The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated by Alexandre Dumas
Chapter 73. The Promise
It was indeed Maximilian Morrel, who had passed a wretched existencesince the previous day. With the instinct peculiar to lovers he hadanticipated after the return of Madame de Saint-Méran and the death ofthe marquis, that something would occur at M. de Villefort’s inconnection with his attachment for Valentine. His presentiments wererealized, as we shall see, and his uneasy forebodings had goaded himpale and trembling to the gate under the chestnut-trees.
Valentine was ignorant of the cause of this sorrow and anxiety, and asit was not his accustomed hour for visiting her, she had gone to thespot simply by accident or perhaps through sympathy. Morrel called her,and she ran to the gate.
“You here at this hour?” said she.
“Yes, my poor girl,” replied Morrel; “I come to bring and to hear badtidings.”
“This is, indeed, a house of mourning,” said Valentine; “speak,Maximilian, although the cup of sorrow seems already full.”
“Dear Valentine,” said Morrel, endeavoring to conceal his own emotion,“listen, I entreat you; what I am about to say is very serious. When areyou to be married?”
“I will tell you all,” said Valentine; “from you I have nothing toconceal. This morning the subject was introduced, and my deargrandmother, on whom I depended as my only support, not only declaredherself favorable to it, but is so anxious for it, that they only awaitthe arrival of M. d’Épinay, and the following day the contract will besigned.”
A deep sigh escaped the young man, who gazed long and mournfully at herhe loved.
“Alas,” replied he, “it is dreadful thus to hear my condemnation fromyour own lips. The sentence is passed, and, in a few hours, will beexecuted; it must be so, and I will not endeavor to prevent it. But,since you say nothing remains but for M. d’Épinay to arrive that thecontract may be signed, and the following day you will be his, tomorrowyou will be engaged to M. d’Épinay, for he came this morning to Paris.”Valentine uttered a cry.
“I was at the house of Monte Cristo an hour since,” said Morrel; “wewere speaking, he of the sorrow your family had experienced, and I ofyour grief, when a carriage rolled into the courtyard. Never, till then,had I placed any confidence in presentiments, but now I cannot helpbelieving them, Valentine. At the sound of that carriage I shuddered;soon I heard steps on the staircase, which terrified me as much as thefootsteps of the commander did Don Juan. The door at last opened; Albertde Morcerf entered first, and I began to hope my fears were vain, when,after him, another young man advanced, and the count exclaimed: ‘Ah,here is the Baron Franz d’Épinay!’ I summoned all my strength andcourage to my support. Perhaps I turned pale and trembled, but certainlyI smiled; and five minutes after I left, without having heard one wordthat had passed.”
“Poor Maximilian!” murmured Valentine.
“Valentine, the time has arrived when you must answer me. And remembermy life depends on your answer. What do you intend doing?” Valentineheld down her head; she was overwhelmed.
“Listen,” said Morrel; “it is not the first time you have contemplatedour present position, which is a serious and urgent one; I do not thinkit is a moment to give way to useless sorrow; leave that for those wholike to suffer at their leisure and indulge their grief in secret. Thereare such in the world, and God will doubtless reward them in heaven fortheir resignation on earth, but those who mean to contend must not loseone precious moment, but must return immediately the blow which fortunestrikes. Do you intend to struggle against our ill-fortune? Tell me,Valentine for it is that I came to know.”
Valentine trembled, and looked at him with amazement. The idea ofresisting her father, her grandmother, and all the family, had neveroccurred to her.
“What do you say, Maximilian?” asked Valentine. “What do you mean by astruggle? Oh, it would be a sacrilege. What? I resist my father’s order,and my dying grandmother’s wish? Impossible!”
Morrel started.
“You are too noble not to understand me, and you understand me so wellthat you already yield, dear Maximilian. No, no; I shall need all mystrength to struggle with myself and support my grief in secret, as yousay. But to grieve my father—to disturb my grandmother’s lastmoments—never!”
“You are right,” said Morrel, calmly.
“In what a tone you speak!” cried Valentine.
“I speak as one who admires you, mademoiselle.”
“Mademoiselle,” cried Valentine; “mademoiselle! Oh, selfish man! he seesme in despair, and pretends he cannot understand me!”
“You mistake—I understand you perfectly. You will not oppose M.Villefort, you will not displease the marchioness, and tomorrow you willsign the contract which will bind you to your husband.”
“But, mon Dieu! tell me, how can I do otherwise?”
“Do not appeal to me, mademoiselle; I shall be a bad judge in such acase; my selfishness will blind me,” replied Morrel, whose low voice andclenched hands announced his growing desperation.
“What would you have proposed, Maximilian, had you found me willing toaccede?”
“It is not for me to say.”
“You are wrong; you must advise me what to do.”
“Do you seriously ask my advice, Valentine?”
“Certainly, dear Maximilian, for if it is good, I will follow it; youknow my devotion to you.”
“Valentine,” said Morrel pushing aside a loose plank, “give me your handin token of forgiveness of my anger; my senses are confused, and duringthe last hour the most extravagant thoughts have passed through mybrain. Oh, if you refuse my advice——”
“What do you advise?” said Valentine, raising her eyes to heaven andsighing.
“I am free,” replied Maximilian, “and rich enough to support you. Iswear to make you my lawful wife before my lips even shall haveapproached your forehead.”
“You make me tremble!” said the young girl.
“Follow me,” said Morrel; “I will take you to my sister, who is worthyalso to be yours. We will embark for Algiers, for England, for America,or, if you prefer it, retire to the country and only return to Pariswhen our friends have reconciled your family.”
Valentine shook her head.
“I feared it, Maximilian,” said she; “it is the counsel of a madman, andI should be more mad than you, did I not stop you at once with the word‘Impossible, Morrel, impossible!’”
