convulsion, and the hand, so delicately formed, was resting with
stiff outstretched fingers on the framework of the bed. The nails, too,
were turning blue.

* Germain Pillon was a famous French sculptor (1535-1598).
His best known work is "The Three Graces," now in the
Louvre.

Madame de Villefort had no longer any doubt; all was over--she had
consummated the last terrible work she had to accomplish. There was no
more to do in the room, so the poisoner retired stealthily, as though
fearing to hear the sound of her own footsteps; but as she withdrew she
still held aside the curtain, absorbed in the irresistible attraction
always exerted by the picture of death, so long as it is merely
mysterious and does not excite disgust. Just then the lamp again
flickered; the noise startled Madame de Villefort, who shuddered and
dropped the curtain. Immediately afterwards the light expired, and the
room was plunged in frightful obscurity, while the clock at that
minute struck half-past four. Overpowered with agitation, the poisoner
succeeded in groping her way to the door, and reached her room in an
agony of fear.

The darkness lasted two hours longer; then by degrees a cold light crept
through the Venetian blinds, until at length it revealed the objects in
the room. About this time the nurse's cough was heard on the stairs and
the woman entered the room with a cup in her hand. To the tender eye
of a father or a lover, the first glance would have sufficed to reveal
Valentine's condition; but to this hireling, Valentine only appeared to
sleep. "Good," she exclaimed, approaching the table, "she has taken part
of her draught; the glass is three-quarters empty."

Then she went to the fireplace and lit the fire, and although she
had just left her bed, she could not resist the temptation offered by
Valentine's sleep, so she threw herself into an arm-chair to snatch a
little more rest. The clock striking eight awoke her. Astonished at the
prolonged slumber of the patient, and frightened to see that the arm was
still hanging out of the bed, she advanced towards Valentine, and for
the first time noticed the white lips. She tried to replace the arm, but
it moved with a frightful rigidity which could not deceive a sick-nurse.
She screamed aloud; then running to the door exclaimed,--"Help, help!"

"What is the matter?" asked M. d'Avrigny, at the foot of the stairs, it
being the hour he usually visited her.

"What is it?" a