"You might also ask me," Bois-Doré replied, "for what reason an object which is horrible for me to look upon lies there before my eyes every hour. Let me tell you, monsieur, that that accursed weapon is the one that killed my brother, and I have made it a point of not putting it out of sight solely that I might constantly be reminded that I have to discover his murderer and avenge his death."
D'Alvimar's face expressed deep emotion, but it might well be sympathetic and magnanimous emotion.
"You do well to call it a relic of sorrow," he said, pushing the dagger away. "Was it your brother to whom you referred yesterday morning, when you consulted those gypsies as to the time and manner of some person's death?"
"Yes; I asked for something which I knew perfectly well, wishing to test their knowledge, and, upon my word, that little demon of a girl answered me so accurately that I had good reason to be astonished. Did you not notice, messire, that she gave me figures which fixed the date of the occurrence as the tenth day of May in the year 1610?"
"I did not follow the calculation. Was that actually the day when your brother was killed?"
"That was the day. I see that you are much surprised!"
"Surprised, I? Why should I be? I fancy that soothsayers reveal only so much of the past as they know. But tell me, I beg you, how that sad affair came to pass. Have you never known the authors of the crime?"
"You are right in saying the authors, for there were two of them—two men whom I would like right well to find. But you cannot help me, I see, since that accusing weapon bears no private mark."
"So there were no witnesses of the deed?"
"Pardon me, there were."