only contained exactly the right amount of medicine, the one from which Matilda had taken her dose must have had too much in it.  She was quite out of the habit of taking arsenic, too, and a very slight overdose would always produce the symptoms of poisoning.  Veronica could see that she had felt no serious ill effects from the accident.  As for thinking that any one had given her poison intentionally, it was utterly and entirely absurd.  Matilde refused to entertain the idea even for a moment, and presently she went on to speak of other things, and soon fell back upon making plans for the winter.  She did not allow the conversation to flag, for she feared lest Veronica should be tired of sitting in her room and suddenly propose to go somewhere else, just for the sake of the change.  It was essential to Matilde’s plan that Elettra should bring the things for tea.

She did not allow herself to think, and she succeeded in staving off silence.  Now that the deed was so near, it seemed unreal.  Once she touched her handkerchief in her pocket, and felt the three prepared lumps concealed in it, to assure herself that she was not imagining all she had done, and meant to do.  Then, suddenly, she felt that her brow was moist, a thing she could hardly remember having noticed before in her life.  But the moisture disappeared almost instantly, and her skin was dry and burning.

Then the time came, and it was four o’clock.

Elettra opened the door and brought in the tea things on a large silver tray, set them down, and went to get the little tea-table, that was made with a shelf below, between the four legs, as a table with two stories.

“Let me make it,” said Matilde, cheerfully; “I like to do it.”

She laid down her work, and Elettra set the table before her knees, with its high silver urn, and all the necessary little implements.  Veronica found herself on the other side of it, for Matilde had carefully chosen her seat when she had first come, placing herself in such a way with regard to Veronica as to make the present result almost inevitable unless the girl moved into a very inconvenient position.

The big grey Maltese cat came in through the still open door, in the hope of cream at the tea hour, as usual.  The creature rubbed itself along Elettra’s skirt while she was lighting the spirit lamp under the urn, which contained water already almost boiling.

“Will you kindly call the count?” said Matilde, addressing the maid.

Elettra left the room, and Matilde settled herself to make the tea, as women do, raising her elbow a little on each side and then dropping them again, bending her face down to see whether the lamp were burning well, opening the teapot, pouring a little hot water into it, opening and shutting the tea-caddy, and settling each spoon in each saucer in a dainty and utterly futile way.