ster of heliotropes and daisies, and ran to his mother, his forehead
streaming with perspiration. Madame de Villefort wiped his forehead,
pressed her lips upon it, and sent him back with the ball in one hand
and some bonbons in the other.

Villefort, drawn by an irresistible attraction, like that of the bird to
the serpent, walked towards the house. As he approached it, Noirtier's
gaze followed him, and his eyes appeared of such a fiery brightness that
Villefort felt them pierce to the depths of his heart. In that earnest
look might be read a deep reproach, as well as a terrible menace. Then
Noirtier raised his eyes to heaven, as though to remind his son of a
forgotten oath. "It is well, sir," replied Villefort from below,--"it
is well; have patience but one day longer; what I have said I will do."
Noirtier seemed to be calmed by these words, and turned his eyes with
indifference to the other side. Villefort violently unbuttoned his
great-coat, which seemed to strangle him, and passing his livid hand
across his forehead, entered his study.

The night was cold and still; the family had all retired to rest but
Villefort, who alone remained up, and worked till five o'clock in the
morning, reviewing the last interrogatories made the night before by the
examining magistrates, compiling the depositions of the witnesses, and
putting the finishing stroke to the deed of accusation, which was one of
the most energetic and best conceived of any he had yet delivered.

The next day, Monday, was the first sitting of the assizes. The morning
dawned dull and gloomy, and Villefort saw the dim gray light shine upon
the lines he had traced in red ink. The magistrate had slept for a short
time while the lamp sent forth its final struggles; its flickerings
awoke him, and he found his fingers as damp and purple as though they
had been dipped in blood. He opened the window; a bright yellow streak
crossed the sky, and seemed to divide in half the poplars, which stood
out in black relief on the horizon. In the clover-fields beyond the
chestnut-trees, a lark was mounting up to heaven, while pouring out her
clear morning song. The damps of the dew bathed the head of Villefort,
and refreshed his memory. "To-day," he said with an effort,--"to-day the
man who holds the blade of justice must strike wherever there is guilt."
Involuntarily his eyes wandered towards the window of Noirtier's room,
where he had seen him the preceding night. The curtain w