"Why dramatic?" Danglars asked. Content orıginally comes from novᴇlfire.net
"Can we explain instinct?" Monte Cristo replied. "Aren’t there places where we seem to breathe sadness without knowing why? It’s a chain of memories, perhaps, or an idea that takes you back to other times and places that may have no connection to the present. Something in that room reminds me strongly of chambers where dark deeds occurred in old stories. Now that we’ve finished dinner, shall I show it to you? Then we can have coffee in the garden afterward." Monte Cristo looked questioningly at his guests.
Madame de Villefort rose. Monte Cristo did the same, and everyone else followed. Villefort and Madame Danglars remained seated for a moment, as if frozen. They exchanged vague, confused glances.
"Did you hear that?" Madame Danglars whispered.
"We must go," Villefort replied, offering his arm.
The others, driven by curiosity, had already scattered throughout the house. They assumed the tour wouldn’t be limited to just one room and hoped to glimpse more of the palace Monte Cristo had created. Monte Cristo waited for the two stragglers, then followed behind them. Had they understood the smile on his face, it would have frightened them far more than any room they were about to enter.
They began by walking through various apartments, many furnished in an exotic style with cushions and divans instead of beds, and decorative pipes instead of traditional furniture. The sitting rooms displayed rare paintings by old masters, while smaller chambers were hung with colorful tapestries featuring fantastic designs and wonderful textures.
Finally, they reached the infamous room.
There was nothing particularly special about it, except that while darkness had fallen outside, this room remained unlit. Everything in it was old-fashioned, contrasting sharply with the renovated elegance of the rest of the house. These two factors were enough to give it an oppressive atmosphere.
"Oh!" cried Madame de Villefort. "It really is frightening."
Madame Danglars tried to speak but couldn’t be heard over the murmurs of other guests, all agreeing that something sinister hung over the room.
"Isn’t it unsettling?" Monte Cristo asked. "Look at that large, awkward bed with its gloomy, blood-colored drapery. And those two faded portraits, don’t they seem to say with their pale lips and staring eyes, ’We have seen’?"
Villefort went deathly pale. Madame Danglars sank into a seat near the fireplace.
"Oh," said Madame de Villefort with a nervous smile, "are you brave enough to sit on the very seat where the crime might have been committed?"
Madame Danglars stood up abruptly.
"And that’s not all," Monte Cristo added.
"What else is there?" asked Debray, who had noticed Madame Danglars’s agitation.
"Yes, what else?" Danglars echoed. "So far, I haven’t seen anything extraordinary. What do you say, Mr. Cavalcanti?"
"Ah," the man replied, "we have famous places back home, historic towers, ancient prisons, rooms where tragic lovers died."
"Yes, but you don’t have this little staircase," Monte Cristo said, opening a door concealed behind the drapery. "Look at it and tell me what you think."
"What a sinister, twisted staircase," Château-Renaud said with an uneasy smile.
"I don’t know if it’s the wine, but everything in this house seems dark to me," Debray muttered.
Ever since Valentine’s inheritance had been mentioned, Morrel had fallen silent and somber.
"Can you imagine," Monte Cristo continued, "someone descending these stairs on a dark, stormy night, step by step, carrying something they wish to hide from human eyes, if not from heaven itself?"
Madame Danglars nearly fainted against Villefort’s arm. He had to brace himself against the wall for support.
"Madame!" Debray cried. "What’s wrong? You look so pale!"
"It’s obvious what’s happening," Madame de Villefort said. "The Count is telling us horror stories, clearly intending to frighten us to death."
"Yes," Villefort managed, "really, Count, you’re scaring the ladies."
"What’s the matter?" Debray whispered to Madame Danglars.
"Nothing," she replied with visible effort. "I just need air."
"Shall we go to the garden?" Debray suggested, moving toward the back staircase.
"No, no," she answered quickly. "I’d rather stay here."
"Are you truly frightened, madame?" Monte Cristo asked.
"Oh no, sir," Madame Danglars said. "But you describe these scenes so vividly they seem real."
"Ah yes," Monte Cristo said with a smile. "It’s all a matter of imagination. Why shouldn’t we imagine this as the room of an honest mother instead? This bed with red hangings could have been blessed by the goddess of childbirth. And that mysterious staircase could be the passage doctors and nurses used, trying not to disturb sleeping patients, or where a father carried his sleeping child."
