The Count of Monte Cristo

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Monte Cristo reappeared. Pale, with a dull eye and heavy heart, all the
noble features of that face, usually so calm and serene, were overcast
by grief. In his arms he held the child, whom no skill had been able to
recall to life. Bending on one knee, he placed it reverently by the side
of its mother, with its head upon her breast. Then, rising, he went
out, and meeting a servant on the stairs, he asked, "Where is M. de
Villefort?"

The servant, instead of answering, pointed to the garden. Monte Cristo
ran down the steps, and advancing towards the spot designated beheld
Villefort, encircled by his servants, with a spade in his hand, and
digging the earth with fury. "It is not here!" he cried. "It is not
here!" And then he moved farther on, and began again to dig.

Monte Cristo approached him, and said in a low voice, with an expression
almost humble, "Sir, you have indeed lost a son; but"--