“You will then submit to what fate decrees for you without evenattempting to contend with it?” said Morrel sorrowfully.
“Yes,—if I die!”
“Well, Valentine,” resumed Maximilian, “I can only say again that youare right. Truly, it is I who am mad, and you prove to me that passionblinds the most well-meaning. I appreciate your calm reasoning. It isthen understood that tomorrow you will be irrevocably promised to M.Franz d’Épinay, not only by that theatrical formality invented toheighten the effect of a comedy called the signature of the contract,but your own will?”
“Again you drive me to despair, Maximilian,” said Valentine, “again youplunge the dagger into the wound! What would you do, tell me, if yoursister listened to such a proposition?”
“Mademoiselle,” replied Morrel with a bitter smile, “I am selfish—youhave already said so—and as a selfish man I think not of what otherswould do in my situation, but of what I intend doing myself. I thinkonly that I have known you not a whole year. From the day I first sawyou, all my hopes of happiness have been in securing your affection. Oneday you acknowledged that you loved me, and since that day my hope offuture happiness has rested on obtaining you, for to gain you would belife to me. Now, I think no more; I say only that fortune has turnedagainst me—I had thought to gain heaven, and now I have lost it. It isan every-day occurrence for a gambler to lose not only what he possessesbut also what he has not.”
Morrel pronounced these words with perfect calmness; Valentine looked athim a moment with her large, scrutinizing eyes, endeavoring not to letMorrel discover the grief which struggled in her he
“But, in a word, what are you going to do?” asked she.
“I am going to have the honor of taking my leave of you, mademoiselle,solemnly assuring you that I wish your life may be so calm, so happy,and so fully occupied, that there may be no place for me even in yourmemory.”
“Oh!” murmured Valentine.
“Adieu, Valentine, adieu!” said Morrel, bowing.
“Where are you going?” cried the young girl, extending her hand throughthe opening, and seizing Maximilian by his coat, for she understood fromher own agitated feelings that her lover’s calmness could not be real;“where are you going?”
“I am going, that I may not bring fresh trouble into your family: and toset an example which every honest and devoted man, situated as I am, mayfollow.”
“Before you leave me, tell me what you are going to do, Maximilian.” Theyoung man smiled sorrowfully.
“Speak, speak!” said Valentine; “I entreat you.”
“Has your resolution changed, Valentine?”
“It cannot change, unhappy man; you know it must not!” cried the younggirl.
“Then adieu, Valentine!”
Valentine shook the gate with a strength of which she could not havebeen supposed to be possessed, as Morrel was going away, and passingboth her hands through the opening, she clasped and wrung them. “I mustknow what you mean to do!” said she. “Where are you going?”
“Oh, fear not,” said Maximilian, stopping at a short distance, “I do notintend to render another man responsible for the rigorous fate reservedfor me. Another might threaten to seek M. Franz, to provoke him, and tofight with him; all that would be folly. What has M. Franz to do withit? He saw me this morning for the first time, and has already forgottenhe has seen me. He did not even know I existed when it was arranged byyour two families that you should be united. I have no enmity against M.Franz, and promise you the punishment shall not fall on him.”
“On whom, then!—on me?”
“On you? Valentine! Oh, Heaven forbid! Woman is sacred; the woman oneloves is holy.”
“On yourself, then, unhappy man; on yourself?”
“I am the only guilty person, am I not?” said Maximilian.
“Maximilian!” said Valentine, “Maximilian, come back, I entreat you!”
He drew near with his sweet smile, and but for his paleness one mighthave thought him in his usual happy mood.
“Listen, my dear, my adored Valentine,” said he in his melodious andgrave tone; “those who, like us, have never had a thought for which weneed blush before the world, such may read each other’s hearts. I neverwas romantic, and am no melancholy hero. I imitate neither Manfred norAnthony; but without words, protestations, or vows, my life has entwineditself with yours; you leave me, and you are right in doing so,—I repeatit, you are right; but in losing you, I lose my life. The moment youleave me, Valentine, I am alone in the world. My sister is happilymarried; her husband is only my brother-in-law, that is, a man whom theties of social life alone attach to me; no one then longer needs myuseless life. This is what I shall do; I will wait until the very momentyou are married, for I will not lose the shadow of one of thoseunexpected chances which are sometimes reserved for us, since M. Franzmay, after all, die before that time, a thunderbolt may fall even on thealtar as you approach it,—nothing appears impossible to one condemned todie, and miracles appear quite reasonable when his escape from death isconcerned. I will, then, wait until the last moment, and when my miseryis certain, irremediable, hopeless, I will write a confidential letterto my brother-in-law, another to the prefect of police, to acquaint themwith my intention, and at the corner of some wood, on the brink of someabyss, on the bank of some river, I will put an end to my existence, ascertainly as I am the son of the most honest man who ever lived inFrance.”
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Valentine trembled convulsively; she loosened her hold of the gate, herarms fell by her side, and two large tears rolled down her cheeks. Theyoung man stood before her, sorrowful and resolute.
“Oh, for pity’s sake,” said she, “you will live, will you not?”
“No, on my honor,” said Maximilian; “but that will not affect you. Youhave done your duty, and your conscience will be at rest.”
Valentine fell on her knees, and pressed her almost bursting heart.“Maximilian,” said she, “Maximilian, my friend, my brother on earth, mytrue husband in heaven, I entreat you, do as I do, live in suffering;perhaps we may one day be united.”
“Adieu, Valentine,” repeated Morrel.
