she was seized upon by the three ruffians, while unnatural Benedetto exclaimed:
"'Let us give her a taste of the torture; that will make her find her tongue.'
"It happened that our neighbor Wasilio was at Bastia, leaving no person in his house but his wife; no human creature except she could hear or see anything that took place within our dwelling. Two of the brutal companions of Benedetto held poor Assunta, who, unable to conceive that any harm was intended to her, smiled in the face of those who were soon to become her executioners, while the third ruffian proceeded to barricade the doors and windows; then returning, the three united in stifling the cries uttered by the poor victim at the sight of these alarming preparations. This effected, they dragged her toward the fire, on which they forcibly held her feet, to wring from her where her treasure was secreted. In the struggle her clothes caught fire, and they were compelled to let go their hold in order to preserve themselves from sharing the same fate. Covered with flames, Assunta rushed wildly to the door, but it was fastened; tortured by the agony she endured, the unfortunate sufferer flew to the windows, but they were also strongly barricaded; then her cries and shrieks of anguish filled the place; to these succeeded groans, and next morning, as soon as the wife of Wasilio could venture abroad, she caused the door of our dwelling to be opened by the public authorities, when Assunta, although dreadfully burnt, was found still breathing; and every drawer forced open, and Benedetto never again appeared at Rogliano, neither have I since that day either seen or heard anything concerning him.
"It was subsequently to these dreadful events that I waited on your excellency, to whom it would have been folly to have mentioned Benedetto, since all trace of him seemed entirely lost, or of my sister, since she was dead."
"And in what light did you view the tragical occurrence!" inquired Monte-Cristo.
"As a punishment for the crime I had committed," answered Bertuccio. "Oh, those Villeforts are an accursed race!"
"Truly they are," murmured the count, in a tone of sadness.
"And now," resumed Bertuccio, "your excellency may, perhaps, be able to comprehend that this place, which I revisit for the first time,—this garden, the scene of my crime,—must have given rise to the gloomy reflections of which you wished to know the cause. At this instant a shudder passes over me as I reflect that possibly I am now standing on
the very grave in which lies M. de Villefort, by whose hand the ground was dug to receive the corpse of his child."
