The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated by Alexandre Dumas
Chapter 79. The Lemonade
Morrel was, in fact, very happy. M. Noirtier had just sent for him, andhe was in such haste to know the reason of his doing so that he had notstopped to take a cab, placing infinitely more dependence on his own twolegs than on the four legs of a cab-horse. He had therefore set off at afurious rate from the Rue Meslay, and was hastening with rapid stridesin the direction of the Faubourg Saint-Honoré.
Morrel advanced with a firm, manly tread, and poor Barrois followed himas he best might. Morrel was only thirty-one, Barrois was sixty years ofage; Morrel was deeply in love, and Barrois was dying with heat andexertion. These two men, thus opposed in age and interests, resembledtwo parts of a triangle, presenting the extremes of separation, yetnevertheless possessing their point of union. This point of union wasNoirtier, and it was he who had just sent for Morrel, with the requestthat the latter would lose no time in coming to him—a command whichMorrel obeyed to the letter, to the great discomfiture of Barrois. Onarriving at the house, Morrel was not even out of breath, for love lendswings to our desires; but Barrois, who had long forgotten what it was tolove, was sorely fatigued by the expedition he had been constrained touse.
The old servant introduced Morrel by a private entrance, closed the doorof the study, and soon the rustling of a dress announced the arrival ofValentine. She looked marvellously beautiful in her deep mourning dress,and Morrel experienced such intense delight in gazing upon her that hefelt as if he could almost have dispensed with the conversation of hergrandfather.
But the easy-chair of the old man was heard rolling along the floor, andhe soon made his appearance in the room. Noirtier acknowledged by a lookof extreme kindness and benevolence the thanks which Morrel lavished onhim for his timely intervention on behalf of Valentine and himself—anintervention which had saved them from despair. Morrel then cast on theinvalid an interrogative look as to the new favor which he designed tobestow on him. Valentine was sitting at a little distance from them,timidly awaiting the moment when she should be obliged to speak.Noirtier fixed his eyes on her.
“Am I to say what you told me?” asked Valentine. Noirtier made a signthat she was to do so.
“Monsieur Morrel,” said Valentine to the young man, who was regardingher with the most intense interest, “my grandfather, M. Noirtier, had athousand things to say, which he told me three days ago; and now, he hassent for you, that I may repeat them to you. I will repeat them, then;and since he has chosen me as his interpreter, I will be faithful to thetrust, and will not alter a word of his intentions.”
“Oh, I am listening with the greatest impatience,” replied the youngman; “speak, I beg of you.”
Valentine cast down her eyes; this was a good omen for Morrel, for heknew that nothing but happiness could have the power of thus overcomingValentine.
“My grandfather intends leaving this house,” said she, “and Barrois islooking out for suitable apartments for him in another.”
“But you, Mademoiselle de Villefort,—you, who are necessary to M.Noirtier’s happiness——”
“I?” interrupted Valentine; “I shall not leave my grandfather,—that isan understood thing between us. My apartment will be close to his. Now,M. de Villefort must either give his consent to this plan or hisrefusal; in the first case, I shall leave directly, and in the second, Ishall wait till I am of age, which will be in about ten months. Then Ishall be free, I shall have an independent fortune, and”—
“And what?” demanded Morrel.
“And with my grandfather’s consent I shall fulfil the promise which Ihave made you.”
Valentine pronounced these last few words in such a low tone, thatnothing but Morrel’s intense interest in what she was saying could haveenabled him to hear them.
“Have I not explained your wishes, grandpapa?” said Valentine,addressing Noirtier.
“Yes,” looked the old man.
“Once under my grandfather’s roof, M. Morrel can visit me in thepresence of my good and worthy protector, if we still feel that theunion we contemplated will be likely to insure our future comfort andhappiness; in that case I shall expect M. Morrel to come and claim me atmy own hands. But, alas, I have heard it said that hearts inflamed byobstacles to their desire grew cold in time of security; I trust weshall never find it so in our experience!”
“Oh,” cried Morrel, almost tempted to throw himself on his knees beforeNoirtier and Valentine, and to adore them as two superior beings, “whathave I ever done in my life to merit such unbounded happiness?”