“My God,” said Valentine, raising both her hands to heaven with asublime expression, “I have done my utmost to remain a submissivedaughter; I have begged, entreated, implored; he has regarded neither myprayers, my entreaties, nor my tears. It is done,” cried she, wipingaway her tears, and resuming her firmness, “I am resolved not to die ofremorse, but rather of shame. Live, Maximilian, and I will be yours. Saywhen shall it be? Speak, command, I will obey.”
Morrel, who had already gone some few steps away, again returned, andpale with joy extended both hands towards Valentine through the opening.
“Valentine,” said he, “dear Valentine, you must not speak thus—ratherlet me die. Why should I obtain you by violence, if our love is mutual?Is it from mere humanity you bid me live? I would then rather die.”
“Truly,” murmured Valentine, “who on this earth cares for me, if he doesnot? Who has consoled me in my sorrow but he? On whom do my hopes rest?On whom does my bleeding heart repose? On him, on him, always on him!Yes, you are right, Maximilian, I will follow you. I will leave thepaternal home, I will give up all. Oh, ungrateful girl that I am,” criedValentine, sobbing, “I will give up all, even my dear old grandfather,whom I had nearly forgotten.”
“No,” said Maximilian, “you shall not leave him. M. Noirtier hasevinced, you say, a kind feeling towards me. Well, before you leave,tell him all; his consent would be your justification in God’s sight. Assoon as we are married, he shall come and live with us, instead of onechild, he shall have two. You have told me how you talk to him and howhe answers you; I shall very soon learn that language by signs,Valentine, and I promise you solemnly, that instead of despair, it ishappiness that awaits us.”
“Oh, see, Maximilian, see the power you have over me, you almost make mebelieve you; and yet, what you tell me is madness, for my father willcurse me—he is inflexible—he will never pardon me. Now listen to me,Maximilian; if by artifice, by entreaty, by accident—in short, if by anymeans I can delay this marriage, will you wait?”
“Yes, I promise you, as faithfully as you have promised me that thishorrible marriage shall not take place, and that if you are draggedbefore a magistrate or a priest, you will refuse.”
“I promise you by all that is most sacred to me in the world, namely, bymy mother.”
“We will wait, then,” said Morrel.
“Yes, we will wait,” replied Valentine, who revived at these words;“there are so many things which may save unhappy beings such as we are.”
“I rely on you, Valentine,” said Morrel; “all you do will be well done;only if they disregard your prayers, if your father and Madame de Saint-Méran insist that M. d’Épinay should be called tomorrow to sign thecontract——”
“Then you have my promise, Maximilian.”
“Instead of signing——”
“I will go to you, and we will fly; but from this moment until then, letus not tempt Providence, let us not see each other. It is a miracle, itis a providence that we have not been discovered. If we were surprised,if it were known that we met thus, we should have no further resource.”
“You are right, Valentine; but how shall I ascertain?”
“From the notary, M. Deschamps.”
“I know him.”
“And for myself—I will write to you, depend on me. I dread thismarriage, Maximilian, as much as you.”
“Thank you, my adored Valentine, thank you; that is enough. When once Iknow the hour, I will
“Yes,” said Valentine, “I will now acknowledge you are right,Maximilian; and now are you satisfied with your betrothal?” said theyoung girl sorrowfully.
“My adored Valentine, words cannot express one half of my satisfaction.”
Valentine had approached, or rather, had placed her lips so near thefence, that they nearly touched those of Morrel, which were pressedagainst the other side of the cold and inexorable barrier.
“Adieu, then, till we meet again,” said Valentine, tearing herself away.“I shall hear from you?”
“Yes.”
“Thanks, thanks, dear love, adieu!”
The sound of a kiss was heard, and Valentine fled through the avenue.Morrel listened to catch the last sound of her dress brushing thebranches, and of her footstep on the gravel, then raised his eyes withan ineffable smile of thankfulness to heaven for being permitted to bethus loved, and then also disappeared.
The young man returned home and waited all the evening and all the nextday without getting any message. It was only on the following day, atabout ten o’clock in the morning, as he was starting to call on M.Deschamps, the notary, that he received from the postman a small billet,which he knew to be from Valentine, although he had not before seen herwriting. It was to this effect:
“Tears, entreaties, prayers, have availed me nothing. Yesterday, for twohours, I was at the church of Saint-Philippe-du-Roule, and for two hoursI prayed most fervently. Heaven is as inflexible as man, and thesignature of the contract is fixed for this evening at nine o’clock. Ihave but one promise and but one heart to give; that promise is pledgedto you, that heart is also yours. This evening, then, at a quarter tonine at the gate.
“Your betrothed,
“Valentine de Villefort.”
“P.S.—My poor grandmother gets worse and worse; yesterday her feveramounted to delirium; today her delirium is almost madness. You will bevery kind to me, will you not, Morrel, to make me forget my sorrow inleaving her thus? I think it is kept a secret from grandpapa Noirtier,that the contract is to be signed this evening.”
Morrel went also to the notary, who confirmed the news that the contractwas to be signed that evening. Then he went to call on Monte Cristo andheard still more. Franz had been to announce the ceremony, and Madame deVillefort had also written to beg the count to excuse her not invitinghim; the death of M. de Saint-Méran and the dangerous illness of hiswidow would cast a gloom over the meeting which she would regret shouldbe shared by the count whom she wished every happiness.
The day before Franz had been presented to Madame de Saint-Méran, whohad left her bed to receive him, but had been obliged to return to itimmediately after.
It is easy to suppose that Morrel’s agitation would not escape thecount’s penetrating eye. Monte Cristo was more affectionate thanever,—indeed, his manner was so kind that several times Morrel was onthe point of telling him all. But he recalled the promise he had made toValentine, and kept his secret.
