‘He is dead!’ exclaimed Henri, as a pallor, far beyond that which horror would have produced, overspread his own features.
‘It is apoplexy!’ said one of the bystanders. ‘In his passion he has ruptured a vessel of the brain.’
The guests crowded round the body. Sainte-Croix and Marie looked at one another as they awaited the pangs of the other victim.
CHAPTER XXVI.
SAINTE-CROIX DISCOVERS THE GREAT SECRET SOONER THAN HE EXPECTED
A few weeks passed, and the terrible events of the last chapter were almost forgotten by the volatile people of Paris, and even by the provincials who had been present at the double tragedy—for Henri d’Aubray had followed his brother, although, from his robust health and strong constitution, he had battled more vigorously against the effects of the poison, his sufferings being prolonged in consequence. It is unnecessary to follow the horrid details of the effect of the Aqua Tofana, or to describe the last agonies, when ‘il se plaignait d’avoir un foyer brûlant dans la poitrine, et la flamme intérieure qui le devorait semblait sortir par les yeux, seule partie de son corps qui demeurât vivante encore, quand le reste n’était déjà plus qu’un cadavre.’ It will suffice to say that no suspicion, as yet, rested upon the murderers. The bodies were examined, in the presence of the first surgeons of Paris, as well as the usual medical attendants of the D’Aubray family; and although everywhere in the system traces of violent organic lesion were apparent, yet none could say whether these things had been produced by other than mere accidental morbid causes. Tests would, as in the present day, have soon detected the presence of the poisons—the more readily as they were mostly mineral that were used—but the secret of these reagents remained almost in the sole possession of those who made them; and the subtlety of some of their toxicological preparations proves that the disciples of Spara were chemists of no mean order.[18] People wondered for a little while at the coincidence of the several deaths occurring in one family, and in a manner so similar, and then thought no more of the matter. The cemetery received the bodies of the victims; and the Marchioness of Brinvilliers, now her own mistress, and the sole possessor of a magnificent income, shared it openly with Sainte-Croix; and the hôtel in the Rue St. Paul vied with the most celebrated of Paris in the gorgeous luxury of its festivities. But the day of reckoning and heavy retribution was fast approaching.
We have before alluded to the Palais des Thermes—the remains of which ancient edifice may still be seen from the footway of the Rue de la Harpe, between the Rue du Foin and the Rue des Mathurins—as being the most important ruins marking the occupation of Paris by the Romans. The researches of various individuals from time to time have shown that this palace was once of enormous size, extending as far as the small stream of the Seine which flows beneath the Hôtel Dieu; and, indeed, in the cellars of many of the houses, between the present site of the large salle and the river, pillars and vaulted ways, precisely similar to those in the Rue de la Harpe, have been frequently discovered; added to which, before the demolition of the Petit-Châtelet, a small fortress at the bottom of the Rue St. Jacques, the remains of some ancient walls were visible running towards the Palais from the banks of the Seine.
There were souterrains stretching out in many other directions; the whole of the buildings adjoining were undermined by them, the entrance to the largest having been discovered, by accident, in the court-yard of the Convent des Mathurins, within a few months of the date of our romance. And these must not be confounded with the rough catacombs to which we have been already introduced, hewn in the gypsum as chance directed, but were regularly arched ways from ten to sixteen feet below the surface of the ground, communicating with one another by doors and supported by walls four feet thick.
The ruins of the Palais des Thermes and the adjoining vaults, although not open to the street as they are at present, had long been the resort of that class of wanderers about Paris now classified as Bohemiens, until an edict drove them to the catacombs of the Biévre and the Cours des Miracles to establish their colonies. The shelter of the Palais, ‘favorisent les fréquentes défaites d’une pudeur chancelante,’ was ordered to be abolished, and the entire place was, in a measure, enclosed and let, at some humble rate, as a storehouse or cellar for the tradesmen in the Rue de la Harpe.
The winter’s evening was closing in, cold and dismal, as Gaudin de Sainte-Croix was traversing the streets between the Place Maubert and the Rue de la Harpe, a short time after the events we have described. The front of the Palais des Thermes was at this period concealed from the street by an old dwelling-house, but the porte-cochére was always open, and he passed across the court, unchallenged, to the entrance of the large hall that still exists. Here he rang a rusty bell, which had the effect of bringing a man to the wicket, who wore the dress of a mechanic. He appeared to know Sainte-Croix, as he admitted him directly, without anything more than a humble recognition; and then giving him a small end of lighted candle in a split lath, similar to those used in cellars, he left him to go on at his own will.
Gaudin crossed the large salle, the sides of which were covered by wine-casks piled one on the other, and entered a small archway at the extremity, which was at the top of a dozen steps. Descending, he went along a vaulted passage, and at last reached a species of cellar, which was fitted up as a laboratory. By the light of the fire alone, which was burning in the furnace, he discovered Exili.