“Until that time,” continued the young girl in a calm and self-possessedtone of voice, “we will conform to circumstances, and be guided by thewishes of our friends, so long as those wishes do not tend finally toseparate us; in a word, and I repeat it, because it expresses all I wishto convey,—we will wait.”
“And I swear to make all the sacrifices which this word imposes, sir,”said Morrel, “not only with resignation, but with cheerfulness.”
“Therefore,” continued Valentine, looking playfully at Maximilian, “nomore inconsiderate actions—no more rash projects; for you surely wouldnot wish to compromise one who from this day regards herself asdestined, honorably and happily, to bear your name?”
Morrel looked obedience to her commands. Noirtier regarded the loverswith a look of ineffable tenderness, while Barrois, who had remained inthe room in the character of a man privileged to know everything thatpassed, smiled on the youthful couple as he wiped the perspiration fromhis bald forehead.
“How hot you look, my good Barrois,” said Valentine.
“Ah, I have been running very fast, mademoiselle, but I must do M.Morrel the justice to say that he ran still faster.”
Noirtier directed their attention to a waiter, on which was placed adecanter containing lemonade and a glass. The decanter was nearly full,with the exception of a little, which had been already drunk by M.Noirtier.
“Come, Barrois,” said the young girl, “take some of this lemonade; I seeyou are coveting a good draught of it.”
“The fact is, mademoiselle,” said Barrois, “I am dying with thirst, andsince you are so kind as to offer it me, I cannot say I should at allobject to drinking your health in a glass of it.”
“Take some, then, and come back immediately.”
Barrois took away the waiter, and hardly was he outside the door, whichin his haste he forgot to shut, than they saw him throw back his headand empty to the very dregs the glass which Valentine had filled.Valentine and Morrel were exchanging their adieux in the presence ofNoirtier when a ring was heard at the door-bell. It was the signal of avisit. Valentine looked at her watch.
“It is past noon,” said she, “and today is Saturday; I dare say it isthe doctor, grandpapa.”
Noirtier looked his conviction that she was right in her supposition.
“He will come in here, and M. Morrel had better go,—do you not think so,grandpapa?”
“Yes,” signed the old man.
“Barrois,” cried Valentine, “Barrois!”
“I am coming, mademoiselle,” replied he.
“Barrois will open the door for you,” said Valentine, addressing Morrel.“And now remember one thing, Monsieur Officer, that my grandfathercommands you not to take any rash or ill-advised step which would belikely to compromise our happiness.”
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“I promised him to wait,” replied Morrel; “and I will wait.”
At this moment Barrois entered. “Who rang?” asked Valentine.
“Doctor d’Avrigny,” said Barrois, staggering as if he would fall.
“What is the matter, Barrois?” said Valentine. The old man did notanswer, but looked at his master with wild staring eyes, while with hiscramped hand he grasped a piece of furniture to enable him to standupright.
“He is going to fall!” cried Morrel.
The rigors which had attacked Barrois gradually increased, the featuresof the face became quite altered, and the convulsive movement of themuscles appeared to
“Ah, sir,” said he, “tell me what is the matter with me. I amsuffering—I cannot see. A thousand fiery darts are piercing my brain.Ah, don’t touch me, pray don’t.”
By this time his haggard eyes had the appearance of being ready to startfrom their sockets; his head fell back, and the lower extremities of thebody began to stiffen. Valentine uttered a cry of horror; Morrel tookher in his arms, as if to defend her from some unknown danger.
“M. d’Avrigny, M. d’Avrigny,” cried she, in a stifled voice. “Help,help!”
Barrois turned round and with a great effort stumbled a few steps, thenfell at the feet of Noirtier, and resting his hand on the knee of theinvalid, exclaimed:
“My master, my good master!”
At this moment M. de Villefort, attracted by the noise, appeared on thethreshold. Morrel relaxed his hold of Valentine, and retreating to adistant corner of the room remained half hidden behind a curtain. Paleas if he had been gazing on a serpent, he fixed his terrified eye on theagonized sufferer.
