having paid a high price for it, and being quite unable to find any
one willing to take his bargain off his hands without a
considerable loss, yet still clinging to the belief that at some
future day he should obtain a sum for it that would repay him, not
only for his past outlay, but also the interest upon the capital
locked up in his new acquisition, contented himself with letting
the ground temporarily to some market-gardeners, at a yearly rental
of 500 francs. And so, as we have said, the iron gate leading into
the kitchen-garden had been closed up and left to the rust, which
bade fair before long to eat off its hinges, while to prevent the
ignoble glances of the diggers and delvers of the ground from
presuming to sully the aristocratic enclosure belonging to the
mansion, the gate had been boarded up to a height of six feet.
True, the planks were not so closely adjusted but that a hasty peep
might be obtained through their interstices; but the strict decorum
and rigid propriety of the inhabitants of the house left no grounds
for apprehending that advantage would be taken of that
circumstance.
Horticulture seemed, however, to have been abandoned in the
deserted kitchen-garden; and where cabbages, carrots, radishes,
pease, and melons had once flourished, a scanty crop of lucerne
alone bore evidence of its being deemed worthy of cultivation. A
small, low door gave egress from the walled space we have been
describing into the projected street, the ground having been
abandoned as unproductive by its various renters, and had now
fallen so completely in general estimation as to return not even
the one-half per cent it had originally paid. Towards the house the
chestnut-trees we have before mentioned rose high above the wall,
without in any way affecting the growth of other luxuriant shrubs
and flowers that eagerly dressed forward to fill up the vacant
spaces, as though asserting their right to enjoy the boon of light
and air. At one corner, where the foliage became so thick as almostand air. At one corner, where the foliage became so thick as almost
to shut out day, a large stone bench and sundry rustic seats
indicated that this sheltered spot was either in general favor or
particular use by some inhabitant of the house, which was faintly
discernible through the dense mass of verdure that partially
concealed it, though situated but a hundred paces off.
Whoever had selected this retired portion of the grounds as the
boundary of a walk, or as a place for meditation, was abundantly
justified in the choice by the absence of all glare, the cool,
refreshing shade, the screen it afforded from the scorching rays of
the sun, that found no entrance there even during the burning days
of hottest summer, the incessant and melodious warbling of birds,
and the entire removal from either the noise of the street or the
bustle of the mansion. On the evening of one of the warmest days
spring had yet bestowed on the inhabitants of Paris, might be seen
negligently thrown upon the stone bench, a book, a parasol, and a
work-basket, from which hung a partly embroidered cambric
handkerchief, while at a little distance from these articles was a
young woman, standing close to the iron gate, endeavoring to
discern something on the other side by means of the openings in the
planks, — the earnestness of her attitude and the fixed gaze with
which she seemed to seek the object of her wishes, proving how much
her feelings were interested in the matter. At that instant the
little side-gate leading from the waste ground to the street was
noiselessly opened, and a tall, powerful young man appeared. He was
dressed in a common gray blouse and velvet cap, but his carefully
arranged hair, beard and mustache, all of the richest and glossiest
black, ill accorded with his plebeian attire. After casting a rapid
glance around him, in order to assure himself that he was
unobserved, he entered by the small gate, and, carefully closing
and securing it after him, proceeded with a hurried step towards
the barrier.and securing it after him, proceeded with a hurried step towards
the barrier.
At the sight of him she expected, though probably not in such a
costume, the young woman started in terror, and was about to make a
hasty retreat. But the eye of love had already seen, even through
the narrow chinks of the wooden palisades, the movement of the
white robe, and observed the fluttering of the blue sash. Pressing
his lips close to the planks, he exclaimed, "Don't be alarmed,
Valentine — it is I!" Again the timid girl found courage to return
to the gate, saying, as she did so, "And why do you come so late
to-day? It is almost dinner-time, and I had to use no little
diplomacy to get rid of my watchful mother-in-law, my too-devoted
maid, and my troublesome brother, who is always teasing me about
coming to work at my embroidery, which I am in a fair way never to
get done. So pray excuse yourself as well as you can for having
made me wait, and, after that, tell me why I see you in a dress so
singular that at first I did not recognize you."
"Dearest Valentine," said the young man, "the difference between
our respective stations makes me fear to offend you by speaking of
my love, but yet I cannot find myself in your presence without
longing to pour forth my soul, and tell you how fondly I adore you.
If it be but to carry away with me the recollection of such sweet
moments, I could even thank you for chiding me, for it leaves me a
gleam of hope, that if you did not expect me (and that indeed would
be worse than vanity to suppose), at least I was in your thoughts.
You asked me the cause of my being late, and why I come disguised.
I will candidly explain the reason of both, and I trust to your
goodness to pardon me. I have chosen a trade."
"A trade? Oh, Maximilian, how can you jest at a time when we
have such deep cause for uneasiness?"
"Heaven keep me from jesting with that which is far dearer to me
than life itself! But listen to me, Valentine, and I will tell you
all about it. I became weary of ranging fields and scaling walls,


all about it. I became weary of ranging fields and scaling walls,
and seriously alarmed at the idea suggested by you, that if caught
hovering about here your father would very likely have me sent to
prison as a thief. That would compromise the honor of the French
army, to say nothing of the fact that the continual presence of a
captain of Spahis in a place where no warlike projects could be
supposed to account for it might well create surprise; so I have
become a gardener, and, consequently, adopted the costume of my
calling."
"What excessive nonsense you talk, Maximilian!"
"Nonsense? Pray do not call what I consider the wisest action of
my life by such a name. Consider, by becoming a gardener I
effectually screen our meetings from all suspicion or danger."
"I beseech of you, Maximilian, to cease trifling, and tell me
what you really mean."
