to Valentine, and kept his secret.
The young man read Valentine's letter twenty times in the course
of the day. It was her first, and on what an occasion! Each time he
read it he renewed his vow to make her happy. How great is the
power of a woman who has made so courageous a resolution! What
devotion does she deserve from him for whom she has sacrificed
everything! How ought she really to be supremely loved! She becomes
at once a queen and a wife, and it is impossible to thank and love
her sufficiently. Morrel longed intensely for the moment when he
should hear Valentine say, "Here I am, Maximilian; come and help
me." He had arranged everything for her escape; two ladders were
hidden in the clover-field; a cabriolet was ordered for Maximilian
alone, without a servant, without lights; at the turning of the
first street they would light the lamps, as it would be foolish to
attract the notice of the police by too many precautions.
Occasionally he shuddered; he thought of the moment when, from the
top of that wall, he should protect the descent of his dear
Valentine, pressing in his arms for the first time her of whom he
had yet only kissed the delicate hand.
When the afternoon arrived and he felt that the hour was drawing
near, he wished for solitude, his agitation was extreme; a simple
question from a friend would have irritated him. He shut himself in
his room, and tried to read, but his eye glanced over the page
without understanding a word, and he threw away the book, and for
the second time sat down to sketch his plan, the ladders and the
fence. At length the hour drew near. Never did a man deeply in love
allow the clocks to go on peacefully. Morrel tormented his so
effectually that they struck eight at half-past six. He then said,
"It is time to start; the signature was indeed fixed to take place
at nine o'clock, but perhaps Valentine will not wait for that."
Consequently, Morrel, having left the Rue Meslay at half-past eight
by his timepiece, entered the clover-field while the clock ofby his timepiece, entered the clover-field while the clock of
Saint-Phillippe du Roule was striking eight. The horse and
cabriolet were concealed behind a small ruin, where Morrel had
often waited.
The night gradually drew on, and the foliage in the garden
assumed a deeper hue. Then Morrel came out from his hiding-place
with a beating heart, and looked through the small opening in the
gate; there was yet no one to be seen. The clock struck half-past
eight, and still another half-hour was passed in waiting, while
Morrel walked to and fro, and gazed more and more frequently
through the opening. The garden became darker still, but in the
darkness he looked in vain for the white dress, and in the silence
he vainly listened for the sound of footsteps. The house, which was
discernible through the trees, remained in darkness, and gave no
indication that so important an event as the signature of a
marriage-contract was going on. Morrel looked at his watch, which
wanted a quarter to ten; but soon the same clock he had already
heard strike two or three times rectified the error by striking
half-past nine.
This was already half an hour past the time Valentine had fixed.
It was a terrible moment for the young man. The slightest rustling
of the foliage, the least whistling of the wind, attracted his
attention, and drew the perspiration to his brow; then he
tremblingly fixed his ladder, and, not to lose a moment, placed his
foot on the first step. Amidst all these alternations of hope and
fear, the clock struck ten. "It is impossible," said Maximilian,
"that the signing of a contract should occupy so long a time
without unexpected interruptions. I have weighed all the chances,
calculated the time required for all the forms; something must have
happened." And then he walked rapidly to and fro, and pressed his
burning forehead against the fence. Had Valentine fainted? or had
she been discovered and stopped in her flight? These were the only
obstacles which appeared possible to the young man.obstacles which appeared possible to the young man.
The idea that her strength had failed her in attempting to
escape, and that she had fainted in one of the paths, was the one
that most impressed itself upon his mind. "In that case," said he,
"I should lose her, and by my own fault." He dwelt on this idea for
a moment, then it appeared reality. He even thought he could
perceive something on the ground at a distance; he ventured to
call, and it seemed to him that the wind wafted back an almost
inarticulate sigh. At last the half-hour struck. It was impossible
to wait longer, his temples throbbed violently, his eyes were
growing dim; he passed one leg over the wall, and in a moment
leaped down on the other side. He was on Villefort's premises — had
arrived there by scaling the wall. What might be the consequences?
However, he had not ventured thus far to draw back. He followed a
short distance close under the wall, then crossed a path, hid
entered a clump of trees. In a moment he had passed through them,
and could see the house distinctly. Then Morrel saw that he had
been right in believing that the house was not illuminated. Instead
of lights at every window, as is customary on days of ceremony, he
saw only a gray mass, which was veiled also by a cloud, which at
that moment obscured the moon's feeble light. A light moved rapidly
from time to time past three windows of the second floor. These
three windows were in Madame de Saint-Meran's room. Another
remained motionless behind some red curtains which were in Madame
de Villefort's bedroom. Morrel guessed all this. So many times, in
order to follow Valentine in thought at every hour in the day, had
he made her describe the whole house, that without having seen it
he knew it all.
This darkness and silence alarmed Morrel still more than
Valentine's absence had done. Almost mad with grief, and determined
to venture everything in order to see Valentine once more, and be
certain of the misfortune he feared, Morrel gained the edge of the


certain of the misfortune he feared, Morrel gained the edge of the
clump of trees, and was going to pass as quickly as possible
through the flower-garden, when the sound of a voice, still at some
distance, but which was borne upon the wind, reached him.
At this sound, as he was already partially exposed to view, he
stepped back and concealed himself completely, remaining perfectly
motionless. He had formed his resolution. If it was Valentine
alone, he would speak as she passed; if she was accompanied, and he
could not speak, still he should see her, and know that she was
safe; if they were strangers, he would listen to their
conversation, and might understand something of this hitherto
incomprehensible mystery. The moon had just then escaped from
behind the cloud which had concealed it, and Morrel saw Villefort
come out upon the steps, followed by a gentleman in black. They
descended, and advanced towards the clump of trees, and Morrel soon
recognized the other gentleman as Doctor d'Avrigny.
The young man, seeing them approach, drew back mechanically,
until he found himself stopped by a sycamore-tree in the centre of
the clump; there he was compelled to remain. Soon the two gentlemen
stopped also.
"Ah, my dear doctor," said the procureur, "heaven declares
itself against my house! What a dreadful death — what a blow! Seek
not to console me; alas, nothing can alleviate so great a sorrow —
the wound is too deep and too fresh! Dead, dead!" The cold sweat
sprang to the young man's brow, and his teeth chattered. Who could
be dead in that house, which Villefort himself had called accursed?
"My dear M. de Villefort," replied the doctor, with a tone which
redoubled the terror of the young man, "I have not led you here to
console you; on the contrary" —
"What can you mean?" asked the procureur, alarmed.
"I mean that behind the misfortune which has just happened to
you, there is another, perhaps, still greater."
"Can it be possible?" murmured Villefort, clasping his hands.
"What are you going to tell me?""Can it be possible?" murmured Villefort, clasping his hands.
"What are you going to tell me?"
"Are we quite alone, my friend?"
"Yes, quite; but why all these precautions?"
"Because I have a terrible secret to communicate to you," said
the doctor. "Let us sit down."
Villefort fell, rather than seated himself The doctor stood
before him, with one hand placed on his shoulder. Morrel,
horrified, supported his head with one hand, and with the other
pressed his heart, lest its beatings should be heard. "Dead, dead!"
repeated he within himself; and he felt as if he were also
dying.
"Speak, doctor — I am listening," said Villefort; "strike — I am
prepared for everything!"
"Madame de Saint-Meran was, doubtless, advancing in years, but
she enjoyed excellent health." Morrel began again to breathe
freely, which he had not done during the last ten minutes.
"Grief has consumed her," said Villefort — "yes, grief, doctor!
After living forty years with the marquis" —
"It is not grief, my dear Villefort," said the doctor; "grief
may kill, although it rarely does, and never in a day, never in an
hour, never in ten minutes." Villefort answered nothing, he simply
raised his head, which had been cast down before, and looked at the
doctor with amazement.
"Were you present during the last struggle?" asked M.
d'Avrigny.
"I was," replied the procureur; "you begged me not to
leave."
"Did you notice the symptoms of the disease to which Madame de
Saint-Meran has fallen a victim?"
"I did. Madame de Saint-Meran had three successive attacks, at
intervals of some minutes, each one more serious than the former.
When you arrived, Madame de Saint-Meran had already been panting
for breath some minutes; she then had a fit, which I took to be
simply a nervous attack, and it was only when I saw her raise
herself in the bed, and her limbs and neck appear stiffened, that I
became really alarmed. Then I understood from your countenance
there was more to fear than I had thought. This crisis past, Ithere was more to fear than I had thought. This crisis past, I
endeavored to catch your eye, but could not. You held her hand —
you were feeling her pulse — and the second fit came on before you
had turned towards me. This was more terrible than the first; the
same nervous movements were repeated, and the mouth contracted and
turned purple."
"And at the third she expired."
"At the end of the first attack I discovered symptoms of
tetanus; you confirmed my opinion."
"Yes, before others," replied the doctor; "but now we are alone"
—
"What are you going to say? Oh, spare me!"
"That the symptoms of tetanus and poisoning by vegetable
substances are the same." M. de Villefort started from his seat,
then in a moment fell down again, silent and motionless. Morrel
knew not if he were dreaming or awake. "Listen," said the doctor;
"I know the full importance of the statement I have just made, and
the disposition of the man to whom I have made it."
"Do you speak to me as a magistrate or as a friend?" asked
Villefort.
"As a friend, and only as a friend, at this moment. The
similarity in the symptoms of tetanus and poisoning by vegetable
substances is so great, that were I obliged to affirm by oath what
I have now stated, I should hesitate; I therefore repeat to you, I
speak not to a magistrate, but to a friend. And to that friend I
say. `During the three-quarters of an hour that the struggle
continued, I watched the convulsions and the death of Madame de
Saint-Meran, and am thoroughly convinced that not only did her
death proceed from poison, but I could also specify the
poison.'"
"Can it be possible?"
"The symptoms are marked, do you see? — sleep broken by nervous
spasms, excitation of the brain, torpor of the nerve centres.
Madame de Saint-Meran succumbed to a powerful dose of brucine or of
strychnine, which by some mistake, perhaps, has been given to her."
Villefort seized the doctor's hand. "Oh, it is impossible," said
he, "I must be dreaming! It is frightful to hear such things from


