MORREL WAS, in fact, very happy. M. Noirtier had just sent for him, and he was in such haste to know the reason of his doing so that he had not stopped to take a cab, placing infinitely more dependence on his own two legs than on the four legs of a cab-horse. He had therefore set off at a furious rate from the Rue Meslay, and was hastening with rapid strides in the direction of the Faubourg Saint-Honoré. Morrel advanced with a firm, manly tread, and poor Barrois followed him as he best might. Morrel was only thirty-one, Barrois was sixty years of age; Morrel was deeply in love, and Barrois was dying with heat and exertion. These two men, thus opposed in age and interests, resembled two parts of a triangle, presenting the extremes of separation, yet nevertheless possessing their point of union. This point of union was Noirtier, and it was he who had just sent for Morrel, with the request that the latter would lose no time in coming to him--a command which Morrel obeyed to the letter, to the great discomfiture of Barrois. On arriving at the house, Morrel was not even out of breath, for love lends wings to our desires; but Barrois, who had long forgotten what it was to love, was sorely fatigued by the expedition he had been constrained to use.

The old servant introduced Morrel by a private entrance, closed the door of the study, and soon the rustling of a dress announced the arrival of Valentine. She looked marvellously beautiful in her deep mourning dress, and Morrel experienced such intense delight in gazing upon her that he felt as if he could almost have dispensed with the conversation of her grandfather. But the easy-chair of the old man was heard rolling along the floor, and he soon made his appearance in the room. Noirtier acknowledged by a look of extreme kindness and benevolence the thanks which Morrel lavished on him for his timely intervention on behalf of Valentine and himself--an intervention which had saved them from despair. Morrel then cast on the invalid an interrogative look as to the new favor which he designed to bestow on him. Valentine was sitting at a little distance from them, timidly awaiting the moment when she should be obliged to speak. Noirtier fixed his eyes on her. "Am I to say what you told me?" asked Valentine. Noirtier made a sign that she was to do so.

"Monsieur Morrel," said Valentine to the young man, who was regarding her with the most intense interest, "my grandfather, M. Noirtier, had a thousand things to say, which he told me three days ago; and now, he has sent for you, that I may repeat them to you. I will repeat them, then; and since he has chosen me as his interpreter, I will be faithful to the trust, and will not alter a word of his intentions."

"Oh, I am listening with the greatest impatience," replied the young man; "speak, I beg of you." Valentine cast down her eyes; this was a good omen for Morrel, for he knew that nothing but happiness could have the power of thus overcoming Valentine. "My grandfather intends leaving this house," said she, "and Barrois is looking out suitable apartments for him in another."

"But you, Mademoiselle de Villefort,--you, who are necessary to M. Noirtier's happiness"--

"I?" interrupted Valentine; "I shall not leave my grandfather,--that is an understood thing between us. My apartment will be close to his. Now, M. de Villefort must either give his consent to this plan or his refusal; in the first case, I shall leave directly, and in the second, I shall wait till I am of age, which will be in about ten months. Then I shall be free, I shall have an independent fortune, and"--

"And what?" demanded Morrel.

"And with my grandfather's consent I shall fulfil the promise which I have made you." Valentine pronounced these last few words in such a low tone, that nothing but Morrel's intense interest in what she was saying could have enabled him to hear them. "Have I not explained your wishes, grandpapa?" said Valentine, addressing Noirtier. "Yes," looked the old man.--"Once under my grandfather's roof, M. Morrel can visit me in the presence of my good and worthy protector, if we still feel that the union we contemplated will be likely to insure our future comfort and happiness; in that case I shall expect M. Morrel to come and claim me at my own hands. But, alas, I have heard it said that hearts inflamed by obstacles to their desire grew cold in time of security; I trust we shall never find it so in our experience!"

"Oh," cried Morrel, almost tempted to throw himself on his knees before Noirtier and Valentine, and to adore them as two superior beings, "what have I ever done in my life to merit such unbounded happiness?"

"Until that time," continued the young girl in a calm and self-possessed tone of voice, "we will conform to circumstances, and be guided by the wishes of our friends, so long as those wishes do not tend finally to separate us; in a word, and I repeat it, because it expresses all I wish to convey,--we will wait."

"And I swear to make all the sacrifices which this word imposes, sir," said Morrel, "not only with resignation, but with cheerfulness."

"Therefore," continued Valentine, looking playfully at Maximilian, "no more inconsiderate actions--no more rash projects; for you surely would not wish to compromise one who from this day regards herself as destined, honorably and happily, to bear your name?"

Morrel looked obedience to her commands. Noirtier regarded the lovers with a look of ineffable tenderness, while Barrois, who had remained in the room in the character of a man privileged to know everything that passed, smiled on the youthful couple as he wiped the perspiration from his bald forehead. "How hot you look, my good Barrois," said Valentine.

"Ah, I have been running very fast, mademoiselle, but I must do M. Morrel the justice to say that he ran still faster." Noirtier directed their attention to a waiter, on which was placed a decanter containing lemonade and a glass. The decanter was nearly full, with the exception of a little, which had been already drunk by M. Noirtier.

"Come, Barrois," said the young girl, "take some of this lemonade; I see you are coveting a good draught of it."

"The fact is, mademoiselle," said Barrois, "I am dying with thirst, and since you are so kind as to offer it me, I cannot say I should at all object to drinking your health in a glass of it."

