“The man was Olofernes.  The woman was Judith.  From the head, from the trunk, the water gushed.  It was the taste of the doctor:—­was it not a droll of taste?

“At the end of the garden was the doctor’s cabinet of study.  My faith, a singular cabinet, and singular pictures!—­

“Decapitation of Charles Premier at Vitehall.

“Decapitation of Montrose at Edimbourg.

“Decapitation of Cinq Mars.  When I tell you that he was a man of taste, charming!

“Through this garden, by these statues, up these stairs, went the pale figure of him who, the porter said, knew the way of the house.  He did.  Turning neither right nor left, he seemed to walk through the statues, the obstacles, the flower beds, the stairs, the door, the tables, the chairs.

“In the corner of the room was that instrument, which Guillotin had just invented and perfected.  One day he was to lay his own head under his own ax.  Peace be to his name!  With him I deal not!

“In a frame of mahogany, neatly worked, was a board with a half circle in it, over which another board fitted.  Above was a heavy ax, which fell—­you know how.  It was held up by a rope, and when this rope was untied, or cut, the steel fell.

“To the story which I now have to relate, you may give credence, or not, as you will.  The sleeping man went up to that instrument.

“He laid his head in it, asleep.”

“Asleep?”

“He then took a little penknife out of the pocket of his white dimity waistcoat.

“He cut the rope asleep.

“The ax descended on the head of the traitor and villain.  The notch in it was made by the steel buckle of his stock, which was cut through.

“A strange legend has got abroad that after the deed was done, the figure rose, took the head from the basket, walked forth through the garden, and by the screaming porters at the gate, and went and laid itself down at the Morgue.  But for this I will not vouch.  Only of this be sure.  ’There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio, than are dreamed of in your philosophy.’  More and more the light peeps through the chinks.  Soon, amidst music ravishing, the curtain will rise, and the glorious scene be displayed.  Adieu!  Remember me.  Ha! ’tis dawn,” Pinto said.  And he was gone.

I am ashamed to say that my first movement was to clutch the check which he had left with me, and which I was determined to present the very moment the bank opened.  I know the importance of these things, and that men change their mind sometimes.  I sprang through the streets to the great banking house of Manasseh in Duke Street.  It seemed to me as if I actually flew as I walked.  As the clock struck ten I was at the counter and laid down my check.

The gentleman who received it, who was one of the Hebrew persuasion, as were the other two hundred clerks of the establishment, having looked at the draft with terror in his countenance, then looked at me, then called to himself two of his fellow clerks, and queer it was to see all their aquiline beaks over the paper.