"Sir! sir!"
"Can you be a coward?" continued Villefort, with increasing excitement,
"you, who could count, one by one, the minutes of four death agonies?
You, who have arranged your infernal plans, and removed the beverages
with a talent and precision almost miraculous? Have you, then, who have
calculated everything with such nicety, have you forgotten to calculate
one thing--I mean where the revelation of your crimes will lead you to?
Oh, it is impossible--you must have saved some surer, more subtle and
deadly poison than any other, that you might escape the punishment
that you deserve. You have done this--I hope so, at least." Madame de
Villefort stretched out her hands, and fell on her knees.
"I understand," he said, "you confess; but a confession made to the
judges, a confession made at the last moment, extorted when the crime
cannot be denied, diminishes not the punishment inflicted on the
guilty!"
"The punishment?" exclaimed Madame de Villefort, "the punishment,
monsieur? Twice you have pronounced that word!"
"Certainly. Did you hope to escape it because you were four times
guilty? Did you think the punishment would be withheld because you are
the wife of him who pronounces it?--No, madame, no; the scaffold awaits
the poisoner, whoever she may be, unless, as I just said, the poisoner
has taken the precaution of keeping for herself a few drops of her
deadliest potion." Madame de Villefort uttered a wild cry, and a hideous
and uncontrollable terror spread over her distorted features. "Oh,
do not fear the scaffold, madame," said the magistrate; "I will not
dishonor you, since that would be dishonor to myself; no, if you have
heard me distinctly, you will understand that you are not to die on the
scaffold."
"No, I do not understand; what do you mean?" stammered the unhappy
woman, completely overwhelmed. "I mean that the wife of the first
magistrate in the capital shall not, by her infamy, soil an unblemished
name; that she shall not, with one blow, dishonor her husband and her
child."
"No, no--oh, no!"
"Well, madame, it will be a laudable action on your part, and I will
thank you for it!"
"You will thank me--for what?"
"For what you have just said."
"What did I say? Oh, my brain whirls; I no longer understand anything.
Oh, my God, my God!" And she rose, with her hair dishevelled, and her
lips foaming.
"Have you answered the question I put to you on entering the
room?--where do you keep the poison you generally use, madame?" Madame
de Villefort raised her arms to heaven, and convulsively struck one
hand against the other. "No, no," she vociferated, "no, you cannot wish
that!"
"What I do not wish, madame, is that you should perish on the scaffold.
Do you understand?" asked Villefort.
"Oh, mercy, mercy, monsieur!"
"What I require is, that justice be done. I am on the earth to punish,
madame," he added, with a flaming glance; "any other woman, were it the
queen herself, I would send to the executioner; but to you I shall be
merciful. To you I will say, 'Have you not, madame, put aside some of
the surest, deadliest, most speedy poison?'"
"Oh, pardon me, sir; let me live!"
"She is cowardly," said Villefort.
"Reflect that I am your wife!"
"You are a poisoner."
"In the name of heaven!"
"No!"
"In the name of the love you once bore me!"
"No, no!"
"In the name of our child! Ah, for the sake of our child, let me live!"
"No, no, no, I tell you; one day, if I allow you to live, you will
perhaps kill him, as you have the others!"
"I?--I kill my boy?" cried the distracted mother, rushing toward
Villefort; "I kill my son? Ha, ha, ha!" and a frightful, demoniac laugh
finished the sentence, which was lost in a hoarse rattle. Madame de
Villefort fell at her husband's feet. He approached her. "Think of it,
madame," he said; "if, on my return, justice his not been satisfied, I
will denounce you with my own mouth, and arrest you with my own hands!"
She listened, panting, overwhelmed, crushed; her eye alone lived, and
glared horribly. "Do you understand me?" he said. "I am going down there
to pronounce the sentence of death against a murderer. If I find you
alive on my return, you shall sleep to-night in the conciergerie."
