"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 toward Noirtier, who, immovably fixed in his arm-chair, was contemplating this terrible scene without allowing a word or movement to escape him.
"Where is this lemonade?" asked the doctor, eagerly.
"Downstairs, 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 toward 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. 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 on its prey. Panting with loss of breath, he returned to the room he had just left. Madame de Villefort slowly ascended 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 fire-place.
"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! have pity on me." The doctor flew to his patient.
"That emetic, Villefort; see if it is coming."
Villefort sprang into the passage, exclaiming, "The emetic! the
