"I have said it," he answered, coldly, and strode abruptly from the house.
Mme. Lorraine fell down for a moment on the sofa in furious hysterics. Carmontelle, her princely adorer, had scorned, defied her; Van Zandt knew her guilt and despised her; worst of all, the little scapegoat of her tempers, her beautiful slave, the hated Little Nobody, had escaped her clutches. Furies!
But suddenly she sprung up like a wild creature, tore open the door that Carmontelle had slammed together, and rushed after him. He was just entering his carriage when her frantic hand arrested him and drew him forcibly back.
"Come into the house; I must speak with you further. Do not shake your head," wildly. "It is a matter of life and death!"
He suffered her to drag him back into the salon. She turned her shining eyes upon his face with a half-maniacal gleam in them.
"The girl—had she awakened when you saw her last?" hoarsely.
"No," he replied.
She smote her forehead fiercely with one ringed white hand.
"My soul! I do not want to have murder on my hands. You must find Remond. I gave him the little vial with the antidote."
"The antidote?" he stammered, almost stupidly.