I was alone with my host in the apartment I had hitherto occupied. The
females had retired to another part of the house; and I noticed that
Seguin, on entering, had looked to the door, turning the bolt.
What terrible proof was he going to exact of my faith, of my love? Was
he about to take my life, or bind me by some fearful oath, this man of
cruel deeds? Dark suspicions shot across my mind, and I sat silent, but
not without emotions of fear.
A bottle of wine was placed between us, and Seguin, pouring out two
glasses, asked me to drink. This courtesy assured me. "But how if the
wine be poi--?" He swallowed his own glass before the thought had
fairly shaped itself.
"I am wronging him," thought I. "This man, with all, is incapable of an
act of treachery like that."