"Simply, that having ascertained that the piece of ground on
which I stand was to let, I made application for it, was readily
accepted by the proprietor, and am now master of this fine crop of
lucerne. Think of that, Valentine! There is nothing now to prevent
my building myself a little hut on my plantation, and residing not
twenty yards from you. Only imagine what happiness that would
afford me. I can scarcely contain myself at the bare idea. Such
felicity seems above all price — as a thing impossible and
unattainable. But would you believe that I purchase all this
delight, joy, and happiness, for which I would cheerfully have
surrendered ten years of my life, at the small cost of 500 francs
per annum, paid quarterly? Henceforth we have nothing to fear. I am
on my own ground, and have an undoubted right to place a ladder
against the wall, and to look over when I please, without having
any apprehensions of being taken off by the police as a suspicious
character. I may also enjoy the precious privilege of assuring you
of my fond, faithful, and unalterable affection, whenever you visit
your favorite bower, unless, indeed, it offends your pride toyour favorite bower, unless, indeed, it offends your pride to
listen to professions of love from the lips of a poor workingman,
clad in a blouse and cap." A faint cry of mingled pleasure and
surprise escaped from the lips of Valentine, who almost instantly
said, in a saddened tone, as though some envious cloud darkened the
joy which illumined her heart, "Alas, no, Maximilian, this must not
be, for many reasons. We should presume too much on our own
strength, and, like others, perhaps, be led astray by our blind
confidence in each other's prudence."
"How can you for an instant entertain so unworthy a thought,
dear Valentine? Have I not, from the first blessed hour of our
acquaintance, schooled all my words and actions to your sentiments
and ideas? And you have, I am sure, the fullest confidence in my
honor. When you spoke to me of experiencing a vague and indefinite
sense of coming danger, I placed myself blindly and devotedly at
your service, asking no other reward than the pleasure of being
useful to you; and have I ever since, by word or look, given you
cause of regret for having selected me from the numbers that would
willingly have sacrificed their lives for you? You told me, my dear
Valentine, that you were engaged to M. d'Epinay, and that your
father was resolved upon completing the match, and that from his
will there was no appeal, as M. de Villefort was never known to
change a determination once formed. I kept in the background, as
you wished, and waited, not for the decision of your heart or my
own, but hoping that providence would graciously interpose in our
behalf, and order events in our favor. But what cared I for delays
or difficulties, Valentine, as long as you confessed that you loved
me, and took pity on me? If you will only repeat that avowal now
and then, I can endure anything."
"Ah, Maximilian, that is the very thing that makes you so bold,
and which renders me at once so happy and unhappy, that I
frequently ask myself whether it is better for me to endure thefrequently ask myself whether it is better for me to endure the
harshness of my mother-in-law, and her blind preference for her own
child, or to be, as I now am, insensible to any pleasure save such
as I find in these meetings, so fraught with danger to both."
"I will not admit that word," returned the young man; "it is at
once cruel and unjust. Is it possible to find a more submissive
slave than myself? You have permitted me to converse with you from
time to time, Valentine, but forbidden my ever following you in
your walks or elsewhere — have I not obeyed? And since I found
means to enter this enclosure to exchange a few words with you
through this gate — to be close to you without really seeing you —
have I ever asked so much as to touch the hem of your gown or tried
to pass this barrier which is but a trifle to one of my youth and
strength? Never has a complaint or a murmur escaped me. I have been
bound by my promises as rigidly as any knight of olden times. Come,
come, dearest Valentine, confess that what I say is true, lest I be
tempted to call you unjust."
"It is true," said Valentine, as she passed the end of her
slender fingers through a small opening in the planks, and
permitted Maximilian to press his lips to them, "and you are a true
and faithful friend; but still you acted from motives of
self-interest, my dear Maximilian, for you well knew that from the
moment in which you had manifested an opposite spirit all would
have been ended between us. You promised to bestow on me the
friendly affection of a brother. For I have no friend but yourself
upon earth, who am neglected and forgotten by my father, harassed
and persecuted by my mother-in-law, and left to the sole
companionship of a paralyzed and speechless old man, whose withered
hand can no longer press mine, and who can speak to me with the eye
alone, although there still lingers in his heart the warmest
tenderness for his poor grandchild. Oh, how bitter a fate is mine,
to serve either as a victim or an enemy to all who are stronger


to serve either as a victim or an enemy to all who are stronger
than myself, while my only friend and supporter is a living corpse!
Indeed, indeed, Maximilian, I am very miserable, and if you love me
it must be out of pity."
"Valentine," replied the young man, deeply affected, "I will not
say you are all I love in the world, for I dearly prize my sister
and brother-in-law; but my affection for them is calm and tranquil,
in no manner resembling what I feel for you. When I think of you my
heart beats fast, the blood burns in my veins, and I can hardly
breathe; but I solemnly promise you to restrain all this ardor,
this fervor and intensity of feeling, until you yourself shall
require me to render them available in serving or assisting you. M.
Franz is not expected to return home for a year to come, I am told;
in that time many favorable and unforeseen chances may befriend us.
Let us, then, hope for the best; hope is so sweet a comforter.
Meanwhile, Valentine, while reproaching me with selfishness, think
a little what you have been to me — the beautiful but cold
resemblance of a marble Venus. What promise of future reward have
you made me for all the submission and obedience I have evinced? —
none whatever. What granted me? — scarcely more. You tell me of M.
Franz d'Epinay, your betrothed lover, and you shrink from the idea
of being his wife; but tell me, Valentine, is there no other sorrow
in your heart? You see me devoted to you, body and soul, my life
and each warm drop that circles round my heart are consecrated to
your service; you know full well that my existence is bound up in
yours — that were I to lose you I would not outlive the hour of
such crushing misery; yet you speak with calmness of the prospect
of your being the wife of another! Oh, Valentine, were I in your
place, and did I feel conscious, as you do, of being worshipped,
adored, with such a love as mine, a hundred times at least should I
have passed my hand between these iron bars, and said, `Take thishave passed my hand between these iron bars, and said, `Take this
hand, dearest Maximilian, and believe that, living or dead, I am
yours — yours only, and forever!'" The poor girl made no reply, but
her lover could plainly hear her sobs and tears. A rapid change
took place in the young man's feelings. "Dearest, dearest
Valentine," exclaimed he, "forgive me if I have offended you, and
forget the words I spoke if they have unwittingly caused you
pain."
"No, Maximilian, I am not offended," answered she, "but do you
not see what a poor, helpless being I am, almost a stranger and an
outcast in my father's house, where even he is seldom seen; whose
will has been thwarted, and spirits broken, from the age of ten
years, beneath the iron rod so sternly held over me; oppressed,
mortified, and persecuted, day by day, hour by hour, minute by
minute, no person has cared for, even observed my sufferings, nor
have I ever breathed one word on the subject save to yourself.
Outwardly and in the eyes of the world, I am surrounded by kindness
and affection; but the reverse is the case. The general remark is,
`Oh, it cannot be expected that one of so stern a character as M.
Villefort could lavish the tenderness some fathers do on their
daughters. What though she has lost her own mother at a tender age,
she has had the happiness to find a second mother in Madame de
Villefort.' The world, however, is mistaken; my father abandons me
from utter indifference, while my mother-in-law detests me with a
hatred so much the more terrible because it is veiled beneath a
continual smile."
"Hate you, sweet Valentine," exclaimed the young man; "how is it
possible for any one to do that?"
"Alas," replied the weeping girl, "I am obliged to own that my
mother-in-law's aversion to me arises from a very natural source —
her overweening love for her own child, my brother Edward."
"But why should it?"
"I do not know; but, though unwilling to introduce money matters
into our present conversation, I will just say this much — that herinto our present conversation, I will just say this much — that her
extreme dislike to me has its origin there; and I much fear she
envies me the fortune I enjoy in right of my mother, and which will
be more than doubled at the death of M. and Mme. de Saint-Meran,
whose sole heiress I am. Madame de Villefort has nothing of her
own, and hates me for being so richly endowed. Alas, how gladly
would I exchange the half of this wealth for the happiness of at
least sharing my father's love. God knows, I would prefer
sacrificing the whole, so that it would obtain me a happy and
affectionate home."
"Poor Valentine!"
"I seem to myself as though living a life of bondage, yet at the
same time am so conscious of my own weakness that I fear to break
the restraint in which I am held, lest I fall utterly helpless.
Then, too, my father is not a person whose orders may be infringed
with impunity; protected as he is by his high position and firmly
established reputation for talent and unswerving integrity, no one
could oppose him; he is all-powerful even with the king; he would
crush you at a word. Dear Maximilian, believe me when I assure you
that if I do not attempt to resist my father's commands it is more
on your account than my own."
"But why, Valentine, do you persist in anticipating the worst, —
why picture so gloomy a future?"
"Because I judge it from the past."
"Still, consider that although I may not be, strictly speaking,
what is termed an illustrious match for you, I am, for many
reasons, not altogether so much beneath your alliance. The days
when such distinctions were so nicely weighed and considered no
longer exist in France, and the first families of the monarchy have
intermarried with those of the empire. The aristocracy of the lance
has allied itself with the nobility of the cannon. Now I belong to
this last-named class; and certainly my prospects of military
preferment are most encouraging as well as certain. My fortune,
though small, is free and unfettered, and the memory of my late


though small, is free and unfettered, and the memory of my late
father is respected in our country, Valentine, as that of the most
upright and honorable merchant of the city; I say our country,
because you were born not far from Marseilles."
"Don't speak of Marseilles, I beg of you, Maximilian; that one
word brings back my mother to my recollection — my angel mother,
who died too soon for myself and all who knew her; but who, after
watching over her child during the brief period allotted to her in
this world, now, I fondly hope, watches from her home in heaven.
Oh, if my mother were still living, there would be nothing to fear,
Maximilian, for I would tell her that I loved you, and she would
protect us."
"I fear, Valentine," replied the lover, "that were she living I
should never have had the happiness of knowing you; you would then
have been too happy to have stooped from your grandeur to bestow a
thought on me."
"Now it is you who are unjust, Maximilian," cried Valentine;
"but there is one thing I wish to know."
"And what is that?" inquired the young man, perceiving that
Valentine hesitated.
"Tell me truly, Maximilian, whether in former days, when our
fathers dwelt at Marseilles, there was ever any misunderstanding
between them?"
"Not that I am aware of," replied the young man, "unless,
indeed, any ill-feeling might have arisen from their being of
opposite parties — your father was, as you know, a zealous partisan
of the Bourbons, while mine was wholly devoted to the emperor;
there could not possibly be any other difference between them. But
why do you ask?"
"I will tell you," replied the young girl, "for it is but right
you should know. Well, on the day when your appointment as an
officer of the Legion of honor was announced in the papers, we were
all sitting with my grandfather, M. Noirtier; M. Danglars was there
also — you recollect M. Danglars, do you not, Maximilian, the
banker, whose horses ran away with my mother-in-law and little
brother, and very nearly killed them? While the rest of the companybrother, and very nearly killed them? While the rest of the company
were discussing the approaching marriage of Mademoiselle Danglars,
I was reading the paper to my grandfather; but when I came to the
paragraph about you, although I had done nothing else but read it
over to myself all the morning (you know you had told me all about
it the previous evening), I felt so happy, and yet so nervous, at
the idea of speaking your name aloud, and before so many people,
that I really think I should have passed it over, but for the fear
that my doing so might create suspicions as to the cause of my
silence; so I summoned up all my courage, and read it as firmly and
as steadily as I could."