Noirtier, burning with impatience and terror, was in despair at hisutter inability to help his old domestic, whom he regarded more in thelight of a friend than a servant. One might by the fearful swelling ofthe veins of his forehead and the contraction of the muscles round theeye, trace the terrible conflict which was going on between the livingenergetic mind and the inanimate and helpless body.
Barrois, his features convulsed, his eyes suffused with blood, and hishead thrown back, was lying at full length, beating the floor with hishands, while his legs had become so stiff, that they looked as if theywould break rather than bend. A slight appearance of foam was visiblearound the mouth, and he breathed painfully, and with extremedifficulty.
Villefort seemed stupefied with astonishment, and remained gazingintently on the scene before him without uttering a word. He had notseen Morrel. After a moment of dumb contemplation, during which his facebecame pale and his hair seemed to stand on end, he sprang towards thedoor, crying out:
“Doctor, doctor! come instantly, pray come!”
“Madame, madame!” cried Valentine, calling her step-mother, and runningupstairs to meet her; “come quick, quick!—and bring your bottle ofsmelling-salts with you.”
“What is the matter?” said Madame de Villefort in a harsh andconstrained tone.
“Oh! come! come!”
“But where is the doctor?” exclaimed Villefort; “where is he?”
Madame de Villefort now deliberately descended the staircase. In onehand she held her handkerchief, with which she appeared to be wiping herface, and in the other a bottle of English smelling-salts. Her firstlook on entering the room was at Noirtier, whose face, independent ofthe emotion which such a scene could not fail of producing, proclaimedhim to be in possession of his usual health; her second glance was atthe dying man. She turned pale, and her eye passed quickly from theservant and rested on the master.
“In the name of heaven, madame,” said Villefort, “where is the doctor?He was with you just now. You see this is a fit of apoplexy, and hemight be saved if he could but be bled!”
“Has he eaten anything lately?” asked Madame de Villefort, eluding herhusband’s question.
“Madame,” replied Valentine, “he has not even breakfasted. He has beenrunning very fast on an errand with which my grandfather charged him,and when he returned, took nothing but a glass of lemonade.”
“Ah,” said Madame de Villefort, “why did he not take wine? Lemonade wasa very bad thing for him.”
“Grandpapa’s bottle of lemonade was standing just by his side; poorBarrois was very thirsty, and was thankful to drink anything he couldfind.”
Madame de Villefort started. Noirtier looked at her with a glance of themost profound scrutiny.
“He has such a short neck,” said she.
“Madame,” said Villefort, “I ask where is M. d’Avrigny? In God’s nameanswer me!”
“He is with Edward, who is not quite well,” replied Madame de Villefort,no longer being able to avoid answering.
Villefort rushed upstairs to fetch him.
“Take this,” said Madame de Villefort, giving her smelling-bottle toValentine. “They will, no doubt, bleed him; therefore I will retire, forI cannot endure the sight of blood;” and she followed her husbandupstairs. Morrel now emerged from his hiding-place, where he hadremained quite unperceived, so great had been the general confusion.
“Go away as quick as you can, Maximilian,” said Valentine, “and staytill I send for you. Go.”
Morrel looked towards Noirtier for permission to retire. The old man,who had preserved all his usual coolness, made a sign to him to do so.The young man pressed Valentine’s hand to his lips, and then left thehouse by a back staircase.
At the same moment that he quitted the room, Villefort and the doctorentered by an opposite door. Barrois was now showing signs of returningconsciousness. The risis seemed past, a low moaning was heard, and heraised himself on one knee. D’Avrigny and Villefort laid him on a couch.
“What do you prescribe, doctor?” demanded Villefort.
“Give me some water and ether. You have some in the house, have younot?”
“Yes.”
“Send for some oil of turpentine and tartar emetic.”
Villefort immediately despatched a messenger. “And now let everyoneretire.”
“Must I go too?” asked Valentine timidly.
“Yes, mademoiselle, you especially,” replied the doctor abruptly.
Valentine looked at M. d’Avrigny with astonishment, kissed hergrandfather on the forehead, and left the room. The doctor closed thedoor after her with a gloomy air.
“Look, look, doctor,” said Villefort, “he is quite coming round again; Ireally do not think, after all, it is anything of consequence.”
