e afterward."

A terrible thought made her pause. Martial would return with Marie-Anne;
who could say that it would not be he who would drink the contents of
the bowl.

"God shall decide!" she murmured. "It is better one's husband should be
dead than belong to another!"

And with a firm hand, she took up one of the vials.

Since her entrance into the cottage Blanche had scarcely been conscious
of her acts. Hatred and despair had clouded her brain like fumes of
alcohol.

But when her hand came in contact with the glass containing the deadly
drug, the terrible shock dissipated her bewilderment; she regained
the full possession of her faculties; the power of calm deliberation
returned.

This is proved by the fact that her first thought was this:

"I am ignorant even of the name of the poison which I hold. What dose
must I administer, much or little?"

She opened the vial, not without considerable difficulty, and poured
a few grains of its contents into the palm of her hand. It was a fine,
white powder, glistening like pulverized glass, and looking not unlike
sugar.

"Can it really be sugar?" she thought.

Resolved to ascertain, she moistened the tip of her finger, and
collected upon it a few atoms of the powder which she placed upon her
tongue.

The taste was like that of an extremely acid apple.

Without hesitation, without remorse, without even turning pale, she
poured into the bowl the entire contents of the vial.

Her self-possession was so perfect, she even recollected that the powder
might be slow in dissolving, and she stirred it gently for a moment or
more.

Having done this--she seemed to think of everything--she tasted
the bouillon. She noticed a slightly bitter taste, but it was not
sufficiently perceptible to awaken distrust.

Now Mme. Blanche breathed freely. If she could succeed in making her
escape she was avenged.

She was going toward the door when a sound on the stairs startled her.

Two persons were ascending the staircase.

Where should she go? where could she conceal herself?

She was now so sure she would be detected that she almost decided to
throw the bowl into the fire, and then boldly face the intruders.

But no--a chance remained--she darted into the dressing-room. She dared
not close the door; the least click of the latch would have betrayed
her.

Marie-Anne entered the chamber, followed by a peasant, bearing a large
bundle.

"Ah! here is my candle!" she exclaimed,