c, felt a paper
in the pocket and drew it out; it was a letter addressed to you, baron."

"To me?" cried Danglars.

"Yes, indeed, to you; I succeeded in deciphering your name under the
blood with which the letter was stained," replied Monte Cristo, amid the
general outburst of amazement.

"But," asked Madame Danglars, looking at her husband with uneasiness,
"how could that prevent M. de Villefort"--

"In this simple way, madame," replied Monte Cristo; "the waistcoat and
the letter were both what is termed circumstantial evidence; I therefore
sent them to the king's attorney. You understand, my dear baron, that
legal methods are the safest in criminal cases; it was, perhaps,
some plot against you." Andrea looked steadily at Monte Cristo and
disappeared in the second drawing-room.

"Possibly," said Danglars; "was not this murdered man an old
galley-slave?"

"Yes," replied the count; "a felon named Caderousse." Danglars
turned slightly pale; Andrea reached the anteroom beyond the little
drawing-room.

"But go on signing," said Monte Cristo; "I perceive that my story has
caused a general emotion, and I beg to apologize to you, baroness, and
to Mademoiselle Danglars." The baroness, who had signed, returned
the pen to the notary. "Prince Cavalcanti," said the latter; "Prince
Cavalcanti, where are you?"

"Andrea, Andrea," repeated several young people, who were already on
sufficiently intimate terms with him to call him by his Christian name.

"Call the prince; inform him that it is his turn to sign," cried
Danglars to one of the floorkeepers.

But at the same instant the crowd of guests rushed in alarm into the
principal salon as if some frightful monster had entered the apartments,
quaerens quem devoret. There was, indeed, reason to retreat, to be
alarmed, and to scream. An officer was placing two soldiers at the door
of each drawing-room, and was advancing towards Danglars, preceded by a
commissary of police, girded with his scarf. Madame Danglars uttered a
scream and fainted. Danglars, who thought himself threatened (certain
consciences are never calm),--Danglars even before his guests showed a
countenance of abject terror.

"What is the matter, sir?" asked Monte Cristo, advancing to meet the
commissioner.

"Which of you gentlemen," asked the magistrate, without replying to the
count, "answers to the name of Andrea Cavalcanti?" A cry of astonishment
was heard from all parts of the room. They searched; they