who, in the midst of his convulsions, was making vain attempts to vomit; but the jaws were so clenched that the pen could not pass them. This second attack was much more violent than the first, and he had slipped from the couch to the ground, where he was writhing in agony. The doctor left him in this paroxysm, knowing that he could do nothing to alleviate it, and going up to Noirtior, said abruptly:
"How do you find yourself?—well?"
"Yes."
"Light or heavy in the stomach?—light?"
"Yes."
"As you generally feel after the dose which I give you every Sunday?"
"Yes."
"Did Barrois make your lemonade?"
"Yes."
"Was it you who asked him to drink some of it?"
"No."
"Was it M. de Villefort?"
"No."
"Madame?"
"No."
"It was your granddaughter, then, was it not?"
"Yes."
A groan from Barrois, accompanied by a yawn which seemed to crack the very jawbones, attracted the attention of d'Avrigny; he left Noirtier, and returned to the sick man.
"Barrois," said the doctor, "can you speak?" Barrois muttered a few unintelligible words. "Try and make an effort to do so, my good man," said d'Avrigny. Barrois re-opened his blood-shot eyes.
"Who made the lemonade?"
"I did."
"Did you bring it to your master directly it was made?"
"No."
"You left it somewhere, then, in the mean time?"
"Yes; I left it in the pantry, because I was called away."
"Who brought it into this room, then?"
"Mademoiselle Valentine." D'Avrigny struck his forehead with his hand.
"Gracious Heaven!" exclaimed he.
"Doctor! doctor!" cried Barrois, who felt another fit coming.
"Will they never bring that emetic?" asked the doctor.
