The greater villain ran the risk of interruption in his lengthened arguments in favour of parricide; but hearing approaching footsteps, Sainte-Croix hurried away.
M. d’Aubray had gone to bed. A servant suggested the night-drink.
“‘I will give it to him myself, Jervais,’ said the Marchioness.”
Taking a jug from the man, she poured the contents into an old cup of thin silver; then, “with a hurried glance round the room, she broke the seals of the packet Sainte-Croix had left in her hands, and shook a few grains of its contents into the beverage. No change was visible; a few bubbles rose and broke upon the surface, but this was all.”
Sleep had surprised M. d’Aubray. His daughter touched him lightly, and he “awoke with the exclamation of surprise attendant upon being suddenly disturbed from sleep.
“‘I have brought your wine, mon père,’ said the murderess.
“‘Thanks, thanks, my good girl,’ said the old man, as he raised himself up in bed, and took the cup from the Marchioness. He drank off the contents, and then, once more bestowing a benediction upon his daughter, turned again to his pillow.”
Let those who desire to see how beauty can be retained, though disfigured by devilish passion, study the face of the Marchioness in this drawing. For skilful arrangement of light and shade, and of the objects that go to make up the mise en scène, and for natural action in the figures; this drawing takes the lead of all the admirable illustrations in the “Marchioness of Brinvilliers.”