The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas (books to read to improve english txt) đ
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
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âHow? M. Noirtier?â
âYes; think you it was the poor servantâs life was coveted? No, no; like Shakespeareâs Polonius, he died for another. It was Noirtier the lemonade was intended forâit is Noirtier, logically speaking, who drank it. The other drank it only by accident, and, although Barrois is dead, it was Noirtier whose death was wished for.â
âBut why did it not kill my father?â
âI told you one evening in the garden after Madame de Saint-MĂ©ranâs deathâbecause his system is accustomed to that very poison, and the dose was trifling to him, which would be fatal to another; because no one knows, not even the assassin, that, for the last twelve months, I have given M. Noirtier brucine for his paralytic affection, while the assassin is not ignorant, for he has proved that brucine is a violent poison.â
âOh, have pityâhave pity!â murmured Villefort, wringing his hands.
âFollow the culpritâs steps; he first kills M. de Saint-MĂ©ranâââ
âOh, doctor!â
âI would swear to it; what I heard of his symptoms agrees too well with what I have seen in the other cases.â Villefort ceased to contend; he only groaned. âHe first kills M. de Saint-MĂ©ran,â repeated the doctor, âthen Madame de Saint-MĂ©ran,âa double fortune to inherit.â Villefort wiped the perspiration from his forehead. âListen attentively.â
âAlas,â stammered Villefort, âI do not lose a single word.â
âM. Noirtier,â resumed M. dâAvrigny in the same pitiless tone,ââM. Noirtier had once made a will against youâagainst your familyâin favor of the poor, in fact; M. Noirtier is spared, because nothing is expected from him. But he has no sooner destroyed his first will and made a second, than, for fear he should make a third, he is struck down. The will was made the day before yesterday, I believe; you see there has been no time lost.â
âOh, mercy, M. dâAvrigny!â
âNo mercy, sir! The physician has a sacred mission on earth; and to fulfil it he begins at the source of life, and goes down to the mysterious darkness of the tomb. When crime has been committed, and God, doubtless in anger, turns away his face, it is for the physician to bring the culprit to justice.â
âHave mercy on my child, sir,â murmured Villefort.
âYou see it is yourself who have first named herâyou, her father.â
âHave pity on Valentine! Listen, it is impossible. I would as willingly accuse myself! Valentine, whose heart is pure as a diamond or a lily!â
âNo pity, procureur; the crime is fragrant. Mademoiselle herself packed all the medicines which were sent to M. de Saint-MĂ©ran; and M. de Saint-MĂ©ran is dead. Mademoiselle de Villefort prepared all the cooling draughts which Madame de Saint-MĂ©ran took, and Madame de Saint-MĂ©ran is dead. Mademoiselle de Villefort took from the hands of Barrois, who was sent out, the lemonade which M. Noirtier had every morning, and he has escaped by a miracle. Mademoiselle de Villefort is the culpritâshe is the poisoner! To you, as the kingâs attorney, I denounce Mademoiselle de Villefort, do your duty.â
âDoctor, I resist no longerâI can no longer defend myselfâI believe you; but, for pityâs sake, spare my life, my honor!â
âM. de Villefort,â replied the doctor, with increased vehemence, âthere are occasions when I dispense with all foolish human circumspection. If your daughter had committed only one crime, and I saw her meditating another, I would say âWarn her, punish her, let her pass the remainder of her life in a convent, weeping and praying.â If she had committed two crimes, I would say, âHere, M. de Villefort, is a poison that the prisoner is not acquainted with,âone that has no known antidote, quick as thought, rapid as lightning, mortal as the thunderbolt; give her that poison, recommending her soul to God, and save your honor and your life, for it is yours she aims at; and I can picture her approaching your pillow with her hypocritical smiles and her sweet exhortations. Woe to you, M. de Villefort, if you do not strike first!â This is what I would say had she only killed two persons but she has seen three deaths,âhas contemplated three murdered persons,âhas knelt by three corpses! To the scaffold with the poisonerâto the scaffold! Do you talk of your honor? Do what I tell you, and immortality awaits you!â
Villefort fell on his knees.
âListen,â said he; âI have not the strength of mind you have, or rather that which you would not have, if instead of my daughter Valentine your daughter Madeleine were concerned.â The doctor turned pale. âDoctor, every son of woman is born to suffer and to die; I am content to suffer and to await death.â
âBeware,â said M. dâAvrigny, âit may come slowly; you will see it approach after having struck your father, your wife, perhaps your son.â
Villefort, suffocating, pressed the doctorâs arm.
âListen,â cried he; âpity meâhelp me! No, my daughter is not guilty. If you drag us both before a tribunal I will still say, âNo, my daughter is not guilty;âthere is no crime in my house. I will not acknowledge a crime in my house; for when crime enters a dwelling, it is like deathâit does not come alone.â Listen. What does it signify to you if I am murdered? Are you my friend? Are you a man? Have you a heart? No, you are a physician! Well, I tell you I will not drag my daughter before a tribunal, and give her up to the executioner! The bare idea would kill meâwould drive me like a madman to dig my heart out with my finger-nails! And if you were mistaken, doctorâif it were not my daughterâif I should come one day, pale as a spectre, and say to you, âAssassin, you have killed my child!ââholdâif that should happen, although I am a Christian, M. dâAvrigny, I should kill myself.â
âWell,â said the doctor, after a momentâs silence, âI will wait.â
Villefort looked at him as if he had doubted his words.