he, "I 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."
"Doubtless I may, but" —
"But?"
"But I do not think so."
"Have pity on me doctor! So many dreadful things have happened
to me lately that I am on the verge of madness."
"Has any one besides me seen Madame de Saint-Meran?"
"No."
"Has anything been sent for from a chemist's that I have not
examined?"
"Nothing."
"Had Madame de Saint-Meran any enemies?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Would her death affect any one's interest?"
"It could not indeed, my daughter is her only heiress —
Valentine alone. Oh, if such a thought could present itself, I
would stab myself to punish my heart for having for one instant
harbored it."
"Indeed, my dear friend," said M. d'Avrigny, "I would not accuse
any one; I speak only of an accident, you understand, — of a
mistake, — but whether accident or mistake, the fact is there; it
is on my conscience and compels me to speak aloud to you. Make
inquiry."
"Of whom? — how? — of what?"
"May not Barrois, the old servant, have made a mistake, and have
given Madame de Saint-Meran a dose prepared for his master?"
"For my father?"
"Yes."
"But how could a dose prepared for M. Noirtier poison Madame de
Saint-Meran?"
"Nothing 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."
"My dear doctor, there is no communication between M. Noirtier's
apartment and that of Madame de Saint-Meran, and Barrois never
entered my mother-in-law's room. In short, doctor although I knowentered my mother-in-law's 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."
"Is there one of my brethren in whom you have equal confidence
with myself?"
"Why do you ask me that? — what do you wish?"
"Send for him; I will tell him what I have seen, and we will
consult together, and examine the body."
"And you will find traces of poison?"
"No, 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, `Dear Villefort, if this thing has been caused by
negligence, watch over your servants; if from hatred, watch your
enemies.'"
"What do you propose to me, d'Avrigny?" said Villefort in
despair; "so soon as another is admitted into our secret, an
inquest will become necessary; and an inquest in my house —
impossible! Still," continued the procureur, looking at the doctor
with uneasiness, "if you wish it — if you demand it, why then it
shall be done. But, doctor, you see me already so grieved — how can
I introduce into my house so much scandal, after so much sorrow? My
wife and my daughter would die of it! And I, doctor — you know a
man does not arrive at the post I occupy — one has not been king's
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?"
"My dear M. de Villefort," replied the doctor, "my first duty is
to humanity. I would have saved Madame de Saint-Meran, 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 ourLet us bury this terrible secret in the deepest recesses of our
hearts; I am willing, if any one should suspect this, that my
silence on the subject should be imputed to my ignorance.
Meanwhile, sir, watch always — watch 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, `You are a magistrate, do as you
will!'"
"I thank you, doctor," said Villefort with indescribable joy; "I
never had a better friend than you." And, as if he feared Doctor
d'Avrigny 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. "I am manifestly protected in a
most wonderful, but most terrible manner," said he; "but Valentine,
poor girl, how will she bear so much sorrow?"
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


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
Valentine's 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 any one. 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;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 chair — a head like that of a Magdalen by Correggio
— was 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.
"My friend," said she, "how came you here? Alas, I would say you
are welcome, had not death opened the way for you into this
house."
"Valentine," said Morrel with a trembling voice, "I 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 event" —
"What voices ?" 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.
"Your servants," said he, "who were repeating the whole of the
sorrowful story; from them I learned it all."
"But it was risking the failure of our plan to come up here,
love."
"Forgive me," replied Morrel; "I will go away."
"No," said Valentine, "you might meet some one; stay."
"But if any one should come here" —"No," said Valentine, "you might meet some one; stay."
"But if any one should come here" —
The young girl shook her head. "No one will come," said she; "do
not fear, there is our safeguard," pointing to the bed.
"But what has become of M. d'Epinay?" replied Morrel.
"M. Franz arrived to sign the contract just as my dear
grandmother was dying."
"Alas," said Morrel with a feeling of selfish joy; for he
thought this death would cause the wedding to be postponed
indefinitely. "But what redoubles my sorrow," continued the young
girl, as if this feeling was to receive its immediate punishment,
"is 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."
"Hark!" said Morrel. They both listened; steps were distinctly
heard in the corridor and on the stairs.
"It is my father, who has just left his study."
"To accompany the doctor to the door," added Morrel.
"How do you know it is the doctor?" asked Valentine,
astonished.
"I imagined it must be," said Morrel. Valentine looked at the
young man; they heard the street door close, then M. de Villefort
locked the garden door, and returned up-stairs. He stopped a moment
in the anteroom, as if hesitating whether to turn to his own
apartment or into Madame de Saint-Meran's; 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.
"Now," said Valentine, "you can neither go out by the front door
nor by the garden." Morrel looked at her with astonishment. "There
is but one way left you that is safe," said she; "it is through my
grandfather's room." She rose, "Come," she added. — "Where?" asked
Maximilian.
"To my grandfather's room."
"I in M. Noirtier's apartment?"
"Yes."
"Can you mean it, Valentine?"
"I have long wished it; he is my only remaining friend and we
both need his help, — come."
"Be careful, Valentine," said Morrel, hesitating to comply with


both need his help, — come."
"Be careful, Valentine," said Morrel, hesitating to comply with
the young girl's wishes; "I now see my error — I acted like a
madman in coming in here. Are you sure you are more
reasonable?"
"Yes," said Valentine; "and I have but one scruple, — that of
leaving my dear grandmother's remains, which I had undertaken to
watch."
"Valentine," said Morrel, "death is in itself sacred."
"Yes," said Valentine; "besides, it will not be for long." She
then crossed the corridor, and led the way down a narrow staircase
to M. Noirtier's room; Morrel followed her on tiptoe; at the door
they found the old servant. "Barrois," said Valentine, "shut the
door, and let no one come in." She passed first. Noirtier, seated
in his chair, and listening to every sound, was watching the door;
he saw Valentine, and his eye brightened. There was something grave
and solemn in the approach of the young girl which struck the old
man, and immediately his bright eye began to interrogate. "Dear
grandfather." said she hurriedly, "you know poor grandmamma died an
hour since, and now I have no friend in the world but you." His
expressive eyes evinced the greatest tenderness. "To you alone,
then, may I confide my sorrows and my hopes?" The paralytic
motioned "Yes." Valentine took Maximilian's hand. "Look
attentively, then, at this gentleman." The old man fixed his
scrutinizing gaze with slight astonishment on Morrel. "It is M.
Maximilian Morrel," said she; "the son of that good merchant of
Marseilles, whom you doubtless recollect."
"Yes," said the old man. "He brings an irreproachable name,
which Maximilian is likely to render glorious, since at thirty
years of age he is a captain, an officer of the Legion of Honor."
The old man signified that he recollected him. "Well, grandpapa,"
said Valentine, kneeling before him, and pointing to Maximilian, "I
love him, and will be only his; were I compelled to marry another,
I would destroy myself."
The eyes of the paralytic expressed a multitude of tumultuousI would destroy myself."
The eyes of the paralytic expressed a multitude of tumultuous
thoughts. "You like M. Maximilian Morrel, do you not, grandpapa?"
asked Valentine.
"Yes."
"And you will protect us, who are your children, against the
will of my father?" — Noirtier cast an intelligent glance at
Morrel, as if to say, "perhaps I may." Maximilian understood
him.
"Mademoiselle," said he, "you have a sacred duty to fulfil in
your deceased grandmother's room, will you allow me the honor of a
few minutes' conversation with M. Noirtier?"
"That is it," said the old man's eye. Then he looked anxiously
at Valentine.
"Do you fear he will not understand?"
"Yes."
"Oh, we have so often spoken of you, that he knows exactly how I
talk to you." Then turning to Maximilian, with an adorable smile;
although shaded by sorrow, — "He knows everything I know," said
she.
Valentine arose, placed a chair for Morrel, requested Barrois
not to admit any one, and having tenderly embraced her grandfather,
and sorrowfully taken leave of Morrel, she went away. To prove to
Noirtier that he was in Valentine's confidence and knew all their
secrets, Morrel took the dictionary, a pen, and some paper, and
placed them all on a table where there was a light.
"But first," said Morrel, "allow me, sir, to tell you who I am,
how much I love Mademoiselle Valentine, and what are my designs
respecting her." Noirtier made a sign that he would listen.
It was an imposing sight to witness this old man, apparently a
mere useless burden, becoming the sole protector, support, and
adviser of the lovers who were both young, beautiful, and strong.
His remarkably noble and austere expression struck Morrel, who
began his story with trembling. He related the manner in which he
had become acquainted with Valentine, and how he had loved her, and
that Valentine, in her solitude and her misfortune, had accepted
the offer of his devotion. He told him his birth, his position, his
fortune, and more than once, when he consulted the look of thefortune, and more than once, when he consulted the look of the
paralytic, that look answered, "That is good, proceed."
"And now," said Morrel, when he had finished the first part of
his recital, "now I have told you of my love and my hopes, may I
inform you of my intentions?"
"Yes," signified the old man.
"This was our resolution; a cabriolet was in waiting at the
gate, in which I intended to carry off Valentine to my sister's
house, to marry her, and to wait respectfully M. de Villefort's
pardon."
"No," said Noirtier.
"We must not do so?"
"No."
"You do not sanction our project?"
"No."
"There is another way," said Morrel. The old man's interrogative
eye said, "What?"
"I will go," continued Maximilian, "I will seek M. Franz
d'Epinay — I am happy to be able to mention this in Mademoiselle de
Villefort's absence — and will conduct myself toward him so as to
compel him to challenge me." Noirtier's look continued to
interrogate. "You wish to know what I will do?"
"Yes."
"I will find him, as I told you. I will tell him the ties which
bind me to Mademoiselle Valentine; if he be a sensible man, he will
prove it by renouncing of his own accord the hand of his betrothed,
and will secure my friendship, and love until death; if he refuse,
either through interest or ridiculous pride, after I have proved to
him that he would be forcing my wife from me, that Valentine loves
me, and will have no other, I will fight with him, give him every
advantage, and I shall kill him, or he will kill me; if I am
victorious, he will not marry Valentine, and if I die, I am very
sure Valentine will not marry him." Noirtier watched, with
indescribable pleasure, this noble and sincere countenance, on
which every sentiment his tongue uttered was depicted, adding by
the expression of his fine features all that coloring adds to a
sound and faithful drawing. Still, when Morrel had finished, he
shut his eyes several times, which was his manner of saying
"No."
"No?" said Morrel; "you disapprove of this second project, as
you did of the first?"


