d this time, as though nature had at least taken compassion on the
vigorous frame, nearly bursting with its own strength, the words of
Morrel were stifled in his throat; his breast heaved; the tears, so long
rebellious, gushed from his eyes; and he threw himself weeping on his
knees by the side of the bed.

Then d'Avrigny spoke. "And I, too," he exclaimed in a low voice, "I
unite with M. Morrel in demanding justice for crime; my blood boils at
the idea of having encouraged a murderer by my cowardly concession."

"Oh, merciful heavens!" murmured Villefort. Morrel raised his head,
and reading the eyes of the old man, which gleamed with unnatural
lustre,--"Stay," he said, "M. Noirtier wishes to speak."

"Yes," indicated Noirtier, with an expression the more terrible, from
all his faculties being centred in his glance.

"Do you know the assassin?" asked Morrel.

"Yes," replied Noirtier.

"And will you direct us?" exclaimed the young man. "Listen, M.
d'Avrigny, listen!" Noirtier looked upon Morrel with one of those
melancholy smiles which had so often made Valentine happy, and thus
fixed his attention. Then, having riveted the eyes of his interlocutor
on his own, he glanced towards the door.

"Do you wish me to leave?" said Morrel, sadly.

"Yes," replied Noirtier.

"Alas, alas, sir, have pity on me!"

The old man's eyes remained fixed on the door.

"May I, at least, return?" asked Morrel.

"Yes."

"Must I leave alone?"

"No."

"Whom am I to take with me? The procureur?"

"No."

"The doctor?"

"Yes."

"You wish to remain alone with M. de Villefort?"

"Yes."

"But can he understand you?"

"Yes."

"Oh," said Villefort, inexpressibly delighted to think that the
inquiries were to be made by him alone,--"oh, be satisfied, I can
understand my father." D'Avrigny took the young man's arm, and led
him out of the room. A more than deathlike silence then reigned in
the house. At the end of a quarter of an hour a faltering footstep
was heard, and Villefort appeared at the door of the apartment where
d'Avrigny and Morrel had been staying, one absorbed in meditation, the
other in grief. "You can come," he said, and led them back to Noirtier.
Morrel looked attentively on Villefort. His face was livid, large drops
rolled down his face, and in his fingers he held the fragments of a
quill pen which he had torn to atoms.

"Gentlemen," he said in a hoarse voice, "give me your word of honor that
this horrible se