“Excuse me. I have gone there to see her many times, but I remained only a few minutes. Madame Gerdy, who has often seen her, and to whom she talked of all her affairs, could have enlightened you much better than I.” “But,” said the magistrate, “I expect shortly to see Madame Gerdy here; she, too, must have received a summons.” “I know it, sir, but it is impossible for her to appear. She is ill in bed.” “Seriously?” “So seriously that you will be obliged, I think, to give up all hope of her testimony. She is attacked with a disease which, in the words of my friend, Dr. Herve, never forgives. It is something like inflammation of the brain, if I am not mistaken. It may be that her life will be saved, but she will never recover her reason. If she does not die, she will be insane.” M. Daburon appeared greatly vexed. “This is very annoying,” he muttered. “And you think, my dear sir, that it will be impossible to obtain any information from her?” “It is useless even to hope for it. She has completely lost her reason. She was, when I left her, in such a state of utter prostration that I fear she can not live through the day.” “And when was she attacked by this illness?” “Yesterday evening.” “Suddenly?” “Yes, sir; at least, apparently so, though I myself think she has been unwell for the last three weeks at least. Yesterday, however, on rising from dinner, after having eaten but little, she took up a newspaper; and, by a most unfortunate hazard, her eyes fell exactly upon the lines which gave an account of this crime. She at once uttered a loud cry, fell back in her chair, and thence slipped to the floor, murmuring, ‘Oh, the unhappy man, the unhappy man!’” “The unhappy woman, you mean.” “No, sir. She uttered the words I have just repeated. Evidently the exclamation did not refer to my poor nurse.” Upon this reply, so important and yet made in the most unconscious tone, M. Daburon raised his eyes to the witness. The advocate lowered his head. “And then?” asked the magistrate, after a moment’s silence, during which he had taken a few notes. “Those words, sir, were the last spoken by Madame Gerdy. Assisted by our servant, I carried her to her bed. The doctor was sent for; and, since then, she has not recovered consciousness. The doctor--” “It is well,” interrupted M. Daburon. “Let us leave that for the present. Do you know, sir, whether Widow Lerouge had any enemies?” “None that I know of, sir.” “She had no enemies? Well, now tell me, does there exist to your knowledge any one having the least interest in the death of this poor woman?” As he asked this question the investigating magistrate kept his eyes fixed on Noel’s, not wishing him to turn or lower his head. The advocate started, and seemed deeply moved. He was disconcerted; he hesitated, as if a struggle was going on within him. Finally, in a voice which was by no means firm, he replied, “No, no one.”