The other two bent their heads in sign of assent.
He lighted a candle, carefully separated the pages
containing the damaging confession from those relating
to the disposition of money, then he held them over
the candle and threw them into the fireplace.
And they watched the white sheets as they burned,
till they were presently reduced to little crumbling
black heaps. And as some words were still visible
in white tracing, the daughter, with little strokes
of the toe of her shoe, crushed the burning paper,
mixing it with the old ashes in the fireplace.
Then all three stood there watching it for some time,
as if they feared that the destroyed secret might
escape from the fireplace.
I recalled this horrible story, the events of which
occurred long ago, and this horrible woman, the other
day at a fashionable seaside resort, where I saw on
the beach a well-known young, elegant and charming
Parisienne, adored and respected by everyone.
I had been invited by a friend to pay him a visit
in a little provincial town. He took me about
in all directions to do the honors of the place, showed
me noted scenes, chateaux, industries, ruins.
He pointed out monuments, churches, old carved doorways,
enormous or distorted trees, the oak of St. Andrew,
and the yew tree of Roqueboise.
When I had exhausted my admiration and enthusiasm
over all the sights, my friend said with a distressed
expression on his face, that there was nothing left
to look at. I breathed freely. I would now
be able to rest under the shade of the trees.
But, all at once, he uttered an exclamation:
“Oh, yes! We have the ‘Mother of
Monsters’; I must take you to see her.”
“Who is that, the ’Mother of Monsters’?”
I asked.
“She is an abominable woman,” he replied,
“a regular demon, a being who voluntarily brings
into the world deformed, hideous, frightful children,
monstrosities, in fact, and then sells them to showmen
who exhibit such things.
“These exploiters of freaks come from time to
time to find out if she has any fresh monstrosity,
and if it meets with their approval they carry it
away with them, paying the mother a compensation.
“She has eleven of this description. She
is rich.
“You think I am joking, romancing, exaggerating.
No, my friend; I am telling you the truth, the exact
truth.
“Let us go and see this woman. Then I will
tell you her history.”
He took me into one of the suburbs. The woman
lived in a pretty little house by the side of the
road. It was attractive and well kept. The
garden was filled with fragrant flowers. One might
have supposed it to be the residence of a retired
lawyer.
A maid ushered us into a sort of little country parlor,
and the wretch appeared. She was about forty.
She was a tall, big woman with hard features, but
well formed, vigorous and healthy, the true type of
a robust peasant woman, half animal, and half woman.