At this gentler image, Madame Danglars didn’t calm down, instead, she groaned and fainted completely.
"Madame Danglars is ill," Villefort announced. "We should take her to her carriage."
"Oh, heavens!" Monte Cristo exclaimed. "I’ve forgotten my smelling salts!"
"I have mine," said Madame de Villefort, passing Monte Cristo a bottle filled with red liquid, the same type whose properties the Count had tested on young Edward.
"Ah," said Monte Cristo, taking it.
"Yes," she said. "I took your advice and tried making it."
"And did you succeed?"
Madame Danglars was carried to an adjoining room. Monte Cristo placed a tiny amount of the red liquid on her lips, and she regained consciousness.
"Ah," she gasped, "what a terrible dream!"
Villefort squeezed her hand to signal it was no dream.
They looked for Mr. Danglars but found he’d grown bored with all the dramatic atmosphere and had gone to the garden, where he was discussing a proposed railway project with Major Cavalcanti.
Monte Cristo appeared distressed. He took Madame Danglars’s arm and escorted her to the garden, where they found Danglars having coffee with the Cavalcantis.
"Really, madame," the Count said, "did I frighten you that badly?"
"Oh no, sir," she replied. "But you understand, things affect us differently depending on our state of mind."
Villefort forced a laugh. "And besides," he added, "an idea, a mere suggestion, can be powerful enough."
"Well," said Monte Cristo, "believe me if you wish, but I’m convinced a crime was committed in this house."
"Careful," Madame de Villefort warned playfully. "The prosecutor is right here."
"Ah," Monte Cristo replied, "in that case, I’ll take advantage of his presence to make my official statement."
"Your statement?" Villefort asked tensely.
"Yes, before witnesses."
"Oh, how intriguing!" Debray exclaimed. "If there really was a crime, we should investigate it."
"There was a crime," Monte Cristo declared firmly. "Come this way, gentlemen. Come, Mr. Villefort, for a statement to be valid, it should be made before the proper authorities."
He took Villefort’s arm while holding Madame Danglars’s hand under his own, practically dragging the prosecutor toward a shaded area beneath large trees. All the other guests followed.
"Right here," said Monte Cristo, stopping and stamping his foot on the ground, "at this very spot, I had the earth dug up and fresh soil brought in to revive these old trees. Well, my worker found a box while digging, or rather, the metal remains of a box. Inside was the skeleton of a newborn infant."
Monte Cristo felt Madame Danglars’s arm stiffen while Villefort’s trembled.
"A newborn infant?" Debray repeated. "This is becoming serious!"
"Well," said Château-Renaud, "I was right earlier when I said houses have souls and faces like people, and their exteriors reflect their character. This house was gloomy because it was guilt-ridden. It felt guilty because it concealed a crime."
"Who said it was a crime?" Villefort asked with desperate effort.
"What? Isn’t it a crime to bury a living child in a garden?" Monte Cristo shot back. "What would you call such an action?"
"But who said it was buried alive?"
"Why bury it here if it were already dead? This garden was never a cemetery."
"What happens to people who kill infants in this country?" Major Cavalcanti asked innocently.
"Oh, they’re quickly executed," Danglars replied.
"Really?" said Cavalcanti with interest.
"That’s correct, isn’t it, Mr. Villefort?" Monte Cristo asked pointedly.
"Yes, Count," Villefort replied in a voice barely human.
Seeing that the two people for whom he’d orchestrated this revelation could barely endure it, and not wishing to push them too far, Monte Cristo said, "Come, gentlemen, we’ve forgotten about coffee!" He led the guests back to the table on the lawn.
"Indeed, Count," said Madame Danglars, "I’m ashamed to admit it, but all your frightful stories have completely unsettled me. Please let me sit down." She collapsed into a chair.
Monte Cristo bowed and approached Madame de Villefort. "I think Madame Danglars needs your remedy again," he said quietly.
But before Madame de Villefort could reach her friend, the prosecutor found time to whisper urgently to Madame Danglars, "I must speak with you."
"My office, or the courthouse if you prefer. That’s the safest place."
At that moment, Madame de Villefort approached.
"Thank you, dear friend," Madame Danglars said, trying to smile. "It’s passed now. I’m feeling much better."