The Marchioness was not yet hardened enough to receive this announcement with equanimity; and the lovers were still discussing the _pros_ and _cons_ of it, when they were surprised by Monsieur d'Aubray, who, entering by a secret door, "stood looking on the scene before him." Any doubts of guilty intimacy, if he had any, were dispelled; and, after ordering his daughter to her chamber, he turned to Sainte-Croix, and said: "'Monsieur de Sainte-Croix, I will provide you with a lodging where you will run no risk of compromising the honour of a noble family.'" And so saying, he produced a _lettre de cachet_, armed with which the exempts, who were waiting for him, speedily deposited M. de Sainte-Croix at the Bastille. The Marchioness, separated from her children and her husband, was exiled to Offremont, a family place some distance from Paris. Here she lived with her father, who so entirely believed in her repentance and determination to lead a new life that he proposed a speedy return to Paris. "'I have no wish to go, _mon père_,' replied the hypocrite; 'I would sooner remain here with you--for ever!'" After much talk and reiterated professions of sorrow for the past, the Marchioness says, in reply to her father's order that "she shall never speak to Sainte-Croix--who had been released from the Bastille--or recognise him again: "'You shall be obeyed, monsieur--too willingly.'" The words had not long left her lips when she placed a lamp in the window of the room, to guide her lover to a prearranged assignation. The awful interview that followed is described in Mr. Smith's book. The greater villain ran the risk of interruption in his lengthened arguments in favour of parricide; but hearing approaching footsteps, Sainte-Croix hurried away. [Illustration] M. d'Aubray had gone to bed. A servant suggested the night-drink. "'I will give it to him myself, Jervais,' said the Marchioness." Taking a jug from the man, she poured the contents into an old cup of thin silver; then, "with a hurried glance round the room, she broke the seals of the packet Sainte-Croix had left in her hands, and shook a few grains of its contents into the beverage. No change was visible; a few bubbles rose and broke upon the surface, but this was all." Sleep had surprised M. d'Aubray. His daughter touched him lightly, and he "awoke with the exclamation of surprise attendant upon being suddenly disturbed from sleep. "'I have brought your wine, _mon père_,' said the murderess. "'Thanks, thanks, my good girl,' said the old man, as he raised himself up in bed, and took the cup from the Marchioness. He drank off the contents, and then, once more bestowing a benediction upon his daughter, turned again to his pillow."