The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas (books to read to improve english txt) đ
- Author: Alexandre Dumas
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âDo you,â said he, âknow anything of this young ladyâs illness?â
âYes,â said the old man.
âWe have no time to lose; I will question, and do you answer me.â Noirtier made a sign that he was ready to answer. âDid you anticipate the accident which has happened to your granddaughter?â
âYes.â DâAvrigny reflected a moment; then approaching Noirtier:
âPardon what I am going to say,â added he, âbut no indication should be neglected in this terrible situation. Did you see poor Barrois die?â Noirtier raised his eyes to heaven.
âDo you know of what he died!â asked dâAvrigny, placing his hand on Noirtierâs shoulder.
âYes,â replied the old man.
âDo you think he died a natural death?â A sort of smile was discernible on the motionless lips of Noirtier.
âThen you have thought that Barrois was poisoned?â
âYes.â
âDo you think the poison he fell a victim to was intended for him?â
âNo.â
âDo you think the same hand which unintentionally struck Barrois has now attacked Valentine?â
âYes.â
âThen will she die too?â asked dâAvrigny, fixing his penetrating gaze on Noirtier. He watched the effect of this question on the old man.
âNo,â replied he with an air of triumph which would have puzzled the most clever diviner.
âThen you hope?â said dâAvrigny, with surprise.
âYes.â
âWhat do you hope?â The old man made him understand with his eyes that he could not answer.
âAh, yes, it is true,â murmured dâAvrigny. Then, turning to Noirtier,ââDo you hope the assassin will be tried?â
âNo.â
âThen you hope the poison will take no effect on Valentine?â
âYes.â
âIt is no news to you,â added dâAvrigny, âto tell you that an attempt has been made to poison her?â The old man made a sign that he entertained no doubt upon the subject. âThen how do you hope Valentine will escape?â
Noirtier kept his eyes steadfastly fixed on the same spot. DâAvrigny followed the direction and saw that they were fixed on a bottle containing the mixture which he took every morning. âAh, indeed?â said dâAvrigny, struck with a sudden thought, âhas it occurred to youââNoirtier did not let him finish.
âYes,â said he.
âTo prepare her system to resist poison?â
âYes.â
âBy accustoming her by degreesâââ
âYes, yes, yes,â said Noirtier, delighted to be understood.
âOf course. I had told you that there was brucine in the mixture I give you.â
âYes.â
âAnd by accustoming her to that poison, you have endeavored to neutralize the effect of a similar poison?â Noirtierâs joy continued. âAnd you have succeeded,â exclaimed dâAvrigny. âWithout that precaution Valentine would have died before assistance could have been procured. The dose has been excessive, but she has only been shaken by it; and this time, at any rate, Valentine will not die.â
A superhuman joy expanded the old manâs eyes, which were raised towards heaven with an expression of infinite gratitude. At this moment Villefort returned.
âHere, doctor,â said he, âis what you sent me for.â
âWas this prepared in your presence?â
âYes,â replied the procureur.
âHave you not let it go out of your hands?â
âNo.â
DâAvrigny took the bottle, poured some drops of the mixture it contained in the hollow of his hand, and swallowed them.
âWell,â said he, âlet us go to Valentine; I will give instructions to everyone, and you, M. de Villefort, will yourself see that no one deviates from them.â
At the moment when dâAvrigny was returning to Valentineâs room, accompanied by Villefort, an Italian priest, of serious demeanor and calm and firm tone, hired for his use the house adjoining the hotel of M. de Villefort. No one knew how the three former tenants of that house left it. About two hours afterwards its foundation was reported to be unsafe; but the report did not prevent the new occupant establishing himself there with his modest furniture the same day at five oâclock. The lease was drawn up for three, six, or nine years by the new tenant, who, according to the rule of the proprietor, paid six months in advance.
This new tenant, who, as we have said, was an Italian, was called Il Signor Giacomo Busoni. Workmen were immediately called in, and that same night the passengers at the end of the faubourg saw with surprise that carpenters and masons were occupied in repairing the lower part of the tottering house.
Chapter 95. Father and Daughter
We saw in a preceding chapter how Madame Danglars went formally to announce to Madame de Villefort the approaching marriage of Eugénie Danglars and M. Andrea Cavalcanti. This formal announcement, which implied or appeared to imply, the approval of all the persons concerned in this momentous affair, had been preceded by a scene to which our readers must be admitted. We beg them to take one step backward, and to transport themselves, the morning of that day of great catastrophes, into the showy, gilded salon we have before shown them, and which was the pride of its owner, Baron Danglars.
In this room, at about ten oâclock in the morning, the banker himself had been walking to and fro for some minutes thoughtfully and in evident uneasiness, watching both doors, and listening to every sound. When his patience was exhausted, he called his valet.
âĂtienne,â said he, âsee why Mademoiselle EugĂ©nie has asked me to meet her in the drawing-room, and why she makes me wait so long.â
Having given this vent to his ill-humor, the baron became more calm; Mademoiselle Danglars had that morning requested an interview with her father, and had fixed on the gilded drawing-room as the spot. The singularity of this step, and above all its formality, had not a little surprised the banker, who had immediately obeyed his daughter by repairing first to the drawing-room. Ătienne soon returned from his errand.
