“For what you have just said.”
“What did I say? Oh, my brain whirls; I no longer understand anything. Oh, my God, my God!”
And she rose, with her hair dishevelled, and her lips foaming.
“Have you answered the question I put to you on entering the room?—where do you keep the poison you generally use, madame?”
Madame de Villefort raised her arms to heaven, and convulsively struck one hand against the other.
“No, no,” she vociferated, “no, you cannot wish that!”
“What I do not wish, madame, is that you should perish on the scaffold. Do you understand?” asked Villefort.
“Oh, mercy, mercy, monsieur!”
“What I require is, that justice be done. I am on the earth to punish, madame,” he added, with a flaming glance; “any other woman, were it 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!”