Villefort's look, -- that look peculiar to the magistrate,
who, while seeming to read the thoughts of others, betrays
nothing of his own.

"Who and what are you?" demanded Villefort, turning over a
pile of papers, containing information relative to the
prisoner, that a police agent had given to him on his entry,
and that, already, in an hour's time, had swelled to
voluminous proportions, thanks to the corrupt espionage of
which "the accused" is always made the victim.

"My name is Edmond Dantes," replied the young man calmly; "I
am mate of the Pharaon, belonging to Messrs. Morrel & Son."

"Your age?" continued Villefort.

"Nineteen," returned Dantes.

"What were you doing at the moment you were arrested?"

"I was at the festival of my marriage, monsieur," said the
young man, his voice slightly tremulous, so great was the
contrast between that happy moment and the painful ceremony
he was now undergoing; so great was the contrast between the
sombre aspect of M. de Villefort and the radiant face of
Mercedes.

"You were at the festival of your marriage?" said the
deputy, shuddering in spite of himself.