"Dear Valentine!"
"Well, would you believe it? directly my father caught the sound
of your name he turned round quite hastily, and, like a poor silly
thing, I was so persuaded that every one must be as much affected
as myself by the utterance of your name, that I was not surprised
to see my father start, and almost tremble; but I even thought
(though that surely must have been a mistake) that M. Danglars
trembled too."
"`Morrel, Morrel,' cried my father, `stop a bit;' then knitting
his brows into a deep frown, he added, `surely this cannot be one
of the Morrel family who lived at Marseilles, and gave us so much
trouble from their violent Bonapartism — I mean about the year
1815.' — `Yes,' replied M. Danglars, `I believe he is the son of
the old shipowner.'"
"Indeed," answered Maximilian; "and what did your father say
then, Valentine?"
"Oh, such a dreadful thing, that I don't dare to tell you."
"Always tell me everything," said Maximilian with a smile.
"`Ah,' continued my father, still frowning, `their idolized
emperor treated these madmen as they deserved; he called them `food
for powder,' which was precisely all they were good for; and I am
delighted to see that the present government have adopted this
salutary principle with all its pristine vigor; if Algiers were
good for nothing but to furnish the means of carrying so admirablegood for nothing but to furnish the means of carrying so admirable
an idea into practice, it would be an acquisition well worthy of
struggling to obtain. Though it certainly does cost France somewhat
dear to assert her rights in that uncivilized country.'"
"Brutal politics, I must confess." said Maximilian; "but don't
attach any serious importance, dear, to what your father said. My
father was not a bit behind yours in that sort of talk. `Why,' said
he, `does not the emperor, who has devised so many clever and
efficient modes of improving the art of war, organize a regiment of
lawyers, judges and legal practitioners, sending them in the
hottest fire the enemy could maintain, and using them to save
better men?' You see, my dear, that for picturesque expression and
generosity of spirit there is not much to choose between the
language of either party. But what did M. Danglars say to this
outburst on the part of the procureur?"
"Oh, he laughed, and in that singular manner so peculiar to
himself — half-malicious, half-ferocious; he almost immediately got
up and took his leave; then, for the first time, I observed the
agitation of my grandfather, and I must tell you, Maximilian, that
I am the only person capable of discerning emotion in his paralyzed
frame. And I suspected that the conversation that had been carried
on in his presence (for they always say and do what they like
before the dear old man, without the smallest regard for his
feelings) had made a strong impression on his mind; for, naturally
enough, it must have pained him to hear the emperor he so devotedly
loved and served spoken of in that depreciating manner."
"The name of M. Noirtier," interposed Maximilian, "is celebrated
throughout Europe; he was a statesman of high standing, and you may
or may not know, Valentine, that he took a leading part in every
Bonapartist conspiracy set on foot during the restoration of the
Bourbons."
"Oh, I have often heard whispers of things that seem to me most


Bourbons."
"Oh, I have often heard whispers of things that seem to me most
strange — the father a Bonapartist, the son a Royalist; what can
have been the reason of so singular a difference in parties and
politics? But to resume my story; I turned towards my grandfather,
as though to question him as to the cause of his emotion; he looked
expressively at the newspaper I had been reading. `What is the
matter, dear grandfather?' said I, `are you pleased?' He gave me a
sign in the affirmative. `With what my father said just now?' He
returned a sign in the negative. `Perhaps you liked what M.
Danglars said?' Another sign in the negative. `Oh, then, you were
glad to hear that M. Morrel (I didn't dare to say Maximilian) had
been made an officer of the Legion of Honor?' He signified assent;
only think of the poor old man's being so pleased to think that
you, who were a perfect stranger to him, had been made an officer
of the Legion of Honor! Perhaps it was a mere whim on his part, for
he is falling, they say, into second childhood, but I love him for
showing so much interest in you."
"How singular," murmured Maximilian; "your father hates me,
while your grandfather, on the contrary — What strange feelings are
aroused by politics."
"Hush," cried Valentine, suddenly; "some one is coming!"
Maximilian leaped at one bound into his crop of lucerne, which he
began to pull up in the most ruthless way, under the pretext of
being occupied in weeding it.
"Mademoiselle, mademoiselle!" exclaimed a voice from behind the
trees. "Madame is searching for you everywhere; there is a visitor
in the drawing-room."
"A visitor?" inquired Valentine, much agitated; "who is it?"
"Some grand personage — a prince I believe they said — the Count
of Monte Cristo."
"I will come directly," cried Valentine aloud. The name of Monte
Cristo sent an electric shock through the young man on the other
side of the iron gate, to whom Valentine's "I am coming" was the
customary signal of farewell. "Now, then," said Maximilian, leaningcustomary signal of farewell. "Now, then," said Maximilian, leaning
on the handle of his spade, "I would give a good deal to know how
it comes about that the Count of Monte Cristo is acquainted with M.
de Villefort."It was really the Count of Monte Cristo who had just arrived at
Madame de Villefort's for the purpose of returning the procureur's
visit, and at his name, as may be easily imagined, the whole house
was in confusion. Madame de Villefort, who was alone in her
drawing-room when the count was announced, desired that her son
might be brought thither instantly to renew his thanks to the
count; and Edward, who heard this great personage talked of for two
whole days, made all possible haste to come to him, not from
obedience to his mother, or out of any feeling of gratitude to the
count, but from sheer curiosity, and that some chance remark might
give him the opportunity for making one of the impertinent speeches
which made his mother say, — "Oh, that naughty child! But I can't
be severe with him, he is really so bright."
