"You knew so little of your poison that you assumed wrong symptoms!" remarked Toinon, in disdain.
"Not so. It is you who know not the poison," retorted Pharamond, with a malignant flash that was instantly suppressed. "Spite and fatuous ignorance misled you. The symptoms vary according to quantity imbibed. I unluckily ate a cake and half before I was aware of anything peculiar, and any doctor will tell you that whereas a small dose of subacetate of copper will produce coma, a large one will bring about griping pains and tetanic convulsions, which, without aid from above, lead to paralysis and death."
"A large dose acts on the system quickly--within an hour," scoffed the abigail. "When I told you that the cakes were poisoned you were in perfect health."
"I had but just partaken----"
"A clumsy liar! I asked Bertrand if he had more of his confectionery, and he answered with a searching look of suspicious inquiry that all he had made were served to the marquise."
"Upon my word, the wench is very erudite," laughed the abbé, lightly. "How come you to know so much?"
"There was an ancient book on poisons in the library. I turned up the article 'Copper,' and studied it."
"Was?"
"Yes, was. The book is hidden now where you will never find it."
There was a pause, during which the combatants studied each other warily. Then the abbé, shrugging his shoulders, in disgust drawled out, "Have we not had enough of this low comedy?"