u must tremble!"

"What can you mean?" asked Madame Danglars, shuddering.

"I mean that M. de Monte Cristo, digging underneath these trees, found
neither skeleton nor chest, because neither of them was there!"

"Neither of them there?" repeated Madame Danglars, her staring,
wide-open eyes expressing her alarm.

"Neither of them there!" she again said, as though striving to impress
herself with the meaning of the words which escaped her.

"No," said Villefort, burying his face in his hands, "no, a hundred
times no!"

"Then you did not bury the poor child there, sir? Why did you deceive
me? Where did you place it? tell me--where?"

"There! But listen to me--listen--and you will pity me who has for
twenty years alone borne the heavy burden of grief I am about to reveal,
without casting the least portion upon you."

"Oh, you frighten me! But speak; I will listen."

"You recollect that sad night, when you were half-expiring on that
bed in the red damask room, while I, scarcely less agitated than you,
awaited your delivery. The child was born, was given to me--motionless,
breathless, voiceless; we thought it dead." Madame Danglars moved
rapidly, as though she would spring from her chair, but Villefort
stopped, and clasped his hands as if to implore her attention. "We
thought it dead," he repeated; "I placed it in the chest, which was to
take the place of a coffin; I descended to the garden, I dug a hole, and
then flung it down in haste. Scarcely had I covered it with earth, when
the arm of the Corsican was stretched towards me; I saw a shadow rise,
and, at the same time, a flash of light. I felt pain; I wished to cry
out, but an icy shiver ran through my veins and stifled my voice; I fell
lifeless, and fancied myself killed. Never shall I forget your sublime
courage, when, having returned to consciousness, I dragged myself to the
foot of the stairs, and you, almost dying yourself, came to meet me. We
were obliged to keep silent upon the dreadful catastrophe. You had the
fortitude to regain the house, assisted by your nurse. A duel was
the pretext for my wound. Though we scarcely expected it, our secret
remained in our own keeping alone. I was taken to Versailles; for three
months I struggled with death; at last, as I seemed to cling to life,
I was ordered to the South. Four men carried me from Paris to Chalons,
walking six leagues a day; Madame de Villefort followed the litter in
her carriage. At Chalons I was put u