"All, madame; except that when you drink it, you must think of your husband," he answered. As he said this he averted his face; for, try as he would, he could not check the evil smile that curled his lip. _Dieu!_ Was ever so grim a jest known? Or so forlorn, so helpless, so infantine a fool? He could almost find it in his heart to pity her. As for her husband--ah, how he would bleed him when it was over! "How much am I to pay you, sir?" she asked timidly, when she had hidden away the precious packets in her bosom. She had got what she wanted; she was panting to be gone. "Twenty crowns," he answered, coldly. "The charm avails for nine moons. After that----" "I shall need more?" she asked; for he had paused. "Well, no, I think not," he answered slowly--hesitating strangely, almost stammering. "I think in your case, madame, the effect will be lasting." She had no clue to the fantastic impulse, the ghastly humour, which inspired the words; and she paid him gladly. He would not take the money in his hands, but bade her lay it on the great open book, "because the gold was alloyed, and not virgin." In one or two other ways he played his part; directing her, for instance, if she would increase the strength of the charm, to gaze at the planet Venus for half an hour each evening, but not through glass or with any metal on her person. And then he let her out by the door which opened on the quiet street. "Madame has, doubtless, her woman, or some attendant?" he said, looking up and down. "Or I----" "Oh, yes, yes!" she answered, gasping in the cold night air. "She is here. Goodnight, sir." He muttered some words in a strange tongue, and, as Madame de Vidoche's attendant came out of the shadow to meet her, turned and went in again. The night was dark as well as cold, but madame, in the first fervour of her spirits, did not heed it. She suffered her maid to wrap her up warmly, and draw the cloak more closely round her throat; but she was scarcely conscious of the attention, and bore it as a child might--in silence. Her eyes shone in the darkness; her heart beat with a soft subtle joy. She had the charm--the key to happiness! It was in her bosom; and every moment, under cover of the cloak and night, her fingers flew to it and assured her it was safe. The scruples with which she had contemplated the interview troubled her no longer. In her joy and relief that the ordeal was over and the philtre gained, she knew no doubt, no suspicion. She lived only for the moment when she might put the talisman to the test, and see love wake again in those eyes which, whether they smiled or scowled, fate had made the lodestones of her life.