daughter of Duparc. The latter assisted Victoire in attending upon the table.
While eating the soup, the little Duparc complained of there being something hard in it which cracked between his teeth. Madame Duparc said: "The child is right. I also perceived something which gritted like sand."
The company remained at the table quietly until half-past two. At this time one Fergaut arrived, a shoemaker and a relative of Madame Duparc; this brought the number up to eight persons.
Victoire returned to the kitchen, and ate her dinner. She then prepared to wash the dishes.
Suddenly the young Duparc came into the kitchen, complaining of nausea. Successively six others of the company came and complained of similar feelings. "Ah!" cried Madame Duparc, "we are all poisoned. I perceive here the odor of burnt arsenic."
"That is true," said the shoemaker Fergaut; "it is very noticeable. I can smell burnt arsenic."
Young Beaugillot at once ran to seek M. Thierry the apothecary. On arriving, Thierry found all the family complaining of pains in the stomach and nausea. He inquired what they had eaten. "Some soup," replied Madame Duparc. The apothecary examined the dishes in which the soup had been prepared and served.
"What is the meaning of all this?" said he to Victoire.
She, greatly surprised, replied, "I truly know nothing about it."
Thierry approached the hearth and raked over the cinders. He saw nothing, and perceived no odor.
However, the report was not slow in spreading through the town that the whole Duparc family had been poisoned by their domestic. The sudden death of old Beaulieu was recalled; undoubtedly this servant had poisoned him as well as the others. A crowd gathered before the house; all the friends and all the acquaintances of the Duparcs, drawn by curiosity, entered the house and overwhelmed Victoire with questions, threats, and menaces.
The poor girl, utterly bewildered and worn out by fatigue, sank into a chair in such a state of weakness and terror that she excited the pity of some good souls. They advised her to take a little repose. She yielded to their advice, and let them place her upon a bed which had been prepared for the young Beaugillot. A neighbor's servant brought her a glass of milk and water, which she made her drink.
Poisoned as she was, Madame Duparc related to all the neighbors, friends, and relatives the terrible danger which had been incurred by her family. The gritty soup, the odor of burnt arsenic,—she gave all the details with the greatest animation; she conducted her hearers through all the different rooms on the ground floor, going from the kitchen to the dining-room and from the dining-room to the chamber where Victoire was lying in a state of utter prostration.
Reproaches and menaces were showered anew upon the unhappy girl. Tongues cursed and fists threatened Victoire, who, stretched upon the bed, turned toward her assailants her haggard eyes. A friend of the family, a surgeon named Herbert, declared that it was important that the pockets of the servant should be examined. Victoire unfastened the string of her Pockets and handed them to Herbert. He found in one of them some money and a thimble; in the other some small pieces of bread, which he took out and carried away without saying a word.
Herbert returned to the salon with these pieces, and showed them to the persons there, pointing out to them some white shining grains of different sizes mingled with the bread. A physician named Dubreuil wrapped these pieces of bread in a paper and took them away with him.
The day passed in this terrible manner. Victoire, allowed no peace even in her bed, decided to return to the kitchen. There, her
