ds as
if the ends of her fingers were trickling poison. "Death drops on
whomsoever I send it," said she, "so secretly and so subtly that the
very spirits of air cannot detect the trace of the aqua tofana."

Angelique listened with amaze, yet trembled with eagerness to hear more.
"What! La Corriveau, have you the secret of the aqua tofana, which the
world believes was burnt with its possessors two generations ago, on the
Place de Greve?"

"Such secrets never die," replied the poisoner; "they are too precious!
Few men, still fewer women, are there who would not listen at the
door of hell to learn them. The king in his palace, the lady in her
tapestried chamber, the nun in her cell, the very beggar on the street,
would stand on a pavement of fire to read the tablets which record the
secret of the aqua tofana. Let me see your hand," added she abruptly,
speaking to Angelique.

Angelique held out her hand; La Corriveau seized it. She looked intently
upon the slender fingers and oval palm. "There is evil enough in these
long, sharp spatulae of yours," said she, "to ruin the world. You are
worthy to be the inheritrix of all I know. These fingers would pick
fruit off the forbidden tree for men to eat and die! The tempter only is
needed, and he is never far off! Angelique des Meloises, I may one day
teach you the grand secret; meantime I will show you that I possess it."

CHAPTER XXXV. "FLASKETS OF DRUGS, FULL TO THEIR WICKED LIPS."

La Corriveau took the ebony casket from her bosom and laid it solemnly
on the table. "Do not cross yourself," she exclaimed angrily as she
saw Angelique mechanically make the sacred sign. "There can come no
blessings here. There is death enough in that casket to kill every man
and woman in New France."

Angelique fastened her gaze upon the casket as if she would have drawn
out the secret of its contents by the very magnetism of her eyes. She
laid her hand upon it caressingly, yet tremblingly--eager, yet fearful,
to see its contents.

"Open it!" cried La Corriveau, "press the spring, and you will see such
a casket of jewels as queens might envy. It was the wedding-gift of
Beatrice Spara, and once belonged to the house of Borgia--Lucrezia
Borgia had it from her terrible father; and he, from the prince of
demons!"

Angelique pressed the little spring,--the lid flew open, and there
flashed from it a light which for the moment dazzled her eyes with its
brilliancy. She thrust the casket fro