The baron was to sign first; then the representative of M. Cavalcanti, senior; then the baroness; afterward the future couple, as they are styled on the ceremonious stamped papers.
The baron took the pen and signed, then the representative. The baroness approached, leaning on Madame de Villefort's arm.
"My friend," said she to M. Danglars, as she took the pen, "is it not vexatious? An unexpected incident, in the affair of murder and theft at the Count of Monte-Cristo's, in which he nearly fell a victim, deprives us of the pleasure of seeing M. de Villefort."
"Good heavens!" said M. Danglars, in the same tone in which he would have said, "Faith, I care very little about it!"
"Indeed," said Monte-Cristo, approaching, "I am much afraid I am the involuntary cause of that absence."
"What! you, count," said Madame Danglars, signing; "if you are, take care, I shall never forgive you."
Andrea pricked up his ears.
"But it is not my fault; as I shall endeavor to prove."
Every one listened eagerly; Monte-Cristo, who so rarely opened his lips, was about to speak.
"You remember," said the count, during the most profound silence, "that the unhappy wretch who came to rob me, died at my house; it was supposed he was stabbed by his accomplice, on attempting to leave it."
"Yes," said Danglars.
"In order to examine his wounds, he was undressed, and his clothes were thrown into a corner, where officers of justice picked them up, with the exception of the waistcoat, which they overlooked."
Andrea turned pale, and drew toward the door, and saw a cloud rising in the horizon, which appeared to forebode a coming storm.
"Well! this waistcoat was discovered to-day, covered with blood, and with a hole over the heart." The ladies screamed, and two or three prepared to faint. "It was brought to me. No one could guess what the dirty rag could be; I alone supposed it was the waistcoat of the victim. My valet, in examining this mournful relic, felt a paper in the pocket and drew it out; it was a letter addressed to you, baron."
"To me!" cried Danglars.
"Yes, indeed, to you; I succeeded in deciphering your name under the blood with which the letter was stained," replied Monte-Cristo, amid the general burst of amazement.
"But," asked Madame Danglars, looking at her husband with uneasiness, "how could that prevent M. de Villefort"
"In this simple way, madame," replied Monte-Cristo; "the waistcoat and the letter were both, what is termed, convictive evidence: I there fore sent it all to M. le procureur du roi. You understand, my dear
