Morrel erged from his hiding place, where he’d remained completely unnoticed during the chaos.
"Leave as quickly as you can, Maximilian," Valentine urged. "Wait until I send for you. Go!"
Morrel looked toward Noirtier for permission. The old man, maintaining his usual composure, signaled him to leave. The young man pressed Valentine’s hand to his lips and left through a back staircase.
The mont he exited, Villefort and the doctor entered through the opposite door. Barrois was showing signs of regaining consciousness. The crisis seed to be passing, he moaned softly and raised himself onto one knee. D’Avrigny and Villefort laid him on a couch.
"What do you prescribe, doctor?" Villefort asked urgently.
"Give water and ether. You have so in the house, don’t you?"
"Yes."
"Send for turpentine oil and tartar etic."
Villefort imdiately dispatched a ssenger.
"And now everyone must leave."
" too?" Valentine asked timidly.
"Yes, miss, especially you," the doctor replied abruptly.
Valentine looked at him in surprise, kissed her grandfather’s forehead, and left. The doctor closed the door behind her with a grim expression.
"Look, doctor," Villefort said, "he’s coming around! I really don’t think it’s anything serious after all."
D’Avrigny answered with a lancholy smile.
"How do you feel, Barrois?" he asked.
"A little better, sir."
"Will you drink so of this ether and water?"
"I’ll try, but don’t touch ."
"Why not?"
"Because I feel like if you even touched with your fingertip, the fit would return."
"Drink."
Barrois took the glass and raised it to his purple lips, drinking about half the liquid.
"Where does it hurt?" the doctor asked.
"Everywhere. I feel cramps throughout my entire body."
"Do your eyes feel dazzled or blurry?"
"Yes."
"Any ringing in your ears?"
"Horrible."
"When did you first notice it?"
"Just now."
"Suddenly?"
"Yes, like a thunderclap."
"Did you feel anything unusual yesterday or the day before?"
"Nothing."
"No drowsiness?"
"None."
"What have you eaten today?"
"Nothing. I only drank a glass of my master’s lemonade, that’s all."
Barrois turned toward Noirtier, who sat motionless in his wheelchair, observing this terrible scene without letting slip a single word or movent.
"Where is this lemonade?" the doctor asked urgently.
"Downstairs in the decanter."
"Where downstairs?"
"In the kitchen."
"Should I go get it, doctor?" Villefort offered.
"No, stay here and try to make Barrois finish this glass of ether and water. I’ll get the lemonade myself."
D’Avrigny bolted toward the door, flew down the back staircase, and nearly knocked over Mada de Villefort, who was heading to the kitchen herself. She cried out, but d’Avrigny paid no attention. Possessed by a single thought, he cleared the last four steps in one bound and rushed into the kitchen, where he saw the decanter, about three-quarters empty, still sitting on the tray where it had been left. He seized it like an eagle snatching its prey.
Gasping for breath, he returned to the room he’d just left. Mada de Villefort was slowly climbing the stairs to her room.
"Is this the decanter you ntioned?" d’Avrigny asked.
"Yes, doctor."
"Is this the sa lemonade you drank?"
"I believe so."
"What did it taste like?"
"It had a bitter taste."
The doctor poured a few drops into his palm, touched them to his lips, swished the liquid in his mouth like soone tasting wine, then spat it into the fireplace.
"It’s definitely the sa," he said. "Did you drink so too, Mr. Noirtier?"
"Yes."
"And did you also notice a bitter taste?"
"Yes."
"Oh, doctor," Barrois cried, "another fit is coming! Please, do sothing!"
The doctor rushed to his patient.
"That etic, Villefort, is it here yet?"
Villefort ran into the hallway, calling out, "The etic! Has it arrived?" No one answered. A profound terror had gripped the entire household.
"If I had sothing to inflate his lungs with," d’Avrigny muttered, looking around desperately, "I might prevent suffocation. But there’s nothing, nothing!"
"Sir," Barrois gasped, "are you going to let die without helping ? I’m dying! Save !"
"A pen! Give a pen!" the doctor demanded.
One was lying on the table. He tried to insert it into the patient’s mouth to help him vomit, but Barrois’s jaws were clenched so tightly during his convulsions that the pen couldn’t pass through. This second attack was far more violent than the first. He’d slipped from the couch to the floor, where he writhed in agony.
The doctor left him in this paroxysm, knowing he could do nothing to ease it. He went to Noirtier and asked abruptly, "How do you feel? Well?"
"Yes."