"Take some, then, and come back immediately." Barrois took away the waiter, and hardly was he outside the door, which in his haste he forgot to shut, than they saw him throw back his head and empty to the very dregs the glass which Valentine had filled. Valentine and Morrel were exchanging their adieux in the presence of Noirtier when a ring was heard at the door-bell. It was the signal of a visit. Valentine looked at her watch.

"It is past noon," said she, "and to-day is Saturday; I dare say it is the doctor, grandpapa." Noirtier looked his conviction that she was right in her supposition. "He will come in here, and M. Morrel had better go,--do you not think so, grandpapa?"

"Yes," signed the old man.

"Barrois," cried Valentine, "Barrois!"

"I am coming, mademoiselle," replied he. "Barrois will open the door for you," said Valentine, addressing Morrel. "And now remember one thing, Monsieur Officer, that my grandfather commands you not to take any rash or ill-advised step which would be likely to compromise our happiness."

"I promised him to wait," replied Morrel; "and I will wait."

At this moment Barrois entered. "Who rang?" asked Valentine.

"Doctor d'Avrigny," said Barrois, staggering as if he would fall.

"What is the matter, Barrois?" said Valentine. The old man did not answer, but looked at his master with wild staring eyes, while with his cramped hand he grasped a piece of furniture to enable him to stand upright. "He is going to fall!" cried Morrel. The rigors which had attacked Barrois gradually increased, the features of the face became quite altered, and the convulsive movement of the muscles appeared to indicate the approach of a most serious nervous disorder. Noirtier, seeing Barrois in this pitiable condition, showed by his looks all the various emotions of sorrow and sympathy which can animate the heart of man. Barrois made some steps towards his master.

"Ah, sir," said he, "tell me what is the matter with me. I am suffering--I cannot see. A thousand fiery darts are piercing my brain. Ah, don't touch me, pray don't." By this time his haggard eyes had the appearance of being ready to start from their sockets; his head fell back, and the lower extremities of the body began to stiffen. Valentine uttered a cry of horror; Morrel took her in his arms, as if to defend her from some unknown danger. "M. d'Avrigny, M. d'Avrigny," cried she, in a stifled voice. "Help, help!" Barrois turned round and with a great effort stumbled a few steps, then fell at the feet of Noirtier, and resting his hand on the knee of the invalid, exclaimed, "My master, my good master!" At this moment M. de Villefort, attracted by the noise, appeared on the threshold. Morrel relaxed his hold of Valentine, and retreating to a distant corner of the room remained half hidden behind a curtain. Pale as if he had been gazing on a serpent, he fixed his terrified eye on the agonized sufferer.

Noirtier, burning with impatience and terror, was in despair at his utter inability to help his old domestic, whom he regarded more in the light of a friend than a servant. One might by the fearful swelling of the veins of his forehead and the contraction of the muscles round the eye, trace the terrible conflict which was going on between the living energetic mind and the inanimate and helpless body. Barrois, his features convulsed, his eyes suffused with blood, and his head thrown back, was lying at full length, beating the floor with his hands, while his legs had become so stiff, that they looked as if they would break rather than bend. A slight appearance of foam was visible around the mouth, and he breathed painfully, and with extreme difficulty.

Villefort seemed stupefied with astonishment, and remained gazing intently on the scene before him without uttering a word. He had not seen Morrel. After a moment of dumb contemplation, during which his face became pale and his hair seemed to stand on end, he sprang towards the door, crying out, "Doctor, doctor! come instantly, pray come!"

"Madame, madame!" cried Valentine, calling her step-mother, and running up-stairs to meet her; "come quick, quick!--and bring your bottle of smelling-salts with you."

"What is the matter?" said Madame de Villefort in a harsh and constrained tone.

"Oh, come, come!"

"But where is the doctor?" exclaimed Villefort; "where is he?" Madame de Villefort now deliberately descended the staircase. In one hand she held her handkerchief, with which she appeared to be wiping her face, and in the other a bottle of English smelling-salts. Her first look on entering the room was at Noirtier, whose face, independent of the emotion which such a scene could not fail of producing, proclaimed him to be in possession of his usual health; her second glance was at the dying man. She turned pale, and her eye passed quickly from the servant and rested on the master.

"In the name of heaven, madame," said Villefort, "where is the doctor? He was with you just now. You see this is a fit of apoplexy, and he might be saved if he could but be bled!"

"Has he eaten anything lately?" asked Madame de Villefort, eluding her husband's question. "Madame," replied Valentine, "he has not even breakfasted. He has been running very fast on an errand with which my grandfather charged him, and when he returned, took nothing but a glass of lemonade."

"Ah," said Madame de Villefort, "why did he not take wine? Lemonade was a very bad thing for him."

"Grandpapa's bottle of lemonade was standing just by his side; poor Barrois was very thirsty, and was thankful to drink anything he could find." Madame de Villefort started. Noirtier looked at her with a glance of the most profound scrutiny. "He has such a short neck," said she. "Madame," said Villefort, "I ask where is M. d'Avrigny? In God's name answer me!"

"He is with Edward, who is not quite well," replied Madame de Villefort, no longer being able to avoid answering.

Villefort rushed up-stairs to fetch him. "Take this," said Madame de Villefort, giving her smelling-bottle to Valentine. "They will, no doubt, bleed him; therefore I will retire, for I cannot endure the sight of blood;" and she followed her husband up-stairs. Morrel now emerged from his hiding-place, where he had remained quite unperceived, so great had been the general confusion. "Go away as quick as you can, Maximilian," said Valentine, "and stay till I send for you. Go."

