Wearing his most unpleasant scowl, and grinding his sharp teeth, he stole along the corridor, and moving up a step or two turned and came down again humming a blythesome stave, just as Toinon appeared at the bottom, holding the parcel and a glass. "Our pretty Toinon is vastly occupied," he laughed, merrily. "But for fear of the stalwart arm of burly Jean, I would steal a kiss from those sweet lips." "Maybe you will feel that arm sooner than you expect," she said, scarce able to steady her voice; "make way, and if you dare to touch me, I will spit in your villain's face." This was clearly not the moment for persiflage, so with a careless shrug of indulgence for the coarse manners of the lower classes, the abbé stood aside. "What a dear darling little vixen," he shouted up the stairs. "I pity poor Jean Boulot, despite his thews and sinews." The first attempt was a failure, an egregiously contemptible and inartistic failure, and all due to that inveterate bungler. Had not mademoiselle's coadjutor suggested that liquid is preferable to solid, for the purpose they both had at heart, since you only munch a biscuit, whereas you take a preliminary sip at a liquid and then, your mouth feeling a trifle dry, take a longer gulp before remarking that the taste is peculiar? And the execrable Algaé had insisted on the cakes, declaring that if you are fond of a particular cake, you will indulge in several before any little peculiarity can manifest itself. And the fool--the hopelessly obstinate and self-sufficient idiot--had perpetrated another bungle, a worse one than before, since Gabrielle had only bitten into one of her favourites, while the others had been gobbled by the dog. The dog would die; no doubt of it, and Toinon's suspicions would be justified. What would she do with that tell-tale parcel? An extremely awkward mistake of mademoiselle's. There was one way out of the dilemma. The abbé must be taken ill as well as the lady of the house; complain of a taste of copper, make an outcry in the kitchen, and discover that the careless cook had spread his materials upon a copper-plate that had not been cleared of verdigris. Toinon was busy all day with her mistress, whom she found in a half lethargy, with burning palms and widely distended pupils. She had some ado to force the mustard down her throat; but, this done, she soon had the pleasure of seeing the patient revive. By evening, Gabrielle was calm, but exhausted, and when Toinon descended to the kitchen to fetch some bouillon (which Bertrand would have first to taste) she was astonished to hear that the abbé was screaming with agony, kicking in frightful convulsions. Toinon smiled her peculiar smile again, and uttered a few common-place words of sympathy. "Badly played," she said to herself, "he might as well have bethought him that the symptoms should be lethargy and coma."