The firmness of her resolution expressed itself by locking the case again, without restoring the canister to its hiding-place.
Providing herself next with a knife, she sat down in a corner--between the bedroom door on one side, and a cupboard in an angle of the wall on the other--and began the work of destruction by scraping off the paper label.

The fragments might be burnt, and the powder (if she made a vow to the Virgin to do it) might be thrown into the fire next--and then the empty canister would be harmless.
She had made but little progress in the work of scraping, when it occurred to her that the lighting of a fire, on that warm autumn day, might look suspicious if the landlady or Mr.Null happened to come in.
It would be safer to wait till night-time, when everybody would be in bed.
Arriving at this conclusion, she mechanically suspended the use of her knife.
In the moment of silence that followed, she heard someone enter the bedroom by the door which opened on the stairs.

Immediately afterwards, the person turned the handle of the second door at her side.

She had barely time enough to open the cupboard, and hide the canister in it--when the landlady came in.
Teresa looked at her wildly.

The landlady looked at the cupboard: she was proud of her cupboard.
"Plenty of room there," she said boastfully: "not another house in the neighbourhood could offer you such accommodation as that! Yes--the lock is out of order; I don't deny it.