<p><SPAN name="linkC2HCH0108" id="C2HCH0108"></SPAN></p>
<h2> Chapter 108. The Judge. </h2>
<p>We remember that the Abbe Busoni remained alone with Noirtier in the
chamber of death, and that the old man and the priest were the sole
guardians of the young girl's body. Perhaps it was the Christian
exhortations of the abbe, perhaps his kind charity, perhaps his persuasive
words, which had restored the courage of Noirtier, for ever since he had
conversed with the priest his violent despair had yielded to a calm
resignation which surprised all who knew his excessive affection for
Valentine. M. de Villefort had not seen his father since the morning of
the death. The whole establishment had been changed; another valet was
engaged for himself, a new servant for Noirtier, two women had entered
Madame de Villefort's service,—in fact, everywhere, to the concierge
and coachmen, new faces were presented to the different masters of the
house, thus widening the division which had always existed between the
members of the same family.</p>
<p>The assizes, also, were about to begin, and Villefort, shut up in his
room, exerted himself with feverish anxiety in drawing up the case against
the murderer of Caderousse. This affair, like all those in which the Count
of Monte Cristo had interfered, caused a great sensation in Paris. The
proofs were certainly not convincing, since they rested upon a few words
written by an escaped galley-slave on his death-bed, and who might have
been actuated by hatred or revenge in accusing his companion. But the mind
of the procureur was made up; he felt assured that Benedetto was guilty,
and he hoped by his skill in conducting this aggravated case to flatter
his self-love, which was about the only vulnerable point left in his
frozen heart.</p>
<p>The case was therefore prepared owing to the incessant labor of Villefort,
who wished it to be the first on the list in the coming assizes. He had
been obliged to seclude himself more than ever, to evade the enormous
number of applications presented to him for the purpose of obtaining
tickets of admission to the court on the day of trial. And then so short a
time had elapsed since the death of poor Valentine, and the gloom which
overshadowed the house was so recent, that no one wondered to see the
father so absorbed in his professional duties, which were the only means
he had of dissipating his grief.</p>
<p>Once only had Villefort seen his father; it was the day after that upon
which Bertuccio had paid his second visit to Benedetto, when the latter
was to learn his father's name. The magistrate, harassed and fatigued, had
descended to the garden of his house, and in a gloomy mood, similar to
that in which Tarquin lopped off the tallest poppies, he began knocking
off with his cane the long and dying branches of the rose-trees, which,
placed along the avenue, seemed like the spectres of the brilliant flowers
which had bloomed in the past season. More than once he had reached that
part of the garden where the famous boarded gate stood overlooking the
deserted enclosure, always returning by the same path, to begin his walk
again, at the same pace and with the same gesture, when he accidentally
turned his eyes towards the house, whence he heard the noisy play of his
son, who had returned from school to spend the Sunday and Monday with his
mother. While doing so, he observed M. Noirtier at one of the open
windows, where the old man had been placed that he might enjoy the last
rays of the sun which yet yielded some heat, and was now shining upon the
dying flowers and red leaves of the creeper which twined around the
balcony.</p>
<p>The eye of the old man was riveted upon a spot which Villefort could
scarcely distinguish. His glance was so full of hate, of ferocity, and
savage impatience, that Villefort turned out of the path he had been
pursuing, to see upon what person this dark look was directed. Then he saw
beneath a thick clump of linden-trees, which were nearly divested of
foliage, Madame de Villefort sitting with a book in her hand, the perusal
of which she frequently interrupted to smile upon her son, or to throw
back his elastic ball, which he obstinately threw from the drawing-room
into the garden. Villefort became pale; he understood the old man's
meaning. Noirtier continued to look at the same object, but suddenly his
glance was transferred from the wife to the husband, and Villefort himself
had to submit to the searching investigation of eyes, which, while
changing their direction and even their language, had lost none of their
menacing expression. Madame de Villefort, unconscious of the passions that
exhausted their fire over her head, at that moment held her son's ball,
and was making signs to him to reclaim it with a kiss. Edward begged for a
long while, the maternal kiss probably not offering sufficient recompense
for the trouble he must take to obtain it; however at length he decided,
leaped out of the window into a cluster of heliotropes and daisies, and
ran to his mother, his forehead streaming with perspiration. Madame de
Villefort wiped his forehead, pressed her lips upon it, and sent him back
with the ball in one hand and some bonbons in the other.</p>
<p>Villefort, drawn by an irresistible attraction, like that of the bird to
the serpent, walked towards the house. As he approached it, Noirtier's
gaze followed him, and his eyes appeared of such a fiery brightness that
Villefort felt them pierce to the depths of his heart. In that earnest
look might be read a deep reproach, as well as a terrible menace. Then
Noirtier raised his eyes to heaven, as though to remind his son of a
forgotten oath. "It is well, sir," replied Villefort from below,—"it
is well; have patience but one day longer; what I have said I will do."
