“For Heaven’s sake, madame,” said Villefort, with a firmness of expression not altogether free from harshness⁠—“for Heaven’s sake, do not ask pardon of me for a guilty wretch! What am I?⁠—the law. Has the law any eyes to witness your grief? Has the law ears to be melted by your sweet voice? Has the law a memory for all those soft recollections you endeavor to recall? No, madame; the law has commanded, and when it commands it strikes. You will tell me that I am a living being, and not a code⁠—a man, and not a volume. Look at me, madame⁠—look around me. Has mankind treated me as a brother? Have men loved me? Have they spared me? Has anyone shown the mercy towards me that you now ask at my hands? No, madame, they struck me, always struck me!