"Let me go! Cecily is up-stairs; she calls me. Do not make me furious! And now I say to you, mind—beware!"
"You shall not go out!"
"Take care!"
"You shall not go out. It is for my interest that you should remain."
"You would hinder me from seeking Cecily, and it is my interest that you should die. There—there!" said the notary, in a gloomy tone.
Polidori uttered a cry. "Wretch! You have stabbed me in the arm. But your hand was weak—the wound is slight—and you shall not escape me."
"Your wound is mortal, for it was given by the poisoned stiletto of Cecily, which I always carried about me. Await the effects of its poison—Ah! You release me! Then now you are about to die! I was not to be hindered from going up above to find Cecily!" added Jacques, endeavouring to grope his way in darkness to the door.
"Oh," murmured Polidori, "my arm becomes benumbed—a deathlike coldness seizes on me—my knees tremble under me—my blood freezes in my veins—my head whirls around. Help, help! I die!" And he fainted.
The crash of glass doors, opened with so much violence that several panes of glass were broken to atoms, the resounding voice of Rodolph, and the noise of hastily approaching steps, seemed to reply to Polidori's cry of anguish.
Jacques Ferrand having at length discovered the lock of the door, opened it suddenly, with his dangerous stiletto in his hand. At the same instant, as menacing and formidable as the genius of vengeance, the prince entered the apartment from the other side.