Notwithstanding the density of the crowd, M. de Villefortsaw it open before him. There is something so awe-inspiringin great afflictions that even in the worst times the firstemotion of a crowd has generally been to sympathize with thesufferer in a great catastrophe. Many people have beenassassinated in a tumult, but even criminals have rarelybeen insulted during trial. Thus Villefort passed throughthe mass of spectators and officers of the Palais, andwithdrew. Though he had acknowledged his guilt, he wasprotected by his grief. There are some situations which menunderstand by instinct, but which reason is powerless toexplain; in such cases the greatest poet is he who givesutterance to the most natural and vehement outburst ofsorrow. Those who hear the bitter cry are as much impressedas if they listened to an entire poem, and when the suffereris sincere they are right in regarding his outburst assublime.

It would be difficult to describe the state of stupor inwhich Villefort left the Palais. Every pulse beat withfeverish excitement, every nerve was strained, every veinswollen, and every part of his body seemed to sufferdistinctly from the rest, thus multiplying his agony athousand-fold. He made his way along the corridors throughforce of habit; he threw aside his magisterial robe, not outof deference to etiquette, but because it was an unbearableburden, a veritable garb of Nessus, insatiate in torture.Having staggered as far as the Rue Dauphine, he perceivedhis carriage, awoke his sleeping coachman by opening thedoor himself, threw himself on the cushions, and pointedtowards the Faubourg Saint-Honore; the carriage drove on.The weight of his fallen fortunes seemed suddenly to crushhim; he could not foresee the consequences; he could notcontemplate the future with the indifference of the hardenedcriminal who merely faces a contingency already familiar.God was still in his heart. "God," he murmured, not knowingwhat he said, - "God - God!" Behind the event that hadoverwhelmed him he saw the hand of God. The carriage rolledrapidly onward. Villefort, while turning restlessly on thecushions, felt something press against him. He put out hishand to remove the object; it was a fan which Madame deVillefort had left in the carriage; this fan awakened arecollection which darted through his mind like lightning.He thought of his wife.

"Oh!" he exclaimed, as though a redhot iron were piercinghis heart. During the last hour his own crime had alone beenpresented to his mind; now another object, not lessterrible, suddenly presented itself. His wife! He had justacted the inexorable judge with her, he had condemned her todeath, and she, crushed by remorse, struck with terror,covered with the shame inspired by the eloquence of hisirreproachable virtue, - she, a poor, weak woman, withouthelp or the power of defending herself against his absoluteand supreme will, - she might at that very moment, perhaps,be preparing to die! An hour had elapsed since hercondemnation; at that moment, doubtless, she was recallingall her crimes to her memory; she was asking pardon for hersins; perhaps she was even writing a letter imploringforgiveness from her virtuous husband - a forgiveness shewas purchasing with her death! Villefort again groaned withanguish and despair. "Ah," he exclaimed, "that woman becamecriminal only from associating with me! I carried theinfection of crime with me, and she has caught it as shewould the typhus fever, the cholera, the plague! And yet Ihave punished her - I have dared to tell her - I have - `Repent and die!' But no, she must not die; she shall live,and with me. We will flee from Paris and go as far as theearth reaches. I told her of the scaffold; oh, heavens, Iforgot that it awaits me also! How could I pronounce thatword? Yes, we will fly; I will confess all to her, - I willtell her daily that I also have committed a crime! - Oh,what an alliance - the tiger and the serpent; worthy wifeof such as I am! She must live that my infamy may diminishhers." And Villefort dashed open the window in front of thecarriage.

"Faster, faster!" he cried, in a tone which electrified thecoachman. The horses, impelled by fear, flew towards thehouse.

"Yes, yes," repeated Villefort, as he approached his home - "yes, that woman must live; she must repent, and educate myson, the sole survivor, with the exception of theindestructible old man, of the wreck of my house. She loveshim; it was for his sake she has committed these crimes. Weought never to despair of softening the heart of a motherwho loves her child. She will repent, and no one will knowthat she has been guilty. The events which have taken placein my house, though they now occupy the public mind, will beforgotten in time, or if, indeed, a few enemies shouldpersist in remembering them, why then I will add them to mylist of crimes. What will it signify if one, two, or threemore are added? My wife and child shall escape from thisgulf, carrying treasures with them; she will live and mayyet be happy, since her child, in whom all her love iscentred, will be with her. I shall have performed a goodaction, and my heart will be lighter." And the procureurbreathed more freely than he had done for some time.

The carriage stopped at the door of the house. Villefortleaped out of the carriage, and saw that his servants weresurprised at his early return; he could read no otherexpression on their features. Neither of them spoke to him;they merely stood aside to let him pass by, as usual,nothing more. As he passed by M. Noirtier's room, heperceived two figures through the half-open door; but heexperienced no curiosity to know who was visiting hisfather: anxiety carried him on further.

