Zamara stepped sideways prepared for her, his black eyes gleamed living fire, his mouth was set like a vise; the poniard shook and flashed in his hand. “Have a care,” he said, in a low, sharp voice. “The point is poisoned with carroval; if it touches you, that black heart will never beat again.” Louison had heard of that fearful poison, which only the savages of Darien know how to prepare. One drop of which, penetrating the flesh, strikes death through the heart in a single moment—half an inch deep the point of that glittering blade was dulled by this resinous poison. The girl drew back horror-stricken, her lips bloodless, her cheeks white as snow. “Fiend!” she muttered, trembling in all her limbs. The dwarf laughed. “You see there are things more powerful than brute strength,” he said; “this one drop of resin makes the dwarf a giant. Now we can talk on equal terms. You want the letter in my bosom, and I am not unwilling that you should have it.” “Then why not give it to me at once?” “Because you are insolent—because you have treated me like a dog.” “It was but a jest,” said Louison, almost humbly. “Such jests do not suit me.” “Well, well, they shall not be repeated.” “Then I cannot work like a cur because I am told. My mistress was always munificent.” “Doubtless,” answered Louison, impatiently. “But I have no King of France to scatter gold at my feet; besides, in these times, safety is better than gold.” “But how is one sure that you can give safety? Let it be known that she is working in opposition to the great Mirabeau, and Louison Brisot will be more likely to want protection than the dwarf she dares to insult.” Louison seemed struck by this speech; for a moment her eyes fell, but directly her courage came back. “You cannot understand,” she said. “There is no man in the Assembly has so many bitter enemies as Mirabeau. One grave charge fastened upon him is enough to hurl him from power and blast his popularity.” “But who will you find more powerful? The next leader may not care to bend his will to that of a woman more than Count Mirabeau.” “You are sharp, Zamara, and wiser than I thought. Listen now. I do not wish to injure this man, but to—no matter what I wish.” “It is power through him, or revenge that you cannot get it. I understand,” said the dwarf, while a look of slow cunning stole over his swarthy face. Louison regarded him with astonishment. She had fallen into the mistake of measuring the creature’s intellect by his size, and thus thrown off her guard, had given him an insight into her character and motives, which might prove dangerous. “Zamara,” she said, with abrupt frankness, “I do not wish to use that letter against Mirabeau, but to secure him more firmly. Will you give it to me now, and for that purpose?” “No,” answered the dwarf, with a cunning smile. “I will keep it for the same purpose.” “Wretch!”