Madame de Villefort sighed; her nerves gave way, and she sunk on the
carpet. The king's attorney seemed to experience a sensation of pity;
he looked upon her less severely, and, bowing to her, said slowly,
"Farewell, madame, farewell!" That farewell struck Madame de Villefort
like the executioner's knife. She fainted. The procureur went out, after
having double-locked the door.
Chapter 109. The Assizes.
The Benedetto affair, as it was called at the Palais, and by people in
general, had produced a tremendous sensation. Frequenting the Cafe de
Paris, the Boulevard de Gand, and the Bois de Boulogne, during his
brief career of splendor, the false Cavalcanti had formed a host of
acquaintances. The papers had related his various adventures, both as
the man of fashion and the galley-slave; and as every one who had been
personally acquainted with Prince Andrea Cavalcanti experienced a
lively curiosity in his fate, they all determined to spare no trouble in
endeavoring to witness the trial of M. Benedetto for the murder of his
comrade in chains. In the eyes of many, Benedetto appeared, if not
a victim to, at least an instance of, the fallibility of the law. M.
Cavalcanti, his father, had been seen in Paris, and it was expected that
he would re-appear to claim the illustrious outcast. Many, also, who
were not aware of the circumstances attending his withdrawal from Paris,
were struck with the worthy appearance, the gentlemanly bearing, and
the knowledge of the world displayed by the old patrician, who certainly
played the nobleman very well, so long as he said nothing, and made no
arithmetical calculations. As for the accused himself, many remembered
him as being so amiable, so handsome, and so liberal, that they chose
to think him the victim of some conspiracy, since in this world large
fortunes frequently excite the malevolence and jealousy of some unknown
enemy. Every one, therefore, ran to the court; some to witness the
sight, others to comment upon it. From seven o'clock in the morning
a crowd was stationed at the iron gates, and an hour before the trial
commenced the hall was full of the privileged. Before the entrance of
the magistrates, and indeed frequently afterwards, a court of justice,
on days when some especial trial is to take place, resembles a
drawing-room where many persons recognize each other and converse if
they can do so without losing their seats; or, if they are separated by
too great a number of lawyers, communicate by signs.
It was one of the magnificent autumn days which make amends for a short
summer; the clouds which M. de Villefort had perceived at sunrise
had all disappeared as if by magic, and one of the softest and most
brilliant days of September shone forth in all its splendor.
Beauchamp, one of the kings of the press, and therefore claiming the
right of a throne everywhere, was eying everybody through his monocle.
He perceived Chateau-Renaud and Debray, who had just gained the good
graces of a sergeant-at-arms, and who had persuaded the latter to let
them stand before, instead of behind him, as they ought to have done.
The worthy sergeant had recognized the minister's secretary and the
millionnaire, and, by way of paying extra attention to his noble
neighbors, promised to keep their places while they paid a visit to
Beauchamp.
"Well," said Beauchamp, "we shall see our friend!"
"Yes, indeed!" replied Debray. "That worthy prince. Deuce take those
Italian princes!"
"A man, too, who could boast of Dante for a genealogist, and could
reckon back to the 'Divine Comedy.'"
"A nobility of the rope!" said Chateau-Renaud phlegmatically.
"He will be condemned, will he not?" asked Debray of Beauchamp.
"My dear fellow, I think we should ask you that question; you know such
news much better than we do. Did you see the president at the minister's
last night?"
"Yes."
"What did he say?"
"Something which will surprise you."
"Oh, make haste and tell me, then; it is a long time since that has
happened."
"Well, he told me that Benedetto, who is considered a serpent of
subtlety and a giant of cunning, is really but a very commonplace, silly
rascal, and altogether unworthy of the experiments that will be made on
his phrenological organs after his death."
"Bah," said Beauchamp, "he played the prince very well."
"Yes, for you who detest those unhappy princes, Beauchamp, and are
always delighted to find fault with them; but not for me, who discover
a gentleman by instinct, and who scent out an aristocratic family like a
very bloodhound of heraldry."
