The Son of Monte-Cristo, Volume I | Page 5

the same day on which the sensational case
of Prince Cavalcanti, alias Benedetto, was before the Court of Special
Sessions, and Monsieur de Villefort was forced to attend the sitting in
his official capacity as district-attorney. Before he went he sent for his
wife, who wished to attend the trial of a case which caused great
excitement all over Paris.
Madame de Villefort came to his room fully dressed for the street,
being under the impression that her husband would ask her to
accompany him to the court-house. She trembled, however, when she
noticed his face, which was torn by conflicting passions.
"Where do you get the poison from, madame, which you are in the
habit of using?" asked the procureur du roi, in a tone of command.
Madame de Villefort turned deathly pale.
"I do not understand what you mean," she stammered.
"I mean," said the man of the law, "where do you keep the poison with
which you murdered my parents-in-law, Barrois, and my daughter,
Valentine?"
Stunned by this terrible charge Madame de Villefort fell to the floor;
she no longer dared to deny the accusation, and was oppressed by a
feeling of deep despair.
"Every crime, madame," continued the procureur du roi, "has its
penalty; yours will be the scaffold. This expiation, however, would be
as terrible for me as for you. Fate has left you to pay for your deeds by
your own hand. You have, perhaps, still a few drops of poison left,
which will save both you and me the scandal of a public hanging. I am
going to the court-house, and I hope that when I return you will have
expiated your crimes."

With a cry, the unhappy woman became unconscious, while Monsieur
de Villefort, hardly able to collect his thoughts, left the room and rode
to attend the Cavalcanti-Benedetto case.
CHAPTER IV
A PECULIAR TRIAL
All Paris was excited over the case of the handsome Andrea Cavalcanti,
who was to descend from the heights of society into the depths of the
criminal world. The lion of the day was to change himself into a
common convict.
Large sums of money were paid for seats in the court-house, and long
before the proceedings began every seat in the room was occupied by
representatives of the most aristocratic families.
After the usual preliminaries, the judge, the jury, and the
district-attorney took their places. Upon an order from the judge the
policemen brought in the prisoner. Instead of a man borne down by
shame, Cavalcanti showed himself to the crowd dressed in a ball suit,
his face beaming with good humor.
The complaint was read without making the slightest impression upon
the prisoner, who sat on his seat with the same ease and grace as he did,
but a few days before, in the famous restaurant The Golden House.
"Prisoner," said the judge, "stand up and answer the questions I shall
put to you. What is your full name?"
"I am very sorry," replied Andrea, without the slightest embarrassment,
"that I am unable to answer the question just now; you can continue,
however, and later on I will take an opportunity to give you
information about the matter."
The people were dazed at the audacity of the prisoner.
"How old are you?" continued the judge.

"I was born on the night between the 27th and the 28th of September,
1807, at Auteuil, near Paris."
"What is your business?"
"I never bothered about the usual trades of the general run of people. I
was first a counterfeiter, then a thief, and afterward committed my first
murder."
A storm of anger ran through the assembly, even the judge and the jury
could not suppress their loathing at the unheard of cynicism of the
prisoner.
"Are you going to give your name now?" asked the judge.
"I am not able to give you my own name, but I know that of my father."
"Name it, then."
"My father is a district-attorney," continued the prisoner with great
calmness, glancing at Monsieur de Villefort, who turned deathly pale.
"District-attorney?" exclaimed the judge, greatly astonished. "And his
name is?"
"His name is Monsieur de Villefort, and he is sitting in front of you."
"You are fooling with the court," said the judge angrily. "I warn you for
the last time and command you to tell the truth."
"I am speaking the truth," replied the prisoner, "and can prove it. Listen,
and then judge. I was born on the first floor of the house No. 28 Rue de
la Fontaine, at Auteuil, on the night of the 27th to the 28th of
September, 1807. My father, Monsieur de Villefort, told my mother I
was dead, wrapped me in a napkin marked H. 15, put me in a small box
and buried me alive in