"Come," he said, as he ascended the stairs leading to hiswife's room, "nothing is changed here." He then closed thedoor of the landing. "No one must disturb us," he said; "Imust speak freely to her, accuse myself, and say" - heapproached the door, touched the crystal handle, whichyielded to his hand. "Not locked," he cried; "that is well."And he entered the little room in which Edward slept; forthough the child went to school during the day, his mothercould not allow him to be separated from her at night. Witha single glance Villefort's eye ran through the room. "Nothere," he said; "doubtless she is in her bedroom." He rushedtowards the door, found it bolted, and stopped, shuddering."Heloise!" he cried. He fancied he heard the sound of apiece of furniture being removed. "Heloise!" he repeated.

"Who is there?" answered the voice of her he sought. Hethought that voice more feeble than usual.

"Open the door!" cried Villefort. "Open; it is I." Butnotwithstanding this request, notwithstanding the tone ofanguish in which it was uttered, the door remained closed.Villefort burst it open with a violent blow. At the entranceof the room which led to her boudoir, Madame de Villefortwas standing erect, pale, her features contracted, and hereyes glaring horribly. "Heloise, Heloise!" he said, "what isthe matter? Speak!" The young woman extended her stiff whitehands towards him. "It is done, monsieur," she said with arattling noise which seemed to tear her throat. "What moredo you want?" and she fell full length on the floor.Villefort ran to her and seized her hand, which convulsivelyclasped a crystal bottle with a golden stopper. Madame deVillefort was dead. Villefort, maddened with horror, steppedback to the threshhold of the door, fixing his eyes on thecorpse: "My son!" he exclaimed suddenly, "where is my son?- Edward, Edward!" and he rushed out of the room, stillcrying, "Edward, Edward!" The name was pronounced in such atone of anguish that the servants ran up.

"Where is my son?" asked Villefort; "let him be removed fromthe house, that he may not see" -

"Master Edward is not down-stairs, sir," replied the valet.

"Then he must be playing in the garden; go and see."

"No, sir; Madame de Villefort sent for him half an hour ago;he went into her room, and has not been down-stairs since."A cold perspiration burst out on Villefort's brow; his legstrembled, and his thoughts flew about madly in his brainlike the wheels of a disordered watch. "In Madame deVillefort's room?" he murmured and slowly returned, with onehand wiping his forehead, and with the other supportinghimself against the wall. To enter the room he must againsee the body of his unfortunate wife. To call Edward he mustreawaken the echo of that room which now appeared like asepulchre; to speak seemed like violating the silence of thetomb. His tongue was paralyzed in his mouth.

"Edward!" he stammered - "Edward!" The child did notanswer. Where, then, could he be, if he had entered hismother's room and not since returned? He stepped forward.The corpse of Madame de Villefort was stretched across thedoorway leading to the room in which Edward must be; thoseglaring eyes seemed to watch over the threshold, and thelips bore the stamp of a terrible and mysterious irony.Through the open door was visible a portion of the boudoir,containing an upright piano and a blue satin couch.Villefort stepped forward two or three paces, and beheld hischild lying - no doubt asleep - on the sofa. The unhappyman uttered an exclamation of joy; a ray of light seemed topenetrate the abyss of despair and darkness. He had only tostep over the corpse, enter the boudoir, take the child inhis arms, and flee far, far away.

Villefort was no longer the civilized man; he was a tigerhurt unto death, gnashing his teeth in his wound. He nolonger feared realities, but phantoms. He leaped over thecorpse as if it had been a burning brazier. He took thechild in his arms, embraced him, shook him, called him, butthe child made no response. He pressed his burning lips tothe cheeks, but they were icy cold and pale; he felt thestiffened limbs; he pressed his hand upon the heart, but itno longer beat, - the child was dead. A folded paper fellfrom Edward's breast. Villefort, thunderstruck, fell uponhis knees; the child dropped from his arms, and rolled onthe floor by the side of its mother. He picked up the paper,and, recognizing his wife's writing, ran his eyes rapidlyover its contents; it ran as follows: -

"You know that I was a good mother, since it was for myson's sake I became criminal. A good mother cannot departwithout her son."

Villefort could not believe his eyes, - he could notbelieve his reason; he dragged himself towards the child'sbody, and examined it as a lioness contemplates its deadcub. Then a piercing cry escaped from his breast, and hecried, "Still the hand of God." The presence of the twovictims alarmed him; he could not bear solitude shared onlyby two corpses. Until then he had been sustained by rage, byhis strength of mind, by despair, by the supreme agony whichled the Titans to scale the heavens, and Ajax to defy thegods. He now arose, his head bowed beneath the weight ofgrief, and, shaking his damp, dishevelled hair, he who hadnever felt compassion for any one determined to seek hisfather, that he might have some one to whom he could relatehis misfortunes, - some one by whose side he might weep. Hedescended the little staircase with which we are acquainted,and entered Noirtier's room. The old man appeared to belistening attentively and as affectionately as hisinfirmities would allow to the Abbe Busoni, who looked coldand calm, as usual. Villefort, perceiving the abbe, passedhis hand across his brow. He recollected the call he hadmade upon him after the dinner at Auteuil, and then thevisit the abbe had himself paid to his house on the day ofValentine's death. "You here, sir!" he exclaimed; "do you,then, never appear but to act as an escort to death?"

