'Mrs. Claxton--it is a nice-sounding name, and one may as well call her by it as by any other--is pretty and delicate, but by no means weak; and any person who would attempt to influence her must have an exceptionally strong will. I saw this at a glance, and recognised the fact, that being, as she is, quick-witted, her suspicions might be aroused, in which case there would be an end to our scheme. It was necessary, therefore, to try other tactics, and I was beating my brain for them, when the entrance of the servant with the wine and glasses gave me the requisite clue. The poor girl, with trembling hand, poured me out a glass of wine, and then left the room to fetch some biscuits, for which I had ventured to ask. I took the opportunity of her absence to pour some wine into the other glass, and to fill it up with the contents of the little bottle I had brought in my bag. The liquid was colourless and tasteless; and though I half smiled to myself as I emptied it into the wine-glass, the action reminding me as it did of the heroines of M. Eug&ène Sue's novels, or of the Porte St. Martin dramas, I knew well enough that its result, though sufficient for our purpose, would be harmless. 'Mrs. Claxton returned with the biscuits. "See," said I, pointing to the glass, "I have poured out some wine for you. You have passed a day of intense excitement, and have still a most trying ordeal to go through; you will need to have all your courage and all your wits about you. Drink this, it will give you strength." She smiled feebly,--such a desolate, dreary smile,--but made no objection; on the contrary, "She had had nothing all day," she said, "and thought that the wine might do her good." So she took the glass and quietly swallowed its contents.