The Son of Monte-Cristo, Volume I | Page 7

of Villefort has had a terrible end. Madame de Villefort and her son are dead, and poor Valentine--I am not generally sentimental, but I confess the death of the young girl was a terrible shock to me."
"Beauchamp, do you believe in miracles?" asked Chateau-Renaud, suddenly.
"That depends. Why do you ask?"
"Well, one of my friends gave me his word of honor that he saw Mademoiselle Valentine in Marseilles."
"Before or after the funeral?"
"After, certainly."
"That seems rather wonderful, but one is already accustomed to look upon everything with which the Count of Monte-Cristo has any connection as something miraculous."
"Have you heard the fable that the count was a vampire?"
"Who could have said such a thing? What is old Noirtier doing?"
"He has gone to the South; and the Morcerf family--"
"Well, what of them?"
"Nothing new. The father a suicide, the son in Africa, and the mother has disappeared."
"Just like Baroness Danglars."
"Yes, only with this difference, that Madame de Morcerf and her son gave their whole fortune to the poor."
"I am glad for the poor--I--"
"The Benedetto affair is now on," broke in the voice of the reporter, interrupting their conversation.
"Ah--thank you." And with this they all entered the court-room.
"Beauchamp," whispered Chateau-Renaud, pointing to a veiled lady who sat near them, "if I wasn't sure that the Baroness Dangl--"
"Hush! Do not mention any names. I think you are right, but I cannot understand why she comes in such disreputable company."
The lady spoken about, heavily veiled, held her head on her hand and awaited the beginning of the case. Her companion, a thin, yellow, dried-up old man, whose bald head in form and color recalled a ripe melon, sat as straight as a stick, and kept his eyes on the crucifix opposite him.
"Bring in the prisoner," ordered the judge.
A shudder ran through the lady, but she did not look up as Benedetto entered.
CHAPTER VI
BENEDETTO, THE MURDERER
In the meantime the room had become almost filled, as a death sentence would probably be given. Almost half the spectators were ladies. A murmur of curiosity ran about the room, and many who were present remembered the moment in the former sitting when the prisoner, with the air of a stage hero, let fall the weighty words: "My father is the royal district-attorney, Monsieur Villefort." Unconsciously all eyes were turned to the ministerial box, as if hoping to encounter the pale, confused face of the all-powerful judge, who had himself been judged, but only the substitute of the procureur was seen.
Benedetto now entered. Beauchamp and Chateau-Renaud could hardly restrain their astonishment, for very seldom has a man changed so much in three months. When they had seen Cavalcanti Benedetto last, he was the type of a parlor hero, and fascinated every one by his pleasing appearance; but the man who stood now before the judge was another--a broken-down man.
His curly hair had been shaved close to the skin, his eyes, which had formerly sparkled with life, were now dim. The small, finely formed hands were meekly crossed over the breast, and even the prisoner's clothes harmonized with his general appearance.
A policeman gruffly showed him to his seat. Benedetto bowed deeply, and sat on the edge of the hard wooden bench.
The prisoner's lawyer, a celebrated advocate, bent down and whispered a few encouraging words to him. Benedetto listened attentively to them and murmured half aloud:
"May God have mercy on me."
"And the devil, too," whispered Beauchamp to Chateau-Renaud. "Benedetto has become a howling coward. It's a great pity!"
The judge beckoned to the actuary and ordered him to read the indictment. It was short and compact; it recited the murder of Caderousse, the robbery in the Count of Monte-Cristo's house, the revelations made by the prisoner with regard to M. de Villefort, the latter's confession, his insanity, and finally the suicide of his wife.
"Prisoner, stand up!" said the judge, in a soft voice, "and tell me your name."
"Benedetto," replied the former bandit in a modest, almost frightened voice.
"Are you guilty of the murder of Caderousse?"
"Judge," stammered Benedetto, "I must acknowledge my guilt." And burying his face in his hands, he tried to suppress his sobs.
"What kind of a comedy is the rascal playing?" grumbled Beauchamp.
"Hush!" replied Chateau-Renaud, "the proceedings are becoming interesting."
Benedetto answered all questions put to him without hesitation.
"I know," he said, "I am a great sinner, and bow to the justice of the people, as I do to the justice of God."
The duty of the jury was thus rendered easy, the murder was acknowledged, the antecedents of the prisoner were very bad, and the counterfeiter and murderer was as good as convicted at this stage of the proceedings.
"Call the witnesses," said the judge.
"Count of Monte-Cristo," cried the clerk.
No one answered.
"It is singular," said the judge, "that Monsieur de Monte-Cristo" (he purposely left out the title of count), "who is interested in this trial,