“Then you did not bury the poor child there, sir? Why did you deceive me? Where did you place it? tell me⁠—where?”

“There! But listen to me⁠—listen⁠—and you will pity me who has for twenty years alone borne the heavy burden of grief I am about to reveal, without casting the least portion upon you.”

“Oh, you frighten me! But speak; I will listen.”

“You recollect that sad night, when you were half-expiring on that bed in the red damask room, while I, scarcely less agitated than you, awaited your delivery. The child was born, was given to me⁠—motionless, breathless, voiceless; we thought it dead.”

Madame Danglars moved rapidly, as though she would spring from her chair, but Villefort stopped, and clasped his hands as if to implore her attention.