âMademoiselleâs ladyâs maid says, sir, that mademoiselle is finishing her toilette, and will be here shortly.â
Danglars nodded, to signify that he was satisfied. To the world and to his servants Danglars assumed the character of the good-natured man and the indulgent father. This was one of his parts in the popular comedy he was performing,âa make-up he had adopted and which suited him about as well as the masks worn on the classic stage by paternal actors, who seen from one side, were the image of geniality, and from the other showed lips drawn down in chronic ill-temper. Let us hasten to say that in private the genial side descended to the level of the other, so that generally the indulgent man disappeared to give place to the brutal husband and domineering father.
âWhy the devil does that foolish girl, who pretends to wish to speak to me, not come into my study? and why on earth does she want to speak to me at all?â
He was turning this thought over in his brain for the twentieth time, when the door opened and Eugénie appeared, attired in a figured black satin dress, her hair dressed and gloves on, as if she were going to the Italian Opera.
âWell, EugĂ©nie, what is it you want with me? and why in this solemn drawing-room when the study is so comfortable?â
âI quite understand why you ask, sir,â said EugĂ©nie, making a sign that her father might be seated, âand in fact your two questions suggest fully the theme of our conversation. I will answer them both, and contrary to the usual method, the last first, because it is the least difficult. I have chosen the drawing-room, sir, as our place of meeting, in order to avoid the disagreeable impressions and influences of a bankerâs study. Those gilded cashbooks, drawers locked like gates of fortresses, heaps of bank-bills, come from I know not where, and the quantities of letters from England, Holland, Spain, India, China, and Peru, have generally a strange influence on a fatherâs mind, and make him forget that there is in the world an interest greater and more sacred than the good opinion of his correspondents. I have, therefore, chosen this drawing-room, where you see, smiling and happy in their magnificent frames, your portrait, mine, my motherâs, and all sorts of rural landscapes and touching pastorals. I rely much on external impressions; perhaps, with regard to you, they are immaterial, but I should be no artist if I had not some fancies.â
âVery well,â replied M. Danglars, who had listened to all this preamble with imperturbable coolness, but without understanding a word, since like every man burdened with thoughts of the past, he was occupied with seeking the thread of his own ideas in those of the speaker.
âThere is, then, the second point cleared up, or nearly so,â said EugĂ©nie, without the least confusion, and with that masculine pointedness which distinguished her gesture and her language; âand you appear satisfied with the explanation. Now, let us return to the first. You ask me why I have requested this interview; I will tell you in two words, sir; I will not marry count Andrea Cavalcanti.â
Danglars leaped from his chair and raised his eyes and arms towards heaven.
âYes, indeed, sir,â continued EugĂ©nie, still quite calm; âyou are astonished, I see; for since this little affair began, I have not manifested the slightest opposition, and yet I am always sure, when the opportunity arrives, to oppose a determined and absolute will to people who have not consulted me, and things which displease me. However, this time, my tranquillity, or passiveness as philosophers say, proceeded from another source; it proceeded from a wish, like a submissive and devoted daughterâ (a slight smile was observable on the purple lips of the young girl), âto practice obedience.â
âWell?â asked Danglars.
âWell, sir,â replied EugĂ©nie, âI have tried to the very last and now that the moment has come, I feel in spite of all my efforts that it is impossible.â
âBut,â said Danglars, whose weak mind was at first quite overwhelmed with the weight of this pitiless logic, marking evident premeditation and force of will, âwhat is your reason for this refusal, EugĂ©nie? what reason do you assign?â
âMy reason?â replied the young girl. âWell, it is not that the man is more ugly, more foolish, or more disagreeable than any other; no, M. Andrea Cavalcanti may appear to those who look at menâs faces and figures as a very good specimen of his kind. It is not, either, that my heart is less touched by him than any other; that would be a schoolgirlâs reason, which I consider quite beneath me. I actually love no one, sir; you know it, do you not? I do not then see why, without real necessity, I should encumber my life with a perpetual companion. Has not some sage said, âNothing too muchâ? and another, âI carry all my effects with meâ? I have been taught these two aphorisms in Latin and in Greek; one is, I believe, from PhĂŠdrus, and the other from Bias. Well, my dear father, in the shipwreck of lifeâfor life is an eternal shipwreck of our hopesâI cast into the sea my useless encumbrance, that is all, and I remain with my own will, disposed to live perfectly alone, and consequently perfectly free.â
âUnhappy girl, unhappy girl!â murmured Danglars, turning pale, for he knew from long experience the solidity of the obstacle he had so suddenly encountered.
âUnhappy girl,â replied EugĂ©nie, âunhappy girl, do you say, sir? No, indeed; the exclamation appears quite theatrical and affected. Happy, on the contrary, for what am I in want of? The world calls me beautiful. It is something to be well received. I like a
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