Poulailler, never famous for the constancy of his attachments, had wearied, at an early period, of the companion of his flight from Germany--but Wilhelmina was one of those women whose affections, once aroused, will not take No for an answer. She persisted in attaching herself to a man who had ceased to love her. Poulailler's patience became exhausted; he tried twice to rid himself of his unhappy mistress--once by the knife and once by poison--and failed on both occasions. For the third and last time, by way of attempting an experiment of another kind, he established a rival to drive the German woman out of the house. From that moment his fate was sealed. Maddened by jealous rage, Wilhelmina cast the last fragments of her fondness to the winds. She secretly communicated with the police--and Poulailler met his doom. A night was appointed with the authorities; and the robber was invited by his discarded mistress to a farewell interview. His contemptuous confidence in her fidelity rendered him careless of his customary precautions. He accepted the appointment; and the two supped together, on the understanding that they were henceforth to be friends, and nothing more. Towards the close of the meal, Poulailler was startled by a ghastly change in the face of his companion. "What is wrong with you?" he asked. "A mere trifle," she answered, looking at her glass of wine. "I can't help loving you still, badly as you have treated me. You are a dead man, Poulailler--and I shall not survive you." The robber started to his feet, and seized a knife on the table. "You have poisoned me?" he exclaimed. "No," she replied. "Poison is my vengeance on myself; not my vengeance on _you_. You will rise from this table as you sat down to it. But your evening will be finished in prison; and your life will be ended on the Wheel." As she spoke the words, the door was burst open by the police, and Poulailler was secured. The same night the poison did its fatal work; and his mistress made atonement with her life for the first, last, act of treachery which had revenged her on the man she loved. Once safely lodged in the hands of justice, the robber tried to gain time to escape in, by promising to make important disclosures. The manoeuvre availed him nothing. In those days, the Laws of the Land had not yet made acquaintance with the Laws of Humanity. Poulailler was put to the torture--was suffered to recover--was publicly broken on the Wheel--and was taken off it alive, to be cast into a blazing fire. By those murderous means, Society rid itself of a murderous man--and the idlers on the Boulevards took their evening stroll again in recovered security. * * * * *