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12, 1862.] Lenoir had put into writing the chief facts contained in his recital to Martin. This written statement, although it comprised a history of the career of the Frenchman by no means without interest and value, it is not necessary to set out here in detail, its connection with the chief characters of our narrative being often too remote and undefined. Monsieur Lenoir had moreover strengthened the especially important points of his statement by the production of evidence from various quarters. At a later period he obtained a letter from Regine, confirming all he had related in regard to her. She had been taken to the Charing Cross Hospital, and while still suffering acutely from the effects of her recent accident, had dictated a letter, to which she was able with some exertion to add her signature, and in which she confessed her share in the deception that had been practised, and besought pardon of all concerned for her fraud and wickedness.

It will be convenient for our purpose to consider the statement of Lenoir, and the letter of Regine, as one source from which we may derive a brief explanation of such of the foregoing facts as may appear to need elucidation. In truth, such details as we propose to give are obtained now from one, now from the other, of these documents—occasionally, indeed, from both—but it will not be necessary to trace back each fact to its specific author. As a whole, the following summary of information may be received as substantially authentic and complete.

René Lenoir, the son of respectable parents of the bourgeois class, had commenced life as a student of medicine at Paris. His habits were not very orderly. Soon he was a prisoner for debt at Clichy. There he formed an important acquaintance. There was a gentleman also confined for debt during Lenoir’s sojourn at Clichy, who was of some fame as a composer and musical director. Lenoir had a passion for music, and an excellent barytone voice. The composer had also a passion for having his boots brilliantly polished. The captives came to a definite understanding and agreement—Lenoir blacked the composer’s boots, the composer undertook the musical education of Lenoir. Released in due course from Clichy, Lenoir found that return to Paris, and continuance of his studies, would be as unavailing, as unattractive. His parents were dead, and they had left no money for their son. He joined a vagrant troupe of vocalists. Ultimately he crossed the frontier—for reasons best known to himself—and was soon a member of the chorus of the Grand Opera at Brussels; and also, it should be stated, one of the choir of the church of Saint Etienne du Mont, in that city. He was prosperous. He was now and then promoted to a small part in the opera—he was occasionally entrusted with a solo in one of the anthems sung at Saint Etienne du Mont. Years went by; he made progress as a singer. Meanwhile, he enjoyed himself after his wont, and, smoking his pipe at the window of his most ill-furnished mansarde, contemplated the sports of the young ladies, scholars at a neighbouring pension.

Lenoir was of a susceptible nature, was an admirer of the sex. In due time he found himself deeply fascinated with one of his young neighbours—slight, small, a brunette with superb eyes. He wrote a sonnet to her eyebrows, wrapped the lines round a bonbon, and flung the parcel at the feet of the young lady. She read the verse, and ate the confectionary; it would be hard to say which she liked the best. She was young; and probably her digestive organs, both mental and physical, were sound, strong, and good. She could not throw back other verse and bonbon, for her lover’s mansarde was up too high; but she replied appreciatingly—lovingly—with her eyes, and the mode of answer seemed to be quite as efficacious. Lenoir was charmed; and he never rested until he had become the accepted lover of Mademoiselle Regine Stephanie Pichot; more, until he had carried her off from the pension and made her his wife. The ceremony was performed by a not too respectable priest attached to the church of Saint Etienne du Mont. There was little difficulty about the matter. The young lady was an English subject, the daughter of English subjects; why should she not marry, if she so chose, even a member of the chorus of the opera—of the choir of St. Etienne? Of course Madame Latour, mistress of the pension, was very angry; but what did that matter? Her pupil was already sharing the mansarde of the husband.

Official proof of his marriage was annexed to Monsieur Lenoir’s statement.

For a very short time the newly married couple were very happy indeed; they spent all the money they had in the world; they exhausted all their credit—that was soon done—they enjoyed themselves immensely. But they made mutual discoveries; the husband found that his wife had a temper that was not always angelic; the wife that her husband was idle, dissolute, poor. Soon it became necessary that Madame Lenoir should work in aid of the funds of the household. When Madame Pichot arrived from England to remove Regine from school, the young lady was found to be not only married, but also a promising figurante in the ballet of the Grand Opera, her husband being one of the best basses in the chorus of the same establishment.

Of course, there was a tremendous scene, into the particulars of which it is not advisable to enter. And Madame Pichot did not spare Madame Latour; the pension was ruined. Next, Monsieur Lenoir found himself again in prison, thanks, probably, to the connivance of his mother-in-law. Regine was taken to England, to enter the Harley Street house of Colonel Hugh Hadfield, and to meet there, for the first time, another lover, the Colonel’s nephew, Wilford Hadfield. Lenoir came out of prison, after some time; he missed his wife a good deal at first, but he consoled himself. He had forfeited his engagement at the opera; he had only one mouth to feed now—it was quite as well. He returned to Paris; to become eventually a member of the French police, distinguished for his intelligence, versatility, and utter want of either heart or principle. When next he heard of his wife she was living in London; he wrote to her repeatedly. At one time he almost began to think his passion for her