“Nevertheless, they will find me,” I repeated resolutely. “You do not know Monsieur d’Argenson.” “Do I not!” and she laughed horribly, with contorted face. “For fifteen years has he been seeking me, yet he has never found me. Nor will he ever find you, for you are well hidden, Monsieur; so well that Christ may not find you at Judgment. That would be horrible--not to get your reward for sleeping on the hard floor the other night, and leaving that pretty girl to go, pucelle, to our friend, Bri----” But she did not finish, for, mad with rage, I caught from the floor the vessel that had held the water, and dashed it full at her face. But quick as a flash, she bent aside, and the dish crashed against the wall behind her. She sat for a moment looking at me, a queer light in her eyes. “You love her, do you not, Monsieur?” she said quietly, at last. “Too bad your fate should bring you here, for there is no way out.” No way out! There was a finality in her tone that chilled me. I sat down again trembling, against the wall. “I bought the secret of this place at a price”--she paused, and her features became frightful, “at a price of body and soul,” she continued, hoarsely. “I had to have it--to save my life--I did not hesitate. Now, it is serving me once more, Monsieur. When I leave it to-morrow, for the last time, it will never again be opened.” I felt myself gazing, fascinated, over the edge of an abyss. “It is a very interesting place,” she went on, sneeringly. “The man of whom I--bought it--had been a scholar before he became a brute--I think it is your men of genius who fall the lowest when they fall--and he told me about it one day. He said that at one time this little island was all Paris, and that this cavern was hewn in the rock by some tyrant who ruled here then--a queer name he had--I have forgotten. Its very existence had been unknown for I know not how many centuries, until this beast I tell you of chanced upon the secret of the entrance there. A hundred men have eaten their hearts out, bound in that belt, sitting just where you are sitting.” I shuddered at the thought. I felt that my blood was chilled, that my manhood was slipping from me. “You will leave me here to starve, then?” I asked at last. “No, I will be merciful, Monsieur,” she answered. “I have no wish to torture you. I am, in a way, sorry for you. Before I go I will place by your side a cup of wine. You will drink the wine, and you will fall into a pleasant sleep from which you will never awaken.” “Oh, you fiend!” I groaned, sick at the thought. “You fiend!”