The young man read Valentine’s letter twenty times in the course of theday. It was her first, and on what an occasion! Each time he read it herenewed his vow to make her happy. How great is the power of a woman whohas made so courageous a resolution! What devotion does she deserve fromhim for whom she has sacrificed everything! How ought she really to besupremely loved! She becomes at once a queen and a wife, and it isimpossible to thank and love her sufficiently.
Morrel longed intensely for the moment when he should hear Valentinesay, “Here I am, Maximilian; come and help me.” He had arrangedeverything for her escape; two ladders were hidden in the clover-field;a cabriolet was ordered for Maximilian alone, without a servant, withoutlights; at the turning of the first street they would light the lamps,as it would be foolish to attract the notice of the police by too manyprecautions. Occasionally he shuddered; he thought of the moment when,from the top of that wall, he should protect the descent of his dearValentine, pressing in his arms for the first time her of whom he hadyet only kissed the delicate hand.
When the afternoon arrived and he felt that the hour was drawing near,he wished for solitude, his agitation was extreme; a simple questionfrom a friend would have irritated him. He shut himself in his room, andtried to read, but his eye glanced over the page without understanding aword, and he threw away the book, and for the second time sat down tosketch his plan, the ladders and the fence.
At length the hour drew near. Never did a man deeply in love allow theclocks to go on peacefully. Morrel tormented his so effectually thatthey struck eight at half-past six. He then said, “It is time to start;the signature was indeed fixed to take place at nine o’clock, butperhaps Valentine will not wait for that.” Consequently, Morrel, havingleft the Rue Meslay at half-past eight by his timepiece, entered theclover-field while the clock of Saint-Philippe-du-Roule was strikingeight. The horse and cabriolet were concealed behind a small ruin, whereMorrel had often waited.
The night gradually drew on, and the foliage in the garden assumed adeeper hue. Then Morrel came out from his hiding-place with a beatingheart, and looked through the small opening in the gate; there was yetno one to be seen.
The clock struck half-past eight, and still another half-hour was passedin waiting, while Morrel walked to and fro, and gazed more and morefrequently through the opening. The garden became darker still, but inthe darkness he looked in vain for the white dress, and in the silencehe vainly listened for the sound of footsteps. The house, which wasdiscernible through the trees, remained in darkness, and gave noindication that so important an event as the signature of a marriage-contract was going on. Morrel looked at his watch, which wanted aquarter to ten; but soon the same clock he had already heard strike twoor three times rectified the error by striking half-past nine.
This was already half an hour past the time Valentine had fixed. It wasa terrible moment for the young man. The slightest rustling of thefoliage, the least whistling of the wind, attracted his attention, anddrew the perspiration to his brow; then he tremblingly fixed his ladder,and, not to lose a moment, placed his foot on the first step. Amidst allthese alternations of hope and fear, the clock struck ten. “It isimpossible,” said Maximilian, “that the signing of a contract shouldoccupy so long a time without unexpected interruptions. I have weighedall the chances, calculated the time required for all the forms;something must have happened.”
And then he walked rapidly to and fro, and pressed his burning foreheadagainst the fence. Had Valentine fainted? or had she been discovered andstopped in her flight? These were the only obstacles which appearedpossible to the young man.
The idea that her strength had failed her in attempting to escape, andthat she had fainted in one of the paths, was the one that mostimpressed itself upon his mind. “In that case,” said he, “I should loseher, and by my own fault.” He dwelt on this idea for a moment, then itappeared reality. He even thought he could perceive something on theground at a distance; he ventured to call, and it seemed to him that thewind wafted back an almost inarticulate sigh.
At last the half-hour struck. It was impossible to wait longer, histemples throbbed violently, his eyes were growing dim; he passed one legover the wall, and in a moment leaped down on the other side. He was onVillefort’s premises—had arrived there by scaling the wall. What mightbe the consequences? However, he had not ventured thus far to draw back.He followed a short distance close under the wall, then crossed a path,hid entered a clump of trees. In a moment he had passed through them,and could see the house distinctly.
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Then Morrel saw that he had been right in believing that the house wasnot illuminated. Instead of lights at every window, as is customary ondays
This darkness and silence alarmed Morrel still more than Valentine’sabsence had done. Almost mad with grief, and determined to ventureeverything in order to see Valentine once more, and be certain of themisfortune he feared, Morrel gained the edge of the clump of trees, andwas going to pass as quickly as possible through the flower-garden, whenthe sound of a voice, still at some distance, but which was borne uponthe wind, reached him. At this sound, as he was already partiallyexposed to view, he stepped back and concealed himself completely,remaining perfectly motionless.
He had formed his resolution. If it was Valentine alone, he would speakas she passed; if she was accompanied, and he could not speak, still heshould see her, and know that she was safe; if they were strangers, hewould listen to their conversation, and might understand something ofthis hitherto incomprehensible mystery.
The moon had just then escaped from behind the cloud which had concealedit, and Morrel saw Villefort come out upon the steps, followed by agentleman in black. They descended, and advanced towards the clump oftrees, and Morrel soon recognized the other gentleman as Doctord’Avrigny.
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The young man, seeing them approach, drew back mechanically, until hefound himself stopped by a sycamore-tree in the centre of the clump;there he was compelled to remain. Soon the two gentlemen stopped also.
“Ah, my dear doctor,” said the procureur, “Heaven declares itselfagainst my house! What a dreadful death—what a blow! Seek not to consoleme; alas, nothing can alleviate so great a sorrow—the wound is too deepand too fresh! Dead, dead!”
The cold sweat sprang to the young man’s brow, and his teeth chattered.Who could be dead in that house, which Villefort himself had calledaccursed?
“My dear M. de Villefort,” replied the doctor, with a tone whichredoubled the terror of the young man, “I have not led you here toconsole you; on the contrary——”
“What can you mean?” asked the procureur, alarmed.
