The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated by Alexandre Dumas (electronic reader txt) đ
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
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âCan it be possible?â
âThe symptoms are marked, do you see?âsleep broken by nervous spasms, excitation of the brain, torpor of the nerve centres. Madame de Saint-MĂ©ran succumbed to a powerful dose of brucine or of strychnine, which by some mistake, perhaps, has been given to her.â
Villefort seized the doctorâs hand.
âOh, it is impossible,â said he, âI must be dreaming! It is frightful to hear such things from such a man as you! Tell me, I entreat you, my dear doctor, that you may be deceived.â
âDoubtless I may, butâââ
âBut?â
âBut I do not think so.â
âHave pity on me doctor! So many dreadful things have happened to me lately that I am on the verge of madness.â
âHas anyone besides me seen Madame de Saint-MĂ©ran?â
âNo.â
âHas anything been sent for from a chemistâs that I have not examined?â
âNothing.â
âHad Madame de Saint-MĂ©ran any enemies?â
âNot to my knowledge.â
âWould her death affect anyoneâs interest?â
âIt could not indeed, my daughter is her only heiressâValentine alone. Oh, if such a thought could present itself, I would stab myself to punish my heart for having for one instant harbored it.â
âIndeed, my dear friend,â said M. dâAvrigny, âI would not accuse anyone; I speak only of an accident, you understand,âof a mistake,âbut whether accident or mistake, the fact is there; it is on my conscience and compels me to speak aloud to you. Make inquiry.â
âOf whom?âhow?âof what?â
âMay not Barrois, the old servant, have made a mistake, and have given Madame de Saint-MĂ©ran a dose prepared for his master?â
âFor my father?â
âYes.â
âBut how could a dose prepared for M. Noirtier poison Madame de Saint-MĂ©ran?â
âNothing is more simple. You know poisons become remedies in certain diseases, of which paralysis is one. For instance, having tried every other remedy to restore movement and speech to M. Noirtier, I resolved to try one last means, and for three months I have been giving him brucine; so that in the last dose I ordered for him there were six grains. This quantity, which is perfectly safe to administer to the paralyzed frame of M. Noirtier, which has become gradually accustomed to it, would be sufficient to kill another person.â
âMy dear doctor, there is no communication between M. Noirtierâs apartment and that of Madame de Saint-MĂ©ran, and Barrois never entered my mother-in-lawâs room. In short, doctor although I know you to be the most conscientious man in the world, and although I place the utmost reliance in you, I want, notwithstanding my conviction, to believe this axiom, errare humanum est.â
âIs there one of my brethren in whom you have equal confidence with myself?â
âWhy do you ask me that?âwhat do you wish?â
âSend for him; I will tell him what I have seen, and we will consult together, and examine the body.â
âAnd you will find traces of poison?â
âNo, I did not say of poison, but we can prove what was the state of the body; we shall discover the cause of her sudden death, and we shall say, âDear Villefort, if this thing has been caused by negligence, watch over your servants; if from hatred, watch your enemies.ââ
âWhat do you propose to me, dâAvrigny?â said Villefort in despair; âso soon as another is admitted into our secret, an inquest will become necessary; and an inquest in my houseâimpossible! Still,â continued the procureur, looking at the doctor with uneasiness, âif you wish itâif you demand it, why then it shall be done. But, doctor, you see me already so grievedâhow can I introduce into my house so much scandal, after so much sorrow? My wife and my daughter would die of it! And I, doctorâyou know a man does not arrive at the post I occupyâone has not been kingâs attorney twenty-five years without having amassed a tolerable number of enemies; mine are numerous. Let this affair be talked of, it will be a triumph for them, which will make them rejoice, and cover me with shame. Pardon me, doctor, these worldly ideas; were you a priest I should not dare tell you that, but you are a man, and you know mankind. Doctor, pray recall your words; you have said nothing, have you?â
âMy dear M. de Villefort,â replied the doctor, âmy first duty is to humanity. I would have saved Madame de Saint-MĂ©ran, if science could have done it; but she is dead and my duty regards the living. Let us bury this terrible secret in the deepest recesses of our hearts; I am willing, if anyone should suspect this, that my silence on the subject should be imputed to my ignorance. Meanwhile, sir, watch alwaysâwatch carefully, for perhaps the evil may not stop here. And when you have found the culprit, if you find him, I will say to you, âYou are a magistrate, do as you will!ââ
âI thank you, doctor,â said Villefort with indescribable joy; âI never had a better friend than you.â And, as if he feared Doctor dâAvrigny would recall his promise, he hurried him towards the house.
When they were gone, Morrel ventured out from under the trees, and the moon shone upon his face, which was so pale it might have been taken for that of a ghost.
âI am manifestly protected in a most wonderful, but most terrible manner,â said he; âbut Valentine, poor girl, how will she bear so much sorrow?â
As he thought thus, he looked alternately at the window with red curtains and the three windows with white curtains. The light had almost disappeared from the former; doubtless Madame de Villefort had just put out her lamp, and the nightlamp alone reflected its dull light on the window. At the extremity of the building, on the contrary, he saw one of the three windows open. A wax-light placed on the mantle-piece threw some of its pale rays without, and a shadow was seen for one moment on the balcony. Morrel shuddered; he thought he heard a sob.
