It seemed as if before speaking again each wished to fathom the depths of guilt that lay in the other's heart.

It was a compact entered into by look and not by speech; and Daumon so well understood this, that at length, when he did speak, his voice sank to a hoarse whisper, as though he himself feared to listen to the utterance of his own thoughts.
"A man taking this feels no pain.

It is like a heavy, stunning blow on the forehead--in ten seconds all is over, no gasp, no cry, but the heart ceases to beat forever; and, best of all, it leaves no trace behind it.
A little of this, such a little, in wine or coffee, would be enough.

It is tasteless, colorless, and scentless, its presence is impossible to be detected." "But in the event of a _post-mortem_ examination ?" "By skilful analysts in Paris or the larger towns, there would be a chance; but in a place like this, never! Never, in fact, anywhere, unless there had been previous grounds for suspicion.

Otherwise only apoplectic symptoms would be observed; and even if it was traced there comes the question, By whom was it administered ?" He stopped short, for a word rose to his lips which he did not dare utter; he raised his hands to his mouth, coughed slightly, and went on,-- "This substance is not sold by chemists; it is very rarely met with, difficult to prepare, and terribly expensive.