“You are crying!—It is my father!” said the girl.
She could still recognize her father; she got out of bed and fell on her knees at the old man’s side as he sank into a chair.
“Forgive me, papa,” said she in a tone that pierced Peyrade’s heart, and at the same moment he was conscious of what felt like a tremendous blow on his head.
“I am dying!—the villains!” were his last words.
Corentin tried to help his friend, and received his latest breath.
“Dead! Poisoned!” said he to himself. “Ah! here is the doctor!” he exclaimed, hearing the sound of wheels.
Contenson, who came with his mulatto disguise removed, stood like a bronze statue as he heard Lydie say:
“Then you do not forgive me, father?—But it was not my fault!”
She did not understand that her father was dead.
“Oh, how he stares at me!” cried the poor crazy girl.