"Eh! I say she was mad like madame, her mother. I told her of the starvation; oh, but yes, certainly, I did say to her: 'Mademoiselle, if he lives, you will be taken to poorness. Kill him!' What would you, messieurs? I but say to her what myself I would do if in the same way. My suggestion with fear she received, and went weeping away. But again she sees the dear Melstane, and he tells her he will speak to her father. She implores, she kneels, but he is hard stone. I wish to have all the place to myself, so as to love this angel, and to Melstane I say: 'Go thou, my friend, to some town and tell the angel to follow thee. Then you can demand of monsieur the father what you will. He is enchanted, this dear Melstane, and to me speaks with pleasure: 'Eh, but the idea is too beautiful! This I will do, and if the father has any of the money, thou, my friend, will be to me as a brother.' When next he meets the dear child, he tells her of the plan. It is that he is to depart to Jarlcesterre, and there when writes he, she is to come. She says this she will do, but I, messieurs, eh! I smile to myself. In her heart she hates where once she loved. She has fear of the poorness. She says: 'I will myself kill this cruel one, and no one will know of him dying.' Behold, then, on the night before goes the dear Melstane, she comes to the pension. Myself I see her; I wait at the window and behold. She demands from my Sebastian what he has not, and to obtain it he goes from the apartment. Then in the box of pills on the table she places something. What I know not then, but now I am aware, it is the pills of morphia!" "Which you gave her, I suppose?" said Fanks, disgusted with the callous manner in which the scoundrel spoke. "Monsieur is wrong. The truth of the great God I now tell, and I know not where she obtained the death-pills." "I can explain that," interrupted Spolger, quickly. "Eh, truly, you were then more of the evil to the dear angel than myself. Well, messieurs, I repeat my story. The dear Melstane departs for Jarlcesterre, and I am free to love the angel; but I speak to her not. I see her not, I wait for the time to speak. One says she is to be the bride of the rich Spolgers. Eh, I laugh, but nothing I say to any one. Then by the mistake of the office of post I do receive the letters sent by this Monsieur Axton to Mees Varlins. I at first refuse, but when I behold I see the mark of Jarlcesterre and open the letters. In them this I discover." He threw a folded paper which he was holding in his hand on the table, and Fanks, opening it quickly, gave a cry of surprise. "A marriage certificate!" It certainly was, stating that a marriage had taken place in October between Sebastian Melstane, bachelor, and Florence Marson, spinster, at a registry office in London.