“And you too, brother,” said she, “oh, God, God! you, too!  Oh, have pity on me, in the name of Heaven!”

But he, stamping his foot and pressing the point of his sword to her bosom, answered—­

“Enough, madam, enough; take your choice without delay; for if you do not take it, we will take it for you.”

The marquise turned once again to the abbe, and her forehead struck the muzzle of the pistol.  Then she saw that she must die indeed, and choosing of the three forms of death that which seemed to her the least terrible, “Give me the poison, then,” said she, “and may God forgive you my death!”

With these words she took the glass, but the thick black liquid of which it was full aroused such repulsion that she would have attempted a last appeal; but a horrible imprecation from the abbe and a threatening movement from his brother took from her the very last gleam of hope.  She put the glass to her lips, and murmuring once more, “God!  Saviour! have pity on me!” she swallowed the contents.

As she did so a few drops of the liquid fell upon her breast, and instantly burned her skin like live coals; indeed, this infernal draught was composed of arsenic and sublimate infused in aqua-fortis; then, thinking that no more would be required of her, she dropped the glass.

The marquise was mistaken:  the abbe picked it up, and observing that all the sediment had remained at the bottom, he gathered together on a silver bodkin all that had coagulated on the sides of the glass and all that had sunk to the bottom, and presenting this ball, which was about the size of a nut, to the marquise, on the end of the bodkin, he said, “Come, madame, you must swallow the holy-water sprinkler.”

The marquise opened her lips, with resignation; but instead of doing as the abbe commanded, she kept this remainder of the poison in her mouth, threw herself on the bed with a scream, and clasping the pillows, in her pain, she put out the poison between the sheets, unperceived by her assassins; and then turning back to them, folded her hands in entreaty and said, “In the name of God, since you have killed my body, at least do not destroy my soul, but send me a confessor.”

Cruel though the abbe and the chevalier were, they were no doubt beginning to weary of such a scene; moreover, the mortal deed was accomplished—­after what she had drunk, the marquise could live but a few minutes; at her petition they went out, locking the door behind them.  But no sooner did the marquise find herself alone than the possibility of flight presented itself to her.  She ran to the window:  this was but twenty-two feet above the ground, but the earth below was covered with stones and rubbish.  The marquise, being only in her nightdress, hastened to slip on a silk petticoat; but at the moment when she finished tying it round her waist she heard a step approaching her room, and believing that her murderers were returning to make an end of her, she flew like a madwoman to the window.  At the moment of her setting foot on the window ledge, the door opened:  the marquise, ceasing to consider anything, flung herself down, head first.