He lost his temper utterly and in an access of fury he roared: “But I saw you, Josephine Balsamo! I saw you as clearly as I see you now! While you were putting that poison in the box, I saw your smile grow ferocious and the corners of your lips rise in the grin of the damned!”
She shook her head and said firmly:
“It was not I.”
He appeared to choke. How dared she say such a thing?
But quite coolly she laid her hand on his shoulder and said quietly:
“Hate is making you lose your wits, Beaumagnan. Your fanatical soul is in a wild revolt against the sin of love. However, in spite of that, I suppose you’ll allow me to defend myself?”
“It is your right, but be quick about it,” he said less loudly, but coldly.
“It won’t take long. Ask your friends for the miniature, painted in 1816, of the Countess of Cagliostro.”
Beaumagnan obeyed and took the miniature from the hands of the Baron.
“Good. Look at it carefully,” she went on. “It is my portrait, isn’t it?”