She had desired to know the truth; certainty was less terrible to endure than this constant suspicion, And, as if she found a little enjoyment in proving the extent of Martial’s love for a hated rival, she took an inventory, as it were, of the magnificent appointments of the chamber, feeling the heavy brocaded silk stuff that formed the curtains, and testing the thickness of the rich carpet with her foot. Everything indicated that Marie-Anne was expecting someone; the bright fire, the large arm-chair placed before the hearth, the embroidered slippers lying beside the chair. And whom could she expect save Martial? The person who had been there a few moments before probably came to announce the arrival of her lover, and she had gone out to meet him. For a trifling circumstance would seem to indicate that this messenger had not been expected. Upon the mantel stood a bowl of still smoking bouillon. It was evident that Marie-Anne was on the point of drinking this when she heard the signal. Mme. Blanche was wondering how she could profit by her discovery, when her eyes fell upon a large oaken box standing open upon a table near the glass door leading into the dressing-room, and filled with tiny boxes and vials. Mechanically she approached it, and among the bottles she saw two of blue glass, upon which the word “poison” was inscribed. “Poison!” Blanche could not turn her eyes from this word, which seemed to exert a kind of fascination over her. A diabolical inspiration associated the contents of these vials with the bowl standing upon the mantel. “And why not?” she murmured. “I could escape afterward.” A terrible thought made her pause. Martial would return with Marie-Anne; who could say that it would not be he who would drink the contents of the bowl. “God shall decide!” she murmured. “It is better one’s husband should be dead than belong to another!” And with a firm hand, she took up one of the vials. Since her entrance into the cottage Blanche had scarcely been conscious of her acts. Hatred and despair had clouded her brain like fumes of alcohol. But when her hand came in contact with the glass containing the deadly drug, the terrible shock dissipated her bewilderment; she regained the full possession of her faculties; the power of calm deliberation returned. This is proved by the fact that her first thought was this: “I am ignorant even of the name of the poison which I hold. What dose must I administer, much or little?” She opened the vial, not without considerable difficulty, and poured a few grains of its contents into the palm of her hand. It was a fine, white powder, glistening like pulverized glass, and looking not unlike sugar. “Can it really be sugar?” she thought. Resolved to ascertain, she moistened the tip of her finger, and collected upon it a few atoms of the powder which she placed upon her tongue. The taste was like that of an extremely acid apple.