Certainly not—but are we prepared to
      say that there was not the frustrated design? Beyond St.
      Eustache, and perhaps Beauvais, we find no recognized, no open,
      no honorable suitors of Marie. Of none other is there any thing
      said. Who, then, is the secret lover, of whom the relatives (at
      least most of them) know nothing, but whom Marie meets upon the
      morning of Sunday, and who is so deeply in her confidence, that
      she hesitates not to remain with him until the shades of the
      evening descend, amid the solitary groves of the Barrière du
      Roule? Who is that secret lover, I ask, of whom, at least, most
      of the relatives know nothing? And what means the singular
      prophecy of Madame Rogêt on the morning of Marie’s departure?—‘I
      fear that I shall never see Marie again.’

      “But if we cannot imagine Madame Rogêt privy to the design of
      elopement, may we not at least suppose this design entertained by
      the girl? Upon quitting home, she gave it to be understood that
      she was about to visit her aunt in the Rue des Drômes and St.
      Eustache was requested to call for her at dark. Now, at first
      glance, this fact strongly militates against my suggestion;—but
      let us reflect. That she did meet some companion, and proceed
      with him across the river, reaching the Barrière du Roule at so
      late an hour as three o’clock in the afternoon, is known. But in
      consenting so to accompany this individual, (_for whatever
      purpose—to her mother known or unknown,_) she must have thought
      of her expressed intention when leaving home, and of the surprise
      and suspicion aroused in the bosom of her affianced suitor, St.
      Eustache, when, calling for her, at the hour appointed, in the
      Rue des Drômes, he should find that she had not been there, and
      when, moreover, upon returning to the pension with this alarming
      intelligence, he should become aware of her continued absence
      from home. She must have thought of these things, I say. She must
      have foreseen the chagrin of St. Eustache, the suspicion of all. She could not have thought of returning to brave this suspicion;
      but the suspicion becomes a point of trivial importance to her,
      if we suppose her not intending to return. “We may imagine her thinking thus—‘I am to meet a certain person
      for the purpose of elopement, or for certain other purposes known
      only to myself. It is necessary that there be no chance of
      interruption—there must be sufficient time given us to elude
      pursuit—I will give it to be understood that I shall visit and
      spend the day with my aunt at the Rue des Drômes—I well tell St.
      Eustache not to call for me until dark—in this way, my absence
      from home for the longest possible period, without causing
      suspicion or anxiety, will be accounted for, and I shall gain
      more time than in any other manner. If I bid St. Eustache call
      for me at dark, he will be sure not to call before; but, if I
      wholly neglect to bid him call, my time for escape will be
      diminished, since it will be expected that I return the earlier,
      and my absence will the sooner excite anxiety. Now, if it were my
      design to return at all—if I had in contemplation merely a stroll
      with the individual in question—it would not be my policy to bid
      St. Eustache call; for, calling, he will be sure to ascertain
      that I have played him false—a fact of which I might keep him for
      ever in ignorance, by leaving home without notifying him of my
      intention, by returning before dark, and by then stating that I
      had been to visit my aunt in the Rue des Drômes. But, as it is my
      design never to return—or not for some weeks—or not until certain
      concealments are effected—the gaining of time is the only point
      about which I need give myself any concern.’

      “You have observed, in your notes, that the most general opinion
      in relation to this sad affair is, and was from the first, that
      the girl had been the victim of a gang of blackguards. Now, the
      popular opinion, under certain conditions, is not to be
      disregarded. When arising of itself—when manifesting itself in a
      strictly spontaneous manner—we should look upon it as analogous
      with that _intuition_ which is the idiosyncrasy of the individual
      man of genius. In ninety-nine cases from the hundred I would
      abide by its decision. But it is important that we find no
      palpable traces of _suggestion_. The opinion must be rigorously
      _the public’s own_; and the distinction is often exceedingly
      difficult to perceive and to maintain. In the present instance,
      it appears to me that this ‘public opinion’ in respect to a gang,
      has been superinduced by the collateral event which is detailed
      in the third of my extracts. All Paris is excited by the
      discovered corpse of Marie, a girl young, beautiful and
      notorious. This corpse is found, bearing marks of violence, and
      floating in the river. But it is now made known that, at the very
      period, or about the very period, in which it is supposed that
      the girl was assassinated, an outrage similar in nature to that
      endured by the deceased, although less in extent, was
      perpetuated, by a gang of young ruffians, upon the person of a
      second young female. Is it wonderful that the one known atrocity
      should influence the popular judgment in regard to the other
      unknown? This judgment awaited direction, and the known outrage
      seemed so opportunely to afford it! Marie, too, was found in the
      river; and upon this very river was this known outrage committed. The connexion of the two events had about it so much of the
      palpable, that the true wonder would have been a failure of the
      populace to appreciate and to seize it. But, in fact, the one
      atrocity, known to be so committed, is, if any thing, evidence
      that the other, committed at a time nearly coincident, was not so
      committed. It would have been a miracle indeed, if, while a gang
      of ruffians were perpetrating, at a given locality, a most
      unheard-of wrong, there should have been another similar gang, in
      a similar locality, in the same city, under the same
      circumstances, with the same means and appliances, engaged in a
      wrong of precisely the same aspect, at precisely the same period
      of time! Yet in what, if not in this marvellous train of
      coincidence, does the accidentally suggested opinion of the
      populace call upon us to believe? “Before proceeding farther, let us consider the supposed scene of
      the assassination, in the thicket at the Barrière du Roule. This
      thicket, although dense, was in the close vicinity of a public
      road.