After the usual civilities, the count inquired after M. de
Villefort. "My husband dines with the chancellor," replied the
young lady; "he has just gone, and I am sure he'll be exceedingly
sorry not to have had the pleasure of seeing you before he went."
Two visitors who were there when the count arrived, having gazed at
him with all their eyes, retired after that reasonable delay which
politeness admits and curiosity requires. "What is your sister
Valentine doing?" inquired Madame de Villefort of Edward; "tell
some one to bid her come here, that I may have the honor of
introducing her to the count."
"You have a daughter, then, madame?" inquired the count; "very
young, I presume?"
"The daughter of M. de Villefort by his first marriage," replied
the young wife, "a fine well-grown girl."
"But melancholy," interrupted Master Edward, snatching the
feathers out of the tail of a splendid parroquet that was screaming
on its gilded perch, in order to make a plume for his hat. Madame
de Villefort merely cried, — "Be still, Edward!" She then added, —
"This young madcap is, however, very nearly right, and merely
re-echoes what he has heard me say with pain a hundred times; forre-echoes what he has heard me say with pain a hundred times; for
Mademoiselle de Villefort is, in spite of all we can do to rouse
her, of a melancholy disposition and taciturn habit, which
frequently injure the effect of her beauty. But what detains her?
Go, Edward, and see."
"Because they are looking for her where she is not to be
found."
"And where are they looking for her?"
"With grandpapa Noirtier."
"And do you think she is not there?"
"No, no, no, no, no, she is not there," replied Edward, singing
his words.
"And where is she, then? If you know, why don't you tell?"
"She is under the big chestnut-tree," replied the spoiled brat,
as he gave, in spite of his mother's commands, live flies to the
parrot, which seemed keenly to relish such fare. Madame de
Villefort stretched out her hand to ring, intending to direct her
waiting-maid to the spot where she would find Valentine, when the
young lady herself entered the apartment. She appeared much
dejected; and any person who considered her attentively might have
observed the traces of recent tears in her eyes.
Valentine, whom we have in the rapid march of our narrative
presented to our readers without formally introducing her, was a
tall and graceful girl of nineteen, with bright chestnut hair, deep
blue eyes, and that reposeful air of quiet distinction which
characterized her mother. Her white and slender fingers, her pearly
neck, her cheeks tinted with varying hues reminded one of the
lovely Englishwomen who have been so poetically compared in their
manner to the gracefulness of a swan. She entered the apartment,
and seeing near her stepmother the stranger of whom she had already
heard so much, saluted him without any girlish awkwardness, or even
lowering her eyes, and with an elegance that redoubled the count's
attention. He rose to return the salutation. "Mademoiselle de
Villefort, my daughter-in-law," said Madame de Villefort to Monte
Cristo, leaning back on her sofa and motioning towards Valentine


Cristo, leaning back on her sofa and motioning towards Valentine
with her hand. "And M. de Monte Cristo, King of China, Emperor of
Cochin-China," said the young imp, looking slyly towards his
sister.
Madame de Villefort at this really did turn pale, and was very
nearly angry with this household plague, who answered to the name
of Edward; but the count, on the contrary, smiled, and appeared to
look at the boy complacently, which caused the maternal heart to
bound again with joy and enthusiasm.
"But, madame," replied the count, continuing the conversation,
and looking by turns at Madame de Villefort and Valentine, "have I
not already had the honor of meeting yourself and mademoiselle
before? I could not help thinking so just now; the idea came over
my mind, and as mademoiselle entered the sight of her was an
additional ray of light thrown on a confused remembrance; excuse
the remark."
"I do not think it likely, sir; Mademoiselle de Villefort is not
very fond of society, and we very seldom go out," said the young
lady.
"Then it was not in society that I met with mademoiselle or
yourself, madame, or this charming little merry boy. Besides, the
Parisian world is entirely unknown to me, for, as I believe I told
you, I have been in Paris but very few days. No, — but, perhaps,
you will permit me to call to mind — stay!" The Count placed his
hand on his brow as if to collect his thoughts. "No — it was
somewhere — away from here — it was — I do not know — but it
appears that this recollection is connected with a lovely sky and
some religious fete; mademoiselle was holding flowers in her hand,
the interesting boy was chasing a beautiful peacock in a garden,
and you, madame, were under the trellis of some arbor. Pray come to
my aid, madame; do not these circumstances appeal to your
memory?"
"No, indeed," replied Madame de Villefort; "and yet it appears
to me, sir, that if I had met you anywhere, the recollection of you
must have been imprinted on my memory."
"Perhaps the count saw us in Italy," said Valentine timidly."Perhaps the count saw us in Italy," said Valentine timidly.
"Yes, in Italy; it was in Italy most probably," replied Monte
Cristo; "you have travelled then in Italy, mademoiselle?"
"Yes; madame and I were there two years ago. The doctors,
anxious for my lungs, had prescribed the air of Naples. We went by
Bologna, Perugia, and Rome."
"Ah, yes — true, mademoiselle," exclaimed Monte Cristo as if
this simple explanation was sufficient to revive the recollection
he sought. "It was at Perugia on Corpus Christi Day, in the garden
of the Hotel des Postes, when chance brought us together; you,
Madame de Villefort, and her son; I now remember having had the
honor of meeting you."
"I perfectly well remember Perugia, sir, and the Hotel des
Postes, and the festival of which you speak," said Madame de
Villefort, "but in vain do I tax my memory, of whose treachery I am
ashamed, for I really do not recall to mind that I ever had the
pleasure of seeing you before."
"It is strange, but neither do I recollect meeting with you,"
observed Valentine, raising her beautiful eyes to the count.
"But I remember it perfectly," interposed the darling
Edward.
"I will assist your memory, madame," continued the count; "the
day had been burning hot; you were waiting for horses, which were
delayed in consequence of the festival. Mademoiselle was walking in
the shade of the garden, and your son disappeared in pursuit of the
peacock."