“I mean that behind the misfortune which has just happened to you, thereis another, perhaps, still greater.”
“Can it be possible?” murmured Villefort, clasping his hands. “What areyou going to tell me?”
“Are we quite alone, my friend?”
“Yes, quite; but why all these precautions?”
“Because I have a terrible secret to communicate to you,” said thedoctor. “Let us sit down.”
Villefort fell, rather than seated himself. The doctor stood before him,with one hand placed on his shoulder. Morrel, horrified, supported hishead with one hand, and with the other pressed his heart, lest itsbeatings should be heard. “Dead, dead!” repeated he within himself; andhe felt as if he were also dying.
“Speak, doctor—I am listening,” said Villefort; “strike—I am preparedfor everything!”
“Madame de Saint-Méran was, doubtless, advancing in years, but sheenjoyed excellent health.” Morrel began again to breathe freely, whichhe had not done during the last ten minutes.
“Grief has consumed her,” said Villefort—“yes, grief, doctor! Afterliving forty years with the marquis——”
“It is not grief, my dear Villefort,” said the doctor; “grief may kill,although it rarely does, and never in a day, never in an hour, never inten minutes.” Villefort answered nothing, he simply raised his head,which had been cast down before, and looked at the doctor withamazement.
“Were you present during the last struggle?” asked M. d’Avrigny.
“I was,” replied the procureur; “you begged me not to leave.”
“Did you notice the symptoms of the disease to which Madame de Saint-Méran has fallen a victim?”
“I did. Madame de Saint-Méran had three successive attacks, at intervalsof some minutes, each one more serious than the former. When youarrived, Madame de Saint-Méran had already been panting for breath someminutes; she then had a fit, which I took to be simply a nervous attack,and it was only when I saw her raise herself in the bed, and her limbsand neck appear stiffened, that I became really alarmed. Then Iunderstood from your countenance there was more to fear than I hadthought. This crisis past, I endeavored to catch your eye, but couldnot. You held her hand—you were feeling her pulse—and the second fitcame on before you had turned towards me. This was more terrible thanthe first; the same nervous movements were repeated, and the mouthcontracted and turned purple.”
“And at the third she expired.”
“At the end of the first attack I discovered symptoms of tetanus; youconfirmed my opinion.”
“Yes, before others,” replied the doctor; “but now we are alone——”
“What are you going to say? Oh, spare me!”
“That the symptoms of tetanus and poisoning by vegetable substances arethe same.”
M. de Villefort started from his seat, then in a moment fell down again,silent and motionless. Morrel knew not if he were dreaming or awake.
“Listen,” said the doctor; “I know the full importance of the statementI have just made, and the disposition of the man to whom I have madeit.”
“Do you speak to me as a magistrate or as a friend?” asked Villefort.
“As a friend, and only as a friend, at this moment. The similarity inthe symptoms of tetanus and poisoning by vegetable substances is sogreat, that were I obliged to affirm by oath what I have now stated, Ishould hesitate; I therefore repeat to you, I speak not to a magistrate,but to a friend. And to that friend I say, ‘During the three-quarters ofan hour that the struggle continued, I watched the convulsions and thedeath of Madame de Saint-Méran, and am thoroughly convinced that notonly did her death proceed from poison, but I could also specify thepoison.’”
“Can it be possible?”
“The symptoms are marked, do you see?—sleep broken by nervous spasms,excitation of the brain, torpor of the nerve centres. Madame de Saint-Méran succumbed to a powerful dose of brucine or of strychnine, which bysome mistake, perhaps, has been given to her.”
Villefort seized the doctor’s hand.
“Oh, it is impossible,” said he, “I must be dreaming! It is frightful tohear such things from such a man as you! Tell me, I entreat you, my deardoctor, that you may be deceived.”
“Doubtless I may, but——”
“But?”
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“But I do not think so.”
“Have pity on me doctor! So many dreadful things have happened to melately that I am on the verge of madness.”
“Has anyone besides me seen Madame de Saint-Méran?”
“No.”
“Has anything been sent for from a chemist’s that I have not examined?”
“Nothing.”
“Had Madame de Saint-Méran any enemies?”
“Not to my knowledge.”
“Would her death affect anyone’s interest?”
“It could not indeed, my daughter is her only heiress—Valentine alone.Oh, if such a thought could present itself, I would stab myself topunish my heart for having for one instant harbored it.”
“Indeed, my dear friend,” said M. d’Avrigny, “I would not accuse anyone;I speak only of an accident, you understand,—of a mistake,—but whetheraccident or mistake, the fact is there; it is on my conscience andcompels me to speak aloud to you. Make inquiry.”
“Of whom?—how?—of what?”
“May not Barrois, the old servant, have made a mistake, and have givenMadame de Saint-Méran a dose prepared for his master?”
“For my father?”
“Yes.??
“But how could a dose prepared for M. Noirtier poison Madame de Saint-Méran?”
“Nothing is more simple. You know poisons become remedies in certaindiseases, of which paralysis is one. For instance, having tried everyother remedy to restore movement and speech to M. Noirtier, I resolvedto try one last means, and for three months I have been giving himbrucine; so that in the last dose I ordered for him there were sixgrains. This quantity, which is perfectly safe to administer to theparalyzed frame of M. Noirtier, which has become gradually accustomed toit, would be sufficient to kill another person.”
“My dear doctor, there is no communication between M. Noirtier’sapartment and that of Madame de Saint-Méran, and Barrois never enteredmy mother-in-law’s room. In short, doctor although I know you to be themost conscientious man in the world, and although I place the utmostreliance in you, I want, notwithstanding my conviction, to believe thisaxiom, errare humanum est.”
“Is there one of my brethren in whom you have equal confidence withmyself?”
“Why do you ask me that?—what do you wish?”
