“But how do you mean, Bertollon? I do not quite understand you.”
“I must tell you, you innocent. In my wife’s absence, I one evening secretly searched her drawers—you may laugh; you see I did not quite trust you at that time, with all your virtue; for I thought you had exchanged love letters of grief and affection. While so doing, the lame Jacques happened to come down the stairs and saw me leave my wife’s room after I played her this trick. But the blockhead passed quickly and saluted me.”
“What trick do you mean? You talk so confusedly. Drink! here is to your health.”
“And to yours, Colas! You have acquitted yourself well. You are a capital fellow. I lay you would not have made an address half so good before the court against my wife, had you known that I myself mixed the poison with the essence, though it was only a small quantity.”
“No! certainly not, dear Bertollon.”
“Therefore it was wise on my part not to tell you before; now it can do no harm.”
“Why you were not fool enough to wish to poison yourself?”
“As to that I knew very well that I was in no great danger. I was only astonished to find poison in my wife’s possession. She had labelled it. But what do you think she intended to do with it?”
“Why, that is an enigma.”
“But it was a deep trick, Colas, was it not? The following morning I pretended giddiness, sent for my wife, who brought me the essence herself as usual. The physician was also sent for, and an antidote was applied, but I had only mixed in a small quantity of the poison.”