"And I caught it, mamma, don't you remember?" interposed Edward,
"and I pulled three such beautiful feathers out of his tail."
"You, madame, remained under the arbor; do you not remember,
that while you were seated on a stone bench, and while, as I told
you, Mademoiselle de Villefort and your young son were absent, you
conversed for a considerable time with somebody?"
"Yes, in truth, yes," answered the young lady, turning very red,
"I do remember conversing with a person wrapped in a long woollen
mantle; he was a medical man, I think."
"Precisely so, madame; this man was myself; for a fortnight I"Precisely so, madame; this man was myself; for a fortnight I
had been at that hotel, during which period I had cured my valet de
chambre of a fever, and my landlord of the jaundice, so that I
really acquired a reputation as a skilful physician. We discoursed
a long time, madame, on different subjects; of Perugino, of
Raffaelle, of manners, customs, of the famous aquatofana, of which
they had told you, I think you said, that certain individuals in
Perugia had preserved the secret."
"Yes, true," replied Madame de Villefort, somewhat uneasily, "I
remember now."
"I do not recollect now all the various subjects of which we
discoursed, madame," continued the count with perfect calmness;
"but I perfectly remember that, falling into the error which others
had entertained respecting me, you consulted me as to the health of
Mademoiselle de Villefort."
"Yes, really, sir, you were in fact a medical man," said Madame
de Villefort, "since you had cured the sick."
"Moliere or Beaumarchais would reply to you, madame, that it was
precisely because I was not, that I had cured my patients; for
myself, I am content to say to you that I have studied chemistry
and the natural sciences somewhat deeply, but still only as an
amateur, you understand." — At this moment the clock struck six.
"It is six o'clock," said Madame de Villefort, evidently agitated.
"Valentine, will you not go and see if your grandpapa will have his
dinner?" Valentine rose, and saluting the count, left the apartment
without speaking.
"Oh, madame," said the count, when Valentine had left the room,
"was it on my account that you sent Mademoiselle de Villefort
away?"
"By no means," replied the young lady quickly; "but this is the
hour when we usually give M. Noirtier the unwelcome meal that
sustains his pitiful existence. You are aware, sir, of the
deplorable condition of my husband's father?"
"Yes, madame, M. de Villefort spoke of it to me — a paralysis, I
think."
"Alas, yes; the poor old gentleman is entirely helpless; the


think."
"Alas, yes; the poor old gentleman is entirely helpless; the
mind alone is still active in this human machine, and that is faint
and flickering, like the light of a lamp about to expire. But
excuse me, sir, for talking of our domestic misfortunes; I
interrupted you at the moment when you were telling me that you
were a skilful chemist."
"No, madame, I did not say as much as that," replied the count
with a smile; "quite the contrary. I have studied chemistry
because, having determined to live in eastern climates I have been
desirous of following the example of King Mithridates."
"Mithridates rex Ponticus," said the young scamp, as he tore
some beautiful portraits out of a splendid album, "the individual
who took cream in his cup of poison every morning at
breakfast."
"Edward, you naughty boy," exclaimed Madame de Villefort,
snatching the mutilated book from the urchin's grasp, "you are
positively past bearing; you really disturb the conversation; go,
leave us, and join your sister Valentine in dear grandpapa
Noirtier's room."
"The album," said Edward sulkily.
"What do you mean? — the album!"
"I want the album."
"How dare you tear out the drawings?"
"Oh, it amuses me."
"Go — go at once."
"I won't go unless you give me the album," said the boy, seating
himself doggedly in an arm-chair, according to his habit of never
giving way.
"Take it, then, and pray disturb us no longer," said Madame de
Villefort, giving the album to Edward, who then went towards the
door, led by his mother. The count followed her with his eyes.
"Let us see if she shuts the door after him," he muttered.
Madame de Villefort closed the door carefully after the child, the
count appearing not to notice her; then casting a scrutinizing
glance around the chamber, the young wife returned to her chair, in
which she seated herself. "Allow me to observe, madame," said the
count, with that kind tone he could assume so well, "you are really
very severe with that dear clever child."
"Oh, sometimes severity is quite necessary," replied Madame de"Oh, sometimes severity is quite necessary," replied Madame de
Villefort, with all a mother's real firmness.
"It was his Cornelius Nepos that Master Edward was repeating
when he referred to King Mithridates," continued the count, "and
you interrupted him in a quotation which proves that his tutor has
by no means neglected him, for your son is really advanced for his
years."
"The fact is, count," answered the mother, agreeably flattered,
"he has great aptitude, and learns all that is set before him. He
has but one fault, he is somewhat wilful; but really, on referring
for the moment to what he said, do you truly believe that
Mithridates used these precautions, and that these precautions were
efficacious?"
"I think so, madame, because I myself have made use of them,
that I might not be poisoned at Naples, at Palermo, and at Smyrna —
that is to say, on three several occasions when, but for these
precautions, I must have lost my life."
"And your precautions were successful?"
"Completely so."
"Yes, I remember now your mentioning to me at Perugia something
of this sort."
"Indeed?" said the count with an air of surprise, remarkably
well counterfeited; "I really did not remember."
"I inquired of you if poisons acted equally, and with the same
effect, on men of the North as on men of the South; and you
answered me that the cold and sluggish habits of the North did not
present the same aptitude as the rich and energetic temperaments of
the natives of the South."
"And that is the case," observed Monte Cristo. "I have seen
Russians devour, without being visibly inconvenienced, vegetable
substances which would infallibly have killed a Neapolitan or an
Arab."
"And you really believe the result would be still more sure with
us than in the East, and in the midst of our fogs and rains a man
would habituate himself more easily than in a warm latitude to this
progressive absorption of poison?"
