CHAPTER III.
Now to return, (after this long digression,) to our story; all the horrors of this eventful period weighed on Martiniere's mind, when, on the following morning, she related to her mistress what had happened in the night, and, with fear and trembling, delivered up the mysterious casket. On this occasion both she and Baptiste, who stood pale as death, twirling and plaiting his cap in a corner, became almost speechless with anxiety. However, they begged of their Lady by no means to open the box without the utmost possible foresight and precaution. "You are both very childish," said she, calmly weighing it in her hand; "that I am not rich,—that I have no concealed treasure in my possession, that would be worth the trouble of a murder, is known doubtless to these street assassins, just as well as to you or me.—You think that attempts are made against my life; but to whom could the death of an old woman of seventy-three be of importance, especially one who never expressed enmity or resentment against any mortal, except the robbers and peace-breakers in her own romances? One, moreover, who cannot excite envy, having no other merit of distinction, than that of composing very middling verses,—and who has no estate to leave behind her except the parure of an antiquated demoiselle, who was obliged to appear at court, and a few dozen books in gilt binding. In short, Martiniere, you may describe this man in the most frightful colors that you can invent, but, for my part, I cannot believe that he had any evil intentions. So then," With these words she prepared to open the box. Martiniere, who had little doubt that the contents were poisoned, started back, and Baptiste, with a groan, almost fell on his knees, when he saw his Lady press on a steel button that served in place of a lock, and the lid flew open with a rattling noise. How was de Scuderi astonished, when she saw glittering, on a red velvet lining, a magnificent necklace
