The Count of Monte Cristo

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The night was cold and still; the family had all retired to rest but
Villefort, who alone remained up, and worked till five o'clock in the
morning, reviewing the last interrogatories made the night before by the
examining magistrates, compiling the depositions of the witnesses, and
putting the finishing stroke to the deed of accusation, which was one of
the most energetic and best conceived of any he had yet delivered.

The next day, Monday, was the first sitting of the assizes. The morning
dawned dull and gloomy, and Villefort saw the dim gray light shine upon
the lines he had traced in red ink. The magistrate had slept for a short
time while the lamp sent forth its final struggles; its flickerings
awoke him, and he found his fingers as damp and purple as though they
had been dipped in blood. He opened the window; a bright yellow streak
crossed the sky, and seemed to divide in half the poplars, which stood
out in black relief on the horizon. In the clover-fields beyond the
chestnut-trees, a lark was mounting up to heaven, while pouring out her
clear morning song. The damps of the dew bathed the head of Villefort,