"Certainly; it being at the same time perfectly understood that
he should have been duly fortified against the poison to which hehe should have been duly fortified against the poison to which he
had not been accustomed."
"Yes, I understand that; and how would you habituate yourself,
for instance, or rather, how did you habituate yourself to it?"
"Oh, very easily. Suppose you knew beforehand the poison that
would be made use of against you; suppose the poison was, for
instance, brucine"—
"Brucine is extracted from the false angostura* is it not?"
inquired Madame de Villefort.
"Precisely, madame," replied Monte Cristo; "but I perceive I
have not much to teach you. Allow me to compliment you on your
knowledge; such learning is very rare among ladies."
(* Brucoea ferruginea.)
"Oh, I am aware of that," said Madame de Villefort; "but I have
a passion for the occult sciences, which speak to the imagination
like poetry, and are reducible to figures, like an algebraic
equation; but go on, I beg of you; what you say interests me to the
greatest degree."
"Well," replied Monte Cristo "suppose, then, that this poison
was brucine, and you were to take a milligramme the first day, two
milligrammes the second day, and so on. Well, at the end of ten
days you would have taken a centigramme, at the end of twenty days,
increasing another milligramme, you would have taken three hundred
centigrammes; that is to say, a dose which you would support
without inconvenience, and which would be very dangerous for any
other person who had not taken the same precautions as yourself.
Well, then, at the end of a month, when drinking water from the
same carafe, you would kill the person who drank with you, without
your perceiving, otherwise than from slight inconvenience, that
there was any poisonous substance mingled with this water."
"Do you know any other counter-poisons?"
"I do not."
"I have often read, and read again, the history of Mithridates,"
said Madame de Villefort in a tone of reflection, "and had always
considered it a fable."
"No, madame, contrary to most history, it is true; but what you
tell me, madame, what you inquire of me, is not the result of a


tell me, madame, what you inquire of me, is not the result of a
chance query, for two years ago you asked me the same questions,
and said then, that for a very long time this history of
Mithridates had occupied your mind."
"True, sir. The two favorite studies of my youth were botany and
mineralogy, and subsequently, when I learned that the use of
simples frequently explained the whole history of a people, and the
entire life of individuals in the East, as flowers betoken and
symbolize a love affair, I have regretted that I was not a man,
that I might have been a Flamel, a Fontana, or a Cabanis."
"And the more, madame," said Monte Cristo, "as the Orientals do
not confine themselves, as did Mithridates, to make a cuirass of
his poisons, but they also made them a dagger. Science becomes, in
their hands, not only a defensive weapon, but still more frequently
an offensive one; the one serves against all their physical
sufferings, the other against all their enemies. With opium,
belladonna, brucaea, snake-wood, and the cherry-laurel, they put to
sleep all who stand in their way. There is not one of those women,
Egyptian, Turkish, or Greek, whom here you call `good women,' who
do not know how, by means of chemistry, to stupefy a doctor, and in
psychology to amaze a confessor."
"Really," said Madame de Villefort, whose eyes sparkled with
strange fire at this conversation.
"Oh, yes, indeed, madame," continued Monte Cristo, "the secret
dramas of the East begin with a love philtre and end with a death
potion — begin with paradise and end with — hell. There are as many
elixirs of every kind as there are caprices and peculiarities in
the physical and moral nature of humanity; and I will say further —
the art of these chemists is capable with the utmost precision to
accommodate and proportion the remedy and the bane to yearnings for
love or desires for vengeance."
"But, sir," remarked the young woman, "these Eastern societies,
in the midst of which you have passed a portion of your existence,in the midst of which you have passed a portion of your existence,
are as fantastic as the tales that come from their strange land. A
man can easily be put out of the way there, then; it is, indeed,
the Bagdad and Bassora of the `Thousand and One Nights.' The
sultans and viziers who rule over society there, and who constitute
what in France we call the government, are really
Haroun-al-Raschids and Giaffars, who not only pardon a poisoner,
but even make him a prime minister, if his crime has been an
ingenious one, and who, under such circumstances, have the whole
story written in letters of gold, to divert their hours of idleness
and ennui."
"By no means, madame; the fanciful exists no longer in the East.
There, disguised under other names, and concealed under other
costumes, are police agents, magistrates, attorneys-general, and
bailiffs. They hang, behead, and impale their criminals in the most
agreeable possible manner; but some of these, like clever rogues,
have contrived to escape human justice, and succeed in their
fraudulent enterprises by cunning stratagems. Amongst us a
simpleton, possessed by the demon of hate or cupidity, who has an
enemy to destroy, or some near relation to dispose of, goes
straight to the grocer's or druggist's, gives a false name, which
leads more easily to his detection than his real one, and under the
pretext that the rats prevent him from sleeping, purchases five or
six grammes of arsenic — if he is really a cunning fellow, he goes
to five or six different druggists or grocers, and thereby becomes
only five or six times more easily traced; — then, when he has
acquired his specific, he administers duly to his enemy, or near
kinsman, a dose of arsenic which would make a mammoth or mastodon
burst, and which, without rhyme or reason, makes his victim utter
groans which alarm the entire neighborhood. Then arrive a crowd of
policemen and constables. They fetch a doctor, who opens the dead
body, and collects from the entrails and stomach a quantity ofbody, and collects from the entrails and stomach a quantity of
arsenic in a spoon. Next day a hundred newspapers relate the fact,
with the names of the victim and the murderer. The same evening the
grocer or grocers, druggist or druggists, come and say, `It was I
who sold the arsenic to the gentleman;' and rather than not
recognize the guilty purchaser, they will recognize twenty. Then
the foolish criminal is taken, imprisoned, interrogated,
confronted, confounded, condemned, and cut off by hemp or steel; or
if she be a woman of any consideration, they lock her up for life.