Noirtier seemed to be calmed by these words, and turned his eyes with
indifference to the other side. Villefort violently unbuttoned his
great-coat, which seemed to strangle him, and passing his livid hand
across his forehead, entered his study.</p>
<p>The night was cold and still; the family had all retired to rest but
Villefort, who alone remained up, and worked till five o'clock in the
morning, reviewing the last interrogatories made the night before by the
examining magistrates, compiling the depositions of the witnesses, and
putting the finishing stroke to the deed of accusation, which was one of
the most energetic and best conceived of any he had yet delivered.</p>
<p>The next day, Monday, was the first sitting of the assizes. The morning
dawned dull and gloomy, and Villefort saw the dim gray light shine upon
the lines he had traced in red ink. The magistrate had slept for a short
time while the lamp sent forth its final struggles; its flickerings awoke
him, and he found his fingers as damp and purple as though they had been
dipped in blood. He opened the window; a bright yellow streak crossed the
sky, and seemed to divide in half the poplars, which stood out in black
relief on the horizon. In the clover-fields beyond the chestnut-trees, a
lark was mounting up to heaven, while pouring out her clear morning song.
The damps of the dew bathed the head of Villefort, and refreshed his
memory. "To-day," he said with an effort,—"to-day the man who holds
the blade of justice must strike wherever there is guilt." Involuntarily
his eyes wandered towards the window of Noirtier's room, where he had seen
him the preceding night. The curtain was drawn, and yet the image of his
father was so vivid to his mind that he addressed the closed window as
though it had been open, and as if through the opening he had beheld the
menacing old man. "Yes," he murmured,—"yes, be satisfied."</p>
<p>His head dropped upon his chest, and in this position he paced his study;
then he threw himself, dressed as he was, upon a sofa, less to sleep than
to rest his limbs, cramped with cold and study. By degrees every one
awoke. Villefort, from his study, heard the successive noises which
accompany the life of a house,—the opening and shutting of doors,
the ringing of Madame de Villefort's bell, to summon the waiting-maid,
mingled with the first shouts of the child, who rose full of the enjoyment
of his age. Villefort also rang; his new valet brought him the papers, and
with them a cup of chocolate.</p>
<p>"What are you bringing me?" said he.</p>
<p>"A cup of chocolate."</p>
<p>"I did not ask for it. Who has paid me this attention?"</p>
<p>"My mistress, sir. She said you would have to speak a great deal in the
murder case, and that you should take something to keep up your strength;"
and the valet placed the cup on the table nearest to the sofa, which was,
like all the rest, covered with papers. The valet then left the room.
