clump of trees, and Morrel soon recognized the other gentleman as Doctor d’Avrigny.
The young man, seeing them approach, drew back mechanically, until he found himself stopped by a sycamore-tree in the centre of the clump; there he was compelled to remain. Soon the two gentlemen stopped also.
“Ah, my dear doctor,” said the procureur, “Heaven declares itself against my house! What a dreadful death—what a blow! Seek not to console me; alas, nothing can alleviate so great a sorrow—the wound is too deep and too fresh! Dead, dead!”
The cold sweat sprang to the young man’s brow, and his teeth chattered. Who could be dead in that house, which Villefort himself had called accursed?
“My dear M. de Villefort,” replied the doctor, with a tone which redoubled