‘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 rearranging 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
The Death of Sainte-Croix