Villefort looked for an instant with a gloomy expression, then, suddenly,
taking it up with a nervous motion, he swallowed its contents at one
draught. It might have been thought that he hoped the beverage would be
mortal, and that he sought for death to deliver him from a duty which he
would rather die than fulfil. He then rose, and paced his room with a
smile it would have been terrible to witness. The chocolate was
inoffensive, for M. de Villefort felt no effects. The breakfast-hour
arrived, but M. de Villefort was not at table. The valet re-entered.</p>
<p>"Madame de Villefort wishes to remind you, sir," he said, "that eleven
o'clock has just struck, and that the trial commences at twelve."</p>
<p>"Well," said Villefort, "what then?"</p>
<p>"Madame de Villefort is dressed; she is quite ready, and wishes to know if
she is to accompany you, sir?"</p>
<p>"Where to?"</p>
<p>"To the Palais."</p>
<p>"What to do?"</p>
<p>"My mistress wishes much to be present at the trial."</p>
<p>"Ah," said Villefort, with a startling accent; "does she wish that?"—The
man 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."</p>
<p>"Yes, sir."</p>
<p>"Then come to dress and shave me."</p>
<p>"Directly, sir." The valet re-appeared almost instantly, and, having
shaved his master, assisted him to dress entirely in black. When he had
finished, he said,—</p>
<p>"My mistress said she should expect you, sir, as soon as you had finished
dressing."</p>
<p>"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.</p>
<p>"Ah, here you are, monsieur," 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 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.</p>
<p>"Edward," cried M. de Villefort, so harshly that the child started up from
the floor, "do you hear me?—Go!" The child, unaccustomed to such
treatment, arose, pale and trembling; it would be difficult to say whether
his emotion were 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. "Dear me!" 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?"</p>
<p>"Madame, where do you keep the poison you generally use?" said the
magistrate, without any introduction, placing himself between his wife and
the door.</p>
<p>Madame de Villefort must have experienced something of the sensation of a
bird which, looking up, sees the murderous trap closing over its head. A
hoarse, broken tone, which was neither a cry nor a sigh, escaped from her,
while she became deadly pale. "Monsieur," she said, "I—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."</p>
<p>"Ah, sir," exclaimed Madame de Villefort, clasping her hands, "what do you
say?"</p>
<p>"It is not for you to interrogate, but to answer."</p>
<p>"Is it to the judge or to the husband?" stammered Madame de Villefort. "To
the judge—to the judge, madame!" It was terrible to behold the
frightful pallor of that woman, the anguish of her look, the trembling of
her whole frame. "Ah, sir," she muttered, "ah, sir," and this was all.</p>
<p>"You do not answer, madame!" exclaimed the terrible interrogator. Then he
added, with a smile yet more terrible than his anger, "It is true, then;
you do not deny it!" She moved forward. "And you cannot deny it!" added
Villefort, extending his hand toward her, as though to seize her in the
name of justice. "You have accomplished these different crimes with
impudent address, but which could only deceive those whose affections for
you blinded them. Since the death of Madame de Saint-Meran, I have known
that a poisoner lived in my house. M. d'Avrigny warned me of it. After the
death of Barrois my suspicions were directed towards an angel,—those
suspicions which, even when there is no crime, are always alive in my
heart; but after the death of Valentine, there has been no doubt in my
mind, madame, and not only in mine, but in those of others; thus your
crime, known by two persons, suspected by many, will soon become public,
and, as I told you just now, you no longer speak to the husband, but to
the judge."</p>
<p>The young woman hid her face in her hands. "Oh, sir," she stammered, "I
beseech you, do not believe appearances."</p>
<p>"Are you, then, a coward?" cried Villefort, in a contemptuous voice. "But
I have always observed that poisoners were cowards. Can you be a coward,—you
who have had the courage to witness the death of two old men and a young
girl murdered by you?"</p>
<p>"Sir! sir!"</p>
<p>"Can you be a coward?" continued Villefort, with increasing excitement,
"you, who could count, one by one, the minutes of four death agonies? You,
who have arranged your infernal plans, and removed the beverages with a
talent and precision almost miraculous? Have you, then, who have
calculated everything with such nicety, have you forgotten to calculate
one thing—I mean where the revelation of your crimes will lead you
to? Oh, it is impossible—you must have saved some surer, more subtle
and deadly poison than any other, that you might escape the punishment
that you deserve. You have done this—I hope so, at least." Madame de
Villefort stretched out her hands, and fell on her knees.</p>
<p>"I understand," he said, "you confess; but a confession made to the
judges, a confession made at the last moment, extorted when the crime
cannot be denied, diminishes not the punishment inflicted on the guilty!"</p>
<p>"The punishment?" exclaimed Madame de Villefort, "the punishment,
monsieur? Twice you have pronounced that word!"</p>
<p>"Certainly. Did you hope to escape it because you were four times guilty?
