ell your mistress," he at
length answered, "that I wish to speak to her, and I beg she will wait
for me in her own room."

"Yes, sir."

"Then come to dress and shave me."

"Directly, sir." The valet re-appeared almost instantly, and, having
shaved his master, assisted him to dress entirely in black. When he had
finished, he said,--

"My mistress said she should expect you, sir, as soon as you had
finished dressing."

"I am going to her." And Villefort, with his papers under his arm and
hat in hand, directed his steps toward the apartment of his wife. At the
door he paused for a moment to wipe his damp, pale brow. He then entered
the room. Madame de Villefort was sitting on an ottoman and impatiently
turning over the leaves of some newspapers and pamphlets which young
Edward, by way of amusing himself, was tearing to pieces before his
mother could finish reading them. She was dressed to go out, her bonnet
was placed beside her on a chair, and her gloves were on her hands.

"Ah, here you are, monsieur," she said in her naturally calm voice; "but
how pale you are! Have you been working all night? Why did you not come
down to breakfast? Well, will you take me, or shall I take Edward?"
Madame de Villefort had multiplied her questions in order to gain one
answer, but to all her inquiries M. de Villefort remained mute and cold
as a statue. "Edward," said Villefort, fixing an imperious glance on
the child, "go and play in the drawing-room, my dear; I wish to speak
to your mamma." Madame de Villefort shuddered at the sight of that cold
countenance, that resolute tone, and the awfully strange preliminaries.
Edward raised his head, looked at his mother, and then, finding that
she did not confirm the order, began cutting off the heads of his leaden
soldiers.

"Edward," cried M. de Villefort, so harshly that the child started up
from the floor, "do you hear me?--Go!" The child, unaccustomed to such
treatment, arose, pale and trembling; it would be difficult to say
whether his emotion were caused by fear or passion. His father went up
to him, took him in his arms, and kissed his forehead. "Go," he said:
"go, my child." Edward ran out. M. de Villefort went to the door, which
he closed behind the child, and bolted. "Dear me!" said the young woman,
endeavoring to read her husband's inmost thoughts, while a smile passed
over her countenance which froze the impassibility of Villefort; "what
is the matter?"

"Madame, where do yo