I will not feast like a vampire on her dead body, nor shall
you. You have other vials in the casket of better hue and flavor.
What is this?" continued Angelique, taking out a rose-tinted and
curiously-twisted bottle sealed on the top with the mystic pentagon.
"This looks prettier, and may be not less sure than the milk of mercy in
its effect. What is it?"

"Ha! ha!" laughed the woman with her weirdest laugh. "Your wisdom is
but folly, Angelique des Meloises! You would kill, and still spare your
enemy! That was the smelling-bottle of La Brinvilliers, who took it
with her to the great ball at the Hotel de Ville, where she secretly
sprinkled a few drops of it upon the handkerchief of the fair Louise
Gauthier, who, the moment she put it to her nostrils, fell dead upon the
floor. She died and gave no sign, and no man knew how or why! But she
was the rival of Brinvilliers for the love of Gaudin de St. Croix,
and in that she resembles the lady of Beaumanoir, as you do La
Brinvilliers!"

"And she got her reward! I would have done the same thing for the same
reason! What more have you to relate of this most precious vial of your
casket?" asked Angelique.

"That its virtue is unimpaired. Three drops sprinkled upon a bouquet of
flowers, and its odor breathed by man or woman, causes a sudden swoon
from which there is no awakening more in this world. People feel no
pain, but die smiling as if angels had kissed away their breath. Is it
not a precious toy, Mademoiselle?"

"Oh, blessed vial!" exclaimed Angelique, pressing it to her lips, "thou
art my good angel to kiss away the breath of the lady of Beaumanoir! She
shall sleep on roses, La Corriveau, and you shall make her bed!"

"It is a sweet death, befitting one who dies for love, or is killed by
the jealousy of a dainty rival," replied the witch; "but I like best
those draughts which are most bitter and not less sure."

"The lady of Beaumanoir will not be harder to kill than Louise
Gauthier," replied Angelique, watching the glitter of the vial in the
lamplight. "She is unknown even to the servants of the Chateau; nor will
the Intendant himself dare to make public either her life or death in
his house."

"Are you sure, Mademoiselle, that the Intendant will not dare to make
public the death of that woman in the Chateau?" asked La Corriveau, with
intense eagerness; that consideration was an important link of the chain
which she was forging.

"Sure? yes, I am sure by a hundr