make your fortune, and I am sure of your discretion.” About the same time the lady fetched Sainte-Croix back, and they held long conversations together. He showed me the greatest marks of friendliness, assuring me of his services, and begged me to watch over the little boy, of whom he was fond.’ We know by Madame de Brinvilliers’ own confession that this little boy was actually Sainte-Croix’ child.

This deposition of Briancourt constitutes one of the most curious documents in our possession. This man was well disposed and at heart upright, but lacked backbone. His terrible mistress ruled and awed him. Yet he had flashes of that boldness into which feeble natures are occasionally drawn. After having poisoned her father and brothers the marquise had still to get rid of her sister, Thérèse d’Aubray, and her sister-in-law, Marie Thérèse Mangot, widow of the civil lieutenant. That is what ‘remained to be done.’ ‘Seeing the imminent peril of Mademoiselle d’Aubray and even of Madame d’Aubray (though the widow’s danger was not so near as the younger lady’s), and because La Chaussée had not yet entered the house of Madame d’Aubray, and Madame de Brinvilliers said that she wished the widow’s business to be managed in two months or not at all, he (Briancourt) begged the marquise to take care what she was at, said that she had cruelly put her father and brothers to death and wished to do the same with her sister; that he had never come upon an example of such cruelty in all the annals of antiquity, and that she was the cruelest and wickedest woman that ever had been or would be; that he begged her to reflect on what she meant to do, and to remember how that wretch Sainte-Croix had ruined her and her family; that he saw no safety for her, but sooner or later she would perish; that he himself would never allow the murder of Mademoiselle d’Aubray, even though she had once written to Madame de Brinvilliers a letter in which she accused him of being a rogue and rake.’ It was unquestionably Briancourt’s attitude which saved the lives of Madame de Brinvilliers’ sister and sister-in-law; he had further warned Mademoiselle d’Aubray, through the marquise’s maid Mademoiselle de Villeray, to be on her guard. In her confession the marquise declared that if she had thought of poisoning her sister it was out of hatred, by way of revenge for remarks she had made to her about her conduct.

Briancourt had only succeeded in diverting the peril upon himself. Madame de Brinvilliers resolved to rid herself of a lover who responded to her confidences by playing the censor. The customary means, poison, was obviously the first to suggest itself. ‘Sainte-Croix,’ says Briancourt, ‘had introduced into the Brinvilliers household a porter related to La Chaussée, and a lackey named Bazile, who was extraordinarily assiduous in serving me with food and drink; but seeing these attentions and, further, some sign of roguery in this fellow, I handled him so roughly that Madame de Brinvilliers had to dismiss him.’

There followed a remarkably romantic scene, as Briancourt described it before the court.

‘Two or three days after Bazile’s departure, Lady Brinvilliers told me that she had a very handsome bed, and hangings embroidered to match; that it was a bed which Sainte-Croix had pawned and which she had redeemed. She had it put up in her large room, where there was a close and wainscoted chimney-piece, and told me that I must come that night and sleep in that bed, and that she would expect me at midnight, but that I must not come earlier, because she had to arrange with her cook. Instead of going down at midnight to a gallery which commanded the windows of the room, I came down at ten o’clock, and looking through the windows into the room, the curtains not being drawn, I saw the lady walking up and down and dismissing all her servants.’

We may remark in passing that this gallery still exists at the present day in the mansion inhabited by Madame de Brinvilliers in the Rue Neuve-Saint-Paul.[2]

‘About half-past eleven,’ continues Briancourt, ‘Lady Brinvilliers, having undressed and put on her dressing-gown, took a few turns in the room, holding a torch in her hand; then she went to the chimney-piece, which she opened. Sainte-Croix stepped out, dressed in rags, with a worn-out jerkin and an old hat, and kissed the lady, and for a quarter of an hour they talked together. Then Sainte-Croix went back into the chimney-piece, and the lady pushed its two folding-doors to, so as to shut him in, and then came to the door, in some agitation; my own agitation was no less. Should I enter, or should I go away? But the lady seeing my confusion said: “What is the matter? Don’t you want to come?” I saw much rage in her countenance, which was changed in an extraordinary degree. I went into the room, and the lady asked me if the bed was not very fine; I said that it was, and the lady rejoined, “Let us lie down then.” Then the marquise got into bed. I had placed the torch on a stand, and she said, “Undress yourself and put out the light very quickly.” I pretended to be undoing my shoes, desiring to know how far the lady’s cruelty would go, and she said, “What is the matter with you? You look very solemn.” Then I rose and, giving the bed a wide berth, said to the lady: “Ah, how cruel you are! What have I done that you want to have me murdered?” The lady sprang out of bed and flung herself upon me from behind; but freeing myself, I went straight to the chimney-piece. Sainte-Croix came out, and I said to him: “Ah, villain, you have come to stick a knife into me!” and as the torch was burning, Sainte-Croix made to flee, while Lady Brinvilliers rolled on the floor declaring that she would live no longer, but die; at the same time she sought her case of poisons, opened it, and was on the point of taking poison. I prevented her and said, “You wanted to get me poisoned by Bazile, and now you want to get me stabbed by Sainte-Croix.” The lady threw herself at my feet, declaring that such had not happened to me and would never happen, and that she would pay with her death for what she had just done—that she saw clearly that it was all up with her and that she could not survive such an occurrence. I told her that I would forgive her and forget all about what she had done, but that I was determined to go away in the morning, since they wanted to get rid of me, and I made the lady promise that she would not poison herself. I remained in the room until six o’clock in the morning with the lady, whom I compelled to go back to bed, I remaining on a sofa beside the bed near her.’

After this scene, Briancourt at once set about procuring pistols, deeming them necessary to his safety; then he went to ask the advice of Monsieur Bocager, a professor of the law school, who had introduced him to Madame de Brinvilliers.

From the first day he saw the terrible marchioness, Briancourt had advanced from surprise to surprise; but his greatest astonishment awaited him in the study of the law professor. The young man said to him, ‘Sir, I have a great secret to communicate to you; I think that you will give me good advice, and that you will tell the first president, whom you often see, what is going on, so that he may take the proper steps.’ The professor’s discomposure was evident in his features, and he leaned back uncomfortably in his chair. ‘Monsieur Bocager turned very pale, and said nothing, except that I must keep my secret and not speak about it to the curé of St. Paul or any one else. He assured me that he would see to everything, and that I ought not to leave the Brinvilliers’ house so soon, but wait some time, while he sought some new employment for me.’