M. d’Avrigny answered by a melancholy smile.
“How do you feel, Barrois?” asked he.
“A little better, sir.”
“Will you drink some of this ether and water?”
“I will try; but don’t touch me.”
“Why not?”
“Because I feel that if you were only to touch me with the tip of yourfinger the fit would return.”
“Drink.”
Barrois took the glass, and, raising it to his purple lips, took abouthalf of the liquid offered him.
“Where do you suffer?” asked the doctor.
“Everywhere. I feel cramps over my whole body.”
“Do you find any dazzling sensation before the eyes?”
“Yes.”
“Any noise in the ears?”
“Frightful.”
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“When did you first feel that?”
“Just now.”
“Suddenly?”
“Yes, like a clap of thunder.”
“Did you feel nothing of it yesterday or the day before?”
“Nothing.”
“No drowsiness?”
“None.”
“What have you eaten today?”
“I have eaten nothing; I only drank a glass of my master’slemonade—that’s all.” And Barrois turned towards Noirtier, who,immovably fixed in his armchair, was contemplating this terrible scenewithout allowing a word or a movement to escape him.
“Where is this lemonade?” asked the doctor eagerly.
“Downstairs in the decanter.”
“Whereabouts downstairs?”
“In the kitchen.”
“Shall I go and fetch it, doctor?” inquired Villefort.
“No, stay here and try to make Barrois drink the rest of this glass ofether and water. I will go myself and fetch the lemonade.”
D’Avrigny bounded towards the door, flew down the back staircase, andalmost knocked down Madame
“Is this the decanter you spoke of?” asked d’Avrigny.
“Yes, doctor.”
“Is this the same lemonade of which you partook?”
“I believe so.”
“What did it taste like?”
“It had a bitter taste.”
The doctor poured some drops of the lemonade into the palm of his hand,put his lips to it, and after having rinsed his mouth as a man does whenhe is tasting wine, he spat the liquor into the fireplace.
“It is no doubt the same,” said he. “Did you drink some too, M.Noirtier?”
“Yes.”
“And did you also discover a bitter taste?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, doctor,” cried Barrois, “the fit is coming on again. Oh, dosomething for me.” The doctor flew to his patient.
“That emetic, Villefort—see if it is coming.”
Villefort sprang into the passage, exclaiming, “The emetic! theemetic!—is it come yet?” No one answered. The most profound terrorreigned throughout the house.
“If I had anything by means of which I could inflate the lungs,” saidd’Avrigny, looking around him, “perhaps I might prevent suffocation. Butthere is nothing which would do!—nothing!”
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“Oh, sir,” cried Barrois, “are you going to let me die without help? Oh,I am dying! Oh, save me!”
“A pen, a pen!” said the doctor. There was one lying on the table; heendeavored to introduce it into the mouth of the patient, who, in themidst of his convulsions, was making vain attempts to vomit; but thejaws were so clenched that the pen could not pass them. This secondattack was much more violent than the first, and he had slipped from thecouch to the ground, where he was writhing in agony. The doctor left himin this paroxysm, knowing that he could do nothing to alleviate it, and,going up to Noirtier, said abruptly:
“How do you find yourself?—well?”
“Yes.”
“Have you any weight on the chest; or does your stomach feel light andcomfortable—eh?”
“Yes.”
“Then you feel pretty much as you generally do after you have had thedose which I am accustomed to give you every Sunday?”
“Yes.”
“Did Barrois make your lemonade?”
“Yes.”
“Was it you who asked him to drink some of it?”
“No.”
“Was it M. de Villefort?”
“No.”
“Madame?”
“No.”
“It was your granddaughter, then, was it not?”
“Yes.”
A groan from Barrois, accompanied by a yawn which seemed to crack thevery jawbones, attracted the attention of M. d’Avrigny; he left M.Noirtier, and returned to the sick man.
“Barrois,” said the doctor, “can you speak?” Barrois muttered a fewunintelligible words. “Try and make an effort to do so, my good man.”said d’Avrigny. Barrois reopened his bloodshot eyes.
“Who made the lemonade?”
