"Be easy, be easy," I said. "Here is the doctor. He will save you yet."
And I made way for M. Du Laurens, who, having saluted the King, knelt down by the sick man, and felt his pulse; while we all stood round, looking down on the two with grave faces. It seemed to me that the man's eyes were growing dim, and I had little hope. The King was the first to break the silence. "You have hope?" he said. "You can save him?"
"Pardon, sire, a moment," the physician answered, rising from his knees. "Where is the cat?"
Someone brought it, and M. Du Laurens, after looking at it, said curtly, "It has been poisoned."
La Trape uttered a groan of despair. "At what hour did it take the milk?" the physician asked.
"A little before ten last evening," I said, seeing that La Trape was too far gone for speech.
"Ah! And the man?"
"An hour later."
Du Laurens shook his head, and was preparing to lay down the cat, which he had taken in his hands, when some appearance led him to examine it again and more closely. "Why what is this?" he exclaimed, in a tone of surprise, as he took the body to the window. "There is a large swelling under its chin."
No one answered.