ead man--his
wife! Horror! Have you no proofs of what you imply?"

"Proofs!" echoed Gabriel, in a tone of wonder; "I can but see and
conjecture. You are warned, watch and decide for yourself. But again I
say, come to England; I shall go!"

Without reply, Lucretia took the keys from Gabriel's half-reluctant
hand, and passed into her husband's writing-room. When she had entered,
she locked the door. She passed at once to a huge secretary, of which
the key was small as a fairy's work. She opened it with ease by one
of the counterfeits. No love-correspondence--the first object of her
search, for she was woman--met her eye. What need of letters, when
interviews were so facile? But she soon found a document that told all
which love-letters could tell,--it was an account of the moneys and
possessions of Madame Bellanger; and there were pencil notes on the
margin: "Vautran will give four hundred thousand francs for the lands
in Auvergne,--to be accepted. Consult on the power of sale granted to
a second husband. Query, if there is no chance of the heir-at-law
disputing the moneys invested in Madame B.'s name,"--and such memoranda
as a man notes down in the schedule of properties about to be his own.
In these inscriptions there was a hideous mockery of all love; like the
blue lights of corruption, they showed the black vault of the heart. The
pale reader saw what her own attractions had been, and, fallen as
she was, she smiled superior in her bitterness of scorn. Arranged
methodically with the precision of business, she found the letters she
next looked for; one recognizing Dalibard's services in the detection of
the conspiracy, and authorizing him to employ the police in the search
of Pierre Guillot, sufficed for her purpose. She withdrew, and secreted
it. She was about to lock up the secretary, when her eye fell on the
title of a small manuscript volume in a corner; and as shet read, she
pressed one hand convulsively to her heart, while twice with the other
she grasped the volume, and twice withdrew the grasp. The title ran
harmlessly thus: "Philosophical and Chemical Inquiries into the Nature
and Materials of the Poisons in Use between the Fourteenth and Sixteenth
Centuries." Hurriedly, and at last as if doubtful of herself, she left
the manuscript, closed the secretary, and returned to Gabriel.

"You have got the paper you seek?" he said.

"Yes."

"Then whatever you do, you must be quick; he will soon discover the
loss.