The Golden Dog [196]
thrice three days from this hour, was it not that you said?"
"Understand me!" said La Corriveau, "I serve you for your money, not for your liking! but I have my own joy in making my hand felt in a world which I hate and which hates me!" La Corriveau held out her hands as if the ends of her fingers were trickling poison. "Death drops on whomsoever I send it," said she, "so secretly and so subtly that the very spirits of air cannot detect the trace of the aqua tofana."
Angelique listened with amaze, yet trembled with eagerness to hear more. "What! La Corriveau, have you the secret of the aqua tofana, which the world believes was burnt with its possessors two generations ago, on the Place de Greve?"
"Such secrets never die," replied the poisoner; "they are too precious! Few men, still fewer women, are there who would not listen at the door of hell to learn them. The king in his palace, the lady in her tapestried chamber, the nun in her cell, the very beggar on the street, would stand on a pavement of fire to read the tablets which record the secret of the aqua tofana. Let me see your hand," added she abruptly, speaking to Angelique.
Angelique held out her hand; La Corriveau seized it. She looked intently upon the slender fingers and oval palm. "There is evil enough in these long, sharp spatulae of yours," said she, "to ruin the world. You are worthy to be the inheritrix of all I know. These fingers would pick fruit off the forbidden tree for men to eat and die! The tempter only is needed, and he is never far off! Angelique des Meloises, I may one day teach you the grand secret; meantime I will show you that I possess it."
CHAPTER XXXV.
"FLASKETS OF DRUGS, FULL TO THEIR WICKED LIPS."
La Corriveau took the ebony casket from her bosom and laid it solemnly on the table. "Do not cross yourself," she exclaimed angrily as she saw Angelique mechanically make the sacred sign. "There can come no blessings here. There is death enough in that casket to kill every man and woman in New France."
Angelique fastened her gaze upon the casket as if she would have drawn out the secret of its contents by the very magnetism of her eyes. She laid her hand upon it caressingly, yet tremblingly-- eager, yet fearful, to see its contents.
"Open it!" cried La Corriveau, "press the spring, and you will see such a casket of jewels as queens might envy. It was the wedding- gift of Beatrice Spara, and once belonged to the house of Borgia-- Lucrezia Borgia had it from her terrible father; and he, from the prince of demons!"
Angelique pressed the little spring,--the lid flew open, and there flashed from it a light which for the moment dazzled her eyes with its brilliancy. She thrust the casket from her in alarm, and retreated a few steps, imagining she smelt the odor of some deadly perfume.
"I dare not approach it," said she. "Its glittering terrifies me; its odor sickens me."
"Tush! it is your weak imagination!" replied La Corriveau; "your sickly conscience frightens you! You will need to cast off both to rid Beaumanoir of the presence of your rival! The aqua tofana in the hands of a coward is a gift as fatal to its possessor as to its victim."
Angelique with a strong effort tried to master her fear, but could not. She would not again handle the casket.
La Corriveau looked at her as if suspecting this display of weakness. She then drew the casket to herself and took out a vial, gilt and chased with strange symbols. It was not larger than the little finger of a delicate girl. Its contents glittered like a diamond in the sunshine.
La Corriveau shook it up, and immediately the liquid was filled with a million sparks of fire. It was the aqua tofana undiluted by mercy, instantaneous in its effect, and not medicable by any antidote. Once administered, there was no more hope for its victim than for the souls of the damned who have received the final judgment. One drop of that bright water upon the tongue of a Titan would blast him like Jove's thunderbolt, would shrivel him up to a black, unsightly
"Understand me!" said La Corriveau, "I serve you for your money, not for your liking! but I have my own joy in making my hand felt in a world which I hate and which hates me!" La Corriveau held out her hands as if the ends of her fingers were trickling poison. "Death drops on whomsoever I send it," said she, "so secretly and so subtly that the very spirits of air cannot detect the trace of the aqua tofana."
Angelique listened with amaze, yet trembled with eagerness to hear more. "What! La Corriveau, have you the secret of the aqua tofana, which the world believes was burnt with its possessors two generations ago, on the Place de Greve?"
"Such secrets never die," replied the poisoner; "they are too precious! Few men, still fewer women, are there who would not listen at the door of hell to learn them. The king in his palace, the lady in her tapestried chamber, the nun in her cell, the very beggar on the street, would stand on a pavement of fire to read the tablets which record the secret of the aqua tofana. Let me see your hand," added she abruptly, speaking to Angelique.
Angelique held out her hand; La Corriveau seized it. She looked intently upon the slender fingers and oval palm. "There is evil enough in these long, sharp spatulae of yours," said she, "to ruin the world. You are worthy to be the inheritrix of all I know. These fingers would pick fruit off the forbidden tree for men to eat and die! The tempter only is needed, and he is never far off! Angelique des Meloises, I may one day teach you the grand secret; meantime I will show you that I possess it."
CHAPTER XXXV.
"FLASKETS OF DRUGS, FULL TO THEIR WICKED LIPS."
La Corriveau took the ebony casket from her bosom and laid it solemnly on the table. "Do not cross yourself," she exclaimed angrily as she saw Angelique mechanically make the sacred sign. "There can come no blessings here. There is death enough in that casket to kill every man and woman in New France."
Angelique fastened her gaze upon the casket as if she would have drawn out the secret of its contents by the very magnetism of her eyes. She laid her hand upon it caressingly, yet tremblingly-- eager, yet fearful, to see its contents.
"Open it!" cried La Corriveau, "press the spring, and you will see such a casket of jewels as queens might envy. It was the wedding- gift of Beatrice Spara, and once belonged to the house of Borgia-- Lucrezia Borgia had it from her terrible father; and he, from the prince of demons!"
Angelique pressed the little spring,--the lid flew open, and there flashed from it a light which for the moment dazzled her eyes with its brilliancy. She thrust the casket from her in alarm, and retreated a few steps, imagining she smelt the odor of some deadly perfume.
"I dare not approach it," said she. "Its glittering terrifies me; its odor sickens me."
"Tush! it is your weak imagination!" replied La Corriveau; "your sickly conscience frightens you! You will need to cast off both to rid Beaumanoir of the presence of your rival! The aqua tofana in the hands of a coward is a gift as fatal to its possessor as to its victim."
Angelique with a strong effort tried to master her fear, but could not. She would not again handle the casket.
La Corriveau looked at her as if suspecting this display of weakness. She then drew the casket to herself and took out a vial, gilt and chased with strange symbols. It was not larger than the little finger of a delicate girl. Its contents glittered like a diamond in the sunshine.
La Corriveau shook it up, and immediately the liquid was filled with a million sparks of fire. It was the aqua tofana undiluted by mercy, instantaneous in its effect, and not medicable by any antidote. Once administered, there was no more hope for its victim than for the souls of the damned who have received the final judgment. One drop of that bright water upon the tongue of a Titan would blast him like Jove's thunderbolt, would shrivel him up to a black, unsightly