"The vicomte, as if pursued by the furies, escaped; the dying man gave one more gasp and then passed away, and I, who was behind the curtains, a witness of this terrible scene—I shall so far forget myself as to deliver to the man who did not spare his father the inheritance of his brother? No, vicomte, Pierre Labarre knows his duty, and if to-morrow the name of the Fougereuse should be trampled in the dust and the present bearer of the name be placed in the pillory as a forger and swindler, then I will stand up and say:
"'He is not a Fougereuse, he is only a Talizac. He murdered the heir, and let no honest man ever touch his blood-stained hand!' Get out of here, Vicomte Talizac, my house has no room for murderers!"
Pale as death, with quaking knees, the marquis leaned against the wall. When Pierre was silent he hissed in a low voice:
"Then you refuse to help me?"
"Yes, a thousand times, yes."
"You persist in keeping the fortune of the Fougereuse for Jules's son, who has been dead a long time?"
"I keep the fortune for the living."
"And if he were dead, nevertheless?"
Pierre suddenly looked up—suppose the murderer were to prove his assertion?