But who would be bold enough to analyse that subtle quality, acknowledged by all, possessed by a very few, which is vaguely denoted by the word "charm"? Theresia Cabarrus must have possessed it to a marvellous degree--that, and an utter callousness for the feelings of her victims, which would leave her mind cool and keen to pursue her own ends, whilst theirs was thrown into that maze of jealousy and of passion wherein prudence flies to the winds and the fever of self-immolation gets into the blood. At this moment, in the sparsely furnished room of her dingy apartment, she looked like an angry goddess. Her figure, which undeniably was superb, was drawn to its full height, its splendid proportions accentuated by the clinging folds of her modish gown—a marvel of artistic scantiness, which only half concealed the perfectly modelled bust, and left the rounded thigh, in its skin-tight, flesh-coloured undergarment, unblushingly exposed. Her blue-black hair was dressed in the new fashion, copied from ancient Greece and snooded by a glittering antique fillet; and her small bare feet were encased in satin sandals. Truly a lovely woman, but for that air of cold displeasure coupled with fear, which marred the harmony of the dainty, child-like features. After awhile Pepita came back. "Well?" queried Theresia impatiently. "Poor M. Bertrand is very ill," the old Spanish woman replied with unconcealed sympathy. "He has fever, the poor cabbage. Bed is the only place for him. . . ." "He cannot stay here, as thou well knowest, Pepita," the imperious beauty retorted drily. "Thy head and mine are in danger every moment that he spends under this roof." "But thou couldst not turn a sick man out into the streets in the middle of the night." "Why not?" Theresia riposted coldly. "It is a beautiful and balmy night. Why not?" she reiterated fretfully. "Because he would die on thy doorstep," was old Pepita's muttered reply. Theresia shrugged her shoulders. "He dies if he goes," she said slowly, "and we die if he stays. Tell him to go, Pepita, ere citizen Tallien comes." A shudder went through the old woman's spare frame. "It's late," she protested. "Citizen Tallien will not come to-night." "Not only he," Theresia rejoined coldly, "but--but--the other---- Thou knowest well, Pepita--those two arranged to meet here in my lodgings to-night." "But not at this hour!" "After the sitting of the Convention." "It is nearly midnight. They'll not come," the old woman persisted obstinately. "They arranged to meet here, to talk over certain matters which interest their party," citoyenne Cabarrus went on, equally firmly. "They'll not fail. So tell citizen Moncrif to go, Pepita. He endangers my life by staying here." "Then do the dirty work thyself," the old woman muttered sullenly. "I'll not be a party to cold-blooded murder." "Well, since citizen Moncrif's life is more valuable to thee than mine----" Theresia began, but got no farther. The words died on her lips.