ffort. "I want air, that is all."

"Will you come into the garden?" said Debray, advancing towards the back
staircase.

"No, no," she answered, "I would rather remain here."

"Are you really frightened, madame?" said Monte Cristo.

"Oh, no, sir," said Madame Danglars; "but you suppose scenes in a manner
which gives them the appearance of reality."

"Ah, yes," said Monte Cristo smiling; "it is all a matter of
imagination. Why should we not imagine this the apartment of an honest
mother? And this bed with red hangings, a bed visited by the goddess
Lucina? And that mysterious staircase, the passage through which, not
to disturb their sleep, the doctor and nurse pass, or even the father
carrying the sleeping child?" Here Madame Danglars, instead of being
calmed by the soft picture, uttered a groan and fainted. "Madame
Danglars is ill," said Villefort; "it would be better to take her to her
carriage."

"Oh, mon Dieu," said Monte Cristo, "and I have forgotten my
smelling-bottle!"

"I have mine," said Madame de Villefort; and she passed over to
Monte Cristo a bottle full of the same kind of red liquid whose good
properties the count had tested on Edward.

"Ah," said Monte Cristo, taking it from her hand.

"Yes," she said, "at your advice I have made the trial."

"And have you succeeded?"

"I think so."

Madame Danglars was carried into the adjoining room; Monte Cristo
dropped a very small portion of the red liquid upon her lips; she
returned to consciousness. "Ah," she cried, "what a frightful dream!"

Villefort pressed her hand to let her know it was not a dream. They
looked for M. Danglars, but, as he was not especially interested in
poetical ideas, he had gone into the garden, and was talking with Major
Cavalcanti on the projected railway from Leghorn to Florence. Monte
Cristo seemed in despair. He took the arm of Madame Danglars, and
conducted her into the garden, where they found Danglars taking coffee
between the Cavalcanti. "Really, madame," he said, "did I alarm you
much?"

"Oh, no, sir," she answered; "but you know, things impress us
differently, according to the mood of our minds." Villefort forced
a laugh. "And then, you know," he said, "an idea, a supposition, is
sufficient."

"Well," said Monte Cristo, "you may believe me if you like, but it is my
opinion that a crime has been committed in this house."

"Take care," said Madame de Villefort, "the king's attorney is here."

"Ah," replied Mont