“I did.”
“Did you bring it to your master directly it was made?”
“No.”
“You left it somewhere, then, in the meantime?”
“Yes; I left it in the pantry, because I was called away.”
“Who brought it into this room, then?”
“Mademoiselle Valentine.” D’Avrigny struck his forehead with his hand.
“Gracious heaven,” exclaimed he.
“Doctor, doctor!” cried Barrois, who felt another fit coming.
“Will they never bring that emetic?” asked the doctor.
“Here is a glass with one already prepared,” said Villefort, enteringthe room.
“Who prepared it?”
“The chemist who came here with me.”
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“Drink it,” said the doctor to Barrois.
“Impossible, doctor; it is too late; my throat is closing up. I amchoking! Oh, my heart! Ah, my head!—Oh, what agony!—Shall I suffer likethis long?”
“No, no, friend,” replied the doctor, “you will soon cease to suffer.”
“Ah, I understand you,” said the unhappy man. “My God, have mercy uponme!” and, uttering a fearful cry, Barrois fell back as if he had beenstruck by lightning. D’Avrigny put his hand to his heart, and placed aglass before his lips.
“Well?” said Villefort.
“Go to the kitchen and get me some syrup of violets.”
Villefort went immediately.
“Do not be alarmed, M. Noirtier,” said d’Avrigny; “I am going to take mypatient into the next room to bleed him; this sort of attack is veryfrightful to witness.”
And taking Barrois under the arms, he dragged him into an adjoiningroom; but almost immediately he returned to fetch the lemonade. Noirtierclosed his right eye.
“You want Valentine, do you not? I will tell them to send her to you.”
Villefort returned, and d’Avrigny met him in the passage.
“Well, how is he now?” asked he.
“Come in here,” said d’Avrigny, and he took him into the chamber wherethe sick man lay.
“Is he still in a fit?” said the procureur.
“He is dead.”
Villefort drew back a few steps, and, clasping his hands, exclaimed,with real amazement and sympathy, “Dead?—and so soon too!”
“Yes, it is very soon,” said the doctor, looking at the corpse beforehim; “but that ought not to astonish you; Monsieur and Madame de Saint-Méran died as soon. People die very suddenly in your house, M. deVillefort.”
“What?” cried the magistrate, with an accent of horror andconsternation, “are you still harping on that terrible idea?”
“Still, sir; and I shall always do so,” replied d’Avrigny, “for it hasnever for one instant ceased to retain possession of my mind; and thatyou may be quite sure I am not mistaken this time, listen well to what Iam going to say, M. de Villefort.”
The magistrate trembled convulsively.
“There is a poison which destroys life almost without leaving anyperceptible traces. I know it well; I have studied it in all its formsand in the effects which it produces. I recognized the presence of thispoison in the case of poor Barrois as well as in that of Madame deSaint-Méran. There is a way of detecting its presence. It restores theblue color of litmus-paper reddened by an acid, and it turns syrup ofviolets green. We have no litmus-paper, but, see, here they come withthe syrup of violets.”
The doctor was right; steps were heard in the passage. M. d’Avrignyopened the door, and took from the hands of the chambermaid a cup whichcontained two or three spoonfuls of the syrup, he then carefully closedthe door.
“Look,” said he to the procureur, whose heart beat so loudly that itmight almost be heard, “here is in this cup some syrup of violets, andthis decanter contains the remainder of the lemonade of which M.Noirtier and Barrois partook. If the lemonade be pure and inoffensive,the syrup will retain its color; if, on the contrary, the lemonade bedrugged with poison, the syrup will become green. Look closely!”
The doctor then slowly poured some drops of the lemonade from thedecanter into the cup, and in an instant a light cloudy sediment beganto form at the bottom of the cup; this sediment first took a blue shade,then from the color of sapphire it passed to that of opal, and from opalto emerald. Arrived at this last hue, it changed no more. The result ofthe experiment left no doubt whatever on the mind.
“The unfortunate Barrois has been poisoned,” said d’Avrigny, “and I will
Villefort said nothing, but he clasped his hands, opened his haggardeyes, and, overcome with his emotion, sank into a chair.