Morrel looked towards Noirtier for permission to retire. The old man, who had preserved all his usual coolness, made a sign to him to do so. The young man pressed Valentine's hand to his lips, and then left the house by a back staircase. At the same moment that he quitted the room, Villefort and the doctor entered by an opposite door. Barrois was now showing signs of returning consciousness. The crisis seemed past, a low moaning was heard, and he raised himself on one knee. D'Avrigny and Villefort laid him on a couch. "What do you prescribe, doctor?" demanded Villefort. "Give me some water and ether. You have some in the house, have you not?"

"Yes."

"Send for some oil of turpentine and tartar emetic."

Villefort immediately despatched a messenger. "And now let every one retire."

"Must I go too?" asked Valentine timidly.

"Yes, mademoiselle, you especially," replied the doctor abruptly.

Valentine looked at M. d'Avrigny with astonishment, kissed her grandfather on the forehead, and left the room. The doctor closed the door after her with a gloomy air. "Look, look, doctor," said Villefort, "he is quite coming round again; I really do not think, after all, it is anything of consequence." M. d'Avrigny answered by a melancholy smile. "How do you feel, Barrois?" asked he. "A little better, sir."

"Will you drink some of this ether and water?"

"I will try; but don't touch me."

"Why not?"

"Because I feel that if you were only to touch me with the tip of your finger the fit would return."

"Drink."

Barrois took the glass, and, raising it to his purple lips, took about half of the liquid offered him. "Where do you suffer?" asked the doctor.

"Everywhere. I feel cramps over my whole body."

"Do you find any dazzling sensation before the eyes?"

"Yes."

"Any noise in the ears?"

"Frightful."

"When did you first feel that?"

"Just now."

"Suddenly?"

"Yes, like a clap of thunder."

"Did you feel nothing of it yesterday or the day before?"

"Nothing."

"No drowsiness?"

"None."

"What have you eaten to-day?"

"I have eaten nothing; I only drank a glass of my master's lemonade--that's all;" and Barrois turned towards Noirtier, who, immovably fixed in his arm-chair, was contemplating this terrible scene without allowing a word or a movement to escape him.

"Where is this lemonade?" asked the doctor eagerly.

"Down-stairs in the decanter."

"Whereabouts downstairs?"

"In the kitchen."

"Shall I go and fetch it, doctor?" inquired Villefort.

"No, stay here and try to make Barrois drink the rest of this glass of ether and water. I will go myself and fetch the lemonade." D'Avrigny bounded towards the door, flew down the back staircase, and almost knocked down Madame de Villefort, in his haste, who was herself going down to the kitchen. She cried out, but d'Avrigny paid no attention to her; possessed with but one idea, he cleared the last four steps with a bound, and rushed into the kitchen, where he saw the decanter about three parts empty still standing on the waiter, where it had been left. He darted upon it as an eagle would seize upon its prey. Panting with loss of breath, he returned to the room he had just left. Madame de Villefort was slowly ascending the steps which led to her room. "Is this the decanter you spoke of?" asked d'Avrigny.

"Yes, doctor."

"Is this the same lemonade of which you partook?"

"I believe so."

"What did it taste like?"

"It had a bitter taste."

The doctor poured some drops of the lemonade into the palm of his hand, put his lips to it, and after having rinsed his mouth as a man does when he is tasting wine, he spat the liquor into the fireplace.

"It is no doubt the same," said he. "Did you drink some too, M. Noirtier?"

"Yes."

"And did you also discover a bitter taste?"

"Yes."

"Oh, doctor," cried Barrois, "the fit is coming on again. Oh, do something for me." The doctor flew to his patient. "That emetic, Villefort--see if it is coming." Villefort sprang into the passage, exclaiming, "The emetic! the emetic!--is it come yet?" No one answered. The most profound terror reigned throughout the house. "If I had anything by means of which I could inflate the lungs," said d'Avrigny, looking around him, "perhaps I might prevent suffocation. But there is nothing which would do--nothing!" "Oh, sir," cried Barrois, "are you going to let me die without help? Oh, I am dying! Oh, save me!"

"A pen, a pen!" said the doctor. There was one lying on the table; he endeavored to introduce it into the mouth of the patient, who, in the midst of his convulsions, was making vain attempts to vomit; but the jaws were so clinched that the pen could not pass them. This second attack was much more violent than the first, and he had slipped from the couch to the ground, where he was writhing in agony. The doctor left him in this paroxysm, knowing that he could do nothing to alleviate it, and, going up to Noirtier, said abruptly, "How do you find yourself?--well?"

"Yes."

"Have you any weight on the chest; or does your stomach feel light and comfortable--eh?"

"Yes."

"Then you feel pretty much as you generally do after you have had the dose which I am accustomed to give you every Sunday?"

"Yes."

"Did Barrois make your lemonade?"

"Yes."

"Was it you who asked him to drink some of it?"

"No."

"Was it M. de Villefort?"

"No."

"Madame?"

"No."

"It was your granddaughter, then, was it not?"

"Yes." A groan from Barrois, accompanied by a yawn which seemed to crack the very jawbones, attracted the attention of M. d'Avrigny; he left M. Noirtier, and returned to the sick man. "Barrois," said the doctor, "can you speak?" Barrois muttered a few unintelligible words. "Try and make an effort to do so, my good man." said d'Avrigny. Barrois reopened his bloodshot eyes. "Who made the lemonade?"

"I did."

"Did you bring it to your master directly it was made?"

"No."

"You left it somewhere, then, in the meantime?"

