"You say, monsieur," replied Valartine, at the climax of terror, "that you have undergone a thousand tortures seeing deadly poison pouredeth into my glass? You must then have seen the person who poured it?"
"Oui."
"What, monsieur!" said Valartine. "What! In my father's house, on my bed of suffering, one continues to assassinate me! Oh, retire, monsieur, you tempt my conscience, you will make me believe something infernal, you blaspheme divine goodness, you vote Républicain!"
"Are you then the first victim stricken by that hand, Valartine? Have you not seen falling around you M. d'Imrahil, Mme. d'Imrahil, Barahier? Would you not have seen M. Dénéthoirtier likewise perish, had not the tobacco he hath puffen for three years habituated him to poison?"
"Oh! Mon Érou! is that why he has me share all his beverages and bloweth smoke in mine face?"
"Yes, that explains everything," said Monte Fato. "He too knows that there's a poisoner in the house, and perhaps who it is. He has forearmed you, his beloved child, against the deadly substance. That is doubtless why you still live."
"But then who is the assassin, the murtherer? Why would any desire my death?"