“Send for him; I will tell him what I have seen, and we will consulttogether, and examine the body.”
“And you will find traces of poison?”
“No, I did not say of poison, but we can prove what was the state of thebody; we shall discover the cause of her sudden death, and we shall say,‘Dear Villefort, if this thing has been caused by negligence, watch overyour servants; if from hatred, watch your enemies.’”
“What do you propose to me, d’Avrigny?” said Villefort in despair; “sosoon as another is admitted into our secret, an inquest will becomenecessary; and an inquest in my house—impossible! Still,” continued theprocureur, looking at the doctor with uneasiness, “if you wish it—if youdemand it, why then it shall be done. But, doctor, you see me already sogrieved—how can I introduce into my house so much scandal, after so muchsorrow? My wife and my daughter would die of it! And I, doctor—you knowa man does not arrive at the post I occupy—one has not been king’sattorney twenty-five years without having amassed a tolerable number ofenemies; mine are numerous. Let this affair be talked of, it will be atriumph for them, which will make them rejoice, and cover me with shame.Pardon me, doctor, these worldly ideas; were you a priest I should notdare tell you that, but you are a man, and you know mankind. Doctor,pray recall your words; you have said nothing, have you?”
“My dear M. de Villefort,” replied the doctor, “my first duty is tohumanity. I would have saved Madame de Saint-Méran, if science couldhave done it; but she is dead and my duty regards the living. Let usbury this terrible secret in the deepest recesses of our hearts; I amwilling, if anyone should suspect this, that my silence on the subjectshould be imputed to my ignorance. Meanwhile, sir, watch always—watchcarefully, for perhaps the evil may not stop here. And when you havefound the culprit, if you find him, I will say to you, ‘You are amagistrate, do as you will!’”
“I thank you, doctor,” said Villefort with indescribable joy; “I neverhad a better friend than you.” And, as if he feared Doctor d’Avrignywould recall his promise, he hurried him towards the house.
When they were gone, Morrel ventured out from under the trees, and themoon shone upon his face, which was so pale it might have been taken forthat of a ghost.
“I am manifestly protected in a most wonderful, but most terriblemanner,” said he; “but Valentine, poor girl, how will she bear so muchsorrow?”
As he thought thus, he looked alternately at the window with redcurtains and the three windows with white curtains. The light had almostdisappeared from the former; doubtless Madame de Villefort had just putout her lamp, and the nightlamp alone reflected its dull light on thewindow. At the extremity of the building, on the contrary, he saw one ofthe three windows open. A wax-light placed on the mantle-piece threwsome of its pale rays without, and a shadow was seen for one moment onthe balcony. Morrel shuddered; he thought he heard a sob.
It cannot be wondered at that his mind, generally so courageous, but nowdisturbed by the two strongest human passions, love and fear, wasweakened even to the indulgence of superstitious thoughts. Although itwas impossible that Valentine should see him, hidden as he was, hethought he heard the shadow at the window call him; his disturbed mindtold him so. This double error became an irresistible reality, and byone of the incomprehensible transports of youth, he bounded from hishiding-place, and with two strides, at the risk of being seen, at therisk of alarming Valentine, at the risk of being discovered by someexclamation which might escape the young girl, he crossed the flower-garden, which by the light of the moon resembled a large white lake, andhaving passed the rows of orange-trees which extended in front of thehouse, he reached the step, ran quickly up and pushed the door, whichopened without offering any resistance.
Valentine had not seen him. Her eyes, raised towards heaven, werewatching a silvery cloud gliding over the azure, its form that of ashadow mounting towards heaven. Her poetic and excited mind pictured itas the soul of her grandmother.
Meanwhile, Morrel had traversed the anteroom and found the staircase,which, being carpeted, prevented his approach being heard, and he hadregained that degree of confidence that the presence of M. de Villeforteven would not have alarmed him. He was quite prepared for any suchencounter. He would at once approach Valentine’s father and acknowledgeall, begging Villefort to pardon and sanction the love which united twofond and loving hearts. Morrel was mad.
Happily he did not meet anyone. Now, especially, did he find thedescription Valentine had given of the interior of the house useful tohim; he arrived safely at the top of the staircase, and while he wasfeeling his way, a sob indicated the direction he was to take. He turnedback, a door partly open enabled him to see his road, and to hear thevoice of one in sorrow. He pushed the door open and entered. At theother end of the room, under a white sheet which covered it, lay thecorpse, still more alarming to Morrel since the account he had sounexpectedly overheard. By its side, on her knees, and with her headburied in the cushion of an easy-chair, was Valentine, trembling andsobbing, her hands extended above her head, clasped and stiff. She hadturned from the window, which remained open, and was praying in accentsthat would have affected the most unfeeling; her words were rapid,incoherent, unintelligible, for the burning weight of grief almoststopped her utterance.
The moon shining through the open blinds made the lamp appear to burnpaler, and cast a sepulchral hue over the whole scene. Morrel could notresist this; he was not exemplary for piety, he was not easilyimpressed, but Valentine suffering, weeping, wringing her hands beforehim, was more than he could bear in silence. He sighed, and whispered aname, and the head bathed in tears and pressed on the velvet cushion ofthe chair—a head like that of a Magdalen by Correggio—was raised andturned towards him. Valentine perceived him without betraying the leastsurprise. A heart overwhelmed with one great grief is insensible tominor emotions. Morrel held out his hand to her. Valentine, as her onlyapology for not having met him, pointed to the corpse under the sheet,and began to sob again.
Neither dared for some time to speak in that room. They hesitated tobreak the silence which death seemed to impose; at length Valentineventured.
“My friend,” said she, “how came you here? Alas, I would say you arewelcome, had not death opened the way for you into this house.”
