Well, he should give her death
too--her lord of fife and death. She was of the chosen few who could
drink the cup of light and the cup of darkness with equally regnant soul.
But it might lay her low in the very hour of Valmond's trouble. She must
conquer it--how? To whom could she turn for succour? There was but
one,--yet she could not seek Madame Degardy, for the old woman would
drive her to her bed, and keep her there. There was only this to do: to
possess herself of those wonderful herbs which had been given her
Napoleon in his hour of peril.
Dragging herself wearily to the little but by the river, she knocked, and
waited. All was still, and, opening the door, she entered. Striking a
match, she found a candle, lighted it, and then began her search. Under
an old pan on a shelf she found both herbs and powder. She snatched up a
handful of the herbs, and kissed them with joyful heart. Saved--she was
saved! Ah, thank the Blessed Virgin! She would thank her for ever!
A horrible sinking sensation seized her. Turning in dismay, she saw the
face of Parpon at the window. With a blind instinct for protection, she
staggered towards the door, and fell, her fingers still clasping the
precious herbs.
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