"Must I die, then?" he muttered.
"Yes, you must; but before you die write a confession of your
crimes, for the innocent may be suspected--"
He sat down mechanically, took the pen which Laurence held out to
him, and wrote:
"Being about to appear before God, I declare that I alone, and
without accomplices, poisoned Sauvresy and murdered the Countess
de Tremorel, my wife."
When he had signed and dated this, Laurence opened a bureau drawer;
Hector seized one of the brace of pistols which were lying in it,
and she took the other. But Tremorel, as before at the hotel, and
then in the dying Sauvresy's chamber, felt his heart fail him as he
placed the pistol against his forehead. He was livid, his teeth
chattered, and he trembled so violently that he let the pistol drop.
"Laurence, my love," he stammered, "what will--become of you?"
"Me! I have sworn that I will follow you always and everywhere.
Do you understand?"
"Ah, 'tis horrible!" said he. "It was not I who poisoned Sauvresy--
it was she--there are proofs of it; perhaps, with a good
advocate--"
M. Lecoq did not lose a word or a gesture of this tragical scene.
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