looked set and hard. Her first words
were abominably blunt.

"M. Villefort," she said, "do you know what your acquaintances call
you?"

A deep red rose slowly to his face, but he did not answer.

"Do you know that you are designated by them by an absurd title--that
they call you in ridicule 'Le Monsieur de la petite Dame?' Do you know
that?"

His look was incomprehensible, but he bowed gravely.

"Madame," he answered, "since others have heard the title so often, it
is but natural that I myself should have heard it more than once."

She regarded him in angry amazement. She was even roused to rapping upon
the floor with her gold-headed cane.

"Does it not affect you?" she cried. "Does it not move you to
indignation?"

"That, Madame," he replied, "can only be my affair. My friends will
allow me my emotions at least."

Then she left her chair and began to walk up and down, striking the
carpet hard with her cane at every step.

"You are a strange man," she remarked.

Suddenly, however, when just on the point of starting upon a fresh tour,
she wheeled about and addressed him sharply.

"I respect you," she said; "and because I respect you, I will do you a
good turn."

She made no pretense at endeavoring to soften the blow she was about to
bestow. She drew forth from her dress a letter, the mere sight of which
seemed to goad her to a mysterious excitement.

"See," she cried; "it was M. Ralph Edmondstone who wrote this,--it was
to Madame Villefort it was written. It means ruin and dishonor. I offer
it to you to read."

M. Villefort rose and laid his hand upon his chair to steady himself.

"Madame," he answered, "I will not touch it."

She struck herself upon her withered breast.

"Behold me!" she said. "_Me!_ I am seventy years old! Good God! seventy!
I am a bad old woman, and it is said I do not repent of my sins. I, too,
have been a beautiful young girl. I, too, had my first lover. I, too,
married a man who had not won my heart. It does not matter that the
husband was worthy and the lover was not,--one learns that too late. My
fate was what your wife's will be if you will not sacrifice your pride
and save her."

"Pride!" he echoed in a bitter, hollow voice. "My pride, Madame!"

She went on without noticing him:--

"They have been here this morning--both of them. He followed her, as he
always does. He had a desperate look which warned me. Afterward I found
the note upon the floor. Now will you read i