The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas (books to read to improve english txt) đ
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
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âYes, and now I shall be more calm.â
âYou know I am waiting,â said Monte Cristo, smiling.
âYes, and I will tell you. One evening I was in a garden; a clump of trees concealed me; no one suspected I was there. Two persons passed near meâallow me to conceal their names for the present; they were speaking in an undertone, and yet I was so interested in what they said that I did not lose a single word.â
âThis is a gloomy introduction, if I may judge from your pallor and shuddering, Morrel.â
âOh, yes, very gloomy, my friend. Someone had just died in the house to which that garden belonged. One of the persons whose conversation I overheard was the master of the house; the other, the physician. The former was confiding to the latter his grief and fear, for it was the second time within a month that death had suddenly and unexpectedly entered that house which was apparently destined to destruction by some exterminating angel, as an object of Godâs anger.â
âAh, indeed?â said Monte Cristo, looking earnestly at the young man, and by an imperceptible movement turning his chair, so that he remained in the shade while the light fell full on Maximilianâs face.
âYes,â continued Morrel, âdeath had entered that house twice within one month.â
âAnd what did the doctor answer?â asked Monte Cristo.
âHe repliedâhe replied, that the death was not a natural one, and must be attributedââ
âTo what?â
âTo poison.â
âIndeed!â said Monte Cristo with a slight cough which in moments of extreme emotion helped him to disguise a blush, or his pallor, or the intense interest with which he listened; âindeed, Maximilian, did you hear that?â
âYes, my dear count, I heard it; and the doctor added that if another death occurred in a similar way he must appeal to justice.â
Monte Cristo listened, or appeared to do so, with the greatest calmness.
âWell,â said Maximilian, âdeath came a third time, and neither the master of the house nor the doctor said a word. Death is now, perhaps, striking a fourth blow. Count, what am I bound to do, being in possession of this secret?â
âMy dear friend,â said Monte Cristo, âyou appear to be relating an adventure which we all know by heart. I know the house where you heard it, or one very similar to it; a house with a garden, a master, a physician, and where there have been three unexpected and sudden deaths. Well, I have not intercepted your confidence, and yet I know all that as well as you, and I have no conscientious scruples. No, it does not concern me. You say an exterminating angel appears to have devoted that house to Godâs angerâwell, who says your supposition is not reality? Do not notice things which those whose interest it is to see them pass over. If it is Godâs justice, instead of his anger, which is walking through that house, Maximilian, turn away your face and let his justice accomplish its purpose.â
Morrel shuddered. There was something mournful, solemn, and terrible in the countâs manner.
âBesides,â continued he, in so changed a tone that no one would have supposed it was the same person speakingââbesides, who says that it will begin again?â
âIt has returned, count,â exclaimed Morrel; âthat is why I hastened to you.â
âWell, what do you wish me to do? Do you wish me, for instance, to give information to the procureur?â Monte Cristo uttered the last words with so much meaning that Morrel, starting up, cried out:
âYou know of whom I speak, count, do you not?â
âPerfectly well, my good friend; and I will prove it to you by putting the dots to the i, or rather by naming the persons. You were walking one evening in M. de Villefortâs garden; from what you relate, I suppose it to have been the evening of Madame de Saint-MĂ©ranâs death. You heard M. de Villefort talking to M. dâAvrigny about the death of M. de Saint-MĂ©ran, and that no less surprising, of the countess. M. dâAvrigny said he believed they both proceeded from poison; and you, honest man, have ever since been asking your heart and sounding your conscience to know if you ought to expose or conceal this secret. We are no longer in the Middle Ages; there is no longer a Vehmgericht, or Free Tribunals; what do you want to ask these people? âConscience, what hast thou to do with me?â as Sterne said. My dear fellow, let them sleep on, if they are asleep; let them grow pale in their drowsiness, if they are disposed to do so, and pray do you remain in peace, who have no remorse to disturb you.â
Deep grief was depicted on Morrelâs features; he seized Monte Cristoâs hand. âBut it is beginning again, I say!â
âWell,â said the Count, astonished at his perseverance, which he could not understand, and looking still more earnestly at Maximilian, âlet it begin again,âit is like the house of the Atreidae;19 God has condemned them, and they must submit to their punishment. They will all disappear, like the fabrics children build with cards, and which fall, one by one, under the breath of their builder, even if there are two hundred of them. Three months since it was M. de Saint-MĂ©ran; Madame de Saint-MĂ©ran two months since; the other day it was Barrois; today, the old Noirtier, or young Valentine.â
âYou knew it?â cried Morrel, in such a paroxysm of terror that Monte Cristo started,âhe whom the falling heavens would have found unmoved; âyou knew it, and said nothing?â
âAnd what is it to me?â replied Monte Cristo, shrugging his shoulders; âdo I know those people? and must I lose the one to save the other? Faith, no, for between the culprit and the victim I have no choice.â
âBut I,â cried Morrel, groaning with sorrow, âI love her!â
âYou love?âwhom?â cried Monte Cristo, starting to his feet, and seizing the two hands which Morrel was raising towards heaven.