âOnly,â continued M. dâAvrigny, with a slow and solemn tone, âif anyone falls ill in your house, if you feel yourself attacked, do not send for me, for I will come no more. I will consent to share this dreadful secret with you, but I will not allow shame and remorse to grow and increase in my conscience, as crime and misery will in your house.â
âThen you abandon me, doctor?â
âYes, for I can follow you no farther, and I only stop at the foot of the scaffold. Some further discovery will be made, which will bring this dreadful tragedy to a close. Adieu.â
âI entreat you, doctor!â
âAll the horrors that disturb my thoughts make your house odious and fatal. Adieu, sir.â
âOne wordâone single word more, doctor! You go, leaving me in all the horror of my situation, after increasing it by what you have revealed to me. But what will be reported of the sudden death of the poor old servant?â
âTrue,â said M. dâAvrigny; âwe will return.â
The doctor went out first, followed by M. de Villefort. The terrified servants were on the stairs and in the passage where the doctor would pass.
âSir,â said dâAvrigny to Villefort, so loud that all might hear, âpoor Barrois has led too sedentary a life of late; accustomed formerly to ride on horseback, or in the carriage, to the four corners of Europe, the monotonous walk around that armchair has killed himâhis blood has thickened. He was stout, had a short, thick neck; he was attacked with apoplexy, and I was called in too late. By the way,â added he in a low tone, âtake care to throw away that cup of syrup of violets in the ashes.â
The doctor, without shaking hands with Villefort, without adding a word to what he had said, went out, amid the tears and lamentations of the whole household. The same evening all Villefortâs servants, who had assembled in the kitchen, and had a long consultation, came to tell Madame de Villefort that they wished to leave. No entreaty, no proposition of increased wages, could induce them to remain; to every argument they replied, âWe must go, for death is in this house.â
They all left, in spite of prayers and entreaties, testifying their regret at leaving so good a master and mistress, and especially Mademoiselle Valentine, so good, so kind, and so gentle.
Villefort looked at Valentine as they said this. She was in tears, and, strange as it was, in spite of the emotions he felt at the sight of these tears, he looked also at Madame de Villefort, and it appeared to him as if a slight gloomy smile had passed over her thin lips, like a meteor seen passing inauspiciously between two clouds in a stormy sky.
Chapter 81. The Room of the Retired Baker
The evening of the day on which the Count of Morcerf had left Danglarsâ house with feelings of shame and anger at the rejection of the projected alliance, M. Andrea Cavalcanti, with curled hair, moustaches in perfect order, and white gloves which fitted admirably, had entered the courtyard of the bankerâs house in Rue de la ChaussĂ©e dâAntin. He had not been more than ten minutes in the drawing-room before he drew Danglars aside into the recess of a bow-window, and, after an ingenious preamble, related to him all his anxieties and cares since his noble fatherâs departure. He acknowledged the extreme kindness which had been shown him by the bankerâs family, in which he had been received as a son, and where, besides, his warmest affections had found an object on which to centre in Mademoiselle Danglars.
Danglars listened with the most profound attention; he had expected this declaration for the last two or three days, and when at last it came his eyes glistened as much as they had lowered on listening to Morcerf. He would not, however, yield immediately to the young manâs request, but made a few conscientious objections.
âAre you not rather young, M. Andrea, to think of marrying?â
âI think not, sir,â replied M. Cavalcanti; âin Italy the nobility generally marry young. Life is so uncertain, that we ought to secure happiness while it is within our reach.â
âWell, sir,â said Danglars, âin case your proposals, which do me honor, are accepted by my wife and daughter, by whom shall the preliminary arrangements be settled? So important a negotiation should, I think, be conducted by the respective fathers of the young people.â
âSir, my father is a man of great foresight and prudence. Thinking that I might wish to settle in France, he left me at his departure, together with the papers establishing my identity, a letter promising, if he approved of my choice, 150,000 livres per annum from the day I was married. So far as I can judge, I suppose this to be a quarter of my fatherâs revenue.â
âI,â said Danglars, âhave always intended giving my daughter 500,000 francs as her dowry; she is, besides, my sole heiress.â
âAll would then be easily arranged if the baroness and her daughter are willing. We should command an annuity of 175,000 livres. Supposing, also, I should persuade the marquis to give me my capital, which is not likely, but still is possible, we would place these two or three millions in your hands, whose talent might make it realize ten per cent.â
âI never give more than four per cent, and generally only three and a half; but to my son-in-law I would give five, and we would share the profits.â
âVery good, father-in-law,â said Cavalcanti, yielding to his low-born nature, which would escape sometimes through the aristocratic gloss with which he sought to conceal it. Correcting himself immediately, he said, âExcuse me, sir; hope alone
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