"No," replied Pierre, sorrowfully; "the real Vicomte de Talizac is dead, and from to-day on you are for me the Marquis of Fougereuse."
"I do not understand you," said the marquis, confused. "What has the death of my son got to do with my title?"
"I do not speak of the son who lies here a corpse, but of the other—"
"Which other?" asked the nobleman, more and more surprised.
"You will soon understand me—it is about Fanfaro—"
"Ah, I could have thought so; to his death I owe the fact that Pierre Labarre calls me the Marquis of Fougereuse, and that now that no one is living to whom he can give the hidden millions he must necessarily deliver them up to me!"
With a mixture of surprise and horror Pierre looked at the man, who could still think of money and money matters in the presence of his dead son.
"Why do you not speak?" continued the marquis, mockingly. "You are, no doubt, sorrowful at the death of Fanfaro, whom you imagine to be the legitimate heir of the Fougereuse? Yes, I cannot help you; gone is gone; and if it interests you, you can learn how Fanfaro came to his death. I killed him!"
"Impossible—do not say that!" cried Pierre Labarre in terror. "Say that it was a joke, my lord, or a misunderstanding. You did not kill him!"