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The baroness then thought of M de Villefort It was M de Villefort who had reh they had been strangers But, no; on reflection, the procureur was not a istrate, slave to his duties, but the friend, the loyal friend, who roughly but firmly cut into the very core of the corruption; it was not the executioner, but the surgeon, ished to withdraw the honor of Danglars fro man they had presented to the world as their son-in-law And since Villefort, the friend of Danglars, had acted in this way, no one could suppose that he had been previously acquainted with, or had lent hiues Villefort's conduct, therefore, upon reflection, appeared to the baroness as if shaped for their e But the inflexibility of the procureur should stop there; she would see him the next day, and if she could not istrate, she would, at least, obtain all the indulgence he could allow She would invoke the past, recall old recollections; she would supplicate hiuilty, yet happy days M de Villefort would stifle the affair; he had only to turn his eyes on one side, and allow Andrea to fly, and follow up the criuilt called conte she slept easily

At nine o'clock nextthe least sign of her activity, she dressed herself in the sa down-stairs, she left the hotel, walked to the Rue de Provence, called a cab, and drove to M de Villefort's house For the last looue Some of the apartments were closed within and without; the shutters were only opened to ad the scared face of a footman, and iravestone falling on a sepulchre, and the neighbors would say to each other in a low voice, "Will there be another funeral to-day at the procureur's house?" Madalars involuntarily shuddered at the desolate aspect of thefro knees, and rang the bell Three ti to participate, in the general sadness, before the concierge appeared and peeped through the door, which he opened just wide enough to allow his words to be heard He saw a lady, a fashionable, elegantly dressed lady, and yet the door remained almost closed