"No."
"No?" said Morrel; "you disapprove of this second project, as
you did of the first?"
"I do," signified the old man.
"But what then must be done?" asked Morrel. "Madame de
Saint-Meran's last request was, that the marriage might not be
delayed; must I let things take their course?" Noirtier did not
move. "I understand," said Morrel; "I am to wait."
"Yes."
"But delay may ruin our plan, sir," replied the young man.
"Alone, Valentine has no power; she will be compelled to submit. I
am here almost miraculously, and can scarcely hope for so good an
opportunity to occur again. Believe me, there are only the two
plans I have proposed to you; forgive my vanity, and tell me which
you prefer. Do you authorize Mademoiselle Valentine to intrust
herself to my honor?"
"No."
"Do you prefer I should seek M. d'Epinay?"
"No."
"Whence then will come the help we need — from chance?" resumed
Morrel.
"No."
"From you?"
"Yes."
"You thoroughly understand me, sir? Pardon my eagerness, for my
life depends on your answer. Will our help come from you?"
"Yes."
"You are sure of it?"
"Yes." There was so much firmness in the look which gave this
answer, no one could, at any rate, doubt his will, if they did his
power. "Oh, thank you a thousand times! But how, unless a miracle
should restore your speech, your gesture, your movement, how can
you, chained to that arm-chair, dumb and motionless, oppose this
marriage?" A smile lit up the old man's face, a strange smile of
the eyes in a paralyzed face. "Then I must wait?" asked the young
man.
"Yes."
"But the contract?" The same smile returned. "Will you assure me
it shall not be signed?"
"Yes," said Noirtier.
"The contract shall not be signed!" cried Morrel. "Oh, pardon
me, sir; I can scarcely realize so great a happiness. Will they not
sign it?"
"No," said the paralytic. Notwithstanding that assurance, Morrel
still hesitated. This promise of an impotent old man was so strange
that, instead of being the result of the power of his will, itthat, instead of being the result of the power of his will, it
might emanate from enfeebled organs. Is it not natural that the
madman, ignorant of his folly, should attempt things beyond his
power? The weak man talks of burdens he can raise, the timid of
giants he can confront, the poor of treasures he spends, the most
humble peasant, in the height of his pride, calls himself Jupiter.
Whether Noirtier understood the young man's indecision, or whether
he had not full confidence in his docility, he looked uneasily at
him. "What do you wish, sir?" asked Morrel; "that I should renew my
promise of remaining tranquil?" Noirtier's eye remained fixed and
firm, as if to imply that a promise did not suffice; then it passed
from his face to his hands.
"Shall I swear to you, sir?" asked Maximilian.
"Yes?" said the paralytic with the same solemnity. Morrel
understood that the old man attached great importance to an oath.
He extended his hand.
"I swear to you, on my honor," said he, "to await your decision
respecting the course I am to pursue with M. d'Epinay."
"That is right," said the old man.
"Now," said Morrel, "do you wish me to retire?"
"Yes."
"Without seeing Mademoiselle Valentine?"
"Yes."
Morrel made a sign that he was ready to obey. "But," said he,
"first allow me to embrace you as your daughter did just now."
Noirtier's expression could not be understood. The young man
pressed his lips on the same spot, on the old man's forehead, where
Valentine's had been. Then he bowed a second time and retired. He
found outside the door the old servant, to whom Valentine had given
directions. Morrel was conducted along a dark passage, which led to
a little door opening on the garden, soon found the spot where he
had entered, with the assistance of the shrubs gained the top of
the wall, and by his ladder was in an instant in the clover-field
where his cabriolet was still waiting for him. He got in it, and
thoroughly wearied by so many emotions, arrived about midnight in
the Rue Meslay, threw himself on his bed and slept soundly.Two days after, a considerable crowd was assembled, towards ten
o'clock in the morning, around the door of M. de Villefort's house,
and a long file of mourning-coaches and private carriages extended
along the Faubourg Saint-Honore and the Rue de la Pepiniere. Among
them was one of a very singular form, which appeared to have come
from a distance. It was a kind of covered wagon, painted black, and
was one of the first to arrive. Inquiry was made, and it was
ascertained that, by a strange coincidence, this carriage contained
the corpse of the Marquis de Saint-Meran, and that those who had
come thinking to attend one funeral would follow two. Their number
was great. The Marquis de Saint-Meran, one of the most zealous and
faithful dignitaries of Louis XVIII. and King Charles X., had
preserved a great number of friends, and these, added to the
personages whom the usages of society gave Villefort a claim on,
formed a considerable body.
Due information was given to the authorities, and permission
obtained that the two funerals should take place at the same time.
A second hearse, decked with the same funereal pomp, was brought to
M. de Villefort's door, and the coffin removed into it from the
post-wagon. The two bodies were to be interred in the cemetery of
Pere-la-Chaise, where M. de Villefort had long since had a tomb
prepared for the reception of his family. The remains of poor Renee
were already deposited there, and now, after ten years of
separation, her father and mother were to be reunited with her. The
Parisians, always curious, always affected by funereal display,
looked on with religious silence while the splendid procession
accompanied to their last abode two of the number of the old
aristocracy — the greatest protectors of commerce and sincere
devotees to their principles. In one of the mourning-coaches
Beauchamp, Debray, and Chateau-Renaud were talking of the very
sudden death of the marchioness. "I saw Madame de Saint-Meran only
last year at Marseilles, when I was coming back from Algiers," said


last year at Marseilles, when I was coming back from Algiers," said
Chateau-Renaud; "she looked like a woman destined to live to be a
hundred years old, from her apparent sound health and great
activity of mind and body. How old was she?"
"Franz assured me," replied Albert, "that she was sixty-six
years old. But she has not died of old age, but of grief; it
appears that since the death of the marquis, which affected her
very deeply, she has not completely recovered her reason."
"But of what disease, then, did she die?" asked Debray.
"It is said to have been a congestion of the brain, or apoplexy,
which is the same thing, is it not?"
"Nearly."
"It is difficult to believe that it was apoplexy," said
Beauchamp. "Madame de Saint-Meran, whom I once saw, was short, of
slender form, and of a much more nervous than sanguine temperament;
grief could hardly produce apoplexy in such a constitution as that
of Madame de Saint-Meran."
"At any rate," said Albert, "whatever disease or doctor may have
killed her, M. de Villefort, or rather, Mademoiselle Valentine, —
or, still rather, our friend Franz, inherits a magnificent fortune,
amounting, I believe, to 80,000 livres per annum."
"And this fortune will be doubled at the death of the old
Jacobin, Noirtier."
"That is a tenacious old grandfather," said Beauchamp. "Tenacem
propositi virum. I think he must have made an agreement with death
to outlive all his heirs, and he appears likely to succeed. He
resembles the old Conventionalist of '93, who said to Napoleon, in
1814, `You bend because your empire is a young stem, weakened by
rapid growth. Take the Republic for a tutor; let us return with
renewed strength to the battle-field, and I promise you 500,000
soldiers, another Marengo, and a second Austerlitz. Ideas do not
become extinct, sire; they slumber sometimes, but only revive the
stronger before they sleep entirely.' Ideas and men appeared the
same to him. One thing only puzzles me, namely, how Franz d'Epinay
will like a grandfather who cannot be separated from his wife. Butwill like a grandfather who cannot be separated from his wife. But
where is Franz?"
"In the first carriage, with M. de Villefort, who considers him
already as one of the family."
Such was the conversation in almost all the carriages; these two
sudden deaths, so quickly following each other, astonished every
one, but no one suspected the terrible secret which M. d'Avrigny
had communicated, in his nocturnal walk to M. de Villefort. They
arrived in about an hour at the cemetery; the weather was mild, but
dull, and in harmony with the funeral ceremony. Among the groups
which flocked towards the family vault, Chateau-Renaud recognized
Morrel, who had come alone in a cabriolet, and walked silently
along the path bordered with yew-trees. "You here?" said
Chateau-Renaud, passing his arms through the young captain's; "are
you a friend of Villefort's? How is it that I have never met you at
his house?"
"I am no acquaintance of M. de Villefort's." answered Morrel,
"but I was of Madame de Saint-Meran." Albert came up to them at
this moment with Franz.
"The time and place are but ill-suited for an introduction."
said Albert; "but we are not superstitious. M. Morrel, allow me to
present to you M. Franz d'Epinay, a delightful travelling
companion, with whom I made the tour of Italy. My dear Franz, M.
Maximilian Morrel, an excellent friend I have acquired in your
absence, and whose name you will hear me mention every time I make
any allusion to affection, wit, or amiability." Morrel hesitated
for a moment; he feared it would be hypocritical to accost in a
friendly manner the man whom he was tacitly opposing, but his oath
and the gravity of the circumstances recurred to his memory; he
struggled to conceal his emotion and bowed to Franz. "Mademoiselle
de Villefort is in deep sorrow, is she not?" said Debray to
Franz.
"Extremely," replied he; "she looked so pale this morning, I
scarcely knew her." These apparently simple words pierced Morrel to
the heart. This man had seen Valentine, and spoken to her! Thethe heart. This man had seen Valentine, and spoken to her! The
young and high-spirited officer required all his strength of mind
to resist breaking his oath. He took the arm of Chateau-Renaud, and
turned towards the vault, where the attendants had already placed
the two coffins. "This is a magnificent habitation," said
Beauchamp, looking towards the mausoleum; "a summer and winter
palace. You will, in turn, enter it, my dear d'Epinay, for you will
soon be numbered as one of the family. I, as a philosopher, should
like a little country-house, a cottage down there under the trees,
without so many free-stones over my poor body. In dying, I will say
to those around me what Voltaire wrote to Piron: `Eo rus, and all
will be over.' But come, Franz, take courage, your wife is an
heiress."
"Indeed, Beauchamp, you are unbearable. Politics has made you
laugh at everything, and political men have made you disbelieve
everything. But when you have the honor of associating with
ordinary men, and the pleasure of leaving politics for a moment,
try to find your affectionate heart, which you leave with your
stick when you go to the Chamber."
"But tell me," said Beauchamp, "what is life? Is it not a hall
in Death's anteroom?"
"I am prejudiced against Beauchamp," said Albert, drawing Franz
away, and leaving the former to finish his philosophical
dissertation with Debray. The Villefort vault formed a square of
white stones, about twenty feet high; an interior partition
separated the two families, and each apartment had its entrance
door. Here were not, as in other tombs, ignoble drawers, one above
another, where thrift bestows its dead and labels them like
specimens in a museum; all that was visible within the bronze gates
was a gloomy-looking room, separated by a wall from the vault
itself. The two doors before mentioned were in the middle of this
wall, and enclosed the Villefort and Saint-Meran coffins. There
grief might freely expend itself without being disturbed by the
trifling loungers who came from a picnic party to visit


