Chapter 201: Chapter 201

Morrel emerged from his hiding place, where he’d remained completely unnoticed during the chaos.

"Leave as quickly as you can, Maximilian," Valentine urged. "Wait until I send for you. Go!"

Morrel looked toward Noirtier for permission. The old man, maintaining his usual composure, signaled him to leave. The young man pressed Valentine’s hand to his lips and left through a back staircase.

The moment he exited, Villefort and the doctor entered through the opposite door. Barrois was showing signs of regaining consciousness. The crisis seemed to be passing, he moaned softly and raised himself onto one knee. D’Avrigny and Villefort laid him on a couch.

"What do you prescribe, doctor?" Villefort asked urgently.

"Give me water and ether. You have some in the house, don’t you?"

"Send for turpentine oil and tartar emetic."

Villefort immediately dispatched a messenger.

"And now everyone must leave."

"Me too?" Valentine asked timidly.

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

Valentine looked at him in surprise, kissed her grandfather’s forehead, and left. The doctor closed the door behind her with a grim expression.

"Look, doctor," Villefort said, "he’s coming around! I really don’t think it’s anything serious after all."

D’Avrigny answered with a melancholy smile.

"How do you feel, Barrois?" he asked.

"A little better, sir."

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

"I’ll try, but don’t touch me."

"Because I feel like if you even touched me with your fingertip, the fit would return."

Barrois took the glass and raised it to his purple lips, drinking about half the liquid.

"Where does it hurt?" the doctor asked.

"Everywhere. I feel cramps throughout my entire body."

"Do your eyes feel dazzled or blurry?"

"Any ringing in your ears?"

"When did you first notice it?"

"Yes, like a thunderclap."

"Did you feel anything unusual yesterday or the day before?"

"What have you eaten today?"

"Nothing. I only drank a glass of my master’s lemonade, that’s all."

Barrois turned toward Noirtier, who sat motionless in his wheelchair, observing this terrible scene without letting slip a single word or movement.

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

"Downstairs in the decanter."

"Should I go get it, doctor?" Villefort offered.

"No, stay here and try to make Barrois finish this glass of ether and water. I’ll get the lemonade myself."

D’Avrigny bolted toward the door, flew down the back staircase, and nearly knocked over Madame de Villefort, who was heading to the kitchen herself. She cried out, but d’Avrigny paid no attention. Possessed by a single thought, he cleared the last four steps in one bound and rushed into the kitchen, where he saw the decanter, about three-quarters empty, still sitting on the tray where it had been left. He seized it like an eagle snatching its prey.

Gasping for breath, he returned to the room he’d just left. Madame de Villefort was slowly climbing the stairs to her room.

"Is this the decanter you mentioned?" d’Avrigny asked.

"Is this the same lemonade you drank?"

"What did it taste like?"

"It had a bitter taste."

The doctor poured a few drops into his palm, touched them to his lips, swished the liquid in his mouth like someone tasting wine, then spat it into the fireplace.

"It’s definitely the same," he said. "Did you drink some too, Mr. Noirtier?"

"And did you also notice a bitter taste?"

"Oh, doctor," Barrois cried, "another fit is coming! Please, do something!"

The doctor rushed to his patient.

"That emetic, Villefort, is it here yet?"

Villefort ran into the hallway, calling out, "The emetic! Has it arrived?" No one answered. A profound terror had gripped the entire household.

"If I had something to inflate his lungs with," d’Avrigny muttered, looking around desperately, "I might prevent suffocation. But there’s nothing, nothing!"

"Sir," Barrois gasped, "are you going to let me die without helping me? I’m dying! Save me!"

"A pen! Give me a pen!" the doctor demanded.

One was lying on the table. He tried to insert it into the patient’s mouth to help him vomit, but Barrois’s jaws were clenched so tightly during his convulsions that the pen couldn’t pass through. This second attack was far more violent than the first. He’d slipped from the couch to the floor, where he writhed in agony.

The doctor left him in this paroxysm, knowing he could do nothing to ease it. He went to Noirtier and asked abruptly, "How do you feel? Well?"

"Any tightness in your chest? Does your stomach feel light and comfortable?"

