have recalled
the soul of Caroline, could she have been conscious of it. But all was
well with her now; not in the sense of the last joyous syllables she
spoke in life, but in a higher, holier sense, as when God interprets our
words, and not men, all was well with her now.

The gaunt, iron-visaged woman knelt down upon her knees, gazing with
unshrinking eyes upon the face of her victim, as if curiously marking
the effect of a successful experiment of the aqua tofana.

It was the first time she had ever dared to administer that subtle
poison in the fashion of La Borgia.

"The aqua tofana does its work like a charm!" muttered she. "That vial
was compounded by Beatrice Spara, and is worthy of her skill and more
sure than her stiletto! I was frantic to use that weapon, for no purpose
than to redden my hands with the work of a low bravo!"

A few drops of blood were on the hand of La Corriveau. She wiped them
impatiently upon the garment of Caroline, where it left the impress of
her fingers upon the snowy muslin. No pity for her pallid victim, who
lay with open eyes looking dumbly upon her, no remorse for her act
touched the stony heart of La Corriveau.

The clock of the Chateau struck one. The solitary stroke of the bell
reverberated like an accusing voice through the house, but failed to
awaken one sleeper to a discovery of the black tragedy that had just
taken place under its roof.

That sound had often struck sadly upon the ear of Caroline, as she
prolonged her vigil of prayer through the still watches of the night.
Her ear was dull enough now to all earthly sound! But the toll of
the bell reached the ear of La Corriveau, rousing her to the need of
immediately effecting her escape, now that her task was done.

She sprang up and looked narrowly around the chamber. She marked with
envious malignity the luxury and magnificence of its adornments. Upon a
chair lay her own letter sent to Caroline by the hands of Mere Malheur.
La Corriveau snatched it up. It was what she sought. She tore it in
pieces and threw the fragments from her; but with a sudden thought, as
if not daring to leave even the fragments upon the floor, she gathered
them up hastily and put them in her basket with the bouquet of roses,
which she wrested from the dead fingers of Caroline in order to carry it
away and scatter the fatal flowers in the forest.

She pulled open the drawers of the escritoire to search for money, but
finding none, was too wary