Upstairs, as Finette hurriedly flung the rich robes of her mistress into the trunks, bitter recriminations passed between mistress and servant. “Do you think I’m going to follow the likes of you, bad as I am?” snarled the maid. “You are no better than I am. Remember that you ran away from Paris because you poisoned your husband!” Camille sneered, and the woman grew livid. “How do you know?” she questioned, with a start of fear. “I know many things more with which to refresh your memory, if you persist in your insolence,” Camille retorted, angrily; and a sullen silence ensued, at which the proud mistress began to be frightened. What if Finette were to desert her now, when, by her wicked madness, she had alienated every living soul from her? when she was alone in the world but for this creature who had aided and abetted her in all of her wicked schemes, helping her to make shipwreck of her soul for the sake of the gold with which she could reward her confederate? In abject terms she begged her servant not to forsake her, promising that they should sail at once for France, or anywhere that the woman wished, living together on equal terms, sharing alike in her wealth. “No longer my servant, but my companion, my only friend!” she wailed, abjectly, and Finette sullenly assented to her proposal. Presently the trunks of finery were all packed and corded, ready to be sent for, and the two women in their traveling-dresses moved cringingly down the stairway, Camille carrying on her arm the hand-satchel in which were deposited the wealth of splendid unset jewels that now represented her fortune. At the threshold of the door over which she had passed as a serpent, leaving a trail of venom on all it touched, she paused and looked back with a muttered curse toward the library whence came the murmur of happy voices. “Curse them! I hope I may find a chance to pay them back yet!” she hissed, malevolently, as she followed Finette down the steps to the broad, white-graveled path between the orange-trees. The rising moon threw a broad white light over everything, and for a minute the maid stopped short. “How happy they are at getting rid of us!” she ejaculated. “Listen to their happy laughter, miladi. You will never hear it again.” Camille paused and turned her head toward the sound of the happy voices that floated through the open library window, and then a most horrible thing happened. Finette Du Val, the treacherous maid, as if moved by some irresistible impulse or meditated villainy, suddenly snatched a shining dagger from her belt and plunged it to the hilt in Camille’s back. As she shrieked and fell, the murderess tore the satchel of jewels from her grasp, and fled wildly from the scene of her hideous crime.