"One terrible scream--a cry which, once heard, could never be forgotten--not that of agony, or terror, or surprise, but a shrill and violent indrawing of the breath, resembling rather the screech of some huge, hoarse bird of prey irritated to madness, than the sound of a human voice--broke from Gaudin's lips. Every muscle of his face was contorted into the most frightful form; he remained a second, and no more, wavering at the side of the furnace, and then fell heavily on the floor. He was dead." This terrible death-scene has found a perfect illustrator in John Leech. How admirable is the fiendish expression of the poisoner as he gloats over the body of his victim, which is drawn with a power and truthfulness altogether perfect! Every detail of the laboratory how skilfully introduced, how effectively rendered! The alchemist behaved on the occasion as might be expected. [Illustration] "He darted at the dead body like a beast of prey; and drew forth the bag of money, which he transferred to his own pouch. He next tore away every ornament of any value that adorned Gaudin's costly dress...." While at this congenial occupation, "the bristling halberts of the guard appeared. "'Back!' screamed Exili. 'Keep off, or I will slay you and myself, so that not one shall live to tell the tale! Your lives are in my hands,' continued the physician, 'and if you move one step forward they are forfeited.' "He darted through a doorway at the end of the room as he spoke, and disappeared. The guard pressed forward; but, as Exili passed out at the arch, a mass of timber descended like a portcullis and opposed their further progress. A loud and fiendish laugh sounded in the _souterrain_, which grew fainter and fainter, till they heard it no more." The poisoner escaped--for a time. He was captured afterwards, tried, and, of course, condemned to death--a merciful death compared with that which befell him on his way to execution at the hands of the infuriated people, by whom his guards were overpowered, and after being almost torn to pieces, he was thrown into the Seine. The toils were now closing round the miserable Marchioness de Brinvilliers. The wretched woman had reached the inconceivable condition of degradation said to be common to successful murderers when impunity has followed their first crimes--that of killing for killing's sake. She put on the clothes of a _religeuse_, attended the hospitals, and poisoned the patients. Their dying cries were music to her, their agonies afforded her the keenest pleasure. To the student of French criminal history this is no news. I note it here so that the historian of the woman's crimes should not be thought to have invented incidents that existed only in his imagination. Mr. Smith had the best authority for all the murders with which he charges Madame de Brinvilliers.