"I, monsieur? Nothing."
"You are lying, my girl. Your mistress has been poisoned."
"I swear--"
"I should advise you not to swear. You have twice attempted to poison
your mistress. Why did you do it?"
"But this is absurd."
"Does your mistress use eyedrops when she sings at the Opéra?"
"Eyedrops?"
"You know what I mean. A lotion which you drop into the eye in order
to dilate the pupil."
"My mistress never uses eyedrops."
"Does Madame Carlotta Deschamps use eyedrops?"
It was a courageous move on my part, but it had its effect. She was
startled.
"I--I don't know, monsieur."
"I ask because eyedrops contain atropine, and mademoiselle is
suffering from a slight, a very slight, attack of atropine poisoning.
The dose must have been very nicely gauged; it was just enough to
produce a temporary hoarseness and discomfort. I needn't tell such a
clever girl as you that atropine acts first on the throat. It has
clearly been some one's intention to prevent mademoiselle from singing
at rehearsals, and from appearing in Paris in 'Carmen.'"
Yvette drew herself up, her nostrils quivering. She had turned
decidedly pale.
"Monsieur insults me by his suspicions. I must go."
"You won't go just immediately. I may tell you further that I have
analyzed the contents of this glass, and have found traces of
atropine."
I had done no such thing, but that was a detail.
"Also, I have sent for the police."
This, too, was an imaginative statement.
Yvette approached me suddenly, and flung her arms round my neck. I had
just time to put the glass on the seat of a chair and seize her hands.
"No," I said, "you will neither spill that glass nor break it."
She dropped at my feet weeping.
"Have pity on me, monsieur!" She looked up at me through her tears,
and the pose was distinctly effective. "It was Madame Deschamps who
asked me to do it. I used to be with her before I came to
mademoiselle. She gave me the bottle, but I didn't know it was
poison--I swear I didn't!"
"What did you take it to be, then? Jam? Two grains of atropine will
cause death."
For answer she clung to my knees. I released myself, and moved away a
few steps. She jumped up, and made a dash for the door, but I happened
to have locked it.
"Where is Madame Deschamps?" I asked.
"She returns to Paris to-morrow. Monsieur will let me go. I was only a
tool."
"I will consider that matter, Yvette," I said. "In my opinion you are
a thoroughly wicked girl, and I wouldn't trust you any further than I
could see you. For the present, you will have an opportunity to
meditate over your misdoings." I left the room, and locked the door on
the outside.