the queen herself, I would send to the executioner; but to you I shall be merciful. To you I will say, ‘Have you not, madame, put aside some of the surest, deadliest, most speedy poison?’ ”
“Oh, pardon me, sir; let me live!”
“She is cowardly,” said Villefort.
“Reflect that I am your wife!”
“You are a poisoner.”
“In the name of Heaven!”
“No!”
“In the name of the love you once bore me!”
“No, no!”
“In the name of our child! Ah, for the sake of our child, let me live!”
“No, no, no, I tell you; one day, if I allow you to live, you will perhaps kill him, as you have the others!”
“I?—I kill my boy?” cried the distracted mother, rushing toward Villefort; “I kill my son? Ha, ha, ha!” and a frightful, demoniac laugh finished the sentence, which was lost in a hoarse rattle.
Madame de Villefort fell at her husband’s feet. He approached her.
“Think of it, madame,” he said; “if, on my return, justice has not been satisfied, I will denounce you with my own mouth, and arrest you with my own hands!”
She listened, panting, overwhelmed, crushed; her eye alone lived, and glared horribly.