The Count of Monte Cristo Alexandre Dumas (classic novels to read TXT) 📖

abyss, on the bank of some river, I will put an end to my existence, as certainly as I am the son of the most honest man who ever lived in France.”

Valentine trembled convulsively; she loosened her hold of the gate, her arms fell by her side, and two large tears rolled down her cheeks. The young 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. You have 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, my true 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 a sublime expression, “I have done my utmost to remain a submissive daughter; I have begged, entreated, implored; he has regarded neither my prayers, my entreaties, nor my tears. It is done,” cried she, wiping away her tears, and resuming her firmness, “I am resolved not to die of remorse, but rather of shame. Live, Maximilian, and I will be yours. Say when shall it be? Speak, command, I will obey.”

Morrel, who had already gone some few steps away, again returned, and pale with joy extended both hands towards Valentine through the opening.

“Valentine,” said he, “dear Valentine, you must not speak thus⁠—rather let 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 does not? 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 the paternal home, I will give up all. Oh, ungrateful girl that I am,” cried Valentine, 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 has evinced, you say, a kind feeling towards me. Well, before you leave, tell him all; his consent would be your justification in God’s sight. As soon as we are married, he shall come and live with us, instead of one child, he shall have two. You have told me how you talk to him and how he answers you; I shall very soon learn that language by signs, Valentine, and I promise you solemnly, that instead of despair, it is happiness that awaits us.”

“Oh, see, Maximilian, see the power you have over me, you almost make me believe you; and yet, what you tell me is madness, for my father will curse 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 any means I can delay this marriage, will you wait?”

“Yes, I promise you, as faithfully as you have promised me that this horrible marriage shall not take place, and that if you are dragged before a magistrate or a priest, you will refuse.”

“I promise you by all that is most sacred to me in the world, namely, by my 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 the contract⁠—”

“Then you have my promise, Maximilian.”

“Instead of signing⁠—”

“I will go to you, and we will fly; but from this moment until then, let us not tempt Providence, let us not see each other. It is a miracle, it is 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 this marriage, Maximilian, as much as you.”

“Thank you, my adored Valentine, thank you; that is enough. When once I know the hour, I will hasten to this spot, you can easily get over this fence with my assistance, a carriage will await us at the gate, in which you will accompany me to my sister’s; there living, retired or mingling in society, as you wish, we shall be enabled to use our power to resist oppression, and not suffer ourselves to be put to death like sheep, which only defend themselves by sighs.”

“Yes,” said Valentine, “I will now acknowledge you are right, Maximilian; and now are you satisfied with your betrothal?” said the young girl sorrowfully.

“My adored Valentine, words cannot express one half of my satisfaction.”

Valentine had approached, or rather, had placed her lips so near the fence, that they nearly touched those of Morrel, which were pressed against 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 the branches, and of her footstep on the gravel, then raised his eyes with an ineffable smile of thankfulness to heaven for being permitted to be thus loved, and then also disappeared.

The young man returned home and waited all the evening and all the next day without getting any message. It was only on the following day, at about ten o’clock in the morning, as he was starting to call