aside to let him pass by, as usual,
nothing more. As he passed by M. Noirtier's room, he perceived two
figures through the half-open door; but he experienced no curiosity to
know who was visiting his father: anxiety carried him on further.

"Come," he said, as he ascended the stairs leading to his wife's room,
"nothing is changed here." He then closed the door of the landing.
"No one must disturb us," he said; "I must speak freely to her, accuse
myself, and say"--he approached the door, touched the crystal handle,
which yielded to his hand. "Not locked," he cried; "that is well." And
he entered the little room in which Edward slept; for though the child
went to school during the day, his mother could not allow him to be
separated from her at night. With a single glance Villefort's eye
ran through the room. "Not here," he said; "doubtless she is in her
bedroom." He rushed towards the door, found it bolted, and stopped,
shuddering. "Heloise!" he cried. He fancied he heard the sound of a
piece of furniture being removed. "Heloise!" he repeated.

"Who is there?" answered the voice of her he sought. He thought that
voice more feeble than usual.

"Open the door!" cried Villefort. "Open; it is I." But notwithstanding
this request, notwithstanding the tone of anguish in which it was
uttered, the door remained closed. Villefort burst it open with a
violent blow. At the entrance of the room which led to her boudoir,
Madame de Villefort was standing erect, pale, her features contracted,
and her eyes glaring horribly. "Heloise, Heloise!" he said, "what is the
matter? Speak!" The young woman extended her stiff white hands towards
him. "It is done, monsieur," she said with a rattling noise which seemed
to tear her throat. "What more do you want?" and she fell full length on
the floor. Villefort ran to her and seized her hand, which convulsively
clasped a crystal bottle with a golden stopper. Madame de Villefort was
dead. Villefort, maddened with horror, stepped back to the threshhold
of the door, fixing his eyes on the corpse: "My son!" he exclaimed
suddenly, "where is my son?--Edward, Edward!" and he rushed out of the
room, still crying, "Edward, Edward!" The name was pronounced in such a
tone of anguish that the servants ran up.

"Where is my son?" asked Villefort; "let him be removed from the house,
that he may not see"--

"Master Edward is not down-stairs, sir," replied the valet.

"Then he must be playing in the garden; go