“Do you,” said he, “know anything of this young lady’s illness?”
“Yes,” said the old man.
“We have no time to lose; I will question, and do you answer me.” Noirtier made a sign that he was ready to answer. “Did you anticipate the accident which has happened to your granddaughter?”
“Yes.” D’Avrigny reflected a moment; then approaching Noirtier:
“Pardon what I am going to say,” added he, “but no indication should be neglected in this terrible situation. Did you see poor Barrois die?” Noirtier raised his eyes to heaven.
“Do you know of what he died!” asked d’Avrigny, placing his hand on Noirtier’s shoulder.
“Yes,” replied the old man.
“Do you think he died a natural death?” A sort of smile was discernible on the motionless lips of Noirtier.
“Then you have thought that Barrois was poisoned?”
“Yes.”
“Do you think the poison he fell a victim to was intended for him?”
“No.”
“Do you think the same hand which unintentionally struck Barrois has now attacked Valentine?”
“Yes.”
“Then will she die too?” asked d’Avrigny, fixing his penetrating gaze on Noirtier. He watched the effect of this question on the old man.
“No,” replied he with an air of triumph which would have puzzled the most clever diviner.
“Then you hope?” said d’Avrigny, with surprise.
“Yes.”
“What do you hope?” The old man made him understand with his eyes that he could not answer.
“Ah, yes, it is true,” murmured d’Avrigny. Then, turning to Noirtier,—“Do you hope the assassin will be tried?”