“Valentine,” said Morrel with a trembling voice, “I had waited sincehalf-past eight, and did not see you come; I became uneasy, leaped thewall, found my way through the garden, when voices conversing about thefatal event——”
“What voices?” asked Valentine. Morrel shuddered as he thought of theconversation of the doctor and M. de Villefort, and he thought he couldsee through the sheet the extended hands, the stiff neck, and the purplelips.
“Your servants,” said he, “who were repeating the whole of the sorrowfulstory; from them I learned it all.”
“But it was risking the failure of our plan to come up here, love.”
“Forgive me,” replied Morrel; “I will go away.”
“No,” said Valentine, “you might meet someone; stay.”
“But if anyone should come here——”
The young girl shook her head. “No one will come,” said she; “do notfear, there is our safeguard,” pointing to the bed.
“But what has become of M. d’Épinay?” replied Morrel.
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“M. Franz arrived to sign the contract just as my dear grandmother wasdying.”
“Alas,” said Morrel with a feeling of selfish joy; for he thought thisdeath would cause the wedding to be postponed indefinitely.
“But what redoubles my sorrow,” continued the young girl, as if thisfeeling was to receive its immediate punishment, “is that the poor oldlady, on her death-bed, requested that the marriage might take place assoon as possible; she also, thinking to protect me, was acting againstme.”
“Hark!” said Morrel. They both listened; steps were distinctly heard inthe corridor and on the stairs.
“It is my father, who has just left his study.”
“To accompany the doctor to the door,” added Morrel.
“How do you know it is the doctor?” asked Valentine, astonished.
“I imagined it must be,” said Morrel.
Valentine looked at the young man; they heard the street door close,then M. de Villefort locked the garden door, and returned upstairs. Hestopped a moment in the anteroom, as if hesitating whether to turn tohis own apartment or into Madame de Saint-Méran’s; Morrel concealedhimself behind a door; Valentine remained motionless, grief seeming todeprive her of all fear. M. de Villefort passed on to his own room.
“Now,” said Valentine, “you can neither go out by the front door nor bythe garden.”
Morrel looked at her with astonishment.
“There is but one way left you that is safe,” said she; “it is throughmy grandfather’s room.” She rose. “Come,” she added.
“Where?” asked Maximilian.
“To my grandfather’s room.”
“I in M. Noirtier’s apartment?”
“Yes.”
“Can you mean it, Valentine?”
“I have long wished it; he is my only remaining friend and we both needhis help,—come.”
“Be careful, Valentine,” said Morrel, hesitating to comply with theyoung girl’s wishes; “I now see my error—I acted like a madman in comingin here. Are you sure you are more reasonable?”
“Yes,” said Valentine; “and I have but one scruple,—that of leaving mydear grandmother’s remains, which I had undertaken to watch.”
“Valentine,” said Morrel, “death is in itself sacred.”
“Yes,” said Valentine; “besides, it will not be for long.”
She then crossed the corridor, and led the way down a narrow staircaseto M. Noirtier’s room; Morrel followed her on tiptoe; at the door theyfound the old servant.
“Barrois,” said Valentine, “shut the door, and let no one come in.”
She passed first.
Noirtier, seated in his chair, and listening to every sound, waswatching the door; he saw Valentine, and his eye brightened. There wassomething grave and solemn in the approach of the young girl whichstruck the old man, and immediately his bright eye began to interrogate.
“Dear grandfather.” said she hurriedly, “you know poor grandmamma diedan hour since, and now I have no friend in the world but you.”
His expressive eyes evinced the greatest tenderness.
“To you alone, then, may I confide my sorrows and my hopes?”
The paralytic motioned “Yes.”
Valentine took Maximilian’s hand.
“Look attentively, then, at this gentleman.”
The old man fixed his scrutinizing gaze with slight astonishment onMorrel.
“It is M. Maximilian Morrel,” said she; “the son of that good merchantof Marseilles, whom you doubtless recollect.”
“Yes,” said the old man.
“He brings an irreproachable name, which Maximilian is likely to renderglorious, since at thirty years of age he is a captain, an officer ofthe Legion of Honor.”
The old man signified that he recollected him.
“Well, grandpapa,” said Valentine, kneeling before him, and pointing toMaximilian, “I love him, and will be only his; were I compelled to marryanother, I would destroy myself.”
The eyes of the paralytic expressed a multitude of tumultuous thoughts.
“You like M. Maximilian Morrel, do you not, grandpapa?” asked Valentine.
“Yes.”
“And you will protect us, who are your children, against the will of myfather?”
Noirtier cast an intelligent glance at Morrel, as if to say, “perhaps Imay.”
Maximilian understood him.
“Mademoiselle,” said he, “you have a sacred duty to fulfil in yourdeceased grandmother’s room, will you allow me the honor of a fewminutes’ conversation with M. Noirtier?”
“That is it,” said the old man’s eye. Then he looked anxiously atValentine.
“Do you fear he will not understand?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, we have so often spoken of you, that he knows exactly how I talk toyou.” Then turning to Maximilian, with an adorable smile; althoughshaded by sorrow,—“He knows everything I know,” said she.
Valentine arose, placed a chair for Morrel, requested Barrois not toadmit anyone, and having tenderly embraced her grandfather, andsorrowfully taken leave of Morrel, she went away. To prove to Noirtierthat he was in Valentine’s confidence and knew all their secrets, Morreltook the dictionary, a pen, and some paper, and placed them all on atable where there was a light.
“But first,” said Morrel, “allow me, sir, to tell you who I am, how muchI love Mademoiselle Valentine, and what are my designs respecting her.”
Noirtier made a sign that he would listen.
