f these preparations, and then dragged Assunta feet foremost
towards the brazier, expecting to wring from her an avowal of where her
supposed treasure was secreted. In the struggle her clothes caught
fire, and they were obliged to let go their hold in order to preserve
themselves from sharing the same fate. Covered with flames, Assunta
rushed wildly to the door, but it was fastened; she flew to the windows,
but they were also secured; then the neighbors heard frightful shrieks;
it was Assunta calling for help. The cries died away in groans, and next
morning, as soon as Vasilio's wife could muster up courage to venture
abroad, she caused the door of our dwelling to be opened by the public
authorities, when Assunta, although dreadfully burnt, was found still
breathing; every drawer and closet in the house had been forced open,
and the money stolen. Benedetto never again appeared at Rogliano,
neither have I since that day either seen or heard anything concerning
him.

"It was subsequently to these dreadful events that I waited on
your excellency, to whom it would have been folly to have mentioned
Benedetto, since all trace of him seemed entirely lost; or of my sister,
since she was dead."

"And in what light did you view the occurrence?" inquired Monte Cristo.

"As a punishment for the crime I had committed," answered Bertuccio.
"Oh, those Villeforts are an accursed race!"

"Truly they are," murmured the count in a lugubrious tone.

"And now," resumed Bertuccio, "your excellency may, perhaps, be able
to comprehend that this place, which I revisit for the first time--this
garden, the actual scene of my crime--must have given rise to
reflections of no very agreeable nature, and produced that gloom and
depression of spirits which excited the notice of your excellency, who
was pleased to express a desire to know the cause. At this instant a
shudder passes over me as I reflect that possibly I am now standing on
the very grave in which lies M. de Villefort, by whose hand the ground
was dug to receive the corpse of his child."

"Everything is possible," said Monte Cristo, rising from the bench on
which he had been sitting; "even," he added in an inaudible voice, "even
that the procureur be not dead. The Abbe Busoni did right to send you
to me," he went on in his ordinary tone, "and you have done well in
relating to me the whole of your history, as it will prevent my forming
any erroneous opinions concerning you in future. A