“Ah,” she cried, “what a frightful dream!”
Villefort pressed her hand to let her know it was not a dream. They looked for M. Danglars, but, as he was not especially interested in poetical ideas, he had gone into the garden, and was talking with Major Cavalcanti on the projected railway from Leghorn to Florence. Monte Cristo seemed in despair. He took the arm of Madame Danglars, and conducted her into the garden, where they found Danglars taking coffee between the Cavalcanti.
“Really, madame,” he said, “did I alarm you much?”
“Oh, no, sir,” she answered; “but you know, things impress us differently, according to the mood of our minds.” Villefort forced a laugh.
“And then, you know,” he said, “an idea, a supposition, is sufficient.”
“Well,” said Monte Cristo, “you may believe me if you like, but it is my opinion that a crime has been committed in this house.”
“Take care,” said Madame de Villefort, “the king’s attorney is here.”
“Ah,” replied Monte Cristo, “since that is the case, I will take advantage of his presence to make my declaration.”
“Your declaration?” said Villefort.
“Yes, before witnesses.”
“Oh, this is very interesting,” said Debray; “if there really has been a crime, we will investigate it.”
“There has been a crime,” said Monte Cristo. “Come this way, gentlemen; come, M. Villefort, for a declaration to be available, should be made before the competent authorities.”
He then took Villefort’s arm, and, at the same time, holding that of Madame Danglars under his own, he dragged the procureur to the plantain-tree, where the shade was thickest. All the other guests followed.
“Stay,” said Monte Cristo, “here, in this very spot” (and he stamped upon the ground), “I had the earth dug up and fresh mould put in, to refresh these old trees; well, my man, digging, found a box, or rather, the iron-work of a box, in the midst of which was the skeleton of a newly born infant.”
30225m
Monte Cristo felt the arm of Madame Danglars stiffen, while that of Villefort trembled.
“A newly born infant,” repeated Debray; “this affair becomes serious!”
“Well,” said Château-Renaud, “I was not wrong just now then, when I said that houses had souls and faces like men, and that their exteriors carried the impress of their characters. This house was gloomy because it was remorseful: it was remorseful because it concealed a crime.”
“Who said it was a crime?” asked Villefort, with a last effort.
“How? is it not a crime to bury a living child in a garden?” cried Monte Cristo. “And pray what do you call such an action?”
“But who said it was buried alive?”
“Why bury it there if it were dead? This garden has never been a cemetery.”
“What is done to infanticides in this country?” asked Major Cavalcanti innocently.
“Oh, their heads are soon cut off,” said Danglars.
“Ah, indeed?” said Cavalcanti.
“I think so; am I not right, M. de Villefort?” asked Monte Cristo.
“Yes, count,” replied Villefort, in a voice now scarcely human.
Monte Cristo, seeing that the two persons for whom he had prepared this scene could scarcely endure it, and not wishing to carry it too far, said:
“Come, gentlemen,—some coffee, we seem to have forgotten it,” and he conducted the guests back to the table on the lawn.
“Indeed, count,” said Madame Danglars, “I am ashamed to own it, but all your frightful stories have so upset me, that I must beg you to let me sit down;” and she fell into a chair.
Monte Cristo bowed, and went to Madame de Villefort.
“I think Madame Danglars again requires your bottle,” he said. But before Madame de Villefort could reach her friend, the procureur had found time to whisper to Madame Danglars, “I must speak to you.”
“When?”
“Tomorrow.”
“Where?”
“In my office, or in the court, if you like,—that is the surest place.”
“I will be there.”
At this moment Madame de Villefort approached.
“Thanks, my dear friend,” said Madame Danglars, trying to smile; “it is over now, and I am much better.”
Chapter 64. The Beggar