isto had done nothing to bring
vengeance on that evil man. He had seen from the first that Villefort's
second wife was studying the art of poisoning, and he felt that revenge
was already at work here. There had already been three mysterious deaths
in the house, and now the beautiful Valentine seemed to be suffering
from the early effects of some slow poison. Maximilian Morrel, in
despair of Valentine's life, rushed to Monte Cristo for his advice and
assistance.

"Must I let one of the accursed race escape?" Monte Cristo asked
himself, but decided, for Maxmilian's sake, that he would save
Valentine. He had bought the house adjoining that of Villefort, and,
clearing out the tenants, had engaged workmen to remove so much of the
old wall between the two houses that it was a simple matter for him to
take out the remaining stones and pass into a large cupboard in
Valentine's room. Here the count watched while Valentine was asleep, and
saw Madame de Villefort creep into the room and substitute for the
medicine in Valentine's glass a dose of poison.

He then entered the room and threw half the draught into the fireplace,
leaving the rest in the glass. When Valentine awoke he gave her a pellet
of hashish, which made her sink into a deathlike sleep.

Next morning the doctor declared that Valentine was dead. In the glass
he discovered poison, and as the same poison was found in madame's
laboratory, there was no doubt of her guilt. She admitted all, and
confessed that her object had been to make her own son sole heir to
Villefort's fortune.

Madame de Villefort fell at her husband's feet. He addressed her with
passionate words of reproach as he turned to leave her.

"Think of it, madame," he said; "if on my return justice has not been
satisfied, I will denounce you with my own mouth, and arrest you with my
own hands! I am going to the court to pronounce sentence of death on a
murderer. If I find you alive on my return, you shall sleep to-night in
gaol."

Madame sighed, her nerves gave way, and she sank on the carpet.

But Villefort little knew at the moment he spoke these burning words to
the woman who was his wife that he himself was not going out to condemn
a fellow-sinner, but to be himself condemned. For the man to whom he
referred as a murderer was the so-called Count Cavalcanti, really
Benedetto, who now turned out to be an illegitimate son of Villefort's
whom he had endeavoured to bury alive as an infant in the garde