"Oh, man," murmured d'Avrigny, "the most selfish of all animals, the most personal of all creatures, who believes the earth turns, the sun shines, and death strikes for him alone,--an ant cursing God from the top of a blade of grass! And have those who have lost their lives lost nothing?--M. de Saint-Meran, Madame de Saint-Meran, M. Noirtier"-"How? M. Noirtier?"
"Yes; think you it was the poor servant's life was coveted? No, no; like Shakespeare's 'Polonius,' he died for another. It was Noirtier the lemonade was intended for--it is Noirtier, logically speaking, who drank it. The other drank it only by accident, and, although Barrois is dead, it was Noirtier whose death was wished for."
"But why did it not kill my father?"
"I told you one evening in the garden after Madame de Saint-Meran's death--because his system is accustomed to that very poison, and the dose was trifling to him, which would be fatal to another; because no one knows, not even the assassin, that, for the last twelve months, I have given M. Noirtier brucine for his paralytic affection, while the assassin is not ignorant, for he has proved that brucine is a violent poison."
"Oh, have pity--have pity!" murmured Villefort, wringing his hands.
"Follow the culprit's steps; he first kills M. de Saint-Meran"-"O doctor!"
"I would swear to it; what I heard of his symptoms agrees too well with what I have seen in the other cases." Villefort ceased to contend; he only groaned. "He first kills M. de Saint-Meran," repeated the doctor, "then Madame de Saint-Meran,--a double fortune to inherit." Villefort wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "Listen attentively."
"Alas," stammered Villefort, "I do not lose a single word."
"M. Noirtier," resumed M. d'Avrigny in the same pitiless tone,--"M. Noirtier had once made a will against you--against your family--in favor of the poor, in fact; M. Noirtier is spared, because nothing is expected from him. But he has no sooner destroyed his first will and made a second, than, for fear he should make a third, he is struck down. The will was made the day before yesterday, I believe; you see there has been no time lost."
"Oh, mercy, M. d'Avrigny!"
"No mercy, sir! The physician has a sacred mission on earth; and to fulfil it he begins at the source of life, and goes down to the mysterious darkness of the tomb. When crime has been committed, and God, doubtless in anger, turns away his face, it is for the physician to bring the culprit to justice."
"Have mercy on my child, sir," murmured Villefort.