It was an imposing sight to witness this old man, apparently a mereuseless burden, becoming the sole protector, support, and adviser of thelovers who were both young, beautiful, and strong. His remarkably nobleand austere expression struck Morrel, who began his story withtrembling. He related the manner in which he had become acquainted withValentine, and how he had loved her, and that Valentine, in her solitudeand her misfortune, had accepted the offer of his devotion. He told himhis birth, his position, his fortune, and more than once, when heconsulted the look of the paralytic, that look answered, “That is good,proceed.”
“And now,” said Morrel, when he had finished the first part of hisrecital, “now I have told you of my love and my hopes, may I inform youof my intentions?”
“Yes,” signified the old man.
“This was our resolution; a cabriolet was in waiting at the gate, inwhich I intended to carry off Valentine to my sister’s house, to marryher, and to wait respectfully M. de Villefort’s pardon.”
“No,” said Noirtier.
“We must not do so?”
“No.”
“You do not sanction our project?”
“No.”
“There is another way,” said Morrel. The old man’s interrogative eyesaid, “Which?”
“I will go,” continued Maximilian, “I will seek M. Franz d’Épinay—I amhappy to be able to mention this in Mademoiselle de Villefort’sabsence—and will conduct myself toward him so as to compel him tochallenge me.” Noirtier’s look continued to interrogate.
“You wish to know what I will do?”
“Yes.”
“I will find him, as I told you. I will tell him the ties which bind meto Mademoiselle Valentine; if he be a sensible man, he will prove it byrenouncing of his own accord the hand of his betrothed, and will securemy friendship, and love until death; if he refuse, either throughinterest or ridiculous pride, after I have proved to him that he wouldbe forcing my wife from me, that Valentine loves me, and will have noother, I will fight with him, give him every advantage, and I shall killhim, o
Noirtier watched, with indescribable pleasure, this noble and sincerecountenance, on which every sentiment his tongue uttered was depicted,adding by the expression of his fine features all that coloring adds toa sound and faithful drawing.
Still, when Morrel had finished, he shut his eyes several times, whichwas his manner of saying “No.”
“No?” said Morrel; “you disapprove of this second project, as you did ofthe first?”
“I do,” signified the old man.
“But what then must be done?” asked Morrel. “Madame de Saint-Méran’slast request was, that the marriage might not be delayed; must I letthings take their course?” Noirtier did not move. “I understand,” saidMorrel; “I am to wait.”
“Yes.”
“But delay may ruin our plan, sir,” replied the young man. “Alone,Valentine has no power; she will be compelled to submit. I am herealmost miraculously, and can scarcely hope for so good an opportunity tooccur again. Believe me, there are only the two plans I have proposed toyou; forgive my vanity, and tell me which you prefer. Do you authorizeMademoiselle Valentine to intrust herself to my honor?”
“No.”
“Do you prefer I should seek M. d’Épinay?”
“No.”
“Whence then will come the help we need—from chance?” resumed Morrel.
“No.”
“From you?”
“Yes.”
“You thoroughly understand me, sir? Pardon my eagerness, for my lifedepends on your answer. Will our help come from you?”
“Yes.”
“You are sure of it?”
“Yes.” There was so much firmness in the look which gave this answer, noone could, at any rate, doubt his will, if they did his power.
“Oh, thank you a thousand times! But how, unless a miracle shouldrestore your speech, your gesture, your movement, how can you, chainedto that armchair, dumb and motionless, oppose this marriage?” A smilelit up the old man’s face, a strange smile of the eyes in a paralyzedface.
“Then I must wait?” asked the young man.
“Yes.”
“But the contract?” The same smile returned. “Will you assure me itshall not be signed?”
“Yes,” said Noirtier.
“The contract shall not be signed!” cried Morrel. “Oh, pardon me, sir; Ican scarcely realize so great a happiness. Will they not sign it?”
“No,” said the paralytic. Notwithstanding that assurance, Morrel stillhesitated. This promise of an impotent old man was so strange that,instead of being the result of the power of his will, it might emanatefrom enfeebled organs. Is it not natural that the madman, ignorant ofhis folly, should attempt things beyond his power? The weak man talks ofburdens he can raise, the timid of giants he can confront, the poor oftreasures he spends, the most humble peasant, in the height of hispride, calls himself Jupiter. Whether Noirtier understood the youngman’s indecision, or whether he had not full confidence in his docility,he looked uneasily at him.
“What do you wish, sir?” asked Morrel; “that I should renew my promiseof remaining tranquil?” Noirtier’s eye remained fixed and firm, as if toimply that a promise did not suffice; then it passed from his face tohis hands.
“Shall I swear to you, sir?” asked Maximilian.
“Yes,” said the paralytic with the same solemnity. Morrel understoodthat the old man attached great importance to an oath. He extended hishand.
“I swear to you, on my honor,” said he, “to await your decisionrespecting the course I am to pursue with M. d’Épinay.”
“That is right,” said the old man.
“Now,” said Morrel, “do you wish me to retire?”
“Yes.”
“Without seeing Mademoiselle Valentine?”
“Yes.”
Morrel made a sign that he was ready to obey. “But,” said he, “firstallow me to embrace you as your daughter did just now.” Noirtier’sexpression could not be understood. The young man pressed his lips onthe same spot, on the old man’s forehead, where Valentine’s had been.Then he bowed a second time and retired.
He found outside the door the old servant, to whom Valentine had givendirections. Morrel was conducted along a dark passage, which led to alittle door opening on the garden, soon found the spot where he hadentered, with the assistance of the shrubs gained the top of the wall,and by his ladder was in an instant in the clover-field where hiscabriolet was still waiting for him. He got in it, and thoroughlywearied by so many emotions, arrived about midnight in the Rue Meslay,threw himself on his bed and slept soundly.
VOLUME FOUR
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