! old hag, you think you already see me at the end of your rope.”  I was continually asking myself this question:  “What can I do? what can I do?” At last a luminous idea struck me.  My chamber overlooked the house of Fledermausse; but there was no window on this side.  I adroitly raised a slate, and no pen could paint my joy when the whole ancient building was thus exposed to me.  “At last, I have you!” I exclaimed; “you cannot escape me now; from here I can see all that passes—­your goings, your comings, your arts and snares.  You will not suspect this invisible eye—­this watchful eye, which will surprise crime at the moment it blooms.  Oh, Justice, Justice!  She marches slowly; but she arrives.”