CHAPTER LXXII
MADAME DE SAINT-MÉRAN
GLOOMY scene had indeed just passed at the house of Villefort. After the two ladies had departed for the ball, whither all the entreaties of Madame de Villefort had failed in persuading him to accompany them, the procureur du roi had, as usual, shut himself up in his study, with a heap of papers calculated to alarm any one else, but which in ordinary times scarcely satisfied his inordinate desires.
But this time the papers were a mere matter of form. Villefort had secluded himself, not to study, but to reflect; and, with the door locked, and orders given that he should not be disturbed, excepting for important business, he sat down in his arm-chair, and began to ponder once more over those events, the remembrance of which had, during the last eight days, filled his mind with so many gloomy thoughts and bitter recollections.
Then, instead of plunging into the mass of papers piled before him, he opened the drawer of his desk, touched a spring, and drew out a parcel of notes, precious documents, amongst which he had carefully arranged, in characters only known to himself, the names of all those who, either in his political career, in money matters, at the bar, or in his mysterious love-affairs, had become his enemies. Their number was formidable, now that he had begun to fear, and yet these names, powerful though they were, had often caused him to smile with the same kind of satisfaction experienced by a traveler who, from the summit of a mountain, beholds at his feet the craggy eminences, the almost impassable paths, and the fearful chasms through which he has so perilously climbed. When he had run over all these names in his memory, again read and studied them, commenting meanwhile upon his lists, he shook his head.292
