“Well, you can make them.”
“Make them?”
“I can tell you something—a great secret—an immense secret. You can use it against them—frighten them, force them.”
“A secret!” Newman repeated. The idea of letting Valentin, on his death-bed, confide him an “immense secret” shocked him, for the moment, and made him draw back. It seemed an illicit way of arriving at information, and even had a vague analogy with listening at a keyhole. Then, suddenly, the thought of “forcing” Madame de Bellegarde and her son became attractive, and Newman bent his head closer to Valentin’s lips. For some time, however, the dying man said nothing more. He only lay and looked at his friend with his kindled, expanded, troubled eye, and Newman began to believe that he had spoken in delirium. But at last he said,—
“There was something done—something done at Fleurières. It was foul play. My father—something happened to him. I don’t know; I have been ashamed—afraid to know. But I know there is something. My mother knows—Urbain knows.”
“Something happened to your father?” said Newman, urgently.
Valentin looked at him, still more wide-eyed. “He didn’t get well.”
“Get well of what?”
But the immense effort which Valentin had made, first to decide to utter these words and then to bring them out, appeared to have taken his last strength. He lapsed again into silence, and Newman sat watching him. “Do you understand?” he began again, presently. “At Fleurières. You can find out. Mrs. Bread knows. Tell her I begged you to ask her. Then tell them that, and see. It may help you. If not, tell everyone. It will—it will”—here Valentin’s voice sank to the feeblest murmur—“it will avenge you!”
The words died away in a long, soft groan. Newman stood up, deeply impressed, not knowing what to say; his heart was beating violently. “Thank you,” he said at last. “I am much obliged.” But Valentin seemed not to hear him, he remained silent, and his silence continued. At last Newman went and opened the door. M. le Curé re-entered, bearing his sacred vessel and followed by the three gentlemen and by Valentin’s servant. It was almost processional.