hes, though they will partake of them at a pinch.

There came a step outside the door, and the thief leaped down with some
haste, yet not quite in time to escape observation. Mlle. O'Hara came
in, breathing terrible threats.

"Has that wretched animal touched your coffee?" she cried. "I hope not."
But Ste. Marie laughed weakly from his bed, and the guilty beast stood
in mid-floor, brown drops beading its black chin and hanging upon its
whiskers.

"I did what I could, Mademoiselle," said Ste. Marie, "but there was
nothing to throw. I am sorry to be the cause of so much trouble."

"It is nothing," said she. "I will bring some more coffee, only it will
take ten minutes, because I shall have to make some fresh." She made as
if she would smile a little in answer to him, but her face turned grave
once more and she went out of the room with averted eyes.

Thereafter Ste. Marie occupied himself with watching idly the movements
of the black cat, and, as he watched, something icy cold began to grow
within him, a sensation more terrible than he had ever known before. He
found himself shivering as if that summer day had all at once turned to
January, and he found that his face was wet with a chill perspiration.

When the girl at length returned she found him lying still, his face to
the wall. The black cat was in her path as she crossed the room, so that
she had to thrust it out of the way with her foot, and she called it
names for moving with such lethargy.

"Here is the coffee at last," she said. "I made it fresh. And I have
brought some brioches. Will you sit up and have the tray on your knees?"

"Thank you," said Ste. Marie. "I do not wish anything."

"You do not--" she repeated after him. "But I have made the coffee
especially for you," she protested. "I thought you wanted it. I don't
understand."

With a sudden movement the man turned toward her a white and drawn face.

"Mademoiselle," he cried, "it would have been more merciful to let your
gardener shoot again yesterday. Much more merciful, Mademoiselle."

She stared at him under her straight, black brows.

"What do you mean?" she demanded. "More merciful? What do you mean by
that?"

Ste. Marie stretched out a pointing finger, and the girl followed it.
She gave, after a tense instant, a single, sharp scream. And upon that:

"No, no! It's not true! It's not possible!"

Moving stiffly, she set down the bowl she carried, and the hot liquid
splashed up round he