“Ah, yes,” said Monte Cristo smiling; “it is all a matter of imagination. Why should we not imagine this the apartment of an honest mother? And this bed with red hangings, a bed visited by the goddess Lucina? And that mysterious staircase, the passage through which, not to disturb their sleep, the doctor and nurse pass, or even the father carrying the sleeping child?”
Here Madame Danglars, instead of being calmed by the soft picture, uttered a groan and fainted.
“Madame Danglars is ill,” said Villefort; “it would be better to take her to her carriage.”
“Oh, mon Dieu! ” said Monte Cristo, “and I have forgotten my smelling-bottle!”
“I have mine,” said Madame de Villefort; and she passed over to Monte Cristo a bottle full of the same kind of red liquid whose good properties the count had tested on Edward.
“Ah,” said Monte Cristo, taking it from her hand.
“Yes,” she said, “at your advice I have made the trial.”
“And have you succeeded?”
“I think so.”
Madame Danglars was carried into the adjoining room; Monte Cristo dropped a very small portion of the red liquid upon her lips; she returned to consciousness.
“Ah,” she cried, “what a frightful dream!”
Villefort pressed her hand to let her know it was not a dream. They looked for M. Danglars, but, as he was not especially interested in