trifling loungers who came from a picnic party to visit
Pere-la-Chaise, or by lovers who make it their rendezvous.
The two coffins were placed on trestles previously prepared for
their reception in the right-hand crypt belonging to the
Saint-Meran family. Villefort, Franz, and a few near relatives
alone entered the sanctuary.
As the religious ceremonies had all been performed at the door,
and there was no address given, the party all separated;
Chateau-Renaud, Albert, and Morrel, went one way, and Debray and
Beauchamp the other. Franz remained with M. de Villefort; at the
gate of the cemetery Morrel made an excuse to wait; he saw Franz
and M. de Villefort get into the same mourning coach, and thought
this meeting forboded evil. He then returned to Paris, and although
in the same carriage with Chateau-Renaud and Albert, he did not
hear one word of their conversation. As Franz was about to take
leave of M. de Villefort, "When shall I see you again?" said the
latter.
"At what time you please, sir," replied Franz.
"As soon as possible."
"I am at your command, sir; shall we return together?"
"If not unpleasant to you."
"On the contrary, I shall feel much pleasure." Thus, the future
father and son-in-law stepped into the same carriage, and Morrel,
seeing them pass, became uneasy. Villefort and Franz returned to
the Faubourg Saint-Honore. The procureur, without going to see
either his wife or his daughter, went at once to his study, and,
offering the young man a chair, — "M. d'Epinay," said he, "allow me
to remind you at this moment, — which is perhaps not so ill-chosen
as at first sight may appear, for obedience to the wishes of the
departed is the first offering which should be made at their tomb,
— allow me then to remind you of the wish expressed by Madame de
Saint-Meran on her death-bed, that Valentine's wedding might not be
deferred. You know the affairs of the deceased are in perfect
order, and her will bequeaths to Valentine the entire property of
the Saint-Meran family; the notary showed me the documentsthe Saint-Meran family; the notary showed me the documents
yesterday, which will enable us to draw up the contract
immediately. You may call on the notary, M. Deschamps, Place
Beauveau, Faubourg Saint-Honore, and you have my authority to
inspect those deeds."
"Sir," replied M. d'Epinay, "it is not, perhaps, the moment for
Mademoiselle Valentine, who is in deep distress, to think of a
husband; indeed, I fear" —
"Valentine will have no greater pleasure than that of fulfilling
her grandmother's last injunctions; there will be no obstacle from
that quarter, I assure you."
"In that case," replied Franz, "as I shall raise none, you may
make arrangements when you please; I have pledged my word, and
shall feel pleasure and happiness in adhering to it."
"Then," said Villefort, "nothing further is required. The
contract was to have been signed three days since; we shall find it
all ready, and can sign it to-day."
"But the mourning?" said Franz, hesitating.
"Don't be uneasy on that score," replied Villefort; "no ceremony
will be neglected in my house. Mademoiselle de Villefort may retire
during the prescribed three months to her estate of Saint-Meran; I
say hers, for she inherits it to-day. There, after a few days, if
you like, the civil marriage shall be celebrated without pomp or
ceremony. Madame de Saint-Meran wished her daughter should be
married there. When that is over, you, sir, can return to Paris,
while your wife passes the time of her mourning with her
mother-in-law."
"As you please, sir," said Franz.
"Then," replied M. de Villefort, "have the kindness to wait half
an hour; Valentine shall come down into the drawing-room. I will
send for M. Deschamps; we will read and sign the contract before we
separate, and this evening Madame de Villefort shall accompany
Valentine to her estate, where we will rejoin them in a week."
"Sir," said Franz, "I have one request to make."
"What is it?"
"I wish Albert de Morcerf and Raoul de Chateau-Renaud to be
present at this signature; you know they are my witnesses."present at this signature; you know they are my witnesses."
"Half an hour will suffice to apprise them; will you go for them
yourself, or shall you send?"
"I prefer going, sir."
"I shall expect you, then, in half an hour, baron, and Valentine
will be ready." Franz bowed and left the room. Scarcely had the
door closed, when M. de Villefort sent to tell Valentine to be
ready in the drawing-room in half an hour, as he expected the
notary and M. d'Epinay and his witnesses. The news caused a great
sensation throughout the house; Madame de Villefort would not
believe it, and Valentine was thunderstruck. She looked around for
help, and would have gone down to her grandfather's room, but on
the stairs she met M. de Villefort, who took her arm and led her
into the drawing-room. In the anteroom, Valentine met Barrois, and
looked despairingly at the old servant. A moment later, Madame de
Villefort entered the drawing-room with her little Edward. It was
evident that she had shared the grief of the family, for she was
pale and looked fatigued. She sat down, took Edward on her knees,
and from time to time pressed this child, on whom her affections
appeared centred, almost convulsively to her bosom. Two carriages
were soon heard to enter the court yard. One was the notary's; the
other, that of Franz and his friends. In a moment the whole party
was assembled. Valentine was so pale one might trace the blue veins
from her temples, round her eyes and down her cheeks. Franz was
deeply affected. Chateau-Renaud and Albert looked at each other
with amazement; the ceremony which was just concluded had not
appeared more sorrowful than did that which was about to begin.
Madame de Villefort had placed herself in the shadow behind a
velvet curtain, and as she constantly bent over her child, it was
difficult to read the expression of her face. M. de Villefort was,
as usual, unmoved.
The notary, after having according to the customary method
arranged the papers on the table, taken his place in an armchair,


