He drew back his head and shut the door. The window was down, and he looked in over it to say again: “Remember!” A whisper caught his ear:
“The pistol.... Where is it?”
He touched himself significantly upon the breast.
“I have it here. I shall keep it! You are not to be trusted with such dangerous things, impulsive and excitable as you are.”
“Dear friend, such weapons are to be bought where one will, and those who sell them do not inquire into the temperament of the buyer. Tell me something, Alain!...”
He said in the passionate undertone:
“I love you to madness!... Henriette!...”
“Ah, not that now, dear friend, I beg of you!”
“Henriette, I implore you”
A small warm velvet hand alighted on de Moulny’s mouth. He kissed it devouringly. It was drawn away, and next instant the sweet, sighing voice launched a poisoned dart that pierced him to the marrow: