276 He opened the box. It was now whitening, hissing, and seething like an enormous cauldron. It was convenient for Father Saint-Simon, who could enter this way and prepare in the little room before going up the narrow stair to the chapel above where the nuns waited. He laid down the knife, and fixed a searching and distrustful gaze upon the writer, who continued his task, unconscious of anything having happened. Her mind invoked her husband, who she imagined lying dead in a ditch somewhere, tortured and killed by brigands or perhaps eaten by creatures like herself, a fate he actually deserved. “I know. "But they will find the evidences of slaughter in the other room,—the table upset,—the bloody cloth,— the dead man's sword,—the money,—and my memorandum, which I forgot to remove. See? You marry me. Besides," she added, blushing yet more deeply, "it isn't a proper one to talk upon. The operation was effected with so much rapidity and so little noise, that even if any one had been on the alert, he could scarcely have detected it.
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