arranged the papers on the table, taken his place in an armchair,
and raised his spectacles, turned towards Franz:
"Are you M. Franz de Quesnel, baron d'Epinay?" asked he,
although he knew it perfectly.
"Yes, sir," replied Franz. The notary bowed. "I have, then, to
inform you, sir, at the request of M. de Villefort, that your
projected marriage with Mademoiselle de Villefort has changed the
feeling of M. Noirtier towards his grandchild, and that he
disinherits her entirely of the fortune he would have left her. Let
me hasten to add," continued he, "that the testator, having only
the right to alienate a part of his fortune, and having alienated
it all, the will will not bear scrutiny, and is declared null and
void."
"Yes." said Villefort; "but I warn M. d'Epinay, that during my
life-time my father's will shall never be questioned, my position
forbidding any doubt to be entertained."
"Sir," said Franz, "I regret much that such a question has been
raised in the presence of Mademoiselle Valentine; I have never
inquired the amount of her fortune, which, however limited it may
be, exceeds mine. My family has sought consideration in this
alliance with M. de Villefort; all I seek is happiness." Valentine
imperceptibly thanked him, while two silent tears rolled down her
cheeks. "Besides, sir," said Villefort, addressing himself to his
future son-in-law, "excepting the loss of a portion of your hopes,
this unexpected will need not personally wound you; M. Noirtier's
weakness of mind sufficiently explains it. It is not because
Mademoiselle Valentine is going to marry you that he is angry, but
because she will marry, a union with any other would have caused
him the same sorrow. Old age is selfish, sir, and Mademoiselle de
Villefort has been a faithful companion to M. Noirtier, which she
cannot be when she becomes the Baroness d'Epinay. My father's
melancholy state prevents our speaking to him on any subjects,
which the weakness of his mind would incapacitate him fromwhich the weakness of his mind would incapacitate him from
understanding, and I am perfectly convinced that at the present
time, although, he knows that his granddaughter is going to be
married, M. Noirtier has even forgotten the name of his intended
grandson." M. de Villefort had scarcely said this, when the door
opened, and Barrois appeared.
"Gentlemen," said he, in a tone strangely firm for a servant
speaking to his masters under such solemn circumstances, —
"gentlemen, M. Noirtier de Villefort wishes to speak immediately to
M. Franz de Quesnel, baron d'Epinay;" he, as well as the notary,
that there might be no mistake in the person, gave all his titles
to the bride-groom elect.
Villefort started, Madame de Villefort let her son slip from her
knees, Valentine rose, pale and dumb as a statue. Albert and
Chateau-Renaud exchanged a second look, more full of amazement than
the first. The notary looked at Villefort. "It is impossible," said
the procureur. "M. d'Epinay cannot leave the drawing-room at
present."
"It is at this moment," replied Barrois with the same firmness,
"that M. Noirtier, my master, wishes to speak on important subjects
to M. Franz d'Epinay."
"Grandpapa Noirtier can speak now, then," said Edward, with his
habitual quickness. However, his remark did not make Madame de
Villefort even smile, so much was every mind engaged, and so solemn
was the situation. Astonishment was at its height. Something like a
smile was perceptible on Madame de Villefort's countenance.
Valentine instinctively raised her eyes, as if to thank heaven.
"Pray go, Valentine," said; M. de Villefort, "and see what this
new fancy of your grandfather's is." Valentine rose quickly, and
was hastening joyfully towards the door, when M. de Villefort
altered his intention.
"Stop," said he; "I will go with you."
"Excuse me, sir," said Franz, "since M. Noirtier sent for me, I
am ready to attend to his wish; besides, I shall be happy to pay my
respects to him, not having yet had the honor of doing so."respects to him, not having yet had the honor of doing so."
"Pray, sir," said Villefort with marked uneasiness, "do not
disturb yourself."
"Forgive me, sir," said Franz in a resolute tone. "I would not
lose this opportunity of proving to M. Noirtier how wrong it would
be of him to encourage feelings of dislike to me, which I am
determined to conquer, whatever they may be, by my devotion." And
without listening to Villefort he arose, and followed Valentine,
who was running down-stairs with the joy of a shipwrecked mariner
who finds a rock to cling to. M. de Villefort followed them.
Chateau-Renaud and Morcerf exchanged a third look of still
increasing wonder.Noirtier was prepared to receive them, dressed in black, and
installed in his arm-chair. When the three persons he expected had
entered, he looked at the door, which his valet immediately
closed.
"Listen," whispered Villefort to Valentine, who could not
conceal her joy; "if M. Noirtier wishes to communicate anything
which would delay your marriage, I forbid you to understand him."
Valentine blushed, but did not answer. Villefort, approaching
Noirtier — "Here is M. Franz d'Epinay," said he; "you requested to
see him. We have all wished for this interview, and I trust it will
convince you how ill-formed are your objections to Valentine's
marriage."
Noirtier answered only by a look which made Villefort's blood
run cold. He motioned to Valentine to approach. In a moment, thanks
to her habit of conversing with her grandfather, she understood
that he asked for a key. Then his eye was fixed on the drawer of a
small chest between the windows. She opened the drawer, and found a
key; and, understanding that was what he wanted, again watched his
eyes, which turned toward an old secretary which had been neglected
for many years and was supposed to contain nothing but useless
documents. "Shall I open the secretary?" asked Valentine.
"Yes," said the old man.
"And the drawers?"
"Yes."
"Those at the side?"
"No."
"The middle one?"
"Yes." Valentine opened it and drew out a bundle of papers. "Is
that what you wish for?" asked she.
"No."
She took successively all the other papers out till the drawer
was empty. "But there are no more," said she. Noirtier's eye was
fixed on the dictionary. "Yes, I understand, grandfather," said the
young girl.
"He pointed to each letter of the alphabet. At the letter S the
old man stopped her. She opened, and found the word "secret."
"Ah, is there a secret spring?" said Valentine.
"Yes," said Noirtier.
"And who knows it?" Noirtier looked at the door where the
servant had gone out. "Barrois?" said she.
"Yes."
"Shall I call him?"
"Yes."
Valentine went to the door, and called Barrois. Villefort's


"Yes."
"Shall I call him?"
"Yes."
Valentine went to the door, and called Barrois. Villefort's
impatience during this scene made the perspiration roll from his
forehead, and Franz was stupefied. The old servant came. "Barrois,"
said Valentine, "my grandfather has told me to open that drawer in
the secretary, but there is a secret spring in it, which you know —
will you open it?"
Barrois looked at the old man. "Obey," said Noirtier's
intelligent eye. Barrois touched a spring, the false bottom came
out, and they saw a bundle of papers tied with a black string.
"Is that what you wish for?" said Barrois.
"Yes."
"Shall I give these papers to M. de Villefort?"
"No."
"To Mademoiselle Valentine?"
"No."
"To M. Franz d'Epinay?"
"Yes."
Franz, astonished, advanced a step. "To me, sir?" said he.
"Yes." Franz took them from Barrois and casting a glance at the
cover, read: —
"`To be given, after my death, to General Durand, who shall
bequeath the packet to his son, with an injunction to preserve it
as containing an important document.'
"Well, sir," asked Franz, "what do you wish me to do with this
paper?"
"To preserve it, sealed up as it is, doubtless," said the
procureur.
"No," replied Noirtier eagerly.
"Do you wish him to read it?" said Valentine.
"Yes," replied the old man. "You understand, baron, my
grandfather wishes you to read this paper," said Valentine.
"Then let us sit down," said Villefort impatiently, "for it will
take some time."
"Sit down," said the old man. Villefort took a chair, but
Valentine remained standing by her father's side, and Franz before
him, holding the mysterious paper in his hand. "Read," said the old
man. Franz untied it, and in the midst of the most profound silence
read:
"`Extract from the Report of a meeting of the Bonapartist Club
in the Rue Saint-Jacques, held February 5th, 1815.'"
Franz stopped. "February 5th, 1815!" said he; "it is the day my
father was murdered." Valentine and Villefort were dumb; the eye of
the old man alone seemed to say clearly, "Go on."the old man alone seemed to say clearly, "Go on."
"But it was on leaving this club," said he, "my father
disappeared." Noirtier's eye continued to say, "Read." He resumed:
—
"`The undersigned Louis Jacques Beaurepaire, lieutenant-colonel
of artillery, Etienne Duchampy, general of brigade, and Claude
Lecharpal, keeper of woods and forests, Declare, that on the 4th of
February, a letter arrived from the Island of Elba, recommending to
the kindness and the confidence of the Bonapartist Club, General
Flavien de Quesnel, who having served the emperor from 1804 to 1814
was supposed to be devoted to the interests of the Napoleon
dynasty, notwithstanding the title of baron which Louis XVIII. had
just granted to him with his estate of Epinay.
"`A note was in consequence addressed to General de Quesnel,
begging him to be present at the meeting next day, the 5th. The
note indicated neither the street nor the number of the house where
the meeting was to be held; it bore no signature, but it announced
to the general that some one would call for him if he would be
ready at nine o'clock. The meetings were always held from that time
till midnight. At nine o'clock the president of the club presented
himself; the general was ready, the president informed him that one
of the conditions of his introduction was that he should be
eternally ignorant of the place of meeting, and that he would allow
his eyes to be bandaged, swearing that he would not endeavor to
take off the bandage. General de Quesnel accepted the condition,
and promised on his honor not to seek to discover the road they
took. The general's carriage was ready, but the president told him
it was impossible for him to use it, since it was useless to
blindfold the master if the coachman knew through what streets he
went. "What must be done then?" asked the general. — "I have my
carriage here," said the president.
"`"Have you, then, so much confidence in your servant that you
can intrust him with a secret you will not allow me to know?"can intrust him with a secret you will not allow me to know?"
"`"Our coachman is a member of the club," said the president;
"we shall be driven by a State-Councillor."
"`"Then we run another risk," said the general, laughing, "that
of being upset." We insert this joke to prove that the general was
not in the least compelled to attend the meeting, but that he came
willingly. When they were seated in the carriage the president
reminded the general of his promise to allow his eyes to be
bandaged, to which he made no opposition. On the road the president
thought he saw the general make an attempt to remove the
handkerchief, and reminded him of his oath. "Sure enough," said the
general. The carriage stopped at an alley leading out of the Rue
Saint-Jacques. The general alighted, leaning on the arm of the
president, of whose dignity he was not aware, considering him
simply as a member of the club; they went through the alley,
mounted a flight of stairs, and entered the assembly-room.
"`"The deliberations had already begun. The members, apprised of
the sort of presentation which was to be made that evening, were
all in attendance. When in the middle of the room the general was
invited to remove his bandage, he did so immediately, and was
surprised to see so many well-known faces in a society of whose
existence he had till then been ignorant. They questioned him as to
his sentiments, but he contented himself with answering, that the
letters from the Island of Elba ought to have informed them'" —
Franz interrupted himself by saying, "My father was a royalist;
they need not have asked his sentiments, which were well
known."
"And hence," said Villefort, "arose my affection for your
father, my dear M. Franz. Opinions held in common are a ready bond
of union."
"Read again," said the old man. Franz continued: —
"`The president then sought to make him speak more explicitly,
but M. de Quesnel replied that he wished first to know what they
wanted with him. He was then informed of the contents of the letter