"Yes; I left it in the pantry, because I was called away."

"Who brought it into this room, then?"

"Mademoiselle Valentine." D'Avrigny struck his forehead with his hand. "Gracious heaven," exclaimed he. "Doctor, doctor!" cried Barrois, who felt another fit coming.

"Will they never bring that emetic?" asked the doctor.

"Here is a glass with one already prepared," said Villefort, entering the room.

"Who prepared it?"

"The chemist who came here with me."

"Drink it," said the doctor to Barrois. "Impossible, doctor; it is too late; my throat is closing up. I am choking! Oh, my heart! Ah, my head!--Oh, what agony!--Shall I suffer like this long?"

"No, no, friend," replied the doctor, "you will soon cease to suffer."

"Ah, I understand you," said the unhappy man. "My God, have mercy upon me!" and, uttering a fearful cry, Barrois fell back as if he had been struck by lightning. D'Avrigny put his hand to his heart, and placed a glass before his lips.

"Well?" said Villefort. "Go to the kitchen and get me some syrup of violets." Villefort went immediately. "Do not be alarmed, M. Noirtier," said d'Avrigny; "I am going to take my patient into the next room to bleed him; this sort of attack is very frightful to witness."

And taking Barrois under the arms, he dragged him into an adjoining room; but almost immediately he returned to fetch the lemonade. Noirtier closed lids right eye. "You want Valentine, do you not? I will tell them to send her to you." Villefort returned, and d'Avrigny met him in the passage. "Well, how is he now?" asked he. "Come in here," said d'Avrigny, and he took him into the chamber where the sick man lay. "Is he still in a fit?" said the procureur.

"He is dead."

Villefort drew back a few steps, and, clasping his hands, exclaimed, with real amazement and sympathy, "Dead?--and so soon too!"

"Yes, it is very soon," said the doctor, looking at the corpse before him; "but that ought not to astonish you; Monsieur and Madame de Saint-Méran died as soon. People die very suddenly in your house, M. de Villefort."

"What?" cried the magistrate, with an accent of horror and consternation, "are you still harping on that terrible idea?"

"Still, sir; and I shall always do so," replied d'Avrigny, "for it has never for one instant ceased to retain possession of my mind; and that you may be quite sure I am not mistaken this time, listen well to what I am going to say, M. de Villefort." The magistrate trembled convulsively. "There is a poison which destroys life almost without leaving any perceptible traces. I know it well; I have studied it in all its forms and in the effects which it produces. I recognized the presence of this poison in the case of poor Barrois as well as in that of Madame de Saint-Méran. There is a way of detecting its presence. It restores the blue color of litmus-paper reddened by an acid, and it turns syrup of violets green. We have no litmus-paper, but, see, here they come with the syrup of violets."

The doctor was right; steps were heard in the passage. M. d'Avrigny opened the door, and took from the hands of the chambermaid a cup which contained two or three spoonfuls of the syrup, he then carefully closed the door. "Look," said he to the procureur, whose heart beat so loudly that it might almost be heard, "here is in this cup some syrup of violets, and this decanter contains the remainder of the lemonade of which M. Noirtier and Barrois partook. If the lemonade be pure and inoffensive, the syrup will retain its color; if, on the contrary, the lemonade be drugged with poison, the syrup will become green. Look closely!"

The doctor then slowly poured some drops of the lemonade from the decanter into the cup, and in an instant a light cloudy sediment began to form at the bottom of the cup; this sediment first took a blue shade, then from the color of sapphire it passed to that of opal, and from opal to emerald. Arrived at this last hue, it changed no more. The result of the experiment left no doubt whatever on the mind.

"The unfortunate Barrois has been poisoned," said d'Avrigny, "and I will maintain this assertion before God and man." Villefort said nothing, but he clasped his hands, opened his haggard eyes, and, overcome with his emotion, sank into a chair.

莫雷尔的确非常快活。诺瓦蒂埃先生刚才差人去叫他，为了急于想知道这次来叫他的原因，他匆忙得连车子都顾上不叫，对他自己的两条腿比马的四条腿居然更加信任。他以迅猛直前的速度从密斯雷路出发，朝着圣·奥诺路前进。莫雷尔是以一个运动健将的步速行进的，那位可怜的巴罗斯气喘嘘嘘地跟在他的后面。莫雷尔才三十一岁，而巴罗斯却已经六十岁了；莫雷尔陶醉在爱情里，巴罗斯则忍受着酷热的煎熬。这两个人在年龄和兴趣上的差别是如此之大，他们就象是一个三角形的两条边——在底上互不搭界而在顶部重合。

那个顶部就是诺瓦蒂埃先生，他请莫雷尔立刻来看他——这个命令莫雷尔毫不含糊地做到了，可却大大地苦了巴罗斯。到那儿的时候，莫雷尔气不长嘘，因为爱神借给了他翅膀；而早把爱情忘记得一干二净的巴罗斯却累得浑身大汗。

那个老仆人领着莫雷尔从一扇小门里进去，书斋的门关上以后，不多会儿就传来一阵衣裙的窸窣声，这就等于是宣告瓦朗蒂娜到来了。她穿上深颜色的丧服显得美丽非凡，莫雷尔望着她的时候心里感到无比喜悦，觉得即使她的祖父不同他谈话也没什么关系。不过他们听到老人的那把安乐椅已顺着地板上滚动过来，不一会儿他就来到房间里了。莫雷尔热情地向他道谢，感激他及时中止那桩婚事，把瓦朗蒂娜和他从绝望中拯救了出来；诺瓦蒂埃用一种慈祥的眼光接受了他的感谢。于是莫雷尔就朝那年轻女郎投过去一个征询的目光，想知道现在又有什么新的恩典要赐予他。瓦朗蒂娜的座位稍微离开他们一段距离，她正在小心奕奕地等待非她不可的说话时机。诺瓦蒂埃用他的眼光盯住她。“我可以把您跟我说的那些话讲出来吗？”瓦朗蒂娜问，诺瓦蒂埃仍然望着他。

