In the meantime the room had become almost filled, as a death sentence would probably be given. Almost half the spectators were ladies. A murmur of curiosity ran about the room, and many who were present remembered the moment in the former sitting when the prisoner, with the air of a stage hero, let fall the weighty words: "My father is the royal district-attorney, Monsieur Villefort." Unconsciously all eyes were turned to the ministerial box, as if hoping to encounter the pale, confused face of the all-powerful judge, who had himself been judged, but only the substitute of the procureur was seen.

Benedetto now entered. Beauchamp and Chateau-Renaud could hardly restrain their astonishment, for very seldom has a man changed so much in three months. When they had seen Cavalcanti Benedetto last, he was the type of a parlor hero, and fascinated every one by his pleasing appearance; but the man who stood now before the judge was another—a broken-down man.

His curly hair had been shaved close to the skin, his eyes, which had formerly sparkled with life, were now dim. The small, finely formed hands were meekly crossed over the breast, and even the prisoner's clothes harmonized with his general appearance.

A policeman gruffly showed him to his seat. Benedetto bowed deeply, and sat on the edge of the hard wooden bench.

The prisoner's lawyer, a celebrated advocate, bent down and whispered a few encouraging words to him. Benedetto listened attentively to them and murmured half aloud:

"May God have mercy on me."

"And the devil, too," whispered Beauchamp to Chateau-Renaud. "Benedetto has become a howling coward. It's a great pity!"

The judge beckoned to the actuary and ordered him to read the indictment. It was short and compact; it recited the murder of Caderousse, the robbery in the Count of Monte-Cristo's house, the revelations made by the prisoner with regard to M. de Villefort, the latter's confession, his insanity, and finally the suicide of his wife.

"Prisoner, stand up!" said the judge, in a soft voice, "and tell me your name."

"Benedetto," replied the former bandit in a modest, almost frightened voice.

"Are you guilty of the murder of Caderousse?"

"Judge," stammered Benedetto, "I must acknowledge my guilt." And burying his face in his hands, he tried to suppress his sobs.

"What kind of a comedy is the rascal playing?" grumbled Beauchamp.

"Hush!" replied Chateau-Renaud, "the proceedings are becoming interesting."

Benedetto answered all questions put to him without hesitation.

"I know," he said, "I am a great sinner, and bow to the justice of the people, as I do to the justice of God."

The duty of the jury was thus rendered easy, the murder was acknowledged, the antecedents of the prisoner were very bad, and the counterfeiter and murderer was as good as convicted at this stage of the proceedings.

"Call the witnesses," said the judge.

"Count of Monte-Cristo," cried the clerk.

No one answered.

"It is singular," said the judge, "that Monsieur de Monte-Cristo" (he purposely left out the title of count), "who is interested in this trial, has refused to obey the order of the court. Has he received a subpoena?"

The assistant district-attorney looked over his papers.

"The gentleman named," he said, with a malicious twirl of his lips, "has sold his property in France and has disappeared, no one knows where."

"Call the other witnesses," said the judge; "we shall attend to Monsieur de Monte-Cristo's case later on."

The other witnesses, mainly people who had come to Caderousse's assistance when he had called for help, were not slow in coming forward. Their testimony was short and precise. They confirmed the fact of Caderousse's being found with a knife in his heart.

"Have you anything to say, prisoner?" asked the judge.

"No, sir, these honest people unfortunately tell the truth," said Benedetto, meekly.

A murmur of applause ran round the room. When all was calm again the clerk exclaimed:

"Monsieur Noirtier de Villefort!"

"What!" exclaimed Beauchamp, springing up, as if electrified, "are they going to be so cruel as to make this unfortunate man testify again?"

"Gentlemen of the jury," said the judge, as if in answer to Beauchamp's question, "we have thought it necessary to call Monsieur de Villefort, although in the present state of his health there is little chance of his being able to clear up those points which are still obscure."

Deep silence reigned—the door was opened, and Monsieur de Villefort appeared on the threshold.