wanted with him. He was then informed of the contents of the letter
from the Island of Elba, in which he was recommended to the club as
a man who would be likely to advance the interests of their party.
One paragraph spoke of the return of Bonaparte and promised another
letter and further details, on the arrival of the Pharaon belonging
to the shipbuilder Morrel, of Marseilles, whose captain was
entirely devoted to the emperor. During all this time, the general,
on whom they thought to have relied as on a brother, manifested
evidently signs of discontent and repugnance. When the reading was
finished, he remained silent, with knitted brows.
"`"Well," asked the president, "what do you say to this letter,
general?"
"`"I say that it is too soon after declaring myself for Louis
XVIII. to break my vow in behalf of the ex-emperor." This answer
was too clear to permit of any mistake as to his sentiments.
"General," said the president, "we acknowledge no King Louis
XVIII., or an ex-emperor, but his majesty the emperor and king,
driven from France, which is his kingdom, by violence and
treason."
"`"Excuse me, gentlemen," said the general; "you may not
acknowledge Louis XVIII., but I do, as he has made me a baron and a
field-marshal, and I shall never forget that for these two titles I
am indebted to his happy return to France."
"`"Sir," said the president, rising with gravity, "be careful
what you say; your words clearly show us that they are deceived
concerning you in the Island of Elba, and have deceived us! The
communication has been made to you in consequence of the confidence
placed in you, and which does you honor. Now we discover our error;
a title and promotion attach you to the government we wish to
overturn. We will not constrain you to help us; we enroll no one
against his conscience, but we will compel you to act generously,
even if you are not disposed to do so."
"`"You would call acting generously, knowing your conspiracy and
not informing against you, that is what I should call becoming yournot informing against you, that is what I should call becoming your
accomplice. You see I am more candid than you."'"
"Ah, my father!" said Franz, interrupting himself. "I understand
now why they murdered him." Valentine could not help casting one
glance towards the young man, whose filial enthusiasm it was
delightful to behold. Villefort walked to and fro behind them.
Noirtier watched the expression of each one, and preserved his
dignified and commanding attitude. Franz returned to the
manuscript, and continued: —
"`"Sir," said the president, "you have been invited to join this
assembly — you were not forced here; it was proposed to you to come
blindfolded — you accepted. When you complied with this twofold
request you well knew we did not wish to secure the throne of Louis
XVIII., or we should not take so much care to avoid the vigilance
of the police. It would be conceding too much to allow you to put
on a mask to aid you in the discovery of our secret, and then to
remove it that you may ruin those who have confided in you. No, no,
you must first say if you declare yourself for the king of a day
who now reigns, or for his majesty the emperor."
"`"I am a royalist," replied the general; "I have taken the oath
of allegiance to Louis XVIII., and I will adhere to it." These
words were followed by a general murmur, and it was evident that
several of the members were discussing the propriety of making the
general repent of his rashness.
"`The president again arose, and having imposed silence, said, —
"Sir, you are too serious and too sensible a man not to understand
the consequences of our present situation, and your candor has
already dictated to us the conditions which remain for us to offer
you." The general, putting his hand on his sword, exclaimed, — "If
you talk of honor, do not begin by disavowing its laws, and impose
nothing by violence."
"`"And you, sir," continued the president, with a calmness still
more terrible than the general's anger, "I advise you not to touchmore terrible than the general's anger, "I advise you not to touch
your sword." The general looked around him with slight uneasiness;
however he did not yield, but calling up all his fortitude, said, —
"I will not swear."
"`"Then you must die," replied the president calmly. M. d'Epinay
became very pale; he looked round him a second time, several
members of the club were whispering, and getting their arms from
under their cloaks. "General," said the president, "do not alarm
yourself; you are among men of honor who will use every means to
convince you before resorting to the last extremity, but as you
have said, you are among conspirators, you are in possession of our
secret, and you must restore it to us." A significant silence
followed these words, and as the general did not reply, — "Close
the doors," said the president to the door-keeper.
"`The same deadly silence succeeded these words. Then the
general advanced, and making a violent effort to control his
feelings, — "I have a son," said he, "and I ought to think of him,
finding myself among assassins."
"`"General," said the chief of the assembly, "one man may insult
fifty — it is the privilege of weakness. But he does wrong to use
his privilege. Follow my advice, swear, and do not insult." The
general, again daunted by the superiority of the chief, hesitated a
moment; then advancing to the president's desk, — "What is the
form, said he.
"`"It is this: — `I swear by my honor not to reveal to any one
what I have seen and heard on the 5th of February, 1815, between
nine and ten o'clock in the evening; and I plead guilty of death
should I ever violate this oath.'" The general appeared to be
affected by a nervous tremor, which prevented his answering for
some moments; then, overcoming his manifest repugnance, he
pronounced the required oath, but in so low a tone as to be
scarcely audible to the majority of the members, who insisted on
his repeating it clearly and distinctly, which he did.
"`"Now am I at liberty to retire?" said the general. The


"`"Now am I at liberty to retire?" said the general. The
president rose, appointed three members to accompany him, and got
into the carriage with the general after bandaging his eyes. One of
those three members was the coachman who had driven them there. The
other members silently dispersed. "Where do you wish to be taken?"
asked the president. — "Anywhere out of your presence," replied M.
d'Epinay. "Beware, sir," replied the president, "you are no longer
in the assembly, and have only to do with individuals; do not
insult them unless you wish to be held responsible." But instead of
listening, M. d'Epinay went on, — "You are still as brave in your
carriage as in your assembly because you are still four against
one." The president stopped the coach. They were at that part of
the Quai des Ormes where the steps lead down to the river. "Why do
you stop here?" asked d'Epinay.
"`"Because, sir," said the president, "you have insulted a man,
and that man will not go one step farther without demanding
honorable reparation."
"`"Another method of assassination?" said the general, shrugging
his shoulders.
"`"Make no noise, sir, unless you wish me to consider you as one
of the men of whom you spoke just now as cowards, who take their
weakness for a shield. You are alone, one alone shall answer you;
you have a sword by your side, I have one in my cane; you have no
witness, one of these gentlemen will serve you. Now, if you please,
remove your bandage." The general tore the handkerchief from his
eyes. "At last," said he, "I shall know with whom I have to do."
They opened the door and the four men alighted.'"
Franz again interrupted himself, and wiped the cold drops from
his brow; there was something awful in hearing the son read aloud
in trembling pallor these details of his father's death, which had
hitherto been a mystery. Valentine clasped her hands as if in
prayer. Noirtier looked at Villefort with an almost sublime
expression of contempt and pride. Franz continued: —expression of contempt and pride. Franz continued: —
"`It was, as we said, the fifth of February. For three days the
mercury had been five or six degrees below freezing and the steps
were covered with ice. The general was stout and tall, the
president offered him the side of the railing to assist him in
getting down. The two witnesses followed. It was a dark night. The
ground from the steps to the river was covered with snow and
hoarfrost, the water of the river looked black and deep. One of the
seconds went for a lantern in a coal-barge near, and by its light
they examined the weapons. The president's sword, which was simply,
as he had said, one he carried in his cane, was five inches shorter
than the general's, and had no guard. The general proposed to cast
lots for the swords, but the president said it was he who had given
the provocation, and when he had given it he had supposed each
would use his own arms. The witnesses endeavored to insist, but the
president bade them be silent. The lantern was placed on the
ground, the two adversaries took their stations, and the duel
began. The light made the two swords appear like flashes of
lightning; as for the men, they were scarcely perceptible, the
darkness was so great.
"`General d'Epinay passed for one of the best swordsmen in the
army, but he was pressed so closely in the onset that he missed his
aim and fell. The witnesses thought he was dead, but his adversary,
who knew he had not struck him, offered him the assistance of his
hand to rise. The circumstance irritated instead of calming the
general, and he rushed on his adversary. But his opponent did not
allow his guard to be broken. He received him on his sword and
three times the general drew back on finding himself too closely
engaged, and then returned to the charge. At the third he fell
again. They thought he slipped, as at first, and the witnesses,
seeing he did not move, approached and endeavored to raise him, but
the one who passed his arm around the body found it was moistenedthe one who passed his arm around the body found it was moistened
with blood. The general, who had almost fainted, revived. "Ah,"
said he, "they have sent some fencing-master to fight with me." The
president, without answering, approached the witness who held the
lantern, and raising his sleeve, showed him two wounds he had
received in his arm; then opening his coat, and unbuttoning his
waistcoat, displayed his side, pierced with a third wound. Still he
had not even uttered a sigh. General d'Epinay died five minutes
after.'"
Franz read these last words in a voice so choked that they were
hardly audible, and then stopped, passing his hand over his eyes as
if to dispel a cloud; but after a moment's silence, he continued:
—
"`The president went up the steps, after pushing his sword into
his cane; a track of blood on the snow marked his course. He had
scarcely arrived at the top when he heard a heavy splash in the
water — it was the general's body, which the witnesses had just
thrown into the river after ascertaining that he was dead. The
general fell, then, in a loyal duel, and not in ambush as it might
have been reported. In proof of this we have signed this paper to
establish the truth of the facts, lest the moment should arrive
when either of the actors in this terrible scene should be accused
of premeditated murder or of infringement of the laws of honor.
"`Signed, Beaurepaire, Deschamps, and Lecharpal.'"
When Franz had finished reading this account, so dreadful for a
son; when Valentine, pale with emotion, had wiped away a tear; when
Villefort, trembling, and crouched in a corner, had endeavored to
lessen the storm by supplicating glances at the implacable old man,
— "Sir," said d'Epinay to Noirtier, "since you are well acquainted
with all these details, which are attested by honorable signatures,
— since you appear to take some interest in me, although you have
only manifested it hitherto by causing me sorrow, refuse me not one
final satisfaction — tell me the name of the president of the club,


