"No wonder you are overcome with emotion, Madame," rejoined the secret agent. "I myself did not dare breathe a word to you of my hopes at Trévargan last night, for I had not had the leech's final pronouncement. But I have had hopes all along. We transported your dear husband's inanimate body to my lodgings after his—er—accident the other day. He was totally unconscious; it almost seemed as if rigor mortis had already set in. But I suppose the deadly arrow poison, which a murderous hand had injected with the aid of a pin, was either stale or ineffectual. Certain it is that my dear friend Darnier rallied, that he is alive at this moment, and that I shall have the pleasure of conducting you to his bedside immediately."
While he spoke the Man in Grey had kept his eyes fixed steadily upon the woman. She was still standing as rigid as before and clinging with one hand to the back of the chair, whilst with the other she continued to press her handkerchief to her lips. Nor could the other two men detach their eyes from her face, which appeared like a petrified presentation of abject and nameless horror.
"Darnier," continued the Man in Grey relentlessly, "is slowly regaining consciousness now. The leech desires that the first sight which greets his eyes should be that of his beloved wife. Come, Madame, it is a short walk to my lodgings. Let me conduct you—— Ah!" he suddenly exclaimed, as with his usual agility he literally threw himself upon the staggering woman. "Drop that, now! Drop it, I say!"
But he was too late. Madame Darnier had fallen back into her chair. From a deep scratch across her hand drops of blood were oozing freely. The commissaire and the préfet were gazing, horror-stricken and helpless, upon her face, which was slowly becoming distorted. A curious, jerky quiver shook her limbs from time to time.
"She has killed herself with the same poison wherewith she sent her unfortunate husband to his death," said the secret agent quietly.
"To his death?" gasped the préfet. "Then the story of Hippolyte Darnier's recovery——"
"Was false," broke in the Man in Grey. "It was a trap set to wring an avowal from the murderer. And we must own," he added earnestly, "that the avowal has been both full and conclusive."
He threw his mantle over the wretched woman, who was already past help. But he dispatched one of the servants of the prefecture for the nearest leech.
"But what made you guess——?" queried the commissary, who was gasping with astonishment.
"The fact that Madame Darnier was the daughter of the man Leclerc, who for years devoted himself to the fortunes of the Trévargans. He and his family are devoted heart and soul to the Marquis and his cause. The daughter has proved herself a fanatic, a madwoman, I should say. She killed her husband to save the family she loved."