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"You have it already, for it was taken from me with some others which I see in that packet." "Stop a moment," said the deputy, as Dantes took his hat and gloves. "To whom is it addressed?" "To Monsieur Noirtier, Rue Coq-Heron, Paris." Had a thunderbolt fallen into the room, Villefort could not have been more stupefied.
"This action is somewhat too sublime to be natural." "You think so?" "I am sure of it. To whom was this letter addressed?" "To M. Noirtier, No. 13 Coq-Heron, Paris." "Now can you conceive of any interest that your heroic deputy could possibly have had in the destruction of that letter?"
He sank into his seat, and hastily turning over the packet, drew forth the fatal letter, at which he glanced with an expression of terror. "M. Noirtier, Rue Coq-Heron, No. 13," murmured he, growing still paler. "Yes," said Dantes; "do you know him?" "No," replied Villefort; "a faithful servant of the king does not know conspirators."
He was dressed in a blue frock-coat, buttoned up to the chin, and wore at his button-hole the rosette of an officer of the Legion of Honor. Yesterday a person exactly corresponding with this description was followed, but he was lost sight of at the corner of the Rue de la Jussienne and the Rue Coq-Heron."
"Dark complexion; hair, eyebrows, and whiskers, black; blue frock-coat, buttoned up to the chin; rosette of an officer of the Legion of Honor in his button-hole; a hat with wide brim, and a cane." "Ah, ha, that's it, is it?" said Noirtier; "and why, then, have they not laid hands on him?" "Because yesterday, or the day before, they lost sight of him at the corner of the Rue Coq-Heron."
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