final satisfaction — tell me the name of the president of the club,
that I may at least know who killed my father." Villefort
mechanically felt for the handle of the door; Valentine, who
understood sooner than anyone her grandfather's answer, and who had
often seen two scars upon his right arm, drew back a few steps.
"Mademoiselle," said Franz, turning towards Valentine, "unite your
efforts with mine to find out the name of the man who made me an
orphan at two years of age." Valentine remained dumb and
motionless.
"Hold, sir," said Villefort, "do not prolong this dreadful
scene. The names have been purposely concealed; my father himself
does not know who this president was, and if he knows, he cannot
tell you; proper names are not in the dictionary."
"Oh, misery," cried Franz: "the only hope which sustained me and
enabled me to read to the end was that of knowing, at least, the
name of him who killed my father! Sir, sir," cried he, turning to
Noirtier, "do what you can — make me understand in some way!"
"Yes," replied Noirtier.
"Oh, mademoiselle, — mademoiselle!" cried Franz, "your
grandfather says he can indicate the person. Help me, — lend me
your assistance!" Noirtier looked at the dictionary. Franz took it
with a nervous trembling, and repeated the letters of the alphabet
successively, until he came to M. At that letter the old man
signified "Yes."
"M," repeated Franz. The young man's finger, glided over the
words, but at each one Noirtier answered by a negative sign.
Valentine hid her head between her hands. At length, Franz arrived
at the word MYSELF.
"Yes!"
"You?" cried Franz, whose hair stood on end; "you, M. Noirtier —
you killed my father?"
"Yes!" replied Noirtier, fixing a majestic look on the young
man. Franz fell powerless on a chair; Villefort opened the door and
escaped, for the idea had entered his mind to stifle the little
remaining life in the heart of this terrible old man.Scarcely had the count's horses cleared the angle of the
boulevard, than Albert, turning towards the count, burst into a
loud fit of laughter — much too loud in fact not to give the idea
of its being rather forced and unnatural. "Well," said he, "I will
ask you the same question which Charles IX. put to Catherine de
Medicis, after the massacre of Saint Bartholomew, `How have I
played my little part?'"
"To what do you allude?" asked Monte Cristo.
"To the installation of my rival at M. Danglars'."
"What rival?"
"Ma foi, what rival? Why, your protege, M. Andrea
Cavalcanti!"
"Ah, no joking, viscount, if you please; I do not patronize M.
Andrea — at least, not as concerns M. Danglars."
"And you would be to blame for not assisting him, if the young
man really needed your help in that quarter, but, happily for me,
he can dispense with it."
"What, do you think he is paying his addresses?"
"I am certain of it; his languishing looks and modulated tones
when addressing Mademoiselle Danglars fully proclaim his
intentions. He aspires to the hand of the proud Eugenie."
"What does that signify, so long as they favor your suit?"
"But it is not the case, my dear count: on the contrary. I am
repulsed on all sides."
"What!"
"It is so indeed; Mademoiselle Eugenie scarcely answers me, and
Mademoiselle d'Armilly, her confidant, does not speak to me at
all."
"But the father has the greatest regard possible for you," said
Monte Cristo.
"He? Oh, no, he has plunged a thousand daggers into my heart,
tragedy-weapons, I own, which instead of wounding sheathe their
points in their own handles, but daggers which he nevertheless
believed to be real and deadly."
"Jealousy indicates affection."
"True; but I am not jealous."
"He is."
"Of whom? — of Debray?"
"No, of you."
"Of me? I will engage to say that before a week is past the door
will be closed against me."
"You are mistaken, my dear viscount."
"Prove it to me."
"Do you wish me to do so?"
"Yes."
"Well, I am charged with the commission of endeavoring to induce"Do you wish me to do so?"
"Yes."
"Well, I am charged with the commission of endeavoring to induce
the Comte de Morcerf to make some definite arrangement with the
baron."
"By whom are you charged?"
"By the baron himself."
"Oh," said Albert with all the cajolery of which he was capable.
"You surely will not do that, my dear count?"
"Certainly I shall, Albert, as I have promised to do it."
"Well," said Albert, with a sigh, "it seems you are determined
to marry me."
"I am determined to try and be on good terms with everybody, at
all events," said Monte Cristo. "But apropos of Debray, how is it
that I have not seen him lately at the baron's house?"
"There has been a misunderstanding."
"What, with the baroness?"
"No, with the baron."
"Has he perceived anything?"
"Ah, that is a good joke!"
"Do you think he suspects?" said Monte Cristo with charming
artlessness.
"Where have you come from, my dear count?" said Albert.
"From Congo, if you will."
"It must be farther off than even that."
"But what do I know of your Parisian husbands?"
"Oh, my dear count, husbands are pretty much the same
everywhere; an individual husband of any country is a pretty fair
specimen of the whole race."
"But then, what can have led to the quarrel between Danglars and
Debray? They seemed to understand each other so well," said Monte
Cristo with renewed energy.
"Ah, now you are trying to penetrate into the mysteries of Isis,
in which I am not initiated. When M. Andrea Cavalcanti has become
one of the family, you can ask him that question." The carriage
stopped. "Here we are," said Monte Cristo; "it is only half-past
ten o'clock, come in."
"Certainly I will."
"My carriage shall take you back."
"No, thank you; I gave orders for my coupe to follow me."
"There it is, then," said Monte Cristo, as he stepped out of the
carriage. They both went into the house; the drawing-room was
lighted up — they went in there. "You will make tea for us,
Baptistin," said the count. Baptistin left the room without waiting


Baptistin," said the count. Baptistin left the room without waiting
to answer, and in two seconds reappeared, bringing on a waiter all
that his master had ordered, ready prepared, and appearing to have
sprung from the ground, like the repasts which we read of in fairy
tales. "Really, my dear count," said Morcerf. "what I admire in you
is, not so much your riches, for perhaps there are people even
wealthier than yourself, nor is it only your wit, for Beaumarchais
might have possessed as much, — but it is your manner of being
served, without any questions, in a moment, in a second; it is as
if they guessed what you wanted by your manner of ringing, and made
a point of keeping everything you can possibly desire in constant
readiness."
"What you say is perhaps true; they know my habits. For
instance, you shall see; how do you wish to occupy yourself during
tea-time?"
"Ma foi, I should like to smoke."
Monte Cristo took the gong and struck it once. In about the
space of a second a private door opened, and Ali appeared, bringing
two chibouques filled with excellent latakia. "It is quite
wonderful," said Albert.
"Oh no, it is as simple as possible," replied Monte Cristo. "Ali
knows I generally smoke while I am taking my tea or coffee; he has
heard that I ordered tea, and he also knows that I brought you home
with me; when I summoned him he naturally guessed the reason of my
doing so, and as he comes from a country where hospitality is
especially manifested through the medium of smoking, he naturally
concludes that we shall smoke in company, and therefore brings two
chibouques instead of one — and now the mystery is solved."
"Certainly you give a most commonplace air to your explanation,
but it is not the less true that you — Ah, but what do I hear?" and
Morcerf inclined his head towards the door, through which sounds
seemed to issue resembling those of a guitar.
"Ma foi, my dear viscount, you are fated to hear music this
evening; you have only escaped from Mademoiselle Danglars' piano,
to be attacked by Haidee's guzla."to be attacked by Haidee's guzla."
"Haidee — what an adorable name! Are there, then, really women
who bear the name of Haidee anywhere but in Byron's poems?"
"Certainly there are. Haidee is a very uncommon name in France,
but is common enough in Albania and Epirus; it is as it you said,
for example, Chastity, Modesty, Innocence, — it is a kind of
baptismal name, as you Parisians call it."
"Oh, that is charming," said Albert, "how I should like to hear
my countrywomen called Mademoiselle Goodness, Mademoiselle Silence,
Mademoiselle Christian Charity! Only think, then, if Mademoiselle
Danglars, instead of being called Claire-Marie-Eugenie, had been
named Mademoiselle Chastity-Modesty-Innocence Danglars; what a fine
effect that would have produced on the announcement of her
marriage!"
"Hush," said the count, "do not joke in so loud a tone; Haidee
may hear you, perhaps."
"And you think she would be angry?"
"No, certainly not," said the count with a haughty
expression.
"She is very amiable, then, is she not?" said Albert.
"It is not to be called amiability, it is her duty; a slave does
not dictate to a master."
"Come; you are joking yourself now. Are there any more slaves to
be had who bear this beautiful name?"
"Undoubtedly."
"Really, count, you do nothing, and have nothing like other
people. The slave of the Count of Monte Cristo! Why, it is a rank
of itself in France, and from the way in which you lavish money, it
is a place that must be worth a hundred thousand francs a
year."
"A hundred thousand francs! The poor girl originally possessed
much more than that; she was born to treasures in comparison with
which those recorded in the `Thousand and One Nights' would seem
but poverty."
"She must be a princess then."
"You are right; and she is one of the greatest in her country
too."
"I thought so. But how did it happen that such a great princess
became a slave?"
"How was it that Dionysius the Tyrant became a schoolmaster? The
fortune of war, my dear viscount, — the caprice of fortune; that isfortune of war, my dear viscount, — the caprice of fortune; that is
the way in which these things are to be accounted for."
"And is her name a secret?"
"As regards the generality of mankind it is; but not for you, my
dear viscount, who are one of my most intimate friends, and on
whose silence I feel I may rely, if I consider it necessary to
enjoin it — may I not do so?"
"Certainly; on my word of honor."
"You know the history of the pasha of Yanina, do you not?"
"Of Ali Tepelini?* Oh, yes; it was in his service that my father
made his fortune."
"True, I had forgotten that."
(* Ali Pasha, "The Lion," was born at Tepelini, an Albanian
village at the foot of the Klissoura Mountains, in 1741. By
diplomacy and success in arms he became almost supreme ruler of
Albania, Epirus, and adjacent territory. Having aroused the enmity
of the Sultan, he was proscribed and put to death by treachery in
1822, at the age of eighty. — Ed.)
"Well, what is Haidee to Ali Tepelini?"
"Merely his daughter."
"What? the daughter of Ali Pasha?"
"Of Ali Pasha and the beautiful Vasiliki."
"And your slave?"
"Ma foi, yes."
"But how did she become so?"
"Why, simply from the circumstance of my having bought her one
day, as I was passing through the market at Constantinople."
"Wonderful! Really, my dear count, you seem to throw a sort of
magic influence over all in which you are concerned; when I listen
to you, existence no longer seems reality, but a waking dream. Now,
I am perhaps going to make an imprudent and thoughtless request,
but" —
"Say on."
"But, since you go out with Haidee, and sometimes even take her
to the opera" —
"Well?"
"I think I may venture to ask you this favor."
"You may venture to ask me anything."
"Well then, my dear count, present me to your princess."
"I will do so; but on two conditions."
"I accept them at once."
"The first is, that you will never tell any one that I have
granted the interview."
"Very well," said Albert, extending his hand; "I swear I will
not."


