He took a mask with glass eyes from a shelf, and tied it round his face.

"Its very sublimation, now commencing, is deadly," continued Exili; "but there is a medicated veil in the nostrils of this mask to decompose its particles. If you would see the preparation completed you must wear one as well."

Another visor was at his side. Under pretence of re-arranging the string he broke it from the mask, and then fixed it back with some resinous compound that he used to cover the stoppers of his bottles, and render them air-tight. All this was so rapidly done that Sainte-Croix took no notice of it.

"Now, let me fix this on," said Exili, "and you need not dread the vapour. Besides, you can assist me. I have left some drugs with the porter which I must fetch," he continued, as he cautiously fixed the visor to Sainte-Croix's face.

"I will mind the furnace whilst you go," said Gaudin, as he heard an adjacent bell sound the hour at which he had appointed the guard to arrive. "There is no danger in this mask, you say?"

"None," said Exili. "You must watch the compound narrowly as soon as you see particles of its sublimation deposited in that glass bell which overhangs it. Then, when it turns colour, remove it from the furnace."

Anxious to become acquainted with the new poison, and in the hope that as soon as he acquired the secret of its manufacture, the guard would arrive, Gaudin promised compliance gladly. Exili, on some trifling excuse, left the apartment; but, as soon as his footfall was beyond Sainte-Croix's hearing, he returned, treading as stealthily as a tiger, and took up his place at the door, to watch his prey. Gaudin was still at the furnace, fanning the embers with the cover of a book, as he watched the deadly compound in the evaporating dish. At last, the small particles began to deposit themselves on the bell-glass above, as Exili had foretold, and Gaudin bent his head close to the preparation to watch for the change of colour. But in so doing, the heat of the furnace melted the resin with which the string had been fastened. It gave way, and the mask fell on the floor, whilst the vapour of the poison rose full in his face, almost before, in his eager attention, he was aware of the accident.

One terrible scream-a cry which once heard could never be forgotten-not that of agony, or terror, or surprise, but a shrill and violent indrawing of the breath, resembling rather the screech of some huge hoarse bird of prey, irritated to madness, than the sound of a human voice, was all that broke from Gaudin's lips. Every muscle of his face was at the instant contorted into the most frightful form: he remained for a second, and no more, wavering at the side of the furnace, and then fell heavily on the floor. He was dead!

Exili had expected this. His eagerness would hardly restrain him from rushing upon Sainte-Croix as he fell; and scarcely was he on the ground when the physician, dashing the rest of the poison from the furnace, darted on him like a beast of prey, and immediately drew forth the bag of money from his cloak, and transferred it to his own pouch. He next tore away every ornament of any value that adorned Gaudin's costly dress; finally taking the small gold heart which hung round his neck, inclosing the morsel of pink crystal, which had at

tracted Exili's attention the first night of his sojourn in the Bastille. As he opened it to look at the beryl, he observed a thin slip of vellum folded under it within the case, on which were traced some faint characters. By the light which Sainte-Croix had brought with him, and which was burning faintly in the subterraneous atmosphere, he read the following words with difficulty:

"Beatrice Spara to her child, on the eve of her execution. Rome, A.D. 1642. An amulet against an evil eye and poisons.”

A stifled exclamation of horror, yet intense to the most painful degree of mental anguish, escaped him as the meaning came upon him. For a few seconds his eyes were riveted on the crystal, as if they would start from his head; his lips were parted, and his breath suspended. Then another and another gasping cry followed; again he read the lines, as though he would have altered their import; but the simple words remained the same, and fearful was their revelation,until, covering his face with his hands, he fell on his knees beside the body. Gaudin de Sainte-Croix-the unknown adventurer-the soldier of fortune, whom nobody had ever dared to question respecting his parentage was his own son!-the fruit of his intimacy with the Sicilian woman, from whom at Palermo he had learned the secrets of his hellish trade, in the first instance to remove those who were inimical to the liaison. The child was not above two years old when he himself had been compelled to fly from Italy; and he had imagined that, after her execution, the infant had perished, unknown and uncared for, in the streets of Rome.

For some minutes he remained completely stupified, but was aroused at last by a violent knocking at the door of the vault; and immediately afterwards the man who owned the house in the Rue de la Harpe rushed in, and announced the presence of the guard, who, not finding Sainte-Croix to meet them, as they expected, had made the cooper conduct them to Exili's laboratory. He had scarcely uttered the words when their bristling halberds, mingling with torches, appeared behind h.

"Back!" screamed Exili as he saw the guard,-"keep off! or I can slay you with myself, so that not one shall live to tell the tale."

The officer in command told the men to enter; but one or two remembered the fate of those in the boat-mill whom the vapour had killed, and they hung back.

"Your lives are in my hands," continued the physician, "and if you move one step they are forfeited. I am not yet captured."

He darted through a doorway at the end of the room as he spoke, and disappeared. The guard directly pressed onward; but as Exili passed out at the arch, a mass of timber descended like a portcullis, and opposed their further progress. A loud and fiendish laugh sounded in the souterrain, which got fainter and fainter, until they heard it no

more.

CHAPTER XXVII.

Matters become very serious for all parties.-The Discovery and the Flight.

"AH !" said Maître Picard, with a long expression of comfortable fatigue, and the same shudder of extreme enjoyment which he would have indulged in, had he just crept into a bed artificially warmed, "Ah! it is a great thing to enjoy yourself, having done your duty as a man and a Garde Bourgeoise!"

And he sank into an easy chair in which he would have been hidden but for his rotundity, and propping up his little legs with another seat, lighted a mighty pipe, the bowl whereof was fashioned like a dragon's head which vomited forth smoke from its nostrils in a manner terrible to behold.

It was a cold night. There were large logs of wood blazing and crackling up the chimney, from the iron dogs; and amongst the glowing embers that surrounded them various culinary utensils were imbedded, some of which sent forth fragrant odours of strong drinks or savoury extracts, whilst on a spit, formed of an old rapier, was impaled a pheasant, which the Gascon, Jean Blacquart, was industriously turning round as he sat upon the floor with his back against the chimneyprojection, humming a student's song, to which he made the bird revolve, in proper measure.

Everything looked very comfortable. The cloth was laid for supper, and bright pewter vessels and horn mugs with silver rims caught the light from the fire, which likewise threw its warm glow upon the ceiling, and made the shadows dance and flicker on the walls. It was not so pleasant without. The frost was hard; the snow fell heavily; and the cold wind came roaring up the narrow streets, chasing all the cutpurses and evil company before it, much readier than all the guards of the night could have done, even at the points of their halberds.

"I think you might change your love-song for sprightly dance, Jean," said Maître Picard. Your tender pauses, furing which the spit stops, do but scorch the breast of the bird, whilst the back profits not."

"It is an emblem of love, in general," replied the Gascon; "seeing that our breast is doubly warmed thereby, whilst our back comes off but badly, especially if our sweetheart is expensive, and requires of one the price of three doublets to make one robe."

"I was in love once," said Maître Picard, "but it is a long time ago. It wastes the substance of a portly man. Had I not eaten twice my ordinary allowance I should have fallen under the attack. The presents, too, which I offered to my lady were of great value, and none

were ever returned."

"I never give presents," observed the Gascon, " for I have found in many hundred cases that my affection is considered above all price, and received as such."

"But suppose a rival of more pretensions comes to oppose you?" said Maître Picard.

“I never had a rival," said Blacquart grandly; "and I never shall. Admitting one was to presume and cross my path, he would find no ordinary antagonist. With this stalwart arm and a trusty blade, I would mince him before he knew where he was." And, in his enthu