*[A woman in Paris, by means of a regularly performed series of experiments, carried the art of poisoning to such perfection that she could predict almost to a certainty the day of death, however remote. Fie upon our physicians, who should blush to be outdone by a woman in their own province. Beckmann, in his article on secret poisoning, has given a particular account of this woman, the Marchioness de Brinvilliers.--See "History of Inventions," Standard Library Edition, vol. i, pp. 47-63.] And how, then, must I, too, go to work to dissever that sweet and peaceful union of soul and body? What species of sensations should I seek to produce? Which would most fiercely assail the condition of life? Anger?--that ravenous wolf is too quickly satiated. Care? that worm gnaws far too slowly. Grief?--that viper creeps too lazily for me. Fear?--hope destroys its power. What! and are these the only executioners of man? is the armory of death so soon exhausted? (In deep thought.) How now! what! ho! I have it! (Starting up.) Terror! What is proof against terror? What powers have religion and reason under that giant's icy grasp! And yet--if he should withstand even this assault? If he should! Oh, then, come Anguish to my aid! and thou, gnawing Repentance!--furies of hell, burrowing snakes who regorge your food, and feed upon your own excrements; ye that are forever destroying, and forever reproducing your poison! And thou, howling Remorse, that desolatest thine own habitation, and feedest upon thy mother. And come ye, too, gentle Graces, to my aid; even you, sweet smiling Memory, goddess of the past--and thou, with thy overflowing horn of plenty, blooming Futurity; show him in your mirror the joys of Paradise, while with fleeting foot you elude his eager grasp. Thus will I work my battery of death, stroke after stroke, upon his fragile body, until the troop of furies close upon him with Despair! Triumph! triumph!--the plan is complete--difficult and masterly beyond compare--sure--safe; for then (with a sneer) the dissecting knife can find no trace of wound or of corrosive poison. (Resolutely.) Be it so! (Enter HERMANN.) Ha! _Deus ex machina_! Hermann! HERMANN. At your service, gracious sir! FRANCIS (shakes him by the hand). You will not find it that of an ungrateful master. HERMANN. I have proofs of this. FRANCIS. And you shall have more soon--very soon, Hermann!--I have something to say to thee, Hermann. HERMANN. I am all attention. FRANCIS. I know thee--thou art a resolute fellow--a man of mettle.--To call thee smooth-tongued! My father has greatly belied thee, Hermann. HERMANN. The devil take me if I forget it! FRANCIS. Spoken like a man! Vengeance becomes a manly heart! Thou art to my mind, Hermann. Take this purse, Hermann. It should be heavier were I master here. HERMANN. That is my unceasing wish, most gracious sir. I thank you.