ne as exactly as she
could. There were nine powders in all. To produce the symptoms of
poisoning in herself, she had taken four from her old supply, that
evening. Half of nine would be four and a half, and that would not be
too much. She mixed enough wet sugar and gum with each little pile to
fill one of each of the smaller moulds, pressing the sticky mass firmly
into the paper.

When all was finished, she carefully cleaned the marble top of the
chest of drawers, and threw what little of the coarser powder remained
into the ashes of the fire, in which a few coals still glowed. The heat
would consume the powder immediately.

Having done this, she set the three little moulds on the warm marble
hearthstone to dry, took the remainder of the package of coarser powder,
twisted the stiff paper closely, so that it should not open, took the
stockings from the keyholes, and, candle in hand, left the room, locking
the door softly behind her. She made no noise as she traversed the dim
rooms, in her felt slippers; but she avoided the yellow drawing-room and
passed through a passage behind it. Her nerves were singularly good, but
since Bosio's death she did not like to be alone in that room at night.
Bosio had been fond of dabbling in spiritism and such things, and they
had often talked about the possibility of coming back after death, in
that very room, promising each other that, if it were possible, the one
who died first would try to communicate with the other. Matilde turned
aside from the room in which they had said those things to each other.

She walked more and more cautiously as she came to the other end of the
long apartment, where Veronica lived, and she stopped in a dark corridor
before the door of Elettra's room. It was not ajar this time, but
closed. Matilde did not hesitate, and began to turn the handle very
slowly. Then she pushed the door and looked in, shading her candle with
her hand, from her eyes, so as to look over it. She had determined, if
she found the woman in bed, to wake her boldly, to say that she felt ill
again and to tell her to go and heat some water. That would have taken
some time. But Elettra was not there, and the bed, as usual of late, was
untouched.

Matilde looked about her hastily, at the same time extracting the
package from the wide pocket of her dressing-gown. The furniture was
scant and simple--the bed, a table covered with things belonging to
Veronica, beside which lay sewing-materials