Only too well she knew that once Gilardoni had said no, it would be impossible to persuade him to say yes. If these two men--he and his master--combined against her, adieu to her dazzling hopes. She had trusted that Gilardoni’s evident poverty would render him a willing accomplice to her nefarious scheme, and now she was furious at her failure. In the event of finding her husband utterly intractable, she had designed another and infinitely darker course, which she resolved to carry into execution. For a few moments she remained silent, ignoring Gilardoni’s direct question, and then she merely said: “Good-by, then! We shall probably never meet again. I defy you! I hope your spite may not be able to hurt me; but I do not fear you. My offer was made to save myself annoyance. Say what you can, the worst your vindictive fancy may invent, your words will be but empty air. Proof you have none. Go on your preposterous chase if you will. I care not.” She held out her hand mockingly. As she expected, Gilardoni refused to clasp it, and, in affected anger at his repulse, she struck him lightly, her closed fingers passing across his wrist. Then she turned, and, before Gilardoni had time either to speak or detain her, she had gained the road. The terrible deed she had contemplated being accomplished beyond human recall, the miserable woman was seized with a kind of terror and exhaustion. Having placed herself out of sight, she sat down by a great tree, creeping under its shelter so as to remain unseen by any one who might be passing. Daring to the last degree of recklessness in plotting, she yet lacked the iron nerves that were needed to support her in her criminal schemes. Faint and exhausted, she stayed here until some time after nightfall, and then fled toward the station. As Captain Desfrayne passed, she was unable to recognize him, his face and form being shrouded in darkness within the vehicle, and when he had alighted and pursued her, she had not dared to look back. Gilardoni had remained motionless when she left him, immersed in painful thoughts. “Good Heaven!” he said aloud; “and I once loved this woman! It would not be spite nor hate; but were she to trap any innocent man to his ruin, it would be my duty to speak.” He clasped his hands above his head in a transport of grief, and then, for the first time, felt a slight pain. He glanced at his left wrist, and found it smirched with crimson blood. The wound, he supposed, had been inflicted by the large diamond ring he had noticed on his wife’s finger. Binding his handkerchief about the wrist, he turned to retrace his steps. He would have regarded that faint scratch very differently had he known that his life-blood was already imbued with a subtle narcotic poison emanating from one of the stones in that ring.