Busoni turned around, and, perceiving the excitementdepicted on the magistrate's face, the savage lustre of hiseyes, he understood that the revelation had been made at theassizes; but beyond this he was ignorant. "I came to prayover the body of your daughter."

"And now why are you here?"

"I come to tell you that you have sufficiently repaid yourdebt, and that from this moment I will pray to God toforgive you, as I do."

"Good heavens!" exclaimed Villefort, stepping backfearfully, "surely that is not the voice of the AbbeBusoni!"

"No!" The abbe threw off his wig, shook his head, and hishair, no longer confined, fell in black masses around hismanly face.

"It is the face of the Count of Monte Cristo!" exclaimed theprocureur, with a haggard expression.

"You are not exactly right, M. Procureur; you must gofarther back."

"That voice, that voice! - where did I first hear it?"

"You heard it for the first time at Marseilles, twenty-threeyears ago, the day of your marriage with Mademoiselle deSaint-Meran. Refer to your papers."

"You are not Busoni? - you are not Monte Cristo? Oh,heavens - you are, then, some secret, implacable, andmortal enemy! I must have wronged you in some way atMarseilles. Oh, woe to me!"

"Yes; you are now on the right path," said the count,crossing his arms over his broad chest; "search - search!"

"But what have I done to you?" exclaimed Villefort, whosemind was balancing between reason and insanity, in thatcloud which is neither a dream nor reality; "what have Idone to you? Tell me, then! Speak!"

"You condemned me to a horrible, tedious death; you killedmy father; you deprived me of liberty, of love, andhappiness."

"Who are you, then? Who are you?"

"I am the spectre of a wretch you buried in the dungeons ofthe Chateau d'If. God gave that spectre the form of theCount of Monte Cristo when he at length issued from histomb, enriched him with gold and diamonds, and led him toyou!"

"Ah, I recognize you - I recognize you!" exclaimed theking's attorney; "you are" -

"I am Edmond Dantes!"

"You are Edmond Dantes," cried Villefort, seizing the countby the wrist; "then come here!" And up the stairs he draggedMonte Cristo; who, ignorant of what had happened, followedhim in astonishment, foreseeing some new catastrophe."There, Edmond Dantes!" he said, pointing to the bodies ofhis wife and child, "see, are you well avenged?" MonteCristo became pale at this horrible sight; he felt that hehad passed beyond the bounds of vengeance, and that he couldno longer say, "God is for and with me." With an expressionof indescribable anguish he threw himself upon the body ofthe child, reopened its eyes, felt its pulse, and thenrushed with him into Valentine's room, of which hedouble-locked the door. "My child," cried Villefort, "hecarries away the body of my child! Oh, curses, woe, death toyou!" and he tried to follow Monte Cristo; but as though ina dream he was transfixed to the spot, - his eyes glared asthough they were starting through the sockets; he griped theflesh on his chest until his nails were stained with blood;the veins of his temples swelled and boiled as though theywould burst their narrow boundary, and deluge his brain withliving fire. This lasted several minutes, until thefrightful overturn of reason was accomplished; then utteringa loud cry followed by a burst of laughter, he rushed downthe stairs.

A quarter of an hour afterwards the door of Valentine's roomopened, and Monte Cristo reappeared. Pale, with a dull eyeand heavy heart, all the noble features of that face,usually so calm and serene, were overcast by grief. In hisarms he held the child, whom no skill had been able torecall to life. Bending on one knee, he placed it reverentlyby the side of its mother, with its head upon her breast.Then, rising, he went out, and meeting a servant on thestairs, he asked, "Where is M. de Villefort?"

The servant, instead of answering, pointed to the garden.Monte Cristo ran down the steps, and advancing towards thespot designated beheld Villefort, encircled by his servants,with a spade in his hand, and digging the earth with fury."It is not here!" he cried. "It is not here!" And then hemoved farther on, and began again to dig.

Monte Cristo approached him, and said in a low voice, withan expression almost humble, "Sir, you have indeed lost ason; but" -

Villefort interrupted him; he had neither listened norheard. "Oh, I will find it," he cried; "you may pretend heis not here, but I will find him, though I dig forever!"Monte Cristo drew back in horror. "Oh," he said, "he ismad!" And as though he feared that the walls of the accursedhouse would crumble around him, he rushed into the street,for the first time doubting whether he had the right to doas he had done. "Oh, enough of this, - enough of this," hecried; "let me save the last." On entering his house, he metMorrel, who wandered about like a ghost awaiting theheavenly mandate for return to the tomb. "Prepare yourself,Maximilian," he said with a smile; "we leave Paristo-morrow."

"Have you nothing more to do there?" asked Morrel.

"No," replied Monte Cristo; "God grant I may not have donetoo much already."

The next day they indeed left, accompanied only byBaptistin. Haidee had taken away Ali, and Bertuccio remainedwith Noirtier.