What to do, Karl did not know. He was naturally a stupid sort of lad,
and what little sense nature had given him, had been nearly beaten
out of him by harsh treatment. He had had a miserable life of it, and
had never found himself so comfortable as he was now with his aunt
and her husband. They were kind to him, because they wanted to make
use of him. He did not want to offend them, nor to leave them; for if
he did, he must return home again, which he dreaded above all things.
Yet there was something in him that recoiled against killing the
lady. Grossly ignorant as he was, scarcely knowing right from wrong,
it was not morality or religion that deterred him from the crime; he
had a very imperfect idea of the amount of the wickedness he would be
committing in taking away the life of a fellow-creature. Obedience
was the only virtue he had been taught; and what those in authority
over him had ordered him to do, he would have done without much
question. To kill his beauteous travelling companion, who had shown
him such kindness, was, however, repugnant to feelings he could not
explain even to himself. Yet he had not sufficient grasp of intellect to
know how he was to elude the performance of the task. The only
thing he could think of in the meanwhile was to take the charcoal out
of the stove; and he did it; after which he went to sleep, and left
the results to be developed by the morning.

He had been desired to rise early; and when he quitted his room, he
found Mazzuolo and his wife already stirring. They bade him go below
and send up breakfast, and to be careful that it was brought by the
people of the house. This was done; and when the waiter and the host
were present, Tina took the opportunity of knocking at Madame
Louison's door, and bidding her rise. To the great amazement of the
two Italians, she answered with alacrity that she was nearly dressed,