Villefort would be obliged to pass by one of these clumps of trees.
“It was the end of September; the wind blew violently. The faint
glimpses of the pale moon, hidden momentarily by masses of dark clouds
that were sweeping across the sky, whitened the gravel walks that led to
the house, but were unable to pierce the obscurity of the thick
shrubberies, in which a man could conceal himself without any fear of
discovery. I hid myself in the one nearest to the path Villefort must
take, and scarcely was I there when, amidst the gusts of wind, I fancied
I heard groans; but you know, or rather you do not know, your
excellency, that he who is about to commit an assassination fancies that
he hears low cries perpetually ringing in his ears. Two hours passed
thus, during which I imagined I
