a third; "I mean the trial of the man for murdering
his father. Upon my word, you killed him ere the executioner had laid
his hand upon him."

"Oh, as for parricides, and such dreadful people as that," interposed
Renee, "it matters very little what is done to them; but as regards
poor unfortunate creatures whose only crime consists in having mixed
themselves up in political intrigues"--

"Why, that is the very worst offence they could possibly commit; for,
don't you see, Renee, the king is the father of his people, and he who
shall plot or contrive aught against the life and safety of the parent
of thirty-two millions of souls, is a parricide upon a fearfully great
scale?"

"I don't know anything about that," replied Renee; "but, M. de
Villefort, you have promised me--have you not?--always to show mercy to
those I plead for."

"Make yourself quite easy on that point," answered Villefort, with
one of his sweetest smiles; "you and I will always consult upon our
verdicts."

"My love," said the marquise, "attend to your doves, your lap-dogs, and
embroidery, but do not meddle with what you do not understand. Nowadays
the military profession is in abeyance and the magisterial robe is
the badge of honor. There is a wise Latin proverb that is very much in
point."

"Cedant arma togae," said Villefort with a bow.

"I cannot speak Latin," responded the marquise.

"Well," said Renee, "I cannot help regretting you had not chosen some
other profession than your own--a physician, for instance. Do you know I
always felt a shudder at the idea of even a destroying angel?"

"Dear, good Renee," whispered Villefort, as he gazed with unutterable
tenderness on the lovely speaker.

"Let us hope, my child," cried the marquis, "that M. de Villefort may
prove the moral and political physician of this province; if so, he will
have achieved a noble work."

"And one which will go far to efface the recollection of his father's
conduct," added the incorrigible marquise.

"Madame," replied Villefort, with a mournful smile, "I have already had
the honor to observe that my father has--at least, I hope so--abjured
his past errors, and that he is, at the present moment, a firm and
zealous friend to religion and order--a better royalist, possibly, than
his son; for he has to atone for past dereliction, while I have no other
impulse than warm, decided preference and conviction." Having made this
well-turned speech, Villefort looked carefully