Page:The Count of Monte-Cristo (1887 Volume 5).djvu/64

44 kept me in mourning for the last three months, arid from which Valentine has only escaped by a miracle, have not happened by natural means."

"I was not thinking of that," replied Madame Danglars quickly.

"Yes, you were thinking of it, and with justice. You could not help thinking of it, and saying to yourself, 'You, who pursue crime so vindictively, answer now, why are there unpunished crimes in your dwelling?'" The baroness became pale. "You were saying this, were you not?"

"Well, I own it."

"I will answer you." Villefort drew his arm-chair nearer to Madame Danglars; then, resting both hands upon his desk, he said, in a voice more hollow than usual:

"There are crimes which remain unpunished because the criminals are unknown, and we might strike the innocent instead of the guilty; but when the culprits are discovered "(Villefort here extended his hand toward a large crucifix placed opposite to his desk)—"when they are discovered, I swear to you, by all I hold most sacred, that, whoever they may be, they shall die. Now, after the oath I have just taken, and which I will keep, madame, dare you ask for mercy for that wretch?"

"But, sir, are you sure he is as guilty as they say?"

"Listen; this is his description: 'Benedetto, condemned at the age of sixteen, for five years to the galleys for forgery.' He promised well, as you see—first an escaped convict, then an assassin."

"And who is this wretch?"

"Who can tell?—a vagabond, a Corsican."

"Has no one owned him?"

"No one; his parents are unknown."

"But who was the man who brought him from Lucca?"

"Another rascal like himself, perhaps his accomplice." The baroness clasped her hands.

"Villefort!" she exclaimed, in her softest and most captivating manner.

"For Heaven's sake, madame," said Villefort, with a firmness of expression not altogether free from harshness—"for Heaven's sake, do not ask pardon of me for a guilty wretch! What am I?—the law. Has the law any eyes to witness your grief? Has the law ears to be melted by your sweet voice? Has the law a memory for all those soft recollections you endeavor to recall? No, madame; the law has commanded, and when it commands it strikes. You will tell me that I am a living being, and not a code—a man, and not a volume. Look at me, madame look around me? Has mankind treated me as a brother? Have men loved me? Have they spared me? Has any one shown the mercy toward me that you now ask at my hands? No, madame, they