"'I think to-night,' I said, when we were at table, and wine was offered me, 'I think I will follow your example. Give me some whiskey.'
"'All right,' he replied.
"To be poisoned with an English drink by a Venetian struck me as rather novel. At the same time he was so calm when I refused to take any wine that I thought I must have been mistaken. But he praised a certain port that he has received from Lord Herbert so highly that I at once had the idea that this was the particular wine I must not touch. He pressed it upon me. I allowed the servant to pour me out a glass and smelled it.
"'What a singular odor,' I said to him, calmly. 'I am sure there must be something in this wine.'
"'It must be a bad bottle,' said Navagero; 'throw it away.'
"His voice, his look, his bearing, convinced me. I felt I was right. I said nothing. But at the moment the maître d'hôtel was going to take away my glass I laid my hand upon it, and asked for a little bottle.
"'I am going to take this wine to an analyst,' I said, with the most natural air in the world. 'They say that port made for the English market never even sees a grape. I am curious to know if that is the truth.'
"They brought me a little bottle, and with the greatest calmness possible I filled it with the wine, corked it up and placed the bottle in my pocket. I wish you could have seen my brother-in-law's expression. We had a little explanation later on in the evening, at the end of which it was decided between us, in quite a friendly way, that I would not denounce him to the police, but that he would leave for Venice to-day. He will reside in the Palace, he will have a decent income, and I am certain he will not begin again. I warned him, in any case, I would have the wine analyzed, and that the result of this analysis would be placed somewhere safely. I may tell you that he had put a strong dose of strychnine in the bottle. I have two copies of the analyst's report. One of them I have given to Madame de Carlsberg and the other I would like you to keep. Will you?"
"Gladly," replied Pierre, taking the paper that the Southerner held out to him.
Such is the egoism of passion that, notwithstanding the astounding adventure of which he had just been made the confidant, Ely's name, uttered by chance, had moved him more than all the rest. It appeared to him that, as he spoke of Madame de Carlsberg, Corancez looked at him inquisitively. He wondered whether he had brought a message for him. No! Ely was not a woman to choose such a man as Corancez as ambassador.