“Did he sup here?” asked Bianchon.
“No,” said Corentin; “he came here in great haste from the Boulevard, and found his daughter ruined——”
“That was the poison if he loved his daughter,” said Bianchon.
“What known poison could produce a similar effect?” asked Corentin, clinging to his idea.
“There is but one,” said Desplein, after a careful examination. “It is a poison found in the Malayan Archipelago, and derived from trees, as yet but little known, of the strychnos family; it is used to poison that dangerous weapon, the Malay kris.—At least, so it is reported.”
The Police Commissioner presently arrived; Corentin told him his suspicions, and begged him to draw up a report, telling him where and with whom Peyrade had supped, and the causes of the state in which he found Lydie.
Corentin then went to Lydie’s rooms; Desplein and Bianchon had been examining the poor child. He met them at the door.
“Well, gentlemen?” asked Corentin.
“Place the girl under medical care; unless she recovers her wits when her child is born—if indeed she should have a child—she will end her days melancholy-mad. There is no hope of a cure but in the maternal instinct, if it can be aroused.”
Corentin paid each of the physicians forty francs in gold, and then turned to the Police Commissioner, who had pulled him by the sleeve.