The Count of Monte Cristo

The Search for Edward

A cold perspiration burst out on Villefort’s brow; his legs trembled, and his thoughts flew about madly in his brain like the wheels of a disordered watch. He slowly returned, with one hand wiping his forehead and with the other supporting himself against the wall. To enter the room he must again see the body of his unfortunate wife. To call Edward he must reawaken the echo of that room which now appeared like a sepulchre. “Edward!” he stammered. The child did not answer. He stepped forward. The corpse of Madame de Villefort was stretched across the doorway leading to the room in which Edward must be; those glaring eyes seemed to watch over the threshold, and the lips bore the stamp of a terrible and mysterious irony. Through the open door was visible a portion of the boudoir, containing an upright piano and a blue satin couch. Villefort stepped forward and beheld his child lying—no doubt asleep—on the sofa. The unhappy man uttered an exclamation of joy; a ray of light seemed to penetrate the abyss of despair and darkness. He had only to step over the corpse, enter the boudoir, take the child in his arms, and flee far, far away.

A Mother’s Final Act

Villefort leaped over the corpse as if it had been a burning brazier. He took the child in his arms, embraced him, shook him, called him, but the child made no response. He pressed his burning lips to the cheeks, but they were icy cold and pale; he felt the stiffened limbs; he pressed his hand upon the heart, but it no longer beat—the child was dead. A folded paper fell from Edward’s breast. Villefort, thunderstruck, fell upon his knees; the child dropped from his arms and rolled on the floor by the side of its mother. He picked up the paper and, recognizing his wife’s writing, ran his eyes rapidly over its contents: “You know that I was a good mother, since it was for my son’s sake I became criminal. A good mother cannot depart without her son.” Villefort could not believe his eyes—he could not believe his reason. He dragged himself towards the child’s body and examined it as a lioness contemplates its dead cub. Then a piercing cry escaped from his breast, and he cried, “Still the hand of God.”