granted the interview."
"Very well," said Albert, extending his hand; "I swear I will
not."
"The second is, that you will not tell her that your father ever
served hers."
"I give you my oath that I will not."
"Enough, viscount; you will remember those two vows, will you
not? But I know you to be a man of honor." The count again struck
the gong. Ali reappeared. "Tell Haidee," said he, "that I will take
coffee with her, and give her to understand that I desire
permission to present one of my friends to her." Ali bowed and left
the room. "Now, understand me," said the count, "no direct
questions, my dear Morcerf; if you wish to know anything, tell me,
and I will ask her."
"Agreed." Ali reappeared for the third time, and drew back the
tapestried hanging which concealed the door, to signify to his
master and Albert that they were at liberty to pass on. "Let us go
in," said Monte Cristo.
Albert passed his hand through his hair, and curled his
mustache, then, having satisfied himself as to his personal
appearance, followed the count into the room, the latter having
previously resumed his hat and gloves. Ali was stationed as a kind
of advanced guard, and the door was kept by the three French
attendants, commanded by Myrtho. Haidee was awaiting her visitors
in the first room of her apartments, which was the drawing-room.
Her large eyes were dilated with surprise and expectation, for it
was the first time that any man, except Monte Cristo, had been
accorded an entrance into her presence. She was sitting on a sofa
placed in an angle of the room, with her legs crossed under her in
the Eastern fashion, and seemed to have made for herself, as it
were, a kind of nest in the rich Indian silks which enveloped her.
Near her was the instrument on which she had just been playing; it
was elegantly fashioned, and worthy of its mistress. On perceiving
Monte Cristo, she arose and welcomed him with a smile peculiar to
herself, expressive at once of the most implicit obedience and alsoherself, expressive at once of the most implicit obedience and also
of the deepest love. Monte Cristo advanced towards her and extended
his hand, which she as usual raised to her lips.
Albert had proceeded no farther than the door, where he remained
rooted to the spot, being completely fascinated by the sight of
such surpassing beauty, beheld as it was for the first time, and of
which an inhabitant of more northern climes could form no adequate
idea.
"Whom do you bring?" asked the young girl in Romaic, of Monte
Cristo; "is it a friend, a brother, a simple acquaintance, or an
enemy."
"A friend," said Monte Cristo in the same language.
"What is his name?"
"Count Albert; it is the same man whom I rescued from the hands
of the banditti at Rome."
"In what language would you like me to converse with him?"
Monte Cristo turned to Albert. "Do you know modern Greek," asked
he.
"Alas, no," said Albert; "nor even ancient Greek, my dear count;
never had Homer or Plato a more unworthy scholar than myself."
"Then," said Haidee, proving by her remark that she had quite
understood Monte Cristo's question and Albert's answer, "then I
will speak either in French or Italian, if my lord so wills
it."
Monte Cristo reflected one instant. "You will speak in Italian,"
said he. Then, turning towards Albert, — "It is a pity you do not
understand either ancient or modern Greek, both of which Haidee
speaks so fluently; the poor child will be obliged to talk to you
in Italian, which will give you but a very false idea of her powers
of conversation." The count made a sign to Haidee to address his
visitor. "Sir," she said to Morcerf, "you are most welcome as the
friend of my lord and master." This was said in excellent Tuscan,
and with that soft Roman accent which makes the language of Dante
as sonorous as that of Homer. Then, turning to Ali, she directed
him to bring coffee and pipes, and when he had left the room to
execute the orders of his young mistress she beckoned Albert toexecute the orders of his young mistress she beckoned Albert to
approach nearer to her. Monte Cristo and Morcerf drew their seats
towards a small table, on which were arranged music, drawings, and
vases of flowers. Ali then entered bringing coffee and chibouques;
as to M. Baptistin, this portion of the building was interdicted to
him. Albert refused the pipe which the Nubian offered him. "Oh,
take it — take it," said the count; "Haidee is almost as civilized
as a Parisian; the smell of an Havana is disagreeable to her, but
the tobacco of the East is a most delicious perfume, you know."
Ali left the room. The cups of coffee were all prepared, with
the addition of sugar, which had been brought for Albert. Monte
Cristo and Haidee took the beverage in the original Arabian manner,
that is to say, without sugar. Haidee took the porcelain cup in her
little slender fingers and conveyed it to her mouth with all the
innocent artlessness of a child when eating or drinking something
which it likes. At this moment two women entered, bringing salvers
filled with ices and sherbet, which they placed on two small tables
appropriated to that purpose. "My dear host, and you, signora,"
said Albert, in Italian, "excuse my apparent stupidity. I am quite
bewildered, and it is natural that it should be so. Here I am in
the heart of Paris; but a moment ago I heard the rumbling of the
omnibuses and the tinkling of the bells of the lemonade-sellers,
and now I feel as if I were suddenly transported to the East; not
such as I have seen it, but such as my dreams have painted it. Oh,
signora, if I could but speak Greek, your conversation, added to
the fairy-scene which surrounds me, would furnish an evening of
such delight as it would be impossible for me ever to forget."
"I speak sufficient Italian to enable me to converse with you,
sir," said Haidee quietly; "and if you like what is Eastern, I will
do my best to secure the gratification of your tastes while you are
here."
"On what subject shall I converse with her?" said Albert, in a


here."
"On what subject shall I converse with her?" said Albert, in a
low tone to Monte Cristo.
"Just what you please; you may speak of her country and of her
youthful reminiscences, or if you like it better you can talk of
Rome, Naples, or Florence."
"Oh," said Albert, "it is of no use to be in the company of a
Greek if one converses just in the same style as with a Parisian;
let me speak to her of the East."
"Do so then, for of all themes which you could choose that will
be the most agreeable to her taste." Albert turned towards Haidee.
"At what age did you leave Greece, signora?" asked he.
"I left it when I was but five years old," replied Haidee.
"And have you any recollection of your country?"
"When I shut my eyes and think, I seem to see it all again. The
mind can see as well as the body. The body forgets sometimes — but
the mind never forgets."
"And how far back into the past do your recollections
extend?"
"I could scarcely walk when my mother, who was called Vasiliki,
which means royal," said the young girl, tossing her head proudly,
"took me by the hand, and after putting in our purse all the money
we possessed, we went out, both covered with veils, to solicit alms
for the prisoners, saying, `He who giveth to the poor lendeth to
the Lord.' Then when our purse was full we returned to the palace,
and without saying a word to my father, we sent it to the convent,
where it was divided amongst the prisoners."
"And how old were you at that time?"
"I was three years old," said Haidee.
"Then you remember everything that went on about you from the
time when you were three years old?" said Albert.
"Everything."
"Count," said Albert, in a low tone to Monte Cristo, "do allow
the signora to tell me something of her history. You prohibited my
mentioning my father's name to her, but perhaps she will allude to
him of her own accord in the course of the recital, and you have no
idea how delighted I should be to hear our name pronounced by such
beautiful lips." Monte Cristo turned to Haidee, and with anbeautiful lips." Monte Cristo turned to Haidee, and with an
expression of countenance which commanded her to pay the most
implicit attention to his words, he said in Greek, — "Tell us the
fate of your father; but neither the name of the traitor nor the
treason." Haidee sighed deeply, and a shade of sadness clouded her
beautiful brow.
"What are you saying to her?" said Morcerf in an undertone.
"I again reminded her that you were a friend, and that she need
not conceal anything from you."
"Then," said Albert, "this pious pilgrimage in behalf of the
prisoners was your first remembrance; what is the next?"
"Oh, then I remember as if it were but yesterday sitting under
the shade of some sycamore-trees, on the borders of a lake, in the
waters of which the trembling foliage was reflected as in a mirror.
Under the oldest and thickest of these trees, reclining on
cushions, sat my father; my mother was at his feet, and I,
childlike, amused myself by playing with his long white beard which
descended to his girdle, or with the diamond-hilt of the scimitar
attached to his girdle. Then from time to time there came to him an
Albanian who said something to which I paid no attention, but which
he always answered in the same tone of voice, either `Kill,' or
`Pardon.'"
"It is very strange," said Albert, "to hear such words proceed
from the mouth of any one but an actress on the stage, and one
needs constantly to be saying to one's self, `This is no fiction,
it is all reality,' in order to believe it. And how does France
appear in your eyes, accustomed as they have been to gaze on such
enchanted scenes?"
"I think it is a fine country," said Haidee, "but I see France
as it really is, because I look on it with the eyes of a woman;
whereas my own country, which I can only judge of from the
impression produced on my childish mind, always seems enveloped in
a vague atmosphere, which is luminous or otherwise, according as my
remembrances of it are sad or joyous."
"So young," said Albert, forgetting at the moment the Count's"So young," said Albert, forgetting at the moment the Count's
command that he should ask no questions of the slave herself, "is
it possible that you can have known what suffering is except by
name?"
Haidee turned her eyes towards Monte Cristo, who, making at the
same time some imperceptible sign, murmured, — "Go on."
"Nothing is ever so firmly impressed on the mind as the memory
of our early childhood, and with the exception of the two scenes I
have just described to you, all my earliest reminiscences are
fraught with deepest sadness."
"Speak, speak, signora," said Albert, "I am listening with the
most intense delight and interest to all you say."
Haidee answered his remark with a melancholy smile. "You wish
me, then, to relate the history of my past sorrows?" said she.
"I beg you to do so," replied Albert.
"Well, I was but four years old when one night I was suddenly
awakened by my mother. We were in the palace of Yanina; she
snatched me from the cushions on which I was sleeping, and on
opening my eyes I saw hers filled with tears. She took me away
without speaking. When I saw her weeping I began to cry too. `Hush,
child!' said she. At other times in spite of maternal endearments
or threats, I had with a child's caprice been accustomed to indulge
my feelings of sorrow or anger by crying as much as I felt
inclined; but on this occasion there was an intonation of such
extreme terror in my mother's voice when she enjoined me to
silence, that I ceased crying as soon as her command was given. She
bore me rapidly away.
"I saw then that we were descending a large staircase; around us
were all my mother's servants carrying trunks, bags, ornaments,
jewels, purses of gold, with which they were hurrying away in the
greatest distraction.
"Behind the women came a guard of twenty men armed with long
guns and pistols, and dressed in the costume which the Greeks have
assumed since they have again become a nation. You may imagine
there was something startling and ominous," said Haidee, shaking