"Forgive my servants," Villefort said quietly. "They live in constant fear. Once they were suspected, now they suspect everyone."

She'd heard rumors about the tragedies in Villefort's household, but seeing the evidence in his haunted eyes made it real.

"Then you're suffering too?" she asked softly.

"Yes, madame."

"Then you understand my pain!"

"Deeply, madame."

"And you know why I'm here?"

"You want to discuss what happened last night at your daughter's wedding?"

"Yes, it was a terrible disaster."

"I would call it an unfortunate incident," Villefort corrected calmly.

"An incident?" she repeated in disbelief.

"Madame," Villefort said with unnerving composure, "I only consider something a true disaster if it cannot be fixed."

"You think people will forget this?"

"Everything is forgotten eventually. Your daughter will be married tomorrow, or next week, or next month. And honestly, I don't think you should regret losing Andrea Cavalcanti as a son-in-law."

She stared at him, shocked by his cold rationality.

"Did I come to see a friend?" she asked, her voice heavy with hurt.

"You know you did," Villefort said, a faint blush coloring his pale cheeks, a reminder of the intimate past they shared.

"Then be my friend now, Villefort," she pleaded. "Don't speak to me like a prosecutor. I'm drowning in anguish, don't tell me to smile and be happy."

Villefort bowed slightly. "When people talk about misfortunes, madame, I've developed a bad habit lately. I compare their problems to mine. That's why your crisis seems minor compared to what I've endured. Your position looks enviable from where I'm standing. But I can see this upsets you, let's move on. What did you want to ask me?"

"What will happen to Andrea?" she asked desperately.

"Andrea?" Villefort's eyebrow raised. "You mean the impostor?"

"You're exaggerating!" she protested. "Yes, he's an impostor, but-"

"Impostor?" Villefort interrupted sharply. "Madame, you're downplaying his crimes. Andrea Cavalcanti, or rather, Benedetto, isn't just an impostor. He's an assassin."

"I don't deny that," she said quickly. "But the more harshly you punish him, the more our family suffers. Please, forget about him for a moment. Instead of hunting him down, just let him go."

"It's too late. The orders have been issued."

"But if he's arrested, and do you really think you'll catch him?"

"I hope so."

"If you catch him, will you keep him locked up?"

Villefort shook his head.

"Then at least keep him in prison until after my daughter is married to someone else!"

"Impossible. The law has procedures that must be followed."

"Not even for me?" she asked with a forced smile, half-joking, half-serious.

"Not even for me," Villefort replied. "The law applies to everyone equally."

"Ah," she breathed, her tone loaded with meaning.

Villefort's piercing gaze locked onto hers, reading the accusation in her eyes.

"Yes, I know what you're thinking," he said. "You're referring to the rumors, the whispers that the deaths in my house over these past three months weren't natural. That even my daughter Valentine barely escaped with her life."

"I wasn't thinking that at all," she lied quickly.

"Yes, you were. And you're right to wonder. You're thinking: 'How can you chase criminals so ruthlessly when crimes go unpunished in your own home?'"

The baroness went pale.

"That's exactly what you're thinking, isn't it?"

"Fine. Yes, I admit it."

"Then let me answer you."

Villefort pulled his chair closer to hers. Leaning forward with both hands on his desk, he spoke in a voice that seemed to come from some deep, dark place inside him.

"Some crimes go unpunished because the criminals are unknown. We might accidentally destroy the innocent while searching for the guilty. But when the criminals are discovered..." He gestured toward a large crucifix on the wall. "When they are discovered, I swear by everything I hold sacred that they will die, no matter who they are. Now, after the oath I've just made, do you still dare ask me for mercy for that wretch?"

"But are you certain he's as guilty as they say?"

"Listen to his record: Benedetto was convicted at age sixteen and sentenced to five years of hard labor for forgery. Quite the promising start, then he escaped, and now he's a murderer."

"Who is he? Where did he come from?"

"Nobody knows. A vagabond. Possibly from Corsica."

"Does he have any family?"

"None. His parents are unknown."

"Then who was the man who brought him from Lucca and vouched for him?"

"Another criminal, probably his accomplice."

The baroness clasped her hands together. "Villefort," she said in her softest, most seductive voice.

"For God's sake, madame," Villefort said, his expression hardening, "don't ask me to show mercy to a guilty man. What am I? I am the law. Does the law have eyes to see your tears? Does the law have ears to hear your beautiful voice? Does the law have memory of sweet moments we once shared? No, madame. The law commands, and when it commands, it strikes without feeling."

He stood abruptly, his voice rising.

"You think I'm a living, breathing man? No, I am nothing but the code of justice made flesh. Look at me! Look around! Has humanity treated me like a brother? Has anyone loved me? Has anyone spared me pain? Has anyone shown me the mercy you're begging for now? No! They've struck me down again and again!"

His voice turned bitter.

"Woman, do you think those captivating eyes can make me forget what I've done, the sins I carry? Fine! Let me blush for my mistakes, and perhaps for even worse! But because I've sinned deeply myself, I never rest until I've torn away the masks of my fellow humans and exposed their weaknesses. And I always find them. Always! Every criminal I condemn is proof that I'm not some uniquely terrible monster. The whole world is wicked, so let me strike down wickedness wherever I find it!"

The words poured out of him like poison, his face flushed with feverish rage.

Madame Danglars took a shaky breath. "But this young man, despite being a murderer, is an orphan. Everyone has abandoned him."

"Good!" Villefort snapped. "Better that way. He'll have no one to mourn his execution."

"You're crushing someone who's already broken."

"A murderer is never weak!"

"His disgrace reflects on our family."

"Death lives in mine!"

"You show no mercy to others," she said coldly. "Then I promise you, they will show none to you!"

"So be it!" Villefort raised his arms toward heaven in defiance.

"At least delay the trial until the next court session," she begged. "That would give us six months."

"No. Instructions have been given. We have five days, more than enough time. Do you think I don't also crave forgetfulness? When I work day and night until I'm numb, I feel something like peace, the peace of the dead. It's better than suffering."

"But he's fled! Let him escape, turning a blind eye isn't the same as helping him!"

"It's too late. This morning we used the telegraph system. Even now-"

A servant entered. "Sir, a messenger from the ministry of the interior brought this." He handed Villefort an urgent dispatch.

Villefort tore open the letter. Madame Danglars trembled. Villefort's face lit up with savage joy.

"Arrested!" he exclaimed. "They caught him in Compiègne. It's over."

The baroness stood slowly, her face pale and cold as ice.

"Goodbye, sir."

"Goodbye, madame," Villefort replied, almost cheerfully escorting her to the door.

As she left, he returned to his desk and slapped the letter triumphantly.

"Perfect! I had one forgery case, three robberies, and two arsons. All I needed was a murder, and now I have it. This will be a magnificent trial session!"