"You appear to have been poisoned, my poor boy," said he.
"Poisoned?" repeated Quentin, as a terrible fear and suspicion of Isidora's revengeful pride rushed upon him.
"Yes—beyond a doubt."
"Shall I die, padre?" he asked in an agitated voice.
"Oh no, my son, there is no fear of that—I shall cure you by a few simple remedies."
Quentin felt greatly relieved in mind on hearing this; but at present thirst was his chief merit, with an internal heat and pain that gave him no rest.
"Of what were you partaking last night?"
"Of wine only—champagne, which I found in a cabinet of the comedero (dining-room)."
"There is but one crystal cup remaining here unbroken."
"From that I drank it," said Quentin, who, in his delirium, had smashed a supper equipage of his own collecting.