ng time. My life is thine,
and all that is of me comes from thee. A few drops of thy rich and noble
blood, more precious and more potent than all the elixirs of the earth,
have given me back life.'

This scene long haunted my memory, and inspired me with strange
doubts in regard to Clarimonde; and the same evening, when slumber had
transported me to my presbytery, I beheld the Abbe Serapion, graver
and more anxious of aspect than ever. He gazed attentively at me, and
sorrowfully exclaimed: 'Not content with losing your soul, you now
desire also to lose your body. Wretched young man, into how terrible
a plight have you fallen!' The tone in which he uttered these words
powerfully affected me, but in spite of its vividness even that
impression was soon dissipated, and a thousand other cares erased it
from my mind. At last one evening, while looking into a mirror whose
traitorous position she had not taken into account, I saw Clarimonde in
the act of emptying a powder into the cup of spiced wine which she had
long been in the habit of preparing after our repasts. I took the
cup, feigned to carry it to my lips, and then placed it on the nearest
article of furniture as though intending to finish it at my leisure.
Taking advantage of a moment when the fair one's back was turned, I
threw the contents under the table, after which I retired to my chamber
and went to bed, fully resolved not to sleep, but to watch and discover
what should come of all this mystery. I did not have to wait long,
Clarimonde entered in her nightdress, and having removed her apparel,
crept into bed and lay down beside me. When she felt assured that I
was asleep, she bared my arm, and drawing a gold pin from her hair,
commenced to murmur in a low voice:

'One drop, only one drop! One ruby at the end of my needle.... Since
thou lovest me yet, I must not die!... Ah, poor love! His beautiful
blood, so brightly purple, I must drink it. Sleep, my only treasure!
Sleep, my god, my child! I will do thee no harm; I will only take of thy
life what I must to keep my own from being for ever extinguished. But
that I love thee so much, I could well resolve to have other lovers
whose veins I could drain; but since I have known thee all other men
have become hateful to me.... Ah, the beautiful arm! How round it is!
How white it is! How shall I ever dare to prick this pretty blue vein!'
And while thus murmuring to herself she wept, and I felt her tears
raining on my arm