“How did you know about it?”
“By a letter addressed to you from the Island of Elba.”
“To me?”
“To you; and which I discovered in the pocketbook of the messenger. Had that letter fallen into the hands of another, you, my dear father, would probably ere this have been shot.” Villefort’s father laughed.
“Come, come,” said he, “will the Restoration adopt imperial methods so promptly? Shot, my dear boy? What an idea! Where is the letter you speak of? I know you too well to suppose you would allow such a thing to pass you.”
“I burnt it, for fear that even a fragment should remain; for that letter must have led to your condemnation.”
“And the destruction of your future prospects,” replied Noirtier; “yes, I can easily comprehend that. But I have nothing to fear while I have you to protect me.”
“I do better than that, sir—I save you.”
“You do? Why, really, the thing becomes more and more dramatic—explain yourself.”
“I must refer again to the club in the Rue Saint-Jacques.”
“It appears that this club is rather a bore to the police. Why didn’t they search more vigilantly? they would have found—”
“They have not found; but they are on the track.”
“Yes, that’s the usual phrase; I am quite familiar with it. When the police is at fault, it declares that it is on the track; and the government patiently