“那么，您想让我把您跟我说的那些话讲出来吗？”她又问。

“是的。“诺瓦蒂埃示意。

“莫雷尔先生，”瓦朗蒂娜对那个凝神屏气倾听着的年轻人说，“我的祖父诺瓦蒂埃先生有很多事情要跟你说，那是他三天以前告诉我的。现在他把你请来，就是要我把那些话转达给你听。现在，我就开始转达了。而既然他选中我做他的传话人，我当然就要忠于他的信托，绝不把他的意思改变一个字。”

“噢，我正非常耐心地听着呢，”那位青年说道，“请你说吧！”

瓦朗蒂娜低垂下她的眼睛，这在莫雷尔看来是一个好征兆，因为他明白只有快乐才能使瓦朗蒂娜这样情不自禁。“我祖父准备离开这儿了，”她说，“巴罗斯正在给他寻找合适的房子。”

“不过你，小姐，”莫雷尔说——“你和诺瓦蒂埃先生的幸福是不能割裂的——”

“我？”瓦朗蒂娜打断他的话头说，“我不会离开我的祖父，这我们早就商量好了。我和他住在一起。现在，维尔福先生必须得对这个打算表示同意或拒绝。如果他同意，我就马上离开。如果他拒绝，我就得等到我成年以后再走，那就得再等十个月左右，然后我就自由了，我可以拥有一笔个人支配财产，而——”

“而——？”莫雷尔问道。

“而经我祖父的允许，我就可以兑现我对你出的诺言了。”

瓦朗蒂娜说出最后这句话的时候声音是那么样的低，如果不是莫雷尔在全神贯注倾听的话，他恐怕就听不清了。

“我把你的意思说清楚了吗，爷爷？”瓦朗蒂娜对诺瓦蒂埃说。

“是的。”老人表示。

“一旦到了我祖父的家里，莫雷尔先生就可以到我那位敬爱的保护人那儿去看我，如果我们依然感到我们所设想的婚姻可以保证我们将来能幸福，那么，我希望莫雷尔先生到那时亲自来向我求婚。不过，唉！我听人说，当人的愿望受到妨碍的时候，他们的心会由此炽热起来，而在得到保障的时候，心就变得冷淡了。”

“噢！”莫雷尔喊道，他多么想扑过身去跪在诺瓦蒂埃面前，就象跪在上帝面前一样，他希望跪在瓦朗蒂娜面前，就象跪在一位天使面前一样，说，“我今生行了什么善，竟让我享受这样的福份呢？”

“现在，那个时候之前，”这位年轻女郎用镇定矜持的口气继续说，“我们得尊重礼俗。凡是不希望最终把我们拆开的朋友，我们都得听取他们的意见。总之，我还是说那句老话，因为这句老话可以最好地表达我的意思——我们得等待。”

“我发誓不惜一切代价接受这句话的约束，阁下，”莫雷尔说，“我不但愿意接受，而且很高兴地接受。”

“所以，”瓦朗蒂娜调侃地望着马西米兰继续说道，“不要再做轻率的举动，不要再提出头脑发热的计划，因为从今天起，我觉着自己一定将会光荣而幸福地成为你的一部分，你当然不想连累她的名誉的喽？”

莫雷尔把自己手按在心上。诺瓦蒂埃用无限慈爱的目光望着这对情人。巴罗斯是一个有资格了解一切经过的特权人物，他这时还留在房间里，一面擦拭着他那光秃的脑门上的汗珠，一面朝那对年轻人微笑。

“你看来热得很呀，我的好巴罗斯！”瓦朗蒂娜说。

“啊！我刚才跑得太快了，小姐。不过我必须说一句公道话，莫雷尔先生比我跑得还要快呢。”

诺瓦蒂埃让他们注意到一只茶盘，盘上面放着一大樽柠檬水和一只杯子。那只玻璃樽几乎都装满了，诺瓦蒂埃先生只是喝了一点点。

“来，巴罗斯，”那位年轻女郎说，“喝点儿柠檬水吧，我看你很想痛饮一番呢。”

“小姐，”巴罗斯说，“我真的口渴死了，既然您这么好心请我喝，我当然绝不反对喝上一杯祝您康健。”

“那么，拿去喝吧，马上回来呀。”

巴罗斯端着茶盘走了出去，他在匆忙中忘了关门，他们见他一跨出房门就立刻把一仰将瓦朗蒂娜给他斟满的那一杯柠檬水喝个净光。

瓦朗蒂娜和莫雷尔正在诺瓦蒂埃面前脉脉含情的互送秋波之时，忽然听到门铃响了。这说明来客人了。瓦朗蒂娜看了一看她的表。

“十二点多了，”她说，“而今天是星期六。我敢说那一定是医生，爷爷。”

诺瓦蒂埃表示他相信她说得不错。

“他会到这儿来的，莫雷尔先生最好还是走吧。您说是不是，爷爷？”

“是的。”老人表示。

“巴罗斯！”瓦朗蒂娜喊道，“巴罗斯！”

