"He is in custody," answered Villefort; "and if the letter alluded to is found, as I just said to Mademoiselle Renée, the patient is very sick."
"And where is the unfortunate being?" asked Renée.
"He is at my house."
"Come, my friend," interrupted the marquise, "do not neglect your duty to linger with us. You are the king's servant, and must go whithersoever that service calls you."
"Oh, M. de Villefort!" cried Renée, clasping her hands, "be merciful on this the day of our betrothal."
The young man passed round to the side of the table where the fair pleader sat, and, leaning over her chair, said tenderly:
"To give you pleasure," he whispered, "I promise, dear Renée, to show all the lenity in my power; but if the charges are correct, the accusation proved, we must cut short this rank growth of Bonapartism."
Renée shuddered at the word cut, for the growth in question had a head.
"Never mind that foolish girl, Villefort," said the marquise; "she will soon get over these things."
So saying, Madame de Saint-Méran extended her dry hand to Villefort, who, while kissing it, looked at Renée, saying with his eyes, "It is your hand I kiss, or would fain be kissing, at least."
"Sad auspices!" sighed Renée.
"Upon my word, child!" exclaimed the angry marquise, "your folly exceeds all bounds. I should be glad to know what connection there can possibly be between your sickly sentimentality and the affairs of the state!"
"Oh, mother!" murmured Renée.
"Pardon, marquise," said Villefort; "for this bad royalist, I promise to act conscientiously, that is, to be horribly severe."
But while he addressed these words to the old marquise, he cast a glance at his betrothed which said, "Have no fear, Renée; your love will make me merciful." Renée replied to the look by a smile, and Villefort departed with paradise in his heart.
