et drawers and invisible concealments for things dangerous and
forbidden.

It had once belonged to Antonio Exili, who had caused it to be made,
ostensibly for the safe-keeping of his cabalistic formulas and alchemic
preparations, when searching for the philosopher's stone and the elixir
of life, really for the concealment of the subtle drugs out of which his
alembics distilled the aqua tofana and his crucibles prepared the poudre
de succession.

In the most secret place of all were deposited, ready for use, a few
vials of the crystal liquid, every single drop of which contained the
life of a man, and which, administered in due proportion of time and
measure, killed and left no sign, numbering its victim's days, hours,
and minutes, exactly according to the will and malignity of his
destroyer.

La Corriveau took out the vials, and placed them carefully in a casket
of ebony not larger than a woman's hand. In it was a number of small
flaskets, each filled with pills like grains of mustard-seed, the
essence and quintessence of various poisons, that put on the appearance
of natural diseases, and which, mixed in due proportion with the aqua
tofana, covered the foulest murders with the lawful ensigns of the angel
of death.

In that box of ebony was the sublimated dust of deadly nightshade, which
kindles the red fires of fever and rots the roots of the tongue. There
was the fetid powder of stramonium, that grips the lungs like an asthma;
and quinia, that shakes its victims like the cold hand of the miasma of
the Pontine marshes. The essence of poppies, ten times sublimated, a few
grains of which bring on the stupor of apoplexy; and the sardonic plant,
that kills its victim with the frightful laughter of madness on his
countenance.

The knowledge of these and many more cursed herbs, once known to Medea
in the Colchian land, and transplanted to Greece and Rome with the
enchantments of their use, had been handed, by a long succession of
sorcerers and poisoners, down to Exili and Beatrice Spara, until they
came into the possession of La Corriveau, the legitimate inheritrix of
this lore of hell.

Before closing the cabinet, La Corriveau opened one more secret drawer,
and took out, with a hesitating hand, as if uncertain whether to do so
or no, a glittering stiletto, sharp and cruel to see. She felt the point
of it mechanically with her thumb; and, as if fascinated by the touch,
placed it under her robe. "I may have need of it