had ever taken--and tossed it off. That night he might have been seen
feeling about the grass in a moon-lit garden. At last he put something
in his pocket with a quick, harsh chuckle of satisfaction. It was a
little black bottle with a well-worn cork.






A FRAGMENT OF LIVES

They met at last, Dubarre, and Villiard, the man who had stolen from him
the woman he loved. Both had wronged the woman, but Villiard most, for
he had let her die because of jealousy.

They were now in a room alone in the forest of St. Sebastian. Both were
quiet, and both knew that the end of their feud was near.

Going to a cupboard Dubarre brought out four glasses and put them on the
table. Then from two bottles he poured out what looked like red wine,
two glasses from each bottle. Putting the bottles back he returned to
the table.

"Do you dare to drink with me?" Dubarre asked, nodding towards the
glasses. "Two of the glasses have poison in them, two have good red wine
only. We will move them about and then drink. Both may die, or only one
of us."

Villiard looked at the other with contracting, questioning eyes.