There is death enough in that
casket to kill every man and woman in New France."
Angelique fastened her gaze upon the casket as if she would have
drawn out the secret of its contents by the very magnetism of her
eyes. She laid her hand upon it caressingly, yet tremblingly--
eager, yet fearful, to see its contents.
"Open it!" cried La Corriveau, "press the spring, and you will see
such a casket of jewels as queens might envy. It was the wedding-
gift of Beatrice Spara, and once belonged to the house of Borgia--
Lucrezia Borgia had it from her terrible father; and he, from the
prince of demons!"
Angelique pressed the little spring,--the lid flew open, and there
flashed from it a light which for the moment dazzled her eyes with
its brilliancy. She thrust the casket from her in alarm, and
retreated a few steps, imagining she smelt the odor of some deadly
perfume.
"I dare not approach it," said she. "Its glittering terrifies me;
its odor sickens me."
"Tush! it is your weak imagination!" replied La Corriveau; "your
sickly conscience frightens you! You will need to cast off both to
rid Beaumanoir of the presence of your rival! The aqua tofana in
the hands of a coward is a gift as fatal to its possessor as to its
victim.
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