“来了，小姐。”他回答。

“巴罗斯会给你开门的，”瓦朗蒂娜对莫雷尔说。“现在，请牢记一点，军官阁下，对我的祖父指令你不要有任何轻举妄动，以免影响我们的幸福。”

“我已经答应他等待了，”莫雷尔答道，“我一定等待。”

这时巴罗斯进来了。

“谁拉的铃？”瓦朗蒂娜问道。

“阿夫里尼医生。”巴罗斯说，他步履踉跄，象是要倒下来似的。

“怎么啦，巴罗斯？”瓦朗蒂娜说。

那位老人没有答话，只是用失神呆滞的眼光望着他的主人，他，那痉挛的手则紧紧地抓住一件家具，以防止自己跌倒。

“咦，他要摔倒啦！”莫雷尔叫道。

巴罗斯的身体愈抖愈厉害，他的面貌几乎已经全部变形，肌肉一个劲儿地抽搐，预示一场极其严重的神经错乱马上来临。诺瓦蒂埃看到巴罗斯成了这种可怜的样子，他的目光里就流露出人之心所可能产生的种种悲哀和怜悯的情愫。巴罗斯向他的主人走近了几步。

“啊，我的上帝！我的上帝！我怎么啦？”他说。“我难受极了！我什么也看不见啦！我的脑子里象是有千支火箭在乱窜！噢，别碰我，别碰我呵！”

这时，他的眼珠已凶暴地凸出来；他的头向后仰，身体的其他部分开始僵硬起来。

瓦朗蒂娜发出一声恐怖的喊叫；莫雷尔上前抱住了她，好象要保护她抵御什么不可测的危险似的。“阿夫里尼先生！阿夫里尼先生！”她用窒息的声音喊道。“救命哪！救命哪！”

巴罗斯转了一个身，竭力踉跄地挣扎了几步，然后倒在了诺瓦蒂埃的脚下，一只手搭在那个废人的膝头上，喊道：“我的主人呀！我的好主人呀！”

就在此刻，维尔福先生由于听到了这片喧闹声，来到了房间。莫雷尔放开了几乎快要昏过去的瓦朗蒂娜，退到房间最里边的一个角落里，躲在一张帷幕后面。他的脸色苍白象是突然见到自己面前窜出一条赤练蛇一样，他那错愕的光依然凝望着那个不幸的受难者。

诺瓦蒂埃焦急恐怖到极点，只恨自己一点劲儿也使不上去帮助他的老家人；他从来不把巴罗斯看作是一个仆人，而把他当作一位朋友对待。他额头上的青筋暴胀，眼睛周围的肌肉猛烈地抽搐；从这些迹象上，可以看出在那活跃有力的大脑和那麻痹无助的肉体之间，正在进行着可怕的争斗。巴罗斯这时面部痉挛，眼睛充血，仰头躺在地上，两手敲打地板，两腿已变得非常僵硬，不象是自己在弯曲而象是折断了一样。他的嘴巴旁边绕着一层淡淡的白沫，呼吸得十分艰难痛苦。

维尔福吓呆了，对眼前的这个情景不知所措地凝视了一会儿。他没有看见莫雷尔。当他这么哑然凝视的过程中，他的脸渐渐他白，头发好象直竖了起来，就这么过了一会儿，他跳到门口，大声喊道：“医生！医生！来呀，来呀！”

“夫人，夫人！”瓦朗蒂娜奔上楼去叫他的后母，向她喊道，快来，快！把您的嗅瓶拿来！”

“出了什么事？”维尔福夫人用一种做作的口气说。

“噢！来！来呀！”

“可医生在哪儿呀？”维尔福喊道，“他上哪儿去啦？”

维尔福夫人此时从容不迫地走下楼，她一手握着一条手帕，象是准备抹脸的，另一只手里拿着一瓶英国嗅盐。她走进房间来的时候，第一眼先扫向诺瓦蒂埃，诺瓦蒂埃的脸上虽然表露出这种情况下必然会生发的情绪，可仍然可以看出他不保持着往常的健康；她的第二眼才扫向那个将死的人。她的脸色立时苍白起来，眼光又从那位仆人身上返回到他的主人身上。

“看在上帝份儿上，夫人，”维尔福说，“告诉我医生在哪儿？他刚才还在你那儿。你看这象是中风，如果能够给他放血，大概他还有救。”

“他最近吃过什么东西吗？”维尔福夫人没有直接回答她丈夫的问题，这样反问。

“夫人，”瓦朗蒂娜答道，“他连早餐都没有吃。祖父派他去干了一件事，他跑得太快，回来只喝了一杯柠檬水。”

“啊？”维尔福夫人说，“他为什么不喝葡萄酒呢？柠檬水对他是很不利呀。”

“爷爷的那樽柠檬水就在他的身边，可怜的巴罗斯当时口渴极了，只要是喝的东西，他都欢迎。”

维尔福夫人吃了一惊。诺瓦蒂埃用一种查询的眼光望着她。“他真倒霉。”她说。

“夫人，”维尔福先生说，我问你阿夫里尼先生在哪儿？看上帝面上，快告诉我！”

“他在爱德华那儿，爱德华也不大舒服。”维尔福夫人这次无法再避而不答。

维尔福亲自走上楼去叫他。

“这个你拿着吧。”维尔福夫人说，把她的嗅瓶交给瓦朗蒂娜。“他们肯定会给他放血，所以我得走了，因为我见不得血。”于是她跟在丈夫的后面上楼去了。

莫雷尔从他躲藏的地方走出来，当时的情形十分混乱不堪，所以他躲在那里并没有让人发觉。

“你赶快走，马西米兰，”瓦朗蒂娜说，“我会派人来找你的。走吧。”

