"A doctor," she cried, "a doctor! He can not be dead!"
One man ran out; while the others, under old Tabaret's direction, raised
the body, and carried it to Madame Juliette's bedroom where they laid it
on the bed.
"For his sake, I trust his wounds are mortal!" murmured the old
detective, whose anger left him at the sight. "After all, I loved him as
though he were my own child; his name is still in my will!"
Old Tabaret stopped. Noel just then uttered a groan, and opened his
eyes.
"You see that he will live!" cried Juliette.
The advocate shook his head feebly, and, for a moment, he tossed about
painfully on the bed, passing his right hand first under his coat, and
then under his pillow. He even succeeded in turning himself half-way
towards the wall and then back again.
Upon a sign, which was at once understood, someone placed another pillow
under his head. Then in a broken, hissing voice, he uttered a few words:
"I am the assassin," he said. "Write it down, I will sign it; it will
please Albert. I owe him that at least."
While they were writing, he drew Juliette's head close to his lips.
"My fortune is beneath the pillow," he whispered.
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