“It is a lie.”
“The warder would have no interest in lying.”
“Did he tell the doctor so?” she asked anxiously, and Spoerri lied in answer:
“Yes, of course he did, and the doctor sent me to you.”
“It is a lie,” cried Cara again, on the verge of tears; “I was going to save him!”
“How can you prove that?”
“I was going to save him, I tell you. Spoerri, danger is threatening him.”
“Danger is always threatening him. That’s mere nonsense. Can you prove what you say?”
Cara hastily related what had passed between her and Wenk. Spoerri answered indifferently:
“I mean, can you prove it beyond all shadow of doubt? But be quick, please, for I must get away from here in five minutes.”
“What can I do to make the doctor believe me?” asked the girl in despair.
“I must tell you that the doctor is very disturbed, for he could not have believed it of you.”
“No, no, I could never have done it,” she stammered, thoroughly downcast; “but how am I to prove that I didn’t … how can I prove it? Surely you know, Spoerri, that. …”
Then Spoerri with a smile drew out of his pocket a small flask. “The proof lies there,” he said.
“Where?” asked the distracted girl.
“In here, my pretty one; don’t you see?”
“I don’t understand you,” said the dancer.
“Oh, you don’t need to understand, my child, only to drink. Just one little mouthful to swallow and then the doctor will know your word was to be relied on.”
Cara looked horrorstruck at the little flask. “What is it?” she asked.
“A heavenly drink, my pretty one, nothing that hurts one in the least. The doctor himself made it up. But mind you throw the bottle out of the window quickly! See, I am opening it for you. Be sure you don’t forget that! And be quick about it, do you hear? Throw it away at once, for if there’s no bottle to be seen, nobody will know what has happened. That’s what the doctor expects of you; that is a proof that no one can doubt. Besides, you know us. Even your husband. …”
With that he drew a knife out of his pocket, playing with it lightly. He threw it at the door, and it stuck there with the point transfixed. He pulled it out and put it away again.
“Do you see that?” he said. “Now I must be going. Well, au revoir!”
He was about to leave, but Cara sprang towards him and clung to his knees, sobbing.
“But I am still so young, and I love life. I have been very useful to him. I was hoping to be set free … by him. Set free at any rate, even if he can never love me again.”
“Well, I can only tell you,” answered Spoerri, “that he is very much disturbed about all this. You can take it or leave it.”
Then the girl said, “Then I will free myself of this existence. I will show him, a thousand times over, that he can trust me. I will give my life for him. …”
“Oh, spare me your heroics!” said Spoerri roughly.
But the girl went on unheeding, “What am I after all?—a mere shadow following him about and hiding out of his sight, but yet unable to part from him. Yes, I will prove it, a thousand times over. … I will free myself. …”
“Well, if we are taken by surprise now, it will be a hanging matter for us both; he told me so. And who knows whether they won’t even get him?”
Then Cara became suddenly calm, and said quietly, “It is all right; you can go. And tell him. … No, you needn’t say anything. I don’t want anything more from him. …”
Spoerri left hastily, leaving the little flask in Cara’s hand. It was now warm from her fevered touch.
“He does not believe me,” she said to herself tremblingly. “The Doctor will never believe me again. Strange—and yet, can there be any greater proof to offer that I was always faithful to him? Oh life! base, incomprehensible, disturbing life! This terrible life of mine! Come!” she said, apostrophizing the flask; “we will show him there is nothing to fear from me. We will prove it to you, you … king of men … you enchanting murderer! you sublime destroyer! my horror and my bliss! …”
She shouted aloud, then she grew fearful lest her cries might endanger the beloved life, and she snatched the stopper out of the bottle. Standing upright in the middle of the cell, she drank, a moment later throwing the bottle out of the window, where the sun streaming in proclaimed the morning of a new day.
Wenk faced the curator of the women’s prison.
“Yes, sir, we were sorry to be unable to inform you, but it was not possible to communicate with you. The doctor says it must have been a heart-stroke, for she was found lying dead in her cell this morning.”
Amazed and horrified, Wenk entered the cell. It was empty, the straw pallet bare. Cara’s clothing lay on a stool. Wenk looked round, and was about to leave when he saw something shining on the window-ledge. He went back and examined it, and found it was a small piece of glass, rounded in shape, with a very strong odour clinging to it. Wenk jumped on a chair and found another piece of glass outside. Then he went down into the courtyard, and very soon had collected all the other pieces of the bottle. It had broken against one of the window-bars. He had the glass tested, and there were evidences of poison upon it.
He walked back to his chambers—pondering over this new occurrence. “Another victim!” he said to himself repeatedly. One more sacrifice, a real sacrifice, for this one had sacrificed herself. This light-of-love had offered her life as a sacrifice to her love. She had not meant to tell him anything—he realized that now. She merely wanted to put him on the wrong track that she might have a chance to warn the criminal. “I have no success with
