The servant drew back and said: “If you wish to go alone, sir, I will go and tell my mistress.”
Villefort remained silent for a moment, and dented his pale cheeks with his nails.
“Tell your mistress,” he at length answered, “that I wish to speak to her, and I beg she will wait for me in her own room.”
“Yes, sir.”
“Then come to dress and shave me.”
“Directly, sir.”
The valet-de-chambre reappeared almost instantly, and, having shaved his master, assisted him to dress entirely in black. When he had finished, he said:
“My mistress said she should expect you, sir, as soon as you had finished dressing.”
“I am going to her.”
And Villefort, with his papers under his arm, and hat in hand, directed his steps toward the apartment of his wife.
At the door he paused for a moment, to wipe his damp, pale brow. He then entered the room. Madame de Villefort was sitting on an ottoman, and impatiently turning over the leaves of some newspapers and pamphlets which young Edward, by way of amusing himself, was tearing to pieces before his mother could finish reading them. She was dressed to go out, her bonnet was placed beside her on a chair, and her gloves were on her hands.
“Ah! here you are, sir,” she said, in her naturally calm voice; “but how pale you are! Have you been working all night? Why did you not come down to breakfast? Well, will you take me, or shall I go alone and take Edward?”
Madame de Villefort had multiplied her questions in order to gain one answer, but to all her inquiries M. de Villefort remained mute and cold as a statue.
“Edward!” said Villefort, fixing an imperious glance on the child, “go and play in the drawing-room, my dear: I wish to speak to your mamma.”
Madame de Villefort shuddered at the sight of that cold countenance, that resolute tone, and the awfully strange preliminaries. Edward raised his head, looked at his mother, and then, finding that she did not confirm the order, began cutting off the heads of his leaden soldiers.
“Edward!” cried M. de Villefort, so harshly that the child started on the carpet, “do you hear me?– Go!”
The child, unaccustomed to such treatment, rose, pale and trembling; it would be difficult to say whether his emotion was caused by fear or passion. His father went up to him, took him in his arms, and kissed his forehead.
“Go,” he said: “go, my child.” Edward ran out.
M. de Villefort went to the door, which he closed behind the child, and bolted.
“Oh, heavens!” said the young woman, endeavoring to read her husband’s inmost thoughts, while a smile passed over her countenance which froze the impassibility of Villefort. “What is the matter?”
“Madame, where do you keep the poison you generally use?” said the magistrate, without any introduction, placing himself between his wife and the door.
Madame de Villefort must have experienced somewhat of the sensation of a bird which, looking up, sees the murderous spring closed over its head.
A hoarse, broken tone, which was neither a cry nor a sigh, escaped from her, while she became deadly pale.
“Sir,” she said, “I – do not understand you.”
And, in her first paroxysm of terror, she had raised herself from the sofa, in the next, stronger very likely than the other, she fell down again on the cushions.
“I asked you,” continued Villefort, in a perfectly calm tone, “where you conceal the poison by the aid of which you have killed my father-in-law, M. de Saint-Meran, my mother-in-law, Madame de Saint-Meran, Barrois, and my daughter Valentine.”