“Let me finish!” murmured Noel; “they must not take me alive!”
And, with a supreme effort, triumphing over his dreadful agony, he released himself, and roughly pushed Juliette away. She fell down near the sofa.
Then, he once more aimed his revolver at the place where he felt his heart beating, pulled the trigger and rolled to the floor.
It was full time, for the police at that moment entered the room.
Their first thought was, that before shooting himself, Noel had shot his mistress. They knew of cases where people had romantically desired to quit this world in company; and, moreover, had they not heard two reports? But Juliette was already on her feet again.
“A doctor,” she cried, “a doctor! He can not be dead!”
One man ran out; while the others, under old Tabaret’s direction, raised the body, and carried it to Madame Juliette’s bedroom where they laid it on the bed.
“For his sake, I trust his wounds are mortal!” murmured the old detective, whose anger left him at the sight. “After all, I loved him as though he were my own child; his name is still in my will!”
Old Tabaret stopped. Noel just then uttered a groan, and opened his eyes.
“You see that he will live!” cried Juliette.