Marie-Anne made no reply. The poison was rapidly completing its work. The sufferer’s breath literally whistled as it forced its way through her inflamed throat. When she moved her tongue, it scorched her palate as if it had been a piece of hot iron; her lips were parched and swollen; and her hands, inert and paralysed, would no longer obey her will. But the horror of the situation restored Blanche’s calmness. “All is not yet lost,” she exclaimed. “It was in that great box there on the table that I found the white powder I poured into the bowl. You must know what it is; you must know the antidote.” Marie-Anne sadly shook her head. “Nothing can save me now,” she murmured, in an almost inaudible voice; “but I don’t complain. Who knows the misery from which death may preserve me? I don’t crave life; I have suffered so much during the past year; I have endured such humiliation; I have wept so much! A curse was on me!” She was suddenly endowed with that clearness of mental vision so often granted to the dying. She saw how she had wrought her own undoing by consenting to play the perfidious part her father had assigned her, and how she herself had paved the way for the slander, crimes, and misfortunes of which she had been the victim. Her voice grew fainter and fainter. Worn out with suffering, a sensation of drowsiness stole over her. She was falling asleep in the arms of death. But suddenly such a terrible thought found its way into her failing mind that she gasped with agony, “My child!” And then, regaining, by a superhuman effort as much will, energy, and strength, as the poison would allow her, she straitened herself in the arm-chair, and though her features were contracted by mortal anguish, yet with an energy of which no one would have supposed her capable, she exclaimed, “Blanche, listen to me. It is the secret of my life which I am going to reveal to you; no one suspects it. I have a son by Maurice. Alas! many months have elapsed since my husband disappeared. If he is dead, what will become of my child? Blanche, you, who have killed me, swear to me that you will be a mother to my child!” Blanche was utterly overcome. “I swear!” she sobbed; “I swear!” “On that condition, but on that condition alone, I pardon you. But take care! Do not forget your oath! Blanche, heaven sometimes allows the dead to avenge themselves. You have sworn, remember. My spirit will allow you no rest if you do not fulfil your vow!” “I will remember,” sobbed Blanche; “I will remember. But the child----” “Ah! I was afraid--cowardly creature that I was! I dreaded the shame--then Maurice insisted--I sent my child away--your jealousy and my death are the punishment of my weakness. Poor child! abandoned to strangers! Wretched woman that I am! Ah! this suffering is too horrible. Blanche, remember----”