Francoise
Roussel, came into her room, she gave her a slice of mutton and some
preserved gooseberries for her own meal. The girl unsuspiciously ate
what her mistress gave her, but almost at once felt ill, saying she had
severe pain in the stomach, and a sensation as though her heart were
being pricked with pins. But she did not die, and the marquise perceived
that the poison needed to be made stronger, and returned it to
Sainte-Croix, who brought her some more in a few days' time.

The moment had come for action. M. d'Aubray, tired with business, was to
spend a holiday at his castle called Offemont. The marquise offered to
go with him. M. d'Aubray, who supposed her relations with Sainte-Croix
to be quite broken off, joyfully accepted. Offemont was exactly the
place for a crime of this nature. In the middle of the forest of Aigue,
three or four miles from Compiegne, it would be impossible to get
efficient help before the rapid action of the poison had made it useless.

M. d'Aubray started with his daughter and one servant only. Never had
the marquise been so devoted to her father, so especially attentive, as
she was during this journey. And M. d'Aubray, like Christ--who though He
had no children had a father's heart--loved his repentant daughter more
than if she had never strayed. And then the marquise profited by the
terrible calm look which we have already noticed in her face: always with
her father, sleeping in a room adjoining his, eating with him, caring for
his comfort in every way, thoughtful and affectionate, allowing no other
person to do anything for him, she had to present a smiling face, in
which the most suspicious eye could detect nothing but filial tenderness,
though the vilest projects were in her heart. With this mask she one
evening offered him some soup that was poisoned. He took it; with her
eyes she saw him put it to his lips, watched him drink it down, and with
a brazen countenance she gave no outward sign of that terrible anxiety
that must have been pressing on her heart. When he had drunk it all, and
she had taken with steady hands the cup and its saucer, she went back to
her own room, waited and listened....

The effect was rapid. The marquise heard her father moan; then she heard
groans. At last, unable to endure his sufferings, he called out to his
daughter. The marquise went to him. But now her face showed signs of
the liveliest anxiety, and it was for M. d'Aubray to try to r