This is the way in which you Northerns understand chemistry,
madame. Desrues was, however, I must confess, more skilful."
"What would you have, sir?" said the lady, laughing; "we do what
we can. All the world has not the secret of the Medicis or the
Borgias."
"Now," replied the count, shrugging his shoulders, "shall I tell
you the cause of all these stupidities? It is because, at your
theatres, by what at least I could judge by reading the pieces they
play, they see persons swallow the contents of a phial, or suck the
button of a ring, and fall dead instantly. Five minutes afterwards
the curtain falls, and the spectators depart. They are ignorant of
the consequences of the murder; they see neither the police
commissary with his badge of office, nor the corporal with his four
men; and so the poor fools believe that the whole thing is as easy
as lying. But go a little way from France — go either to Aleppo or
Cairo, or only to Naples or Rome, and you will see people passing
by you in the streets — people erect, smiling, and fresh-colored,
of whom Asmodeus, if you were holding on by the skirt of his
mantle, would say, `That man was poisoned three weeks ago; he will
be a dead man in a month.'"
"Then," remarked Madame de Villefort, "they have again
discovered the secret of the famous aquatofana that they said was
lost at Perugia."
"Ah, but madame, does mankind ever lose anything? The arts


lost at Perugia."
"Ah, but madame, does mankind ever lose anything? The arts
change about and make a tour of the world; things take a different
name, and the vulgar do not follow them — that is all; but there is
always the same result. Poisons act particularly on some organ or
another — one on the stomach, another on the brain, another on the
intestines. Well, the poison brings on a cough, the cough an
inflammation of the lungs, or some other complaint catalogued in
the book of science, which, however, by no means precludes it from
being decidedly mortal; and if it were not, would be sure to become
so, thanks to the remedies applied by foolish doctors, who are
generally bad chemists, and which will act in favor of or against
the malady, as you please; and then there is a human being killed
according to all the rules of art and skill, and of whom justice
learns nothing, as was said by a terrible chemist of my
acquaintance, the worthy Abbe Adelmonte of Taormina, in Sicily, who
has studied these national phenomena very profoundly."
"It is quite frightful, but deeply interesting," said the young
lady, motionless with attention. "I thought, I must confess, that
these tales, were inventions of the Middle Ages."
"Yes, no doubt, but improved upon by ours. What is the use of
time, rewards of merit, medals, crosses, Monthyon prizes, if they
do not lead society towards more complete perfection? Yet man will
never be perfect until he learns to create and destroy; he does
know how to destroy, and that is half the battle."
"So," added Madame de Villefort, constantly returning to her
object, "the poisons of the Borgias, the Medicis, the Renes, the
Ruggieris, and later, probably, that of Baron de Trenck, whose
story has been so misused by modern drama and romance" —
"Were objects of art, madame, and nothing more," replied the
count. "Do you suppose that the real savant addresses himself
stupidly to the mere individual? By no means. Science loves
eccentricities, leaps and bounds, trials of strength, fancies, if Ieccentricities, leaps and bounds, trials of strength, fancies, if I
may be allowed so to term them. Thus, for instance, the excellent
Abbe Adelmonte, of whom I spoke just now, made in this way some
marvellous experiments."
"Really?"
"Yes; I will mention one to you. He had a remarkably fine
garden, full of vegetables, flowers, and fruit. From amongst these
vegetables he selected the most simple — a cabbage, for instance.
For three days he watered this cabbage with a distillation of
arsenic; on the third, the cabbage began to droop and turn yellow.
At that moment he cut it. In the eyes of everybody it seemed fit
for table, and preserved its wholesome appearance. It was only
poisoned to the Abbe Adelmonte. He then took the cabbage to the
room where he had rabbits — for the Abbe Adelmonte had a collection
of rabbits, cats, and guinea-pigs, fully as fine as his collection
of vegetables, flowers, and fruit. Well, the Abbe Adelmonte took a
rabbit, and made it eat a leaf of the cabbage. The rabbit died.
What magistrate would find, or even venture to insinuate, anything
against this? What procureur has ever ventured to draw up an
accusation against M. Magendie or M. Flourens, in consequence of
the rabbits, cats, and guinea-pigs they have killed? — not one. So,
then, the rabbit dies, and justice takes no notice. This rabbit
dead, the Abbe Adelmonte has its entrails taken out by his cook and
thrown on the dunghill; on this dunghill is a hen, who, pecking
these intestines, is in her turn taken ill, and dies next day. At
the moment when she is struggling in the convulsions of death, a
vulture is flying by (there are a good many vultures in Adelmonte's
country); this bird darts on the dead fowl, and carries it away to
a rock, where it dines off its prey. Three days afterwards, this
poor vulture, which has been very much indisposed since that
dinner, suddenly feels very giddy while flying aloft in the clouds,
and falls heavily into a fish-pond. The pike, eels, and carp eatand falls heavily into a fish-pond. The pike, eels, and carp eat
greedily always, as everybody knows — well, they feast on the
vulture. Now suppose that next day, one of these eels, or pike, or
carp, poisoned at the fourth remove, is served up at your table.
Well, then, your guest will be poisoned at the fifth remove, and
die, at the end of eight or ten days, of pains in the intestines,
sickness, or abscess of the pylorus. The doctors open the body and
say with an air of profound learning, `The subject has died of a
tumor on the liver, or of typhoid fever!'"
"But," remarked Madame de Villefort, "all these circumstances
which you link thus to one another may be broken by the least
accident; the vulture may not see the fowl, or may fall a hundred
yards from the fish-pond."
"Ah, that is where the art comes in. To be a great chemist in
the East, one must direct chance; and this is to be achieved." —
Madame de Villefort was in