âI love most fondlyâI love madlyâI love as a man who would give his life-blood to spare her a tearâI love Valentine de Villefort, who is being murdered at this moment! Do you understand me? I love her; and I ask God and you how I can save her?â
Monte Cristo uttered a cry which those only can conceive who have heard the roar of a wounded lion. âUnhappy man,â cried he, wringing his hands in his turn; âyou love Valentine,âthat daughter of an accursed race!â
Never had Morrel witnessed such an expressionânever had so terrible an eye flashed before his faceânever had the genius of terror he had so often seen, either on the battle-field or in the murderous nights of Algeria, shaken around him more dreadful fire. He drew back terrified.
As for Monte Cristo, after this ebullition he closed his eyes as if dazzled by internal light. In a moment he restrained himself so powerfully that the tempestuous heaving of his breast subsided, as turbulent and foaming waves yield to the sunâs genial influence when the cloud has passed. This silence, self-control, and struggle lasted about twenty seconds, then the count raised his pallid face.
âSee,â said he, âmy dear friend, how God punishes the most thoughtless and unfeeling men for their indifference, by presenting dreadful scenes to their view. I, who was looking on, an eager and curious spectator,âI, who was watching the working of this mournful tragedy,âI, who like a wicked angel was laughing at the evil men committed protected by secrecy (a secret is easily kept by the rich and powerful), I am in my turn bitten by the serpent whose tortuous course I was watching, and bitten to the heart!â
Morrel groaned.
âCome, come,â continued the count, âcomplaints are unavailing, be a man, be strong, be full of hope, for I am here and will watch over you.â
Morrel shook his head sorrowfully.
âI tell you to hope. Do you understand me?â cried Monte Cristo. âRemember that I never uttered a falsehood and am never deceived. It is twelve oâclock, Maximilian; thank heaven that you came at noon rather than in the evening, or tomorrow morning. Listen, Morrelâit is noon; if Valentine is not now dead, she will not die.â
âHow so?â cried Morrel, âwhen I left her dying?â
Monte Cristo pressed his hands to his forehead. What was passing in that brain, so loaded with dreadful secrets? What does the angel of light or the angel of darkness say to that mind, at once implacable and generous? God only knows.
Monte Cristo raised his head once more, and this time he was calm as a child awaking from its sleep.
âMaximilian,â said he, âreturn home. I command you not to stirâattempt nothing, not to let your countenance betray a thought, and I will send you tidings. Go.â
âOh, count, you overwhelm me with that coolness. Have you, then, power against death? Are you superhuman? Are you an angel?â And the young man, who had never shrunk from danger, shrank before Monte Cristo with indescribable terror. But Monte Cristo looked at him with so melancholy and sweet a smile, that Maximilian felt the tears filling his eyes.
âI can do much for you, my friend,â replied the count. âGo; I must be alone.â
Morrel, subdued by the extraordinary ascendancy Monte Cristo exercised over everything around him, did not endeavor to resist it. He pressed the countâs hand and left. He stopped one moment at the door for Baptistin, whom he saw in the Rue Matignon, and who was running.
Meanwhile, Villefort and dâAvrigny had made all possible haste, Valentine had not revived from her fainting fit on their arrival, and the doctor examined the invalid with all the care the circumstances demanded, and with an interest which the knowledge of the secret intensified twofold. Villefort, closely watching his countenance and his lips, awaited the result of the examination. Noirtier, paler than even the young girl, more eager than Villefort for the decision, was watching also intently and affectionately.
At last dâAvrigny slowly uttered these words: âShe is still alive!â
âStill?â cried Villefort; âoh, doctor, what a dreadful word is that.â
âYes,â said the physician, âI repeat it; she is still alive, and I am astonished at it.â
âBut is she safe?â asked the father.
âYes, since she lives.â
At that moment dâAvrignyâs glance met Noirtierâs eye. It glistened with such extraordinary joy, so rich and full of thought, that the physician was struck. He placed the young girl again on the chair,âher lips were scarcely discernible, they were so pale and white, as well as her whole face,âand remained motionless, looking at Noirtier, who appeared to anticipate and commend all he did.
âSir,â said dâAvrigny to Villefort, âcall Mademoiselle Valentineâs maid, if you please.â
Villefort went himself to find her; and dâAvrigny approached Noirtier.
âHave you something to tell me?â asked he. The old man winked his eyes expressively, which we may remember was his only way of expressing his approval.
âPrivately?â
âYes.â
âWell, I will remain with you.â At this moment Villefort returned, followed by the ladyâs maid; and after her came Madame de Villefort.
âWhat is the matter, then, with this dear child? she has just left me, and she complained of being indisposed, but I did not think seriously of it.â
The young woman with tears in her eyes and every mark of affection of a true mother, approached Valentine and took her hand. DâAvrigny continued to look at Noirtier; he saw the eyes of the old man dilate and become round, his cheeks turn pale and tremble; the perspiration stood in drops upon his forehead.
âAh,â said he, involuntarily following Noirtierâs eyes, which were fixed on Madame de Villefort, who repeated:
âThis poor child would be better in bed. Come, Fanny, we will put her to bed.â
M. dâAvrigny, who saw that would be a means of his remaining alone with Noirtier, expressed his opinion that it was the best thing that could be done; but he forbade that anything should be given to her except what he ordered.
They carried Valentine away; she had revived, but could scarcely move or speak, so shaken was her frame by the attack. She had,
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