It seemed to Dasso that the woman bent over him and that two black piercing eyes burnt into his very soul. He tried to speak but could not. Then he heard a voice. The figure was speaking to him in a whisper, low and vibrant with passion, telling him what the little devils had been hammering into his brain--that his hour had come.
"--_your_ hour, Gabriel Dasso, and _my_ hour. For fifteen years I have waited for this moment, and I have never doubted but that it would come----"
The figure rose up and it seemed to Dasso that he watched her as she glided silently about the room. It seemed to him that she took up the basin which had contained his _consommé_ and emptied the little liquid which remained into the mould of a pot containing a palm which stood in the alcove by the window. The whisper went on, and now Dasso told himself that this was Miranda's companion who was in the room with him.
"--and it is curious, is it not? that so experienced a conspirator as Gabriel Dasso, master of plot and counterplot, should fail to notice that his soup had, shall we say, a _distinctive_ taste? Is it not curious that he should not have noticed that the lock of his door had been tampered with? You have been insensible some hours now--and you are bound and gagged. But you are awake, Dasso, and you can see what I am doing."
The figure came again over to the bed and bent down again above the bound figure.
"I am a woman of peace, Dasso, and it is no crime I am committing--only an act of justice. For fifteen years I have put the thought of vengeance out of my mind, considering the living before the dead. After to-night I will take my place again in the world, without regret and without exultation--I am a tragic figure, am I not? the mother of a murdered child.
"Any time in those fifteen years I could have killed you, you did not know me well and it would have been easy. But I _wanted_ you to know me and to know why I am doing this. Perhaps God will let your agony be your expiation."
The figure rose up and crossed over to the little gas stove that stood in the fire-place. In even tones she went on--
"I am turning on the taps, here, Dasso, and all the crevices in the room are stopped up. In a little while--when--when you are quite dead, I will put a cloth over my mouth and come in and cut off the scarves which bind you--they are silk and will leave no marks. Then I will rouse the house and complain of a smell of gas, and afterwards there will be----"