The Count was silent.
Dorothy murmured fearfully, full of the dread with which the utterance of certain words inspired one:
"Is it possible? Can they have murdered.... Can they have murdered my father?"
"Everything leads one to believe it."
"And how?"
"Poison."
The blow had fallen. The young girl burst into tears. The Count bent over her and said:
"Read it. For my part, I am of the opinion that your father scribbled these last pages between two attacks of fever. When he was dead, the hospital authorities finding a letter and an envelope all ready for the post, sent it all on to me without examining it. Look at the end.... It is the writing of a very sick man.... The pencil moves at random directed by an effort of will which was every moment growing weaker."
Dorothy dried her tears. She wished to know and judge for herself, and she read in a low voice:
"What a dream!... But was it really a dream?... What I saw last night, did I see it in a nightmare? Or did I actually see it?... The rest of the wounded men ... my neighbors ... not one of them was awakened. Yet the man ... the men made a noise.... There were two of them. They were talking in a low voice ... in the garden ... under a window ... which was certainly open on account of the heat.... And then the window was pushed.... To do that one of the two must have climbed on to the shoulders of the other. What did he want? He tried to pass his arm through.... But the window caught against the table by the side of the bed.... And then he must have slipped off his jacket.... In spite of that his sleeve must have caught in the window and only his arm ... his bare arm, came through ... preceded by a hand which groped in my direction ... in the direction of the drawer.... Then I understood.... The medal was in the drawer.... Ah, how I wanted to cry out! But my throat was cramped.... Then another thing terrified me. The hand held a small bottle.... There was on the table a glass of water, for me to drink with a dose of my medicine.... The hand poured several drops from the bottle into the glass. Horror!... Poison beyond a doubt!... But I will not drink my medicine—no, no!... And I write this, this morning, to make sure of being able to recall it.... I write that the hand afterwards opened the drawer.... And while it was seizing the medal ... I saw ... I saw on the naked arm ... above the elbow ... words written——"