莫雷尔看了一看诺瓦蒂埃，征求他同意。老人的神志依然十分清醒，他作了一个示意，表示他应该这么做。那位青年吻了一下瓦朗蒂娜的手，然后从后楼梯走出那座房子。在他离开房间的同时，维尔福先生和医生从对面的一个门口走了进来。巴罗斯这会儿已有了恢复知觉的迹象；危险好象已经过去了。他发出一声低微的呻吟，撑起了身子。阿夫里尼和维尔福扶他躺到一张睡榻上。

“您需要什么东西，医生？”维尔福问。

“拿一些水和酒精给我。你家里有吗？”

“有。”

“派人去买一些松节油和吐酒石来。”

维尔福立刻派了一个人去买。

“现在请大家出去。”

“我也必须出去吗？”瓦朗蒂娜怯生生地问。

“是的，小姐，你更要出去。”医生冒失地回答。

瓦朗蒂娜吃惊地望着阿夫里尼先生，然后在她祖父的前额上吻了一下，走出房间。她一出去，医生就带着一种阴沉的神气把门关上。

“看！看呀！医生，”维尔福说，“他苏醒过来了，看来，他不要紧了。”

阿夫里尼先生的回答是一个无可奈何的微笑。“你自己觉着怎么样，巴罗斯？”他问道。

“好一点了，先生。”

“你喝一些酒精和水，好不好？”

“我试试吧，但别碰我。”

“为什么？”

“我觉得如果只要您用您的手指尖来碰我一下，毛病就要复发了。”

“喝吧。”

巴罗斯接过那只杯子，把它端到他那已经发紫的嘴唇上，喝了一半。

“你觉得哪儿难受？”医生问。

“浑身都难受，我觉得全身都在痉挛。”

“你有没有觉得眼睛前面象是冒火花的样子？”

“对。”

“耳朵里呜响？”

“响得可怕极了。”

“你最开始是什么时候感觉到的？”

“就刚才。”

“突然发生的吗？”

“是的，象是一阵晴天霹雳。”

“昨天或前天你一点都没有感觉到什么吗？”

“没有。”

“没有昏睡的感觉吗？”

“没有。”

“你今天吃了些什么东西？”

“我什么也没有吃，就喝了一杯我主人的柠檬水。”于是巴罗斯把他的眼光转向诺瓦蒂埃，诺瓦蒂埃虽然坐在他的圈椅里一动都不能动，而且却注视着这幕可怕的情景，一个字甚至一个动作也逃不过他的耳目。

“你喝的柠檬水在哪儿？”医生急切地问。

“在楼下的玻璃樽里。”

“楼下的什么地方？”

“厨房里。”

“要我去把它拿来吗，医生？”维尔福问道。

“不，您留在这儿，想办法让巴罗斯把这一杯酒精和水喝完。我自己去拿那樽柠檬水。”

阿夫里尼急忙跑到门口，飞也似奔下后楼梯，情急之中差一点撞倒维尔福夫人，因为维尔福夫人也正要往厨房里去。

她惊喊了一声，阿夫里尼没有留意她。他的脑子里只有一个念头，他跳下最后的四级楼梯，冲进厨房里，见那只玻璃樽还在茶盘上，樽里还剩下四分之一的柠檬水。他象老鹰扑小鸡似的蹿上去抓住它，然后又上气不接下气地奔回他刚才离开的那个房间里。维尔福夫人正慢慢腾腾地走回到她楼上的房间里去。

“你说的就是这只玻璃樽吗？”阿夫里尼问道。

“是的，医生。”

“你喝的就是这些柠檬水吗？”

“我想是的。”

“是什么味道？”

“有一点苦味。”

医生倒了几滴柠檬水在他的手心里，吮在嘴巴里含了一会儿，好象一个在品酒一样，然后又把嘴里的东西吐进壁炉里。

“肯定就是这种东西，”他说，“您也喝了一些吧，诺瓦蒂埃先生？”

“是的。”

“您也觉着有苦味吗？”

“是的。”

“噢，医生！”巴罗斯喊道，“病又要发作了！我的上帝！主呀，可怜可怜我吧！”

医生飞奔到他的病人跟前。“吐酒石，维尔福，看买来了没有？”

维尔福跳进走廊里，大喊：“吐酒石，吐酒石！买来了没有呀？”

没有一个人回答。阴森森的恐怖笼罩着整个屋子。

“如果我有办法可以扩张他的肺部，”阿夫里尼望着四周说，“也许我可以能除他的窒息。可这里什么都没有！什么都没有！”

“噢，先生，”巴罗斯喊道，“您就让我这么死了吗，不救教我吗？噢，我要死啦！我的上帝！我要死啦！”

“拿支笔！拿支笔！”医生说。桌子上本来就放着一支笔，他竭力设法把它插进病人的嘴里去，可病人此时正在痉挛大发，牙关咬得非常紧，那支笔插不进去。这次发作比第一次更猛烈，他从睡榻上滚到地上，痛苦地在地上扭来扭去，医生知道已是毫无办法，就只管他痉挛，他走到诺瓦蒂埃面前，低声地说，“您自己觉得怎么样？很好吗？”

“是的。”

“您是不是觉得胸部没有以前那么紧，腹部舒适轻松，嗯？”

“是的。”

“那么您觉得差不多就象服下我每个星期日给您吃的药以后的状况差不多吗？”

“是的。”

“您的柠檬汁是巴罗斯给您调制的吗？”

“是的。”

“刚才是您要他喝的吗？”

“不。”

“是维尔福先生吗？”

“不。”

“夫人？”

“不。”

“那么是您的孙女儿了，是不是？”

“是的。”

巴罗斯发出一声呻吟，接着又嘘出一口气，仿佛他的牙床骨已经裂开了；这两种声音又把阿夫里尼先生的吸引了过去，他离开诺瓦蒂埃先生，回到病人那儿。“巴罗斯，”他说，“你能说话吗？”巴罗斯喃喃地说出几个含混不清的字。“尽管试试看，我的大好人。”阿夫里尼说。巴罗斯重新张开他那充血的眼睛。

“柠檬水是谁调制的？”

“我。”

“你一调好就端到你主人这儿来了吗？”

“没有。”

“那么，其中一段时间你把它放在什么地方了？”

“对，我把它放在食器室里，因为有人把我叫走了。”

“那么是谁把它拿到这个房间里来的呢？”

“瓦朗蒂娜小姐。”

阿夫里尼用手敲打自己的前额。“仁慈的天主哪！”他低声地说。

“医生！医生！”巴罗斯喊道，他觉得毛病又要发作了。

“难道他们就拿不来吐酒石了吗？”医生问道。

“这儿有一杯已经调好的。”维尔福走进房来，说。

“谁调制的？”

“跟我一起来的那个药剂师。”

“喝吧。”医生对巴罗斯说。

“不可能喝了，医生。太晚啦。我的喉咙都塞住了！我快断气了！噢，我的心呀！噢，我的头！噢，太痛苦了！我还得这么样痛苦很长时间吗？”

“不，不，朋友，”医生回答说，“你马上就不会痛苦了。”

“呵，我明白你的意思了，”这个不幸的人说。“我的上帝，发发慈悲吧！”于是巴罗斯发出一声可怕的叫喊，象遭了雷击一样的向后倒了下去。阿夫里尼用手摸摸他的心脏，把那只杯子凑到他的嘴巴上。

“怎么样？”维尔福说。

“到厨房里再去给我拿些堇菜汁来。”

维尔福立刻就走了。

“别怕，诺瓦蒂埃先生，”阿夫里尼说，“我带病人到隔壁房间里去给他放血，这种手术看上去非常可怕。”

于是他搂起巴罗斯，把他拖到隔壁房间里；但是他马上又回来拿那瓶剩余的柠檬水。诺瓦蒂埃闭紧他的右眼。“您要见瓦朗蒂娜，对不对？我告诉他们去找她来见您。”

维尔福回来了，阿夫里尼在走廊里碰到他，“哎！他现在怎么样了？”他问道。

“到这儿来。”阿夫里尼说。于是他带他到巴罗斯躺着的那个房间里。

“他还在发作吗？”检察官说。

“他死了。”

维尔福后退了几步，攥紧双手，用发自内心的哀痛的情绪喊道：“死了，死得这样突然！”

“是的，非常突然，不是吗？”医生说。“但这个应该不会让你吃惊的，圣·梅朗先生夫妇也是这样突然死的。您家里的人都死得非常突然，维尔福先生。”

“什么！”那位法官用狼狈而恐怖的声音喊道，“您又想到那个可怕的念头了吗？”

“我一直没有忘记，阁下，我一直没有忘记，”阿夫里尼严肃地说，“因为它从来都没有从我的脑子失掉过，您可以相信我这一次不会是弄错了，请您好好地听着我下面的话，维尔福先生。”这位法官痉挛地抖动起来。“有一种毒药可以杀死人而基本不留下任何明显的痕迹。我对于这种毒药知道得很清楚。我曾研究它各种分量所产生上来的各种效果。我在那可怜的巴罗斯和圣·梅朗夫人的病症上识别出了这种毒药的药效。有一种方法可以察觉出它的存在。它可以使被酸素变红的蓝色试纸恢复它的本色，它可以使堇菜汁变成绿色。我们没有蓝色试纸，但是，听！他们拿堇菜汁来了。”

医生没有说错，走廊里传出脚步声。阿夫里尼先生打开门，从女仆的手里接过一杯约有两三匙羹的菜汁，然后他又小心地把门关上。“看着！”他对检察官说，检察官的心这时是跳得如此剧烈，几乎可以听到它的响声了，“这只杯子里是堇菜汁，而这只玻璃樽里装的是诺瓦蒂埃先生和巴罗斯喝剩的柠檬水，如果柠檬水是无毒的，这种菜汁就能保持它原来的颜色，而如果柠檬水里掺有毒药，菜汁就会变成绿色。看好了！”

医生于是慢慢地把玻璃樽里的柠檬水往杯子里滴了几滴，杯底里立刻就形成一层薄薄的云彩状的沉淀物；这种沉淀物最初呈现蓝色，然后它由翡翠色变成猫眼石色，从猫眼石色变成绿宝石色。变到这种颜色，它就不再变动了。实验的结果已是没有什么好再怀疑的了。

“这位不幸的巴罗斯是被‘依那脱司’毒死的。”阿夫里尼说，“我不管在上帝还是人的面前都要坚持这项断言。”

维尔福没有说什么，只是紧紧地握住自己的双手，张大他那一对憔悴的眼睛，瘫软无力地倒在一张椅子里。