by exposure."A favourite poodle, perhaps, of the Duchesse de Berri--or one of our
eccentric Englishmen doing honour to a Pyrenean bear!" Such I thought it
might be, as I carelessly lounged up to it, and stooped to read the
inscription.It was in French and English. I took no copy of the words. But it was
placed there in memory of Mr. and Mrs. Easton, drowned in the lake,
within one month of their marriage, on the 20th of September, 18--! The
facts were simply stated. I wish the record of them had been placed a
little further off from the rendezvous of the thoughtless and
light-hearted.This was the last of my associations with her. But it would not interest
the reader, to be told with what feelings of surprise and sorrow I thus
learned the close of a career, which bid so fair for happiness and
usefulness. Poor Mary Verner!Before setting-off on my return to Cauterets, I heard, from the lips of
the man with whom I had been conversing, the sad particulars of this
harrowing event. Never could the common phrase, that speaks of "painful
curiosity," have been more applicable than it was in my case, as I stood
and listened to him. Poor fellow; he had been an eye-witness. He saw my
emotion. "Monsieur knew the young couple?"--thus did he break the thread
of his little narrative, more than once.I cannot pretend to set down his words. This is the substance of what he
told me.The season was nearly over. The weather was splendidly fine, but very
cold. Travellers were scarcely expected; when on that brilliant
September morning, up rode the bride and bridegroom. After resting
awhile, they took the single skiff that was there, Mr. Easton offering
to row his wife across the lake, to which she very reluctantly assented.
I recollect the narrator dwelling on this fact.The shore shelves off very rapidly. The water, in some parts, reaches to
the depth of three or four hundred feet. At all times it is of
marvellous clearness--as I observed myself--and, except during the heats
of summer, so piercingly cold, as to be altogether unbearable to the
swimmer.My informant helped them into the boat. Mr. Easton was evidently used to
the handling of oars. The tragedy was immediately--perhaps one should
say, ostensibly--caused by those two qualities of the water of the Lac
de Gaube, to which I have just alluded--its clearness and its coldness.The boat was at some considerable distance from the shore. The boatman
was watching them. Suddenly, Mr. Easton paused in his rowing. He and his
wife looked over the side, as though guessing at the depth. Mr. Easton
then stood up, and plunged one oar downwards into the water, with the
confident action of a man who is certain that he shall touch the bottom.
The transparency had deceived him. His oar met no resistance; and he
himself plunged heavily 

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