"Then you never believed in the principality?"
"Yes.--in the principality, but not in the prince."
"Not so bad," said Beauchamp; "still, I assure you, he passed very well
with many people; I saw him at the ministers' houses."
"Ah, yes," said Chateau-Renaud. "The idea of thinking ministers
understand anything about princes!"
"There is something in what you have just said," said Beauchamp,
laughing.
"But," said Debray to Beauchamp, "if I spoke to the president, you must
have been with the procureur."
"It was an impossibility; for the last week M. de Villefort has
secluded himself. It is natural enough; this strange chain of domestic
afflictions, followed by the no less strange death of his daughter"--
"Strange? What do you mean, Beauchamp?"
"Oh, yes; do you pretend that all this has been unobserved at the
minister's?" said Beauchamp, placing his eye-glass in his eye, where he
tried to make it remain.
"My dear sir," said Chateau-Renaud, "allow me to tell you that you do
not understand that manoeuvre with the eye-glass half so well as Debray.
Give him a lesson, Debray."
"Stay," said Beauchamp, "surely I am not deceived."
"What is it?"
"It is she!"
"Whom do you mean?"
"They said she had left."
"Mademoiselle Eugenie?" said Chateau-Renaud; "has she returned?"
"No, but her mother."
"Madame Danglars? Nonsense! Impossible!" said Chateau-Renaud; "only
ten days after the flight of her daughter, and three days from the
bankruptcy of her husband?"
Debray colored slightly, and followed with his eyes the direction of
Beauchamp's glance. "Come," he said, "it is only a veiled lady, some
foreign princess, perhaps the mother of Cavalcanti. But you were just
speaking on a very interesting topic, Beauchamp."
"I?"
"Yes; you were telling us about the extraordinary death of Valentine."
"Ah, yes, so I was. But how is it that Madame de Villefort is not here?"
"Poor, dear woman," said Debray, "she is no doubt occupied in distilling
balm for the hospitals, or in making cosmetics for herself or friends.
Do you know she spends two or three thousand crowns a year in this
amusement? But I wonder she is not here. I should have been pleased to
see her, for I like her very much."
"And I hate her," said Chateau-Renaud.
"Why?"
"I do not know. Why do we love? Why do we hate? I detest her, from
antipathy."
"Or, rather, by instinct."
"Perhaps so. But to return to what you were saying, Beauchamp."
"Well, do you know why they die so multitudinously at M. de
Villefort's?"
"'Multitudinously' is good," said Chateau-Renaud.
"My good fellow, you'll find the word in Saint-Simon."
"But the thing itself is at M. de Villefort's; but let's get back to the
subject."
"Talking of that," said Debray, "Madame was making inquiries about that
house, which for the last three months has been hung with black."
"Who is Madame?" asked Chateau-Renaud.
"The minister's wife, pardieu!"
"Oh, your pardon! I never visit ministers; I leave that to the princes."
"Really, You were only before sparkling, but now you are brilliant; take
compassion on us, or, like Jupiter, you will wither us up."
"I will not speak again," said Chateau-Renaud; "pray have compassion
upon me, and do not take up every word I say."
"Come, let us endeavor to get to the end of our story, Beauchamp; I
told you that yesterday Madame made inquiries of me upon the subject;
enlighten me, and I will then communicate my information to her."
"Well, gentlemen, the reason people die so multitudinously (I like the
word) at M. de Villefort's is that there is an assassin in the house!"
The two young men shuddered, for the same idea had more than once
occurred to them. "And who is the assassin;" they asked together.
"Young Edward!" A burst of laughter from the auditors did not in the
least disconcert the speaker, who continued,--"Yes, gentlemen; Edward,
the infant phenomenon, who is quite an adept in the art of killing."
"You are jesting."
"Not at all. I yesterday engaged a servant, who had just left M.
de Villefort--I intend sending him away to-morrow, for he eats so
enormously, to make up for the fast imposed upon him by his terror in
