"Not so. It is you who know not the poison," retorted Pharamond, with a malignant flash that was instantly suppressed. "Spite and fatuous ignorance misled you. The symptoms vary according to quantity imbibed. I unluckily ate a cake and half before I was aware of anything peculiar, and any doctor will tell you that whereas a small dose of subacetate of copper will produce coma, a large one will bring about griping pains and tetanic convulsions, which, without aid from above, lead to paralysis and death." "A large dose acts on the system quickly--within an hour," scoffed the abigail. "When I told you that the cakes were poisoned you were in perfect health." "I had but just partaken----" "A clumsy liar! I asked Bertrand if he had more of his confectionery, and he answered with a searching look of suspicious inquiry that all he had made were served to the marquise." "Upon my word, the wench is very erudite," laughed the abbé, lightly. "How come you to know so much?" "There was an ancient book on poisons in the library. I turned up the article 'Copper,' and studied it." "Was?" "Yes, was. The book is hidden now where you will never find it." There was a pause, during which the combatants studied each other warily. Then the abbé, shrugging his shoulders, in disgust drawled out, "Have we not had enough of this low comedy?" "I ascertained," pursued the undaunted maiden, "that the necessary quantity of verdigris so to affect one little cake out of many as almost to produce coma in one who had taken a single bite must be so large that a copper cooking-plate would have to be thickly buttered with it. Now Bertrand excused himself on the plea that the plate in use was found to be 'not quite clean.' If he had buttered it then was your 'accident' not due to inadvertence." "What proof have you that the cakes were so heavily loaded?" "The fact that the dog died within half-an-hour; that I retained two which I intend presenting to madame that she may have them analysed in Paris." "A pretty story, ingenious as wicked. No one saw the dog perish but yourself. What evidence is there, except your own, that the cakes in your possession are in the same condition as when placed on the table? Are you sure you have any cakes at all?" There was such an air of mischievous satisfaction underlying the tone of banter that Toinon's heart stood still. "How are you sure--" she began, then sped swiftly from the room, to return in a few moments white as a sheet and breathless. "They are gone," she panted, "gone! You discovered where they were concealed, you wicked man, and have destroyed them!"