lost.

"Wretch!" cried the count.

And, dreading his own violence, the old nobleman threw his cane into a
corner. He was unwilling to strike his son; he considered him unworthy
of being struck by his hand. Then there was a moment of mortal silence,
which seemed to both of them a century.

At the same time their minds were filled with thoughts, which would
require a volume to transcribe.

Noel had the courage to speak first.

"Sir," he began.

"Silence!" exclaimed the count hoarsely; "be silent! Can it be, heaven
forgive me! that you are my son? Alas, I cannot doubt it now! Wretch!
you knew well that you were Madame Gerdy's son. Infamous villain! you
not only committed this murder, but you did everything to cause an
innocent man to be charged with your crime! Parricide! you have also
killed your mother."

The advocate attempted to stammer forth a protest.

"You killed her," continued the count with increased energy, "if not
by poison, at least by your crime. I understand all now; she was not
delirious this morning. But you know as well as I do what she was
saying. You were listening, and, if you dared to enter at that moment
when one word more would have betrayed you, it was because you had
calculated the effect of your presence. It was to you that she addressed
her last word, 'Assassin!'"

Little by little, Noel had retired to the end of the room, and he stood
leaning against the wall, his head thrown back, his hair on end, his
look haggard. A convulsive trembling shook his frame. His face betrayed
a terror most horrible to see, the terror of the criminal found out.

"I know all, you see," continued the count; "and I am not alone in my
knowledge. At this moment, a warrant of arrest is issued against you."

A cry of rage like a hollow rattle burst from the advocate's breast. His
lips, which were hanging through terror, now grew firm. Overwhelmed in
the very midst of his triumph, he struggled against this fright. He drew
himself up with a look of defiance.

M. de Commarin, without seeming to pay any attention to Noel, approached
his writing table, and opened a drawer.

"My duty," said he, "would be to leave you to the executioner who awaits
you; but I remember that I have the misfortune to be your father. Sit
down; write and sign a confession of your crime. You will then find
fire-arms in this drawer. May heaven forgive you!"

The old nobleman moved towards the door. Noel with a sign stopped him,
and dra