The screaming rabble finally caught me just at the edge of the Seine. My feints with the dagger only held them off for a moment. They began beating me, but adrenaline rushed through my veins and I pulled away from them with a strength I scarce knew I possessed. I made a flying leap off the edge of the parapet into the water far below, for I could go nowhere else. Bent on killing me, the crazed lynch mob, who understood nothing of me, would not have their blood-lust fulfilled tonight.

I hit the water, diving down, down, many feet, holding my breath, then, after swimming as far as I could without breathing, I headed for the surface. I pulled out my Tonkin pipe, an apparatus which allows me to breathe whilst swimming underwater, albeit near the surface. It would not be discernible in the darkness from so great a distance.

I neared the far shore after swimming perhaps a mile downstream underwater. I pulled myself up on the rocks on the far side of the Seine. I noted that my hands were bruised and I suspected I was bruised all over, and I began to ache as I raced through the dark alleys. My cloak and all my clothing were soaking wet, but I ran as fast as I could, far away from the mob, hoping they would surmise I had perished in the river.

I pulled the hood of my cape far over my head to hide my face. I walked several hours until I reached the edge of town. I relaxed a bit as I saw the rural area before me. I continued to walk through the night for at least another two hours. Still I walked, becoming weary, but afraid to stop for I needed to travel as far away from the city as I could.

I realized I was very thirsty and saw a well. I sent the bucket down to fetch some water, drew it up and dipped the tin cup in it. I finished the cup and was dipping it again when a young woman from a cottage nearby ran over to me.

"Monsieur," she said, in friendly greeting. I quickly pulled the hood down over my face but she must have caught a glimpse in the moonlight. She started screaming wildly and ran toward the cottage, crying as she ran, "Un fantôme horrible!." I took to my heel and ran as quickly as the wind. I slowed down to a walk again, stopping to rest infrequently and avoiding any human contact.

I was becoming exhausted. I reached some steps leading down to a road, but my exhaustion was to be my downfall, literally. I missed a step and fell down the rest of them. When I attempted to arise, a searing pain in my right ankle stopped me. I crawled across the gravel road, hoping no horse, carriage or motor car would pass by and see me or trample me.

I reached the other side and rested for a moment. Then I continued on, crawling painfully. Where? I could not say. I tried to pull myself upright, but almost immediately I fell, for the ankle would not hold my weight. I crawled a few more yards, hot pain shooting through the ankle whenever I moved it. I could feel the foot was becoming swollen and I knew the ankle must be broken. And I began to realize that I would not be able to go much further.

A few yards more and I was at the top of a small rise. There were cottages in the distance. I could see quite well, for there was a full moon. But atop this rise was a small church yard. A few mausoleums and tomb stones were visible. I sat down painfully in the grass, my back against a tomb stone. I would be safe here, the dead were the only ones who did not run from me screaming, for I resembled them.

I did not want to be discovered by anyone who might come upon me and finish what the mob had started, so I pulled out the satin mask that I always carried with me in an inner pocket of the cloak. The mask was black on the outside lined with white satin on the inside which fit against my face. It was made of a rectangle of material which had two eye holes sewn into it and tied about my forehead on the top and about my throat on the bottom. My black opera cap fit comfortably over the top of my head and held the mask on. I carried it at all times when I was away from my home.

My clothes were still a bit damp and smelled dank and fishy. An intensely cold breeze came up and I began to shiver. In the moonlight, I looked again at the bruises on my hands where the crowd had attacked me and I began to be more aware of the pain from the beating. I began to shake uncontrollably. I pulled my damp cloak about me. An illness seemed to come over me. I felt dizzy and nauseated. I closed my eyes, but could not shut out the thoughts of the last few weeks. I must have gone into delirium. At this moment, I wanted only to die, to leave my wretched existence behind. I remembered nothing more.


The sunlight was bright. It was early afternoon and Rémy Tessier was playing, a short distance from his home. His tutor had completed his lessons early today, and he was enjoying the warm day as he played by himself. One of his favourite games was to play make believe in the churchyard, where no one would stop him from shrieking, running and jumping in his play. His active imagination led him to create many fearsome beasts and foes of all kinds to defeat and become the hero.

Rémy's mother told him not to wander far, but he rarely listened to that rule. And he always came back on time, so she never worried.

Rémy played his favourite game of being chased by a huge lion. He had a wooden sword that he aimed at the imaginary beast. He lunged and parried with the toy sword, then retreated backward...and fell over something. It was a large tree branch laying on the ground. He stood up, then jumped in fright, when he saw a figure dressed in black, sitting against a tombstone.

Rémy, the brave little boy with the huge imagination, pointed his sword at the figure and cried loudly, "En garde, Monsieur!" The figure groaned and moved a bit.

Coming out of my swoon, I opened my eyes, startled a bit at a loud cry just in front of me. I could see a child with a wooden sword pointed at me, but in my delirium, it made little impression on my brain. My head hurt unbearably and my ankle shot fierce white-hot pain through my leg. I could barely move.

I forced my eyes to focus a bit on the small figure before me. Yes, I wanted to die, but conversely I also wanted to live.

"Child," I said, in a weak voice,"Would you be able to bring me some water?"

"Monsieur?" asked the child. "Are you alive?"

"Yes, for now..." I answered. "Please could you bring me some water?"

The child seemed to come to his senses and ran off without a word. I closed my eyes again and leaned my head against the tombstone behind me. I touched it and said, "I fear I shall be joining you soon, my friend..."