“The poison!” exclaimed Adrienne, and her teeth chattered convulsively. “What poison?”
“I thought I had killed you, and I came here to die.”
“To die? Oh! wherefore? who is to die?” cried the young lady, almost in delirium.
“I,” replied Djalma, with inexpressible tenderness, “I thought I had killed you—and I took poison.”
“You!” exclaimed Adrienne, becoming pale as death. “You!”
“Yes.”
“Oh! it is not true!” said the young lady, shaking her head.
“Look!” said the Asiatic. Mechanically, he turned towards the bed—towards the little ivory table, on which sparkled the crystal phial.
With a sudden movement, swifter than thought, swifter, it may be, than the will, Adrienne rushed to the table, seized the phial, and applied it eagerly to her lips.
Djalma had hitherto remained on his knees; but he now uttered a terrible cry, made one spring to the drinker’s side, and dragged away the phial, which seemed almost glued to her mouth.