Did you think the punishment would be withheld because you are the wife of
him who pronounces it?—No, madame, no; the scaffold awaits the
poisoner, whoever she may be, unless, as I just said, the poisoner has
taken the precaution of keeping for herself a few drops of her deadliest
potion." Madame de Villefort uttered a wild cry, and a hideous and
uncontrollable terror spread over her distorted features. "Oh, do not fear
the scaffold, madame," said the magistrate; "I will not dishonor you,
since that would be dishonor to myself; no, if you have heard me
distinctly, you will understand that you are not to die on the scaffold."</p>
<p>"No, I do not understand; what do you mean?" stammered the unhappy woman,
completely overwhelmed. "I mean that the wife of the first magistrate in
the capital shall not, by her infamy, soil an unblemished name; that she
shall not, with one blow, dishonor her husband and her child."</p>
<p>"No, no—oh, no!"</p>
<p>"Well, madame, it will be a laudable action on your part, and I will thank
you for it!"</p>
<p>"You will thank me—for what?"</p>
<p>"For what you have just said."</p>
<p>"What did I say? Oh, my brain whirls; I no longer understand anything. Oh,
my God, my God!" And she rose, with her hair dishevelled, and her lips
foaming.</p>
<p>"Have you answered the question I put to you on entering the room?—where
do you keep the poison you generally use, madame?" Madame de Villefort
raised her arms to heaven, and convulsively struck one hand against the
other. "No, no," she vociferated, "no, you cannot wish that!"</p>
<p>"What I do not wish, madame, is that you should perish on the scaffold. Do
you understand?" asked Villefort.</p>
<p>"Oh, mercy, mercy, monsieur!"</p>
<p>"What I require is, that justice be done. I am on the earth to punish,
madame," he added, with a flaming glance; "any other woman, were it the
queen herself, I would send to the executioner; but to you I shall be
merciful. To you I will say, 'Have you not, madame, put aside some of the
surest, deadliest, most speedy poison?'"</p>
<p>"Oh, pardon me, sir; let me live!"</p>
<p>"She is cowardly," said Villefort.</p>
<p>"Reflect that I am your wife!"</p>
<p>"You are a poisoner."</p>
<p>"In the name of heaven!"</p>
<p>"No!"</p>
<p>"In the name of the love you once bore me!"</p>
<p>"No, no!"</p>
<p>"In the name of our child! Ah, for the sake of our child, let me live!"</p>
<p>"No, no, no, I tell you; one day, if I allow you to live, you will perhaps
kill him, as you have the others!"</p>
<p>"I?—I kill my boy?" cried the distracted mother, rushing toward
Villefort; "I kill my son? Ha, ha, ha!" and a frightful, demoniac laugh
finished the sentence, which was lost in a hoarse rattle. Madame de
Villefort fell at her husband's feet. He approached her. "Think of it,
madame," he said; "if, on my return, justice his not been satisfied, I
will denounce you with my own mouth, and arrest you with my own hands!"
She listened, panting, overwhelmed, crushed; her eye alone lived, and
glared horribly. "Do you understand me?" he said. "I am going down there
to pronounce the sentence of death against a murderer. If I find you alive
on my return, you shall sleep to-night in the conciergerie." Madame de
Villefort sighed; her nerves gave way, and she sunk on the carpet. The
king's attorney seemed to experience a sensation of pity; he looked upon
her less severely, and, bowing to her, said slowly, "Farewell, madame,
farewell!" That farewell struck Madame de Villefort like the executioner's
knife. She fainted. The procureur went out, after having double-locked the
door.</p>
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