Respawned as The Count of Glow-Up-Chapter 256: The Magistrate’s Burden: II

Villefort, papers under his arm and hat in hand, directed his steps toward his wife’s apartment. At the door he paused for a moment to wipe his damp, pale brow. Then he entered.

Madame de Villefort sat on an ottoman, impatiently flipping through newspapers and pamphlets that young Edward was tearing to pieces before she could finish reading them. He found this game amusing.

She was dressed to go out. Her bonnet lay on a chair beside her, and she wore her gloves.

"Ah, here you are," she said in her naturally calm voice. "But how pale you are! Have you been working all night? Why didn’t you come down for breakfast? Well, will you take me, or should I take Edward?"

She’d multiplied her questions hoping to get at least one answer, but to all her inquiries, Villefort remained silent and cold as a statue.

"Edward," Villefort said, fixing an commanding glance on the child, "go play in the drawing room, dear. I need to speak with your mother."

Madame de Villefort shuddered at that cold face, that resolute tone, and those ominously strange preliminaries.

Edward looked up at his mother. When he saw she didn’t confirm the order, he went back to cutting off the heads of his toy soldiers.

"Edward!" Villefort cried so harshly that the child jumped up from the floor. "Do you hear me? Go!"

The child, unused to such treatment, stood pale and trembling, whether from fear or anger was hard to say. His father approached, took him in his arms, and kissed his forehead.

"Go," he said. "Go, my child."

Edward ran out. Villefort went to the door, closed it behind the child, and bolted it. 𝓯𝓻𝒆𝙚𝒘𝓮𝙗𝓷𝒐𝓿𝙚𝒍.𝙘𝓸𝙢

"Good heavens!" the young woman said, trying to read her husband’s innermost thoughts while a smile crossed her face, a smile that froze Villefort’s impassive expression. "What’s the matter?"

"Madame, where do you keep the poison you use?" the magistrate asked without preamble, positioning himself between his wife and the door.

Madame de Villefort must have felt like a bird looking up to see a deadly trap closing over its head. A hoarse, broken sound, neither cry nor sigh, escaped her as she turned deathly pale.

"Sir," she said, "I- I don’t understand you."

In her first wave of terror, she’d raised herself from the sofa. In the next moment, she collapsed back onto the cushions.

"I asked you," Villefort continued in a perfectly calm tone, "where you hide the poison you used to kill my father-in-law, my mother-in-law, Barrois, and my daughter Valentine."

"Oh, sir!" Madame de Villefort exclaimed, clasping her hands. "What are you saying?"

"It’s not for you to ask questions, but to answer them."

"Am I speaking to the judge or to my husband?" she stammered.

"To the judge, the judge, madame!"

It was terrible to see the frightful pallor of that woman, the anguish in her look, the trembling of her entire body.

"Oh, sir," she muttered. "Sir..." That was all she could say.

"You don’t answer!" the terrible interrogator exclaimed. Then he added, with a smile more terrible than his anger, "So it’s true then. You don’t deny it!"

She moved forward.

"And you cannot deny it!" Villefort added, extending his hand toward her as though to seize her in justice’s name. "You’ve committed these crimes with shameless skill, but you could only deceive those whose love for you blinded them. Since Madame de Saint-Méran’s death, I’ve known a poisoner lived in my house. Dr. d’Avrigny warned me. After Barrois’s death, my suspicions turned toward an angel, suspicions that, even when there’s no crime, are always alive in my heart. But after Valentine’s death, there’s been no doubt in my mind, and not only in mine but in others’ minds as well. Your crime, known by two people and suspected by many, will soon become public. As I told you, you’re no longer speaking to the husband, but to the judge."

The young woman buried her face in her hands.

"Oh, sir," she stammered, "don’t believe appearances."

"Are you a coward?" Villefort asked contemptuously. "I’ve always observed that poisoners are cowards. Can you be a coward, you who had the courage to witness the deaths of two old people and a young girl whom you murdered?"

"Sir!"

"Can you be a coward?" Villefort continued with increasing excitement. "You, who could count, one by one, the minutes of four death agonies? You, who arranged your infernal plans and removed the evidence with almost miraculous talent? You, who calculated everything so precisely, have you forgotten to calculate where the revelation of your crimes will lead? Oh, it’s impossible. You must have saved some poison for yourself, something sure and deadly, so you could escape the punishment you deserve. You’ve done this, I hope so, at least."

Madame de Villefort stretched out her hands and fell to her knees.

"I understand," he said. "You confess. But a confession made to judges at the last moment, when the crime can no longer be denied, doesn’t diminish the punishment!"

"The punishment?" she cried. "Punishment, sir? You’ve said that word twice now!"

"Certainly. Did you hope to escape it because you’re four times guilty? Did you think punishment would be withheld because you’re the wife of the one who pronounces it? No, madame. The scaffold awaits the poisoner, whoever she may be, unless, as I said, the poisoner kept a few drops of her deadliest poison for herself."

Madame de Villefort let out a wild cry, and uncontrollable terror spread across her distorted features.

"Oh, don’t fear the scaffold," the magistrate said. "I won’t dishonor you, since that would dishonor me. No, if you heard me clearly, you’ll understand that you won’t die on the scaffold."

"I don’t understand. What do you mean?" the unhappy woman stammered, completely overwhelmed.

"I mean that the wife of the capital’s chief magistrate shall not soil an unblemished name with her infamy. She shall not, with one blow, dishonor her husband and child."

"No, no, oh no!"

"Well, madame, it would be a commendable action on your part, and I’ll thank you for it."

"Thank me? For what?"

"For what you just said."

"What did I say? My brain is spinning. I don’t understand anything anymore. Oh my God!"

She rose, hair disheveled and lips foaming.

"Have you answered the question I asked when I entered? Where do you keep the poison you use, madame?"

Madame de Villefort raised her arms to heaven and convulsively struck one hand against the other.

"No, no!" she screamed. "You can’t want that!"

"What I don’t want, madame, is for you to die on the scaffold. Do you understand?"

"Oh, mercy, mercy, sir!"

"What I require is that justice be done. I’m on earth to punish," he added with a flaming glance. "Any other woman, even a queen, I would send to the executioner. But to you I’ll be merciful. To you I say, haven’t you put aside some of the surest, deadliest, fastest poison?"

"Oh, forgive me, sir! Let me live!"

"She’s a coward," Villefort said.

"Remember that I’m your wife!"

"You’re a poisoner."

"In heaven’s name!"

"No!"

"In the name of the love you once felt for me!"

"No!"

"In the name of our child! For our child’s sake, let me live!"

"No! One day, if I let you live, you might kill him too, just as you killed the others!"

"I? Kill my boy?" the distracted mother cried, rushing toward Villefort. "I kill my son? Ha, ha, ha!" A frightful, demonic laugh finished the sentence, ending in a hoarse rattle.

Madame de Villefort fell at her husband’s feet.

He approached her.

"Think carefully, madame," he said. "If, when I return, justice has not been satisfied, I’ll denounce you with my own mouth and arrest you with my own hands!"

She listened, panting, overwhelmed, crushed. Only her eyes showed life, glaring horribly.

"Do you understand?" he asked. "I’m going to pronounce a death sentence on a murderer. If I find you alive when I return, you’ll sleep tonight in prison."

Madame de Villefort sighed. Her nerves gave way, and she collapsed onto the carpet.

The prosecutor seemed to feel a flash of pity. He looked at her less severely and, bowing, said slowly, "Farewell, madame. Farewell."

That farewell struck Madame de Villefort like an executioner’s blade. She fainted.

The prosecutor left, double-locking the door behind him.