It cannot be wondered at that his mind, generally so courageous, but now disturbed by the two strongest human passions, love and fear, was weakened even to the indulgence of superstitious thoughts. Although it was impossible that Valentine should see him, hidden as he was, he thought he heard the shadow at the window call him; his disturbed mind told him so. This double error became an irresistible reality, and by one of the incomprehensible transports of youth, he bounded from his hiding-place, and with two strides, at the risk of being seen, at the risk of alarming Valentine, at the risk of being discovered by some exclamation which might escape the young girl, he crossed the flower-garden, which by the light of the moon resembled a large white lake, and having passed the rows of orange-trees which extended in front of the house, he reached the step, ran quickly up and pushed the door, which opened without offering any resistance.
Valentine had not seen him. Her eyes, raised towards heaven, were watching a silvery cloud gliding over the azure, its form that of a shadow mounting towards heaven. Her poetic and excited mind pictured it as 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 had regained that degree of confidence that the presence of M. de Villefort even would not have alarmed him. He was quite prepared for any such encounter. He would at once approach Valentineâs father and acknowledge all, begging Villefort to pardon and sanction the love which united two fond and loving hearts. Morrel was mad.
Happily he did not meet anyone. Now, especially, did he find the description Valentine had given of the interior of the house useful to him; he arrived safely at the top of the staircase, and while he was feeling his way, a sob indicated the direction he was to take. He turned back, a door partly open enabled him to see his road, and to hear the voice of one in sorrow. He pushed the door open and entered. At the other end of the room, under a white sheet which covered it, lay the corpse, still more alarming to Morrel since the account he had so unexpectedly overheard. By its side, on her knees, and with her head buried in the cushion of an easy-chair, was Valentine, trembling and sobbing, her hands extended above her head, clasped and stiff. She had turned from the window, which remained open, and was praying in accents that would have affected the most unfeeling; her words were rapid, incoherent, unintelligible, for the burning weight of grief almost stopped her utterance.
The moon shining through the open blinds made the lamp appear to burn paler, and cast a sepulchral hue over the whole scene. Morrel could not resist this; he was not exemplary for piety, he was not easily impressed, but Valentine suffering, weeping, wringing her hands before him, was more than he could bear in silence. He sighed, and whispered a name, and the head bathed in tears and pressed on the velvet cushion of the chairâa head like that of a Magdalen by Correggioâwas raised and turned towards him. Valentine perceived him without betraying the least surprise. A heart overwhelmed with one great grief is insensible to minor emotions. Morrel held out his hand to her. Valentine, as her only apology 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 to break the silence which death seemed to impose; at length Valentine ventured.
âMy friend,â said she, âhow came you here? Alas, I would say you are welcome, had not death opened the way for you into this house.â
âValentine,â said Morrel with a trembling voice, âI had waited since half-past eight, and did not see you come; I became uneasy, leaped the wall, found my way through the garden, when voices conversing about the fatal eventâââ
âWhat voices?â asked Valentine. Morrel shuddered as he thought of the conversation of the doctor and M. de Villefort, and he thought he could see through the sheet the extended hands, the stiff neck, and the purple lips.
âYour servants,â said he, âwho were repeating the whole of the sorrowful story; from them I learned it all.â
âBut it was risking the failure of our plan to come up here, love.â
âForgive me,â replied Morrel; âI will go away.â
âNo,â said Valentine, âyou might meet someone; stay.â
âBut if anyone should come hereâââ
The young girl shook her head. âNo one will come,â said she; âdo not fear, there is our safeguard,â pointing to the bed.
âBut what has become of M. dâĂpinay?â replied Morrel.
âM. Franz arrived to sign the contract just as my dear grandmother was dying.â
âAlas,â said Morrel with a feeling of selfish joy; for he thought this death would cause the wedding to be postponed indefinitely.
âBut what redoubles my sorrow,â continued the young girl, as if this feeling was to receive its immediate punishment, âis that the poor old lady, on her death-bed, requested that the marriage might take place as soon as possible; she also, thinking to protect me, was acting against me.â
âHark!â said Morrel. They both listened; steps were distinctly heard in the corridor and on the stairs.
âIt is my father, who has just left his study.â
âTo accompany the doctor to the door,â added Morrel.
âHow do you know it is the doctor?â asked Valentine, astonished.
âI imagined it must be,â 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. He stopped a moment in the anteroom, as if hesitating whether to turn to his own apartment or into Madame de Saint-MĂ©ranâs; Morrel concealed himself behind a door; Valentine remained motionless, grief seeming to deprive her of all fear. M. de Villefort passed on to his own room.
âNow,â said Valentine, âyou can neither go out by the front door nor by the garden.â
Morrel looked at her with astonishment.
âThere is but one way left you that is safe,â said she; âit is through my grandfatherâs room.â She rose. âCome,â she added.
âWhere?â asked Maximilian.
âTo my grandfatherâs room.â
âI in M. Noirtierâs apartment?â
âYes.â
âCan you mean it, Valentine?â
âI have long wished it; he is my only remaining friend and we both need his help,âcome.â
âBe careful, Valentine,â said Morrel, hesitating to comply with the young girlâs wishes; âI now see my errorâI acted like a madman in coming in here. Are you sure you are more reasonable?â
âYes,â said Valentine; âand I have
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