I said that houses had souls and faces like men, and that their exteriors carried the impress of their characters. This house was gloomy because it was remorseful; it was remorseful because it concealed a crime."
"Who said it was a crime?" asked Villefort, with a last effort.
"How? is it not a crime to bury a living child in a garden?" cried Monte-Cristo. "And, pray, what do you call such an action?"
"But who said it was buried alive?"
"Why bury it there if it were dead? This garden has never been a cemetery."
"What is done to infanticides in this country?" asked Major Cavalcanti, innocently.
"Oh, their heads are just cut off," said Danglars.
"Ah! indeed!" said Cavalcanti.
"I think so; am I not right, M. de Villefort?" asked Monte-Cristo.
"Yes, count," replied Villefort, in a voice now scarcely human.
Monte-Cristo saw that the two persons for whom he had prepared this scheme could scarcely bear it; so, not wishing to carry it too far he said:
"Come, gentlemen, some coffee; we seem to have forgotten it." And he conducted the guests back to the table on the lawn.
"Indeed, count," said Madame Danglars, "I am ashamed to own it, but all your frightful stories have so upset me, that I must beg you to let me sit down." And she fell into a chair.
Monte-Cristo bowed, and went to Madame de Villefort.
"I think Madame Danglars again requires your bottle," he said. But before Madame de Villefort could reach her friend, the prorurcur had found time to whisper to Madame Danglars, "I must speak to you."
"When?"
"To-morrow."
"Where?"
"In my office, or in the court, if you like; that is the surest place."
"I will come."
At this moment Madame de Villefort approached.
"Thanks, my dear friend," said Madame Danglars, trying to smile; "it is over now, and I am much better."