"So you feel pretty much like you normally do after the dose I give you every Sunday?"

"Did Barrois make your lemonade?"

"Did you ask him to drink some?"

"Was it Mr. de Villefort?"

"It was your granddaughter then?"

A groan from Barrois, accompanied by a yawn that seemed to crack his jawbones, drew d’Avrigny’s attention back. He left Noirtier and returned to the sick man.

"Barrois," the doctor said, "can you speak?"

Barrois muttered a few unintelligible words.

"Try to make an effort, my good man," d’Avrigny urged.

Barrois reopened his bloodshot eyes.

"Who made the lemonade?"

"Did you bring it to your master immediately?"

"You left it somewhere first?"

"Yes, in the pantry. I was called away."

"Who brought it to this room then?" Thɪs chapter is updated by novel⚑fire.net

D’Avrigny struck his forehead with his hand. "Good God," he breathed.

"Doctor, doctor!" Barrois cried, feeling another seizure approaching.

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

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

"The pharmacist who came with me."

"Drink it," the doctor ordered Barrois.

"Impossible, doctor, it’s too late! My throat is closing! I’m choking! My heart! My head! The agony! Will I suffer for long?"

"No, no, friend," the doctor replied. "You’ll stop suffering soon."

"I understand," the dying man whispered. "My God, have mercy on me!"

With a terrible cry, Barrois fell back as if struck by lightning. D’Avrigny placed his hand on Barrois’s heart and held a glass before his lips.

"Well?" Villefort asked anxiously.

"Go to the kitchen and get me some violet syrup."

Villefort left immediately.

"Don’t be alarmed, Mr. Noirtier," d’Avrigny said. "I’m taking my patient to the next room to bleed him. This kind of attack is very frightening to witness."

He dragged Barrois under the arms into an adjoining room, but almost immediately returned for the lemonade. Noirtier closed his right eye.

"You want Valentine, don’t you? I’ll have them send her to you."

Villefort returned, and d’Avrigny met him in the hallway.

"Well, how is he now?" Villefort asked.

"Come in here," d’Avrigny said, leading him into the room where the sick man lay.

"Is he still having a fit?" the prosecutor asked.

Villefort stumbled back several steps. Clasping his hands, he exclaimed with genuine shock and sympathy, "Dead? Already?"

"Yes, very quickly," the doctor said, looking at the corpse. "But that shouldn’t surprise you. Mr. and Madame de Saint-Méran died just as suddenly. People die very suddenly in your house, Mr. de Villefort."

"What?" the magistrate cried in horror. "Are you still dwelling on that terrible idea?"

"Still, sir, and I always will," d’Avrigny replied. "It has never left my mind for a single instant. And to prove I’m not mistaken this time, listen carefully to what I’m about to tell you."

The magistrate trembled convulsively.

"There’s a poison that destroys life while leaving almost no detectable traces. I know it well, I’ve studied it in all its forms and effects. I recognized its presence in poor Barrois’s case, just as I did with Madame de Saint-Méran. There’s a way to detect it: it restores the blue color to litmus paper reddened by acid, and it turns violet syrup green. We don’t have litmus paper, but look, here comes the violet syrup now."

The doctor was right. Footsteps sounded in the hallway. D’Avrigny opened the door and took from a maid’s hands a cup containing two or three spoonfuls of syrup, then carefully closed the door again.

"Look," he told the prosecutor, whose heart was beating so loudly it was almost audible. "Here in this cup is violet syrup. This decanter contains the remainder of the lemonade that Mr. Noirtier and Barrois drank. If the lemonade is pure and harmless, the syrup will keep its color. But if the lemonade is poisoned, the syrup will turn green. Watch closely!"

The doctor slowly poured drops of lemonade from the decanter into the cup. Instantly, a light cloudy sediment began forming at the bottom. The sediment first took on a blue shade, then shifted from sapphire to opal, and from opal to emerald. Once it reached that final green hue, it changed no more. The result was undeniable.

"The unfortunate Barrois has been poisoned," d’Avrigny declared. "And I will maintain this assertion before God and man."

Villefort said nothing. He clasped his hands, opened his haggard eyes, and, overwhelmed by emotion, collapsed into a chair.