"Any tightness in your chest? Does your stomach feel light and comfortable?"
"Yes."
"So you feel pretty much like you normally do after the dose I give you every Sunday?"
"Yes."
"Did Barrois make your lemonade?"
"Yes."
"Did you ask him to drink so?"
"No."
"Was it Mr. de Villefort?"
"No."
"Mada?"
"No."
"It was your granddaughter then?"
"Yes."
A groan from Barrois, accompanied by a yawn that seed to crack his jawbones, drew d’Avrigny’s attention back. He left Noirtier and returned to the sick man.
"Barrois," the doctor said, "can you speak?"
Barrois muttered a few unintelligible words.
"Try to make an effort, my good man," d’Avrigny urged.
Barrois reopened his bloodshot eyes.
"Who made the lemonade?"
"I did."
"Did you bring it to your master imdiately?"
"No."
"You left it sowhere first?"
"Yes, in the pantry. I was called away."
"Who brought it to this room then?"
"Miss Valentine."
D’Avrigny struck his forehead with his hand. "Good God," he breathed.
"Doctor, doctor!" Barrois cried, feeling another seizure approaching.
"Will they never bring that etic?" the doctor demanded.
"Here’s a glass with one already prepared," Villefort said, entering the room.
"Who prepared it?"
"The pharmacist who ca with ."
"Drink it," the doctor ordered Barrois.
"Impossible, doctor, it’s too late! My throat is closing! I’m choking! My heart! My head! The agony! Will I suffer like this for long?"
"No, no, friend," the doctor replied. "You’ll stop suffering soon."
"I understand," the dying man whispered. "My God, have rcy on !"
With a terrible cry, Barrois fell back as if struck by lightning. D’Avrigny placed his hand on Barrois’s heart and held a glass before his lips.
"Well?" Villefort asked anxiously.
"Go to the kitchen and get so violet syrup."
Villefort left imdiately.
"Don’t be alard, Mr. Noirtier," d’Avrigny said. "I’m taking my patient to the next room to bleed him. This kind of attack is very frightening to witness."
He dragged Barrois under the arms into an adjoining room, but almost imdiately returned for the lemonade. Noirtier closed his right eye.
"You want Valentine, don’t you? I’ll have them send her to you."
Villefort returned, and d’Avrigny t him in the hallway.
"Well, how is he now?" Villefort asked.
"Co in here," d’Avrigny said, leading him into the room where the sick man lay.
"Is he still having a fit?" the prosecutor asked.
"He’s dead."
Villefort stumbled back several steps. Clasping his hands, he exclaid with genuine shock and sympathy, "Dead? Already?"
"Yes, very quickly," the doctor said, looking at the corpse. "But that shouldn’t surprise you. Mr. and Mada de Saint-Méran died just as suddenly. People die very suddenly in your house, Mr. de Villefort."
"What?" the magistrate cried in horror. "Are you still dwelling on that terrible idea?"
"Still, sir, and I always will," d’Avrigny replied. "It has never left my mind for a single instant. And to prove I’m not mistaken this ti, listen carefully to what I’m about to tell you."
The magistrate trembled convulsively.
"There’s a poison that destroys life while leaving almost no detectable traces. I know it well, I’ve studied it in all its forms and effects. I recognized its presence in poor Barrois’s case, just as I did with Mada de Saint-Méran. There’s a way to detect it: it restores the blue color to litmus paper reddened by acid, and it turns violet syrup green. We don’t have litmus paper, but look, here cos the violet syrup now."
The doctor was right. Footsteps sounded in the hallway. D’Avrigny opened the door and took from a maid’s hands a cup containing two or three spoonfuls of syrup, then carefully closed the door again.
"Look," he told the prosecutor, whose heart was beating so loudly it was almost audible. "Here in this cup is violet syrup. This decanter contains the remainder of the lemonade that Mr. Noirtier and Barrois drank. If the lemonade is pure and harmless, the syrup will keep its color. But if the lemonade is poisoned, the syrup will turn green. Watch closely!"
The doctor slowly poured drops of lemonade from the decanter into the cup. Instantly, a light cloudy sedint began forming at the bottom. The sedint first took on a blue shade, then shifted from sapphire to opal, and from opal to erald. Once it reached that final green hue, it changed no more. The result was undeniable.
"The unfortunate Barrois has been poisoned," d’Avrigny declared. "And I will maintain this assertion before God and man."
Villefort said nothing. He clasped his hands, opened his haggard eyes, and, overwheld by emotion, collapsed into a chair.
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