The Accusation
M. d’Avrigny soon restored the magistrate to consciousness, who had looked like a second corpse in that chamber of death.
“Oh, death is in my house!” cried Villefort.
“Say, rather, crime!” replied the doctor.
“ M. d’Avrigny,” cried Villefort, “I cannot tell you all I feel at this moment—terror, grief, madness.”
“Yes,” said M. d’Avrigny, with an imposing calmness, “but I think it is now time to act. I think it is time to stop this torrent of mortality. I can no longer bear to be in possession of these secrets without the hope of seeing the victims and society generally revenged.”
Villefort cast a gloomy look around him. “In my house,” murmured he, “in my house!”
“Come, magistrate,” said M. d’Avrigny, “show yourself a man; as an interpreter of the law, do honor to your profession by sacrificing your selfish interests to it.”
“You make me shudder, doctor. Do you talk of a sacrifice?”
“I do.”
“Do you then suspect anyone?”
“I suspect no one; death raps at your door—it enters—it goes, not blindfolded, but circumspectly, from room to room. Well, I follow its