“Then the guilty person is absolutely in custody?” said the marquise.
“Nay, dear mother, say the accused person. You know we cannot yet pronounce him guilty.”
“He is in safe custody,” answered Villefort; “and rely upon it, if the letter is found, he will not be likely to be trusted abroad again, unless he goes forth under the especial protection of the headsman.”
“And where is the unfortunate being?” asked Renée.
“He is at my house.”
“Come, come, my friend,” interrupted the marquise, “do not neglect your duty to linger with us. You are the king’s servant, and must go wherever that service calls you.”
“Oh, Villefort!” cried Renée, clasping her hands, and looking towards her lover with piteous earnestness, “be merciful on this the day of our betrothal.”
The young man passed round to the side of the table where the fair pleader sat, and leaning over her chair said tenderly:
“To give you pleasure, my sweet Renée, I promise to show all the lenity in my power; but if the charges brought against this Bonapartist hero prove correct, why, then, you really must give me leave to order his head to be cut off.”
Renée shuddered at the word cut, for the growth in question had a head.