footman to accompany her directly, on a visit
to Madame de Remonet. Servin hastened to
feed the dog, having first made sure that his
mistress was gone out. He was in the act of
pouring out the broth, when an angry exclamation
startled him, and he saw his master standing
by.

"Do you dare to give my luncheon to the
dog?" he said; and made Servin precede him to
his chamber, where he seated himself before the
tray. As he raised the first spoonful to his lips,
the faithful valet arrested his hand.

"Do not taste it, my dear master," he said;
"it is poisoned."

"What do you say?"

"Your soup is poisoned."

Servin brought in the dog, and gave him
all the broth. Not a word was spoken
either by master or servant for more than a
quarter of an hour, during which the dog,
heavy with a full meal, had gone to sleep before
the fire. At last it seemed disturbed, rose,
whined, rolled itself on the floor writhing in
convulsions, and was violently sick. In ten
minutes more, the dog was dead.

There was now no doubt of Angélique's intention,
but the old president implored Servin, with
tears, not to betray her to justice. The man
solemnly promised, on condition that his master
neither ate nor drank anything but what he
himself prepared and brought. It was resolved
between them to conceal their knowledge of the
attempt as much as possible, and to allow
Angélique to believe that the broth had been taken
by her husband, who would feign illness. He
therefore retired to bed, and was scarcely there,
when Angélique entered.

"In bed!" she exclaimed; "I hope you are
not worse!"

He made no answer, but Servin, in a whisper,
told her that his master had suddenly become
very ill, and that perfect quiet would be
necessary for him. During two days Angélique
waited on her husband, who remained in bed;
but, do what she would, Servin was not to be
got rid of. If she desired him to fetch anything,
he had it at hand in a closet, or rang for another
servant, saying that the doctor had ordered him
never to leave his master for an instant. On
the evening of the second day, the valet had
gone to the cupboard for something, and the
president, fancying him still there, asked for a
glass of eau sucrée. Angélique flew to a table,
mixed the drink, and added to it something from
a little bottle which she hastily replaced in the
bosom of her dress.

The glass was suddenly taken from her hand.
A half-stifled scream, betrayed her terror; but
Servin, dispensing with all ceremony, led her
from the room, and closing the chamber door
behind them, said sternly,

"This cannot last longer, madame; you
have put something by mistake into my
master's eau sucrée. I must learn from the
physician what it is. Two days ago you made
a similar mistake with monsieur's broth; but
as it was Fifine who drunk it, that did not so
much matter, except that Fifine is dead, poor
thing!" She did not answer, but steadying
herself against the balustrade of the staircase,
looked at the valet with distended eyes.
"Madame sees that to preserve my master from such
accidents in future, it is necessary that I should
ask the physician what is here," continued
Servin, touching the glass. "But it would
simplify matters amazingly, if madame would be so
obliging as to give me the phial which is in the
folds of her dress."

"You will not betray me?"

"On one condition, madame, I will not.
You must leave the care of my master altogether
to me. The fatigue is too much for you, and
you make nervous mistakes which might be
fatal. In future, I shall make the drinks, and,
further, you will give me that bottle, which I
shall set carefully aside, with this glass, lest,
in an unhappy moment of forgetfulness,
something might occur which would render it necessary
for me to produce them."

He had scarcely spoken, when she dashed the
glass from his hand, and the contents, mingled
with the shattered fragments, fell through the
balustrades, and dropped on the staircase beneath
them.

"I promise what you ask," she said, with a
flash of triumph in her eyes. "The phial
contains only an eye-wash."

The valet shook his head.

"You cannot come into my master's chamber
again, madame; if you do——"

He paused, and returned to the president,
who had seen the beginning of the affair, and
who now sat up in the bed trembling with
anxiety.

"Again?" he asked.

"Again; but I have explained to madame
that she must come here no more." The
wretched old president cast himself down on
the pillow, moaning. "Calm yourself,
monsieur," said the valet; "I will not say anything
of this, unless it should become necessary."

The president made no reply, and Servin
proceeded to arrange the room for the night:
taking his own place in an arm-chair beside the
bed.

The night wore on, and when the old man fell
asleep at about midnight, Servin felt inclined
to follow his example. Yet an undefined fear
warned him to be watchful. He arose from
the chair, and moved about the room, opening the
curtains, and gazing out into the dark and stormy
night; he stirred the fire and placed himself
beside it, trimming the lamp, and taking up a
book; but he could hear Angélique, whose apartment
adjoined that of her husband, moving
cautiously about, and he was unable to fix his
attention on the pages. Presently, the sounds in
her chamber ceased; nothing was to be heard
save the moan of the wind without, and the
crackling of the fresh wood he had piled on the
hearth. He felt that the desire to sleep was
overcoming him, and, casting about for means of
rousing himself, it occurred to him to make
some coffee. Noiselessly opening the door, he