"Walk in, madame," and then reclose it; but no sooner had the man's
footsteps ceased, than he started up, drew the bolts, closed the
curtains, and examined every corner of the room. Then, when he had
assured himself that he could neither be seen nor heard, and was
consequently relieved of doubts, he said, — "Thanks, madame, —
thanks for your punctuality; "and he offered a chair to Madame
Danglars, which she accepted, for her heart beat so violently that
she felt nearly suffocated.
"It is a long time, madame," said the procureur, describing a
half-circle with his chair, so as to place himself exactly opposite
to Madame Danglars, — "it is a long time since I had the pleasure
of speaking alone with you, and I regret that we have only now met
to enter upon a painful conversation."
"Nevertheless, sir, you see I have answered your first appeal,
although certainly the conversation must be much more painful for
me than for you." Villefort smiled bitterly.
"It is true, then," he said, rather uttering his thoughts aloud
than addressing his companion, — "it is true, then, that all our
actions leave their traces — some sad, others bright — on our
paths; it is true that every step in our lives is like the course
of an insect on the sands; — it leaves its track! Alas, to many the
path is traced by tears."
"Sir," said Madame Danglars, "you can feel for my emotion, can
you not? Spare me, then, I beseech you. When I look at this room, —
whence so many guilty creatures have departed, trembling and
ashamed, when I look at that chair before which I now sit trembling
and ashamed, — oh, it requires all my reason to convince me that I
am not a very guilty woman and you a menacing judge." Villefort
dropped his head and sighed. "And I," he said, "I feel that my
place is not in the judge's seat, but on the prisoner's stool."
"You?" said Madame Danglars.
"Yes, I."
"I think, sir, you exaggerate your situation," said Madame
Danglars, whose beautiful eyes sparkled for a moment. "The paths ofDanglars, whose beautiful eyes sparkled for a moment. "The paths of
which you were just speaking have been traced by all young men of
ardent imaginations. Besides the pleasure, there is always remorse
from the indulgence of our passions, and, after all, what have you
men to fear from all this? the world excuses, and notoriety
ennobles you."
"Madame," replied Villefort, "you know that I am no hypocrite,
or, at least, that I never deceive without a reason. If my brow be
severe, it is because many misfortunes have clouded it; if my heart
be petrified, it is that it might sustain the blows it has
received. I was not so in my youth, I was not so on the night of
the betrothal, when we were all seated around a table in the Rue du
Cours at Marseilles. But since then everything has changed in and
about me; I am accustomed to brave difficulties, and, in the
conflict to crush those who, by their own free will, or by chance,
voluntarily or involuntarily, interfere with me in my career. It is
generally the case that what we most ardently desire is as ardently
withheld from us by those who wish to obtain it, or from whom we
attempt to snatch it. Thus, the greater number of a man's errors
come before him disguised under the specious form of necessity;
then, after error has been committed in a moment of excitement, of
delirium, or of fear, we see that we might have avoided and escaped
it. The means we might have used, which we in our blindness could
not see, then seem simple and easy, and we say, `Why did I not do
this, instead of that?' Women, on the contrary, are rarely
tormented with remorse; for the decision does not come from you, —
your misfortunes are generally imposed upon you, and your faults
the results of others' crimes."
"In any case, sir, you will allow," replied Madame Danglars,
"that, even if the fault were alone mine, I last night received a
severe punishment for it."
"Poor thing," said Villefort, pressing her hand, "it was too
severe for your strength, for you were twice overwhelmed, and yet"
—
"Well?"severe for your strength, for you were twice overwhelmed, and yet"
—
"Well?"
"Well, I must tell you. Collect all your courage, for you have
not yet heard all."
"Ah," exclaimed Madame Danglars, alarmed, "what is there more to
hear?"
"You only look back to the past, and it is, indeed, bad enough.
Well, picture to yourself a future more gloomy still — certainly
frightful, perhaps sanguinary." The baroness knew how calm
Villefort naturally was, and his present excitement frightened her
so much that she opened her mouth to scream, but the sound died in
her throat. "How has this terrible past been recalled?" cried
Villefort; "how is it that it has escaped from the depths of the
tomb and the recesses of our hearts, where it was buried, to visit
us now, like a phantom, whitening our cheeks and flushing our brows
with shame?"
"Alas," said Hermine, "doubtless it is chance."
"Chance?" replied Villefort; "No, no, madame, there is no such
thing as chance."
"Oh, yes; has not a fatal chance revealed all this? Was it not
by chance the Count of Monte Cristo bought that house? Was it not
by chance he caused the earth to be dug up? Is it not by chance
that the unfortunate child was disinterred under the trees? — that
poor innocent offspring of mine, which I never even kissed, but for
whom I wept many, many tears. Ah, my heart clung to the count when
he mentioned the dear spoil found beneath the flowers."
"Well, no, madame, — this is the terrible news I have to tell
you," said Villefort in a hollow voice — "no, nothing was found
beneath the flowers; there was no child disinterred — no. You must
not weep, no, you must not groan, you must tremble!"
"What can you mean?" asked Madame Danglars, shuddering.
"I mean that M. de Monte Cristo, digging underneath these trees,
found neither skeleton nor chest, because neither of them was
there!"
"Neither of them there?" repeated Madame Danglars, her staring,
wide-open eyes expressing her alarm.
"Neither of them there!" she again said, as though striving to