his lips with a fine cambric pocket-handkerchief. "Your
profession?"
"First I was a forger," answered Andrea, as calmly as possible;
"then I became a thief, and lately have become an assassin." A
murmur, or rather storm, of indignation burst from all parts of the
assembly. The judges themselves appeared to be stupefied, and the
jury manifested tokens of disgust for cynicism so unexpected in a
man of fashion. M. de Villefort pressed his hand upon his brow,
which, at first pale, had become red and burning; then he suddenly
arose and looked around as though he had lost his senses — he
wanted air.
"Are you looking for anything, Mr. Procureur?" asked Benedetto,
with his most ingratiating smile. M. de Villefort answered nothing,
but sat, or rather threw himself down again upon his chair. "And
now, prisoner, will you consent to tell your name?" said the
president. "The brutal affectation with which you have enumerated
and classified your crimes calls for a severe reprimand on the part
of the court, both in the name of morality, and for the respect due
to humanity. You appear to consider this a point of honor, and it
may be for this reason, that you have delayed acknowledging your
name. You wished it to be preceded by all these titles."
"It is quite wonderful, Mr. President, how entirely you have
read my thoughts," said Benedetto, in his softest voice and most
polite manner. "This is, indeed, the reason why I begged you to
alter the order of the questions." The public astonishment had
reached its height. There was no longer any deceit or bravado in
the manner of the accused. The audience felt that a startling
revelation was to follow this ominous prelude.
"Well," said the president; "your name?"
"I cannot tell you my name, since I do not know it; but I know
my father's, and can tell it to you."
A painful giddiness overwhelmed Villefort; great drops of acrid
sweat fell from his face upon the papers which he held in his
convulsed hand.
"Repeat your father's name," said the president. Not a whisper,convulsed hand.
"Repeat your father's name," said the president. Not a whisper,
not a breath, was heard in that vast assembly; every one waited
anxiously.
"My father is king's attorney," replied Andrea calmly.
"King's attorney?" said the president, stupefied, and without
noticing the agitation which spread over the face of M. de
Villefort; "king's attorney?"
"Yes; and if you wish to know his name, I will tell it, — he is
named Villefort." The explosion, which had been so long restrained
from a feeling of respect to the court of justice, now burst forth
like thunder from the breasts of all present; the court itself did
not seek to restrain the feelings of the audience. The
exclamations, the insults addressed to Benedetto, who remained
perfectly unconcerned, the energetic gestures, the movement of the
gendarmes, the sneers of the scum of the crowd always sure to rise
to the surface in case of any disturbance — all this lasted five
minutes, before the door-keepers and magistrates were able to
restore silence. In the midst of this tumult the voice of the
president was heard to exclaim, — "Are you playing with justice,
accused, and do you dare set your fellow-citizens an example of
disorder which even in these times has never been equalled?"
Several persons hurried up to M. de Villefort, who sat half
bowed over in his chair, offering him consolation, encouragement,
and protestations of zeal and sympathy. Order was re-established in
the hall, except that a few people still moved about and whispered
to one another. A lady, it was said, had just fainted; they had
supplied her with a smelling-bottle, and she had recovered. During
the scene of tumult, Andrea had turned his smiling face towards the
assembly; then, leaning with one hand on the oaken rail of the
dock, in the most graceful attitude possible, he said: "Gentlemen,
I assure you I had no idea of insulting the court, or of making a
useless disturbance in the presence of this honorable assembly.
They ask my age; I tell it. They ask where I was born; I answer.They ask my age; I tell it. They ask where I was born; I answer.
They ask my name, I cannot give it, since my parents abandoned me.
But though I cannot give my own name, not possessing one, I can
tell them my father's. Now I repeat, my father is named M. de
Villefort, and I am ready to prove it."
There was an energy, a conviction, and a sincerity in the manner
of the young man, which silenced the tumult. All eyes were turned
for a moment towards the procureur, who sat as motionless as though
a thunderbolt had changed him into a corpse. "Gentlemen," said
Andrea, commanding silence by his voice and manner; "I owe you the
proofs and explanations of what I have said."
"But," said the irritated president, "you called yourself
Benedetto, declared yourself an orphan, and claimed Corsica as your
country."
"I said anything I pleased, in order that the solemn declaration
I have just made should not be withheld, which otherwise would
certainly have been the case. I now repeat that I was born at
Auteuil on the night of the 27th of September, 1817, and that I am
the son of the procureur, M. de Villefort. Do you wish for any
further details? I will give them. I was born in No. 28, Rue de la
Fontaine, in a room hung with red damask; my father took me in his
arms, telling my mother I was dead, wrapped me in a napkin marked
with an H and an N, and carried me into a garden, where he buried
me alive."
A shudder ran through the assembly when they saw that the
confidence of the prisoner increased in proportion to the terror of
M. de Villefort. "But how have you become acquainted with all these
details?" asked the president.
"I will tell you, Mr. President. A man who had sworn vengeance
against my father, and had long watched his opportunity to kill
him, had introduced himself that night into the garden in which my
father buried me. He was concealed in a thicket; he saw my father
bury something in the ground, and stabbed him; then thinking the
deposit might contain some treasure he turned up the ground, and