was raising to his lips a glass of water which he had just filled for himself. She sprang forward, seized his arm, snatched the glass from him and flung it on the carpet, where it smashed to pieces.
"Have you drunk any of it? Have you drunk any of it?" she gasped, in a choking voice.
He replied:
"No, not yet. Why?"
She stammered:
"The water in that bottle … the water in that bottle"
"Well?"
"It's poisoned!"
He leapt from his chair and, in his turn, gripped her arm fiercely:
"What's that? Poisoned! Are you certain? Speak!"
In spite of his usual self-control, he was this time thoroughly alarmed. Knowing the terrible effects of the poison employed by the miscreants whom he was attacking, recalling the corpse of Inspector Vérot, the corpses of Hippolyte Fauville and his son, he knew that, trained though he was to resist comparatively large doses of poison, he could not have escaped the deadly action of this. It was a poison that did not forgive, that killed, surely and fatally.
The girl was silent. He raised his voice in command:
"Answer me! Are you certain?"
"No … it was an idea that entered my head—a presentiment … certain coincidences"
It was as though she regretted her words and now tried to withdraw them.
"Come, come," he cried, "I want to know the truth:
