“How you frightened me then!”

He looked at her a moment, which seemed to her an age—­and simply replied: 

“I understand it.”

There was no longer any uncertainty.  Bertha saw only too well in her husband’s eyes that he knew something.  But what—­how much?  She nerved herself to go on: 

“Are you still suffering?”

“No.”

“Then why did you get up?”

He raised himself upon his pillow, and with a sudden strength, he continued: 

“I got up to tell you that I have had enough of these tortures, that I have reached the limits of human energy, that I cannot endure one day longer the agony of seeing myself put to death slowly, drop by drop, by the hands of my wife and my best friend!”

He stopped.  Hector and Bertha were thunderstruck.  “I wanted to tell you also, that I have had enough of your cruel caution, and that I suffer.  Ah, don’t you see that I suffer horribly?  Hurry, cut short my agony!  Kill me, and kill me at a blow—­poisoners!”

At the last word, the Count de Tremorel sprang up as if he had moved by a spring, his eyes haggard, his arms stretched out.  Sauvresy, seeing this, quickly slipped his hand under the pillow, pulled out a revolver, and pointed the barrel at Hector, crying out: 

“Don’t advance a step!”

He thought that Tremorel, seeing that they were discovered, was going to rush upon him and strangle him; but he was mistaken.  It seemed to Hector as though he were losing his mind.  He fell down as heavily as if he were a log.  Bertha was more self-possessed; she tried to resist the torpor of terror which she felt coming on.

“You are worse, my Clement,” said she.  “This is that dreadful fever which frightens me so.  Delirium—­”

“Have I really been delirious?” interrupted he, with a surprised air.

“Alas, yes, dear, that is what haunts you, and fills your poor sick head with horrid visions.”

He looked at her curiously.  He was really stupefied by this boldness, which constantly grew more bold.

“What! you think that we, who are so dear to you, your friends, I, your—­”

Her husband’s implacable look forced her to stop, and the words expired on her lips.

“Enough of these lies, Bertha,” resumed Sauvresy, “they are useless.  No, I have not been dreaming, nor have I been delirious.  The poison is only too real, and I could tell you what it is without your taking it out of your pocket.”

She recoiled as if she had seen her husband’s hand stretched out to snatch the blue vial.

“I guessed it and recognized it at the very first; for you have chosen one of those poisons which, it is true, leave scarcely any trace of themselves, but the symptoms of which are not deceptive.  Do you remember the day when I complained of a morbid taste for pepper?  The next day I was certain of it, and I was not the only one.  Doctor R—–­, too, had a suspicion.”