"Those words have been written by some unmitigated liar!" cried the marquis. "Pierre Labarre, say that it is not true, or else—I must have poisoned my own son!"
"Would to God I could say no," replied Pierre, shuddering, "but I cannot! Fanfaro was your son—his blood lies on your head!"
"No! no!" cried the marquis, pale as death; "his blood will not fall upon me, but upon the devil who led me to do the dastardly deed."
"His name?" asked Pierre.
"Is Simon—my steward! He advised me to poison Fanfaro, so that I could force you to give up the legacy. I acceded to his proposition, and he committed the deed."
Pierre looked contemptuously at the coward who did not hesitate to throw the responsibility of the terrible deed on his servant.
"I am going now," he said, coldly; "I have nothing more to do here."
"No, remain. Do not leave me alone with the dead—I am frightened!" whined the marquis.
"I must go. I want to look after your other dead son," replied Pierre.