Chapter 170: Chapter 170

At half-past noon, Madame Danglars ordered her horses and left home in her carriage. She headed toward the wealthy district on the Left Bank, taking a winding route through narrow streets before stopping at a covered passage.

She stepped out, dressed simply, the kind of understated elegance a woman of taste would wear for morning errands. After walking through the passage, she hailed a cab and gave the driver an address in the legal district.

Once seated inside, she pulled a thick black veil from her pocket and tied it over her straw hat. Checking herself in a small compact mirror, she was satisfied. Only her pale complexion and bright eyes were visible now.

The cab crossed the bridge and entered the street she’d requested. She paid the driver as soon as they arrived, then quickly climbed the courthouse steps.

The palace of justice was bustling that morning, crowded with lawyers and officials absorbed in their own business. No one paid attention to just another woman visiting her attorney. Madame Danglars crossed the main hall unnoticed.

There was a crowd waiting in the prosecutor’s antechamber, but she didn’t even need to give her name. The moment she appeared, the doorkeeper stood up and asked if she was the person who had an appointment. When she nodded, he led her through a private corridor to the prosecutor’s office.

The magistrate sat at his desk, writing, his back to the door. He didn’t turn when it opened or when the doorkeeper announced, "Walk in, madame," before closing the door behind her. But the instant the man’s footsteps faded away, the prosecutor jumped up. He bolted the door, drew the curtains, and checked every corner of the room. Only when he was certain no one could see or hear them did he relax.

"Thank you, madame," he said. "Thank you for being punctual." He offered her a chair.

Madame Danglars accepted it gratefully. Her heart was pounding so hard she could barely breathe.

"It’s been a long time, madame," the prosecutor said, turning his chair to face her directly. "It’s been a long time since we spoke alone. I regret that we meet now only to discuss something painful."

"Nevertheless, sir, I came when you called," she replied. "Though I assure you, this conversation will be far more painful for me than for you."

Villefort smiled bitterly. "Is it true then," he said, almost talking to himself, "that every action we take leaves a mark? Some bright, some dark, trailing behind us through life like footprints in sand? And for so many of us, those paths are traced in tears."

"Sir," Madame Danglars said, her voice shaking, "surely you can understand how I feel. Please, spare me. When I look at this room where so many guilty people have stood trembling with shame, when I look at that chair where I now sit, also trembling, I need all my willpower to convince myself that I’m not some terrible criminal and you’re not my judge."

Villefort lowered his head and sighed. "And I feel that my place is not in the judge’s seat, but in the defendant’s chair."

"You?" Madame Danglars said, surprised.

"I think you’re exaggerating, sir," she said, her beautiful eyes flashing briefly. "The paths you mentioned, all young men with passionate natures have walked them. Yes, we feel remorse after indulging our desires, but what do you men really have to fear? Society forgives you. Scandal even elevates your status."

"Madame," Villefort replied, "you know I’m not a hypocrite, or at least, I never lie without reason. If my face seems severe, it’s because misfortunes have clouded it. If my heart seems stone, it’s because it had to harden to survive the blows it’s received. I wasn’t always . I wasn’t on the night of our engagement party, when we all sat around that table in Marseilles. But everything has changed since then. I’ve learned to face difficulties head-on, to crush anyone who interferes with my path, whether deliberately or by accident."

He paused, his expression darkening. "Usually, what we desire most is exactly what others try to keep from us. Most of our mistakes come disguised as necessity. Only after we’ve acted, in a moment of excitement, delirium, or fear, do we realize we could have avoided it. The solution we couldn’t see in our blindness suddenly seems simple, and we wonder why we didn’t choose differently."

He looked at her intently. "But women are rarely tormented by such remorse. Your decisions aren’t truly your own. Your misfortunes are imposed upon you, and your faults are usually the result of others’ crimes."

"In any case, sir," Madame Danglars said, "even if the fault were entirely mine, I received severe punishment for it last night."

"Poor thing," Villefort said, pressing her hand. "It was too much for you to bear. You were overwhelmed twice, and yet-"

"I must tell you something. Gather your courage, because you haven’t heard everything yet."

"Ah," Madame Danglars gasped, alarmed. "What more is there?"

"You’re only thinking about the past, and yes, it’s terrible enough. But imagine a future even darker, frightening, perhaps even bloody."

The baroness knew how calm Villefort normally was. His current agitation terrified her so much that she opened her mouth to scream, but no sound came out.

"How has this terrible past been dug up?" Villefort cried. "How has it escaped from the grave, from the deepest recesses of our hearts where we buried it? Why does it visit us now like a ghost, draining the color from our faces and burning us with shame?"

"It must be... chance," Hermine whispered.

"Chance?" Villefort repeated. "No, madame. There’s no such thing as chance." Latest content publıshed on ⓝovelFire.net

"But wasn’t it by chance that the Count of Monte Cristo bought that house? By chance that he had the earth dug up? By chance that our unfortunate child was discovered under the trees? That poor innocent baby of mine, whom I never even kissed, though I wept so many tears for them. My heart broke when the count mentioned that precious discovery beneath the flowers."

"That’s exactly it, that’s the terrible news I have to tell you," Villefort said in a hollow voice. "Nothing was found beneath the flowers. There was no child discovered. You mustn’t weep, you must tremble!"

"What do you mean?" Madame Danglars asked, shuddering.

"I mean that when Monte Cristo dug beneath those trees, he found no skeleton, no box, because neither of them was there!"

"Not there?" Madame Danglars repeated, her eyes wide with alarm. "Not there?" she said again, as if trying to make herself understand.

"No," Villefort said, burying his face in his hands. "No, a hundred times no!"

"Then you didn’t bury the child there? Why did you lie to me? Where did you put them? Tell me!"

"Listen to me," he said urgently. "Listen, and you’ll pity me. I’ve carried this burden alone for twenty years without sharing even a piece of it with you."

"You’re frightening me. But speak, I’m listening."

"You remember that terrible night. You were half-dying in that red bedroom while I waited, hardly less agitated than you, for the birth. The child was born and given to me, motionless, breathless and silent. We thought it was dead."

Madame Danglars jerked as if to spring from her chair, but Villefort held up his hands, pleading for her attention.

"We thought it was dead," he repeated. "I placed it in a wooden box meant to serve as a coffin. I went down to the garden, dug a hole, and quickly buried it. I’d barely covered it with earth when I saw a shadow rise up. At the same moment, there was a flash of steel. I felt pain. I tried to cry out, but an icy chill ran through me and choked my voice. I collapsed, certain I was dying."

He took a shaky breath. "I’ll never forget your courage. When I regained consciousness and dragged myself to the stairs, you came to meet me despite being near death yourself. We had to stay silent about the catastrophe. You found the strength to return to the house with your nurse’s help. We claimed my wound came from a duel. Miraculously, our secret remained safe.

I was taken to Versailles. For three months I fought death. Finally, when I seemed to cling to life, they sent me south to recover. Four men carried me all the way, and Madame de Villefort followed in her carriage. My recovery took six months total. I never heard your name mentioned, and I didn’t dare ask about you. When I returned to Paris, I learned you’d married Monsieur Danglars.

What haunted my thoughts from the moment consciousness returned? Always the same thing, the child’s corpse, appearing in my dreams every night, rising from the earth, hovering over the grave with menacing looks. As soon as I returned to Paris, I made inquiries. The house hadn’t been occupied since we left, but it had just been leased for nine years. I found the tenant and pretended I didn’t want my wife’s family property in strangers’ hands. I offered to pay them to cancel the lease. They demanded 6,000 francs. I would have paid 10,000, even 20,000. I had cash with me. I made them sign the cancellation papers, and as soon as I had what I wanted, I rode straight to the house.

No one had entered since I’d left. It was five in the afternoon. I went up to the red room and waited for darkness. All the thoughts that had tormented me during that year of agony came rushing back with double force. The Corsican who’d sworn revenge against me, who’d followed me from the south to Paris, who’d hidden in the garden and stabbed me, he’d seen me dig the grave, seen me bury the child. He might learn your identity. Wouldn’t he make you pay for keeping this terrible secret? Wouldn’t that be sweet revenge when he realized his dagger hadn’t killed me?"