We have seen how quietly Mademoiselle Danglars andMademoiselle d'Armilly accomplished their transformation andflight; the fact being that every one was too much occupiedin his or her own affairs to think of theirs. We will leavethe banker contemplating the enormous magnitude of his debtbefore the phantom of bankruptcy, and follow the baroness,who after being momentarily crushed under the weight of theblow which had struck her, had gone to seek her usualadviser, Lucien Debray. The baroness had looked forward tothis marriage as a means of ridding her of a guardianshipwhich, over a girl of Eugenie's character, could not fail tobe rather a troublesome undertaking; for in the tacitrelations which maintain the bond of family union, themother, to maintain her ascendancy over her daughter, mustnever fail to be a model of wisdom and a type of perfection.

Now, Madame Danglars feared Eugenie's sagacity and theinfluence of Mademoiselle d'Armilly; she had frequentlyobserved the contemptuous expression with which her daughterlooked upon Debray, - an expression which seemed to implythat she understood all her mother's amorous and pecuniaryrelationships with the intimate secretary; moreover, she sawthat Eugenie detested Debray, - not only because he was asource of dissension and scandal under the paternal roof,but because she had at once classed him in that catalogue ofbipeds whom Plato endeavors to withdraw from the appellationof men, and whom Diogenes designated as animals upon twolegs without feathers.

Unfortunately, in this world of ours, each person viewsthings through a certain medium, and so is prevented fromseeing in the same light as others, and Madame Danglars,therefore, very much regretted that the marriage of Eugeniehad not taken place, not only because the match was good,and likely to insure the happiness of her child, but becauseit would also set her at liberty. She ran therefore toDebray, who, after having like the rest of Paris witnessedthe contract scene and the scandal attending it, had retiredin haste to his club, where he was chatting with somefriends upon the events which served as a subject ofconversation for three-fourths of that city known as thecapital of the world.

At the precise time when Madame Danglars, dressed in blackand concealed in a long veil, was ascending the stairsleading to Debray's apartments, - notwithstanding theassurances of the concierge that the young man was not athome, - Debray was occupied in repelling the insinuationsof a friend, who tried to persuade him that after theterrible scene which had just taken place he ought, as afriend of the family, to marry Mademoiselle Danglars and hertwo millions. Debray did not defend himself very warmly, forthe idea had sometimes crossed his mind; still, when herecollected the independent, proud spirit of Eugenie, hepositively rejected it as utterly impossible, though thesame thought again continually recurred and found aresting-place in his heart. Tea, play, and the conversation,which had become interesting during the discussion of suchserious affairs, lasted till one o'clock in the morning.

Meanwhile Madame Danglars, veiled and uneasy, awaited thereturn of Debray in the little green room, seated betweentwo baskets of flowers, which she had that morning sent, andwhich, it must be confessed, Debray had himself arranged andwatered with so much care that his absence was half excusedin the eyes of the poor woman.

At twenty minutes of twelve, Madame Danglars, tired ofwaiting, returned home. Women of a certain grade are likeprosperous grisettes in one respect, they seldom return homeafter twelve o'clock. The baroness returned to the hotelwith as much caution as Eugenie used in leaving it; she ranlightly up-stairs, and with an aching heart entered herapartment, contiguous, as we know, to that of Eugenie. Shewas fearful of exciting any remark, and believed firmly inher daughter's innocence and fidelity to the paternal roof.She listened at Eugenie's door, and hearing no sound triedto enter, but the bolts were in place. Madame Danglars thenconcluded that the young girl had been overcome with theterrible excitement of the evening, and had gone to bed andto sleep. She called the maid and questioned her.

"Mademoiselle Eugenie," said the maid, "retired to herapartment with Mademoiselle d'Armilly; they then took teatogether, after which they desired me to leave, saying thatthey needed me no longer." Since then the maid had beenbelow, and like every one else she thought the young ladieswere in their own room; Madame Danglars, therefore, went tobed without a shadow of suspicion, and began to muse overthe recent events. In proportion as her memory becameclearer, the occurrences of the evening were revealed intheir true light; what she had taken for confusion was atumult; what she had regarded as something distressing, wasin reality a disgrace. And then the baroness remembered thatshe had felt no pity for poor Mercedes, who had beenafflicted with as severe a blow through her husband and son.

"Eugenie," she said to herself, "is lost, and so are we. Theaffair, as it will be reported, will cover us with shame;for in a society such as ours satire inflicts a painful andincurable wound. How fortunate that Eugenie is possessed ofthat strange character which has so often made me tremble!"And her glance was turned towards heaven, where a mysteriousprovidence disposes all things, and out of a fault, nay,even a vice, sometimes produces a blessing. And then herthoughts, cleaving through space like a bird in the air,rested on Cavalcanti. This Andrea was a wretch, a robber, anassassin, and yet his manners showed the effects of a sortof education, if not a complete one; he had been presentedto the world with the appearance of an immense fortune,supported by an honorable name. How could she extricateherself from this labyrinth? To whom would she apply to helpher out of this painful situation? Debray, to whom she hadrun, with the first instinct of a woman towards the man sheloves, and who yet betrays her, - Debray could but give heradvice, she must apply to some one more powerful than he.

The baroness then thought of M. de Villefort. It was M. deVillefort who had remorselessly brought misfortune into herfamily, as though they had been strangers. But, no; onreflection, the procureur was not a merciless man; and itwas not the magistrate, slave to his duties, but the friend,the loyal friend, who roughly but firmly cut into the verycore of the corruption; it was not the executioner, but thesurgeon, who wished to withdraw the honor of Danglars fromignominious association with the disgraced young man theyhad presented to the world as their son-in-law. And sinceVillefort, the friend of Danglars, had acted in this way, noone could suppose that he had been previously acquaintedwith, or had lent himself to, any of Andrea's intrigues.Villefort's conduct, therefore, upon reflection, appeared tothe baroness as if shaped for their mutual advantage. Butthe inflexibility of the procureur should stop there; shewould see him the next day, and if she could not make himfail in his duties as a magistrate, she would, at least,obtain all the indulgence he could allow. She would invokethe past, recall old recollections; she would supplicate himby the remembrance of guilty, yet happy days. M. deVillefort would stifle the affair; he had only to turn hiseyes on one side, and allow Andrea to fly, and follow up thecrime under that shadow of guilt called contempt of court.And after this reasoning she slept easily.

At nine o'clock next morning she arose, and without ringingfor her maid or giving the least sign of her activity, shedressed herself in the same simple style as on the previousnight; then running down-stairs, she left the hotel. walkedto the Rue de Provence, called a cab, and drove to M. deVillefort's house. For the last month this wretched househad presented the gloomy appearance of a lazaretto infectedwith the plague. Some of the apartments were closed withinand without; the shutters were only opened to admit aminute's air, showing the scared face of a footman, andimmediately afterwards the window would be closed, like agravestone falling on a sepulchre, and the neighbors wouldsay to each other in a low voice, "Will there be anotherfuneral to-day at the procureur's house?" Madame Danglarsinvoluntarily shuddered at the desolate aspect of themansion; descending from the cab, she approached the doorwith trembling knees, and rang the bell. Three times did thebell ring with a dull, heavy sound, seeming to participate,in the general sadness, before the concierge appeared andpeeped through the door, which he opened just wide enough toallow his words to be heard. He saw a lady, a fashionable,elegantly dressed lady, and yet the door remained almostclosed.

"Do you intend opening the door?" said the baroness.

"First, madame, who are you?"

"Who am I? You know me well enough."

"We no longer know any one, madame."

"You must be mad, my friend," said the baroness.

"Where do you come from?"

"Oh, this is too much!"

"Madame, these are my orders; excuse me. Your name?"

"The baroness Danglars; you have seen me twenty times."

"Possibly, madame. And now, what do you want?"

"Oh, how extraordinary! I shall complain to M. de Villefortof the impertinence of his servants."

"Madame, this is precaution, not impertinence; no one entershere without an order from M. d'Avrigny, or without speakingto the procureur."

"Well, I have business with the procureur."

"Is it pressing business?"

"You can imagine so, since I have not even brought mycarriage out yet. But enough of this - here is my card,take it to your master."

"Madame will await my return?"

"Yes; go." The concierge closed the door, leaving MadameDanglars in the street. She had not long to wait; directlyafterwards the door was opened wide enough to admit her, andwhen she had passed through, it was again shut. Withoutlosing sight of her for an instant, the concierge took awhistle from his pocket as soon as they entered the court,and blew it. The valet de chambre appeared on thedoor-steps. "You will excuse this poor fellow, madame," hesaid, as he preceded the baroness, "but his orders areprecise, and M. de Villefort begged me to tell you that hecould not act otherwise."

In the court showing his merchandise, was a tradesman whohad been admitted with the same precautions. The baronessascended the steps; she felt herself strongly infected withthe sadness which seemed to magnify her own, and stillguided by the valet de chambre, who never lost sight of herfor an instant, she was introduced to the magistrate'sstudy. Preoccupied as Madame Danglars had been with theobject of her visit, the treatment she had received fromthese underlings appeared to her so insulting, that shebegan by complaining of it. But Villefort, raising his head,bowed down by grief, looked up at her with so sad a smilethat her complaints died upon her lips. "Forgive myservants," he said, "for a terror I cannot blame them for;from being suspected they have become suspicious."

Madame Danglars had often heard of the terror to which themagistrate alluded, but without the evidence of her owneyesight she could never have believed that the sentimenthad been carried so far. "You too, then, are unhappy?" shesaid. "Yes, madame," replied the magistrate.

"Then you pity me!"

"Sincerely, madame."

"And you understand what brings me here?"

"You wish to speak to me about the circumstance which hasjust happened?"

"Yes, sir, - a fearful misfortune."

"You mean a mischance."

"A mischance?" repeated the baroness.

"Alas, madame," said the procureur with his imperturbablecalmness of manner, "I consider those alone misfortuneswhich are irreparable."

"And do you suppose this will be forgotten?"

"Everything will be forgotten, madame," said Villefort."Your daughter will be married to-morrow, if not to-day - in a week, if not to-morrow; and I do not think you canregret the intended husband of your daughter."

Madame Danglars gazed on Villefort, stupefied to find him soalmost insultingly calm. "Am I come to a friend?" she askedin a tone full of mournful dignity. "You know that you are,madame," said Villefort, whose pale cheeks became slightlyflushed as he gave her the assurance. And truly thisassurance carried him back to different events from thosenow occupying the baroness and him. "Well, then, be moreaffectionate, my dear Villefort," said the baroness. "Speakto me not as a magistrate, but as a friend; and when I am inbitter anguish of spirit, do not tell me that I ought to begay." Villefort bowed. "When I hear misfortunes named,madame," he said, "I have within the last few mouthscontracted the bad habit of thinking of my own, and then Icannot help drawing up an egotistical parallel in my mind.That is the reason that by the side of my misfortunes yoursappear to me mere mischances; that is why my dreadfulposition makes yours appear enviable. But this annoys you;let us change the subject. You were saying, madame" -

"I came to ask you, my friend," said the baroness, "whatwill be done with this impostor?"

"Impostor," repeated Villefort; "certainly, madame, youappear to extenuate some cases, and exaggerate others.Impostor, indeed! - M. Andrea Cavalcanti, or rather M.Benedetto, is nothing more nor less than an assassin!"

"Sir, I do not deny the justice of your correction, but themore severely you arm yourself against that unfortunate man,the more deeply will you strike our family. Come, forget himfor a moment, and instead of pursuing him let him go."

"You are too late, madame; the orders are issued."

"Well, should he be arrested - do they think they willarrest him?"

"I hope so."

"If they should arrest him (I know that sometimes prisonersafford means of escape), will you leave him in prison?" - The procureur shook his head. "At least keep him there tillmy daughter be married."

"Impossible, madame; justice has its formalities."

"What, even for me?" said the baroness, half jesting, halfin earnest. "For all, even for myself among the rest,"replied Villefort.

"Ah," exclaimed the baroness, without expressing the ideaswhich the exclamation betrayed. Villefort looked at her withthat piercing glance which reads the secrets of the heart."Yes, I know what you mean," he said; "you refer to theterrible rumors spread abroad in the world, that the deathswhich have kept me in mourning for the last three months,and from which Valentine has only escaped by a miracle, havenot happened by natural means."

"I was not thinking of that," replied Madame Danglarsquickly. "Yes, you were thinking of it, and with justice.You could not help thinking of it, and saying to yourself,`you, who pursue crime so vindictively, answer now, why arethere unpunished crimes in your dwelling?'" The baronessbecame pale. "You were saying this, were you not?"

"Well, I own it."

"I will answer you."

Villefort drew his armchair nearer to Madame Danglars; thenresting both hands upon his desk he said in a voice morehollow than usual: "There are crimes which remain unpunishedbecause the criminals are unknown, and we might strike theinnocent instead of the guilty; but when the culprits arediscovered" (Villefort here extended his hand toward a largecrucifix placed opposite to his desk) - "when they arediscovered, I swear to you, by all I hold most sacred, thatwhoever they may be they shall die. Now, after the oath Ihave just taken, and which I will keep, madame, dare you askfor mercy for that wretch!"

"But, sir, are you sure he is as guilty as they say?"

"Listen; this is his description: `Benedetto, condemned, atthe age of sixteen, for five years to the galleys forforgery.' He promised well, as you see - first a runaway,then an assassin."

"And who is this wretch?"

"Who can tell? - a vagabond, a Corsican."

"Has no one owned him?"

"No one; his parents are unknown."

"But who was the man who brought him from Lucca?"

"Another rascal like himself, perhaps his accomplice." Thebaroness clasped her hands. "Villefort," she exclaimed inher softest and most captivating manner.

"For heaven's sake, madame," said Villefort, with a firmnessof expression not altogether free from harshness - "forheaven's sake, do not ask pardon of me for a guilty wretch!What am I? - the law. Has the law any eyes to witness yourgrief? Has the law ears to be melted by your sweet voice?Has the law a memory for all those soft recollections youendeavor to recall? No, madame; the law has commanded, andwhen it commands it strikes. You will tell me that I am aliving being, and not a code - a man, and not a volume.Look at me, madame - look around me. Have mankind treatedme as a brother? Have they loved me? Have they spared me?Has any one shown the mercy towards me that you now ask atmy hands? No, madame, they struck me, always struck me!

"Woman, siren that you are, do you persist in fixing on methat fascinating eye, which reminds me that I ought toblush? Well, be it so; let me blush for the faults you know,and perhaps - perhaps for even more than those! But havingsinned myself, - it may be more deeply than others, - Inever rest till I have torn the disguises from myfellow-creatures, and found out their weaknesses. I havealways found them; and more, - I repeat it with joy, withtriumph, - I have always found some proof of humanperversity or error. Every criminal I condemn seems to meliving evidence that I am not a hideous exception to therest. Alas, alas, alas; all the world is wicked; let ustherefore strike at wickedness!"

Villefort pronounced these last words with a feverish rage,which gave a ferocious eloquence to his words.

"But"' said Madame Danglars, resolving to make a lasteffort, "this young man, though a murderer, is an orphan,abandoned by everybody."

"So much the worse, or rather, so much the better; it hasbeen so ordained that he may have none to weep his fate."

"But this is trampling on the weak, sir."

"The weakness of a murderer!"

"His dishonor reflects upon us."

"Is not death in my house?"

"Oh, sir," exclaimed the baroness, "you are without pity forothers, well, then, I tell you they will have no mercy onyou!"

"Be it so!" said Villefort, raising his arms to heaven.

"At least, delay the trial till the next assizes; we shallthen have six months before us."

"No, madame," said Villefort; "instructions have been given,There are yet five days left; five days are more than Irequire. Do you not think that I also long forforgetfulness? While working night and day, I sometimes loseall recollection of the past, and then I experience the samesort of happiness I can imagine the dead feel; still, it isbetter than suffering."

"But, sir, he has fled; let him escape - inaction is apardonable offence."

"I tell you it is too late; early this morning the telegraphwas employed, and at this very minute" -

"Sir," said the valet de chambre, entering the room, "adragoon has brought this despatch from the minister of theinterior." Villefort seized the letter, and hastily brokethe seal. Madame Danglars trembled with fear; Villefortstarted with joy. "Arrested!" he exclaimed; "he was taken atCompiegne, and all is over." Madame Danglars rose from herseat, pale and cold. "Adieu, sir," she said. "Adieu,madame," replied the king's attorney, as in an almost joyfulmanner he conducted her to the door. Then, turning to hisdesk, he said, striking the letter with the back of hisright hand, "Come, I had a forgery, three robberies, and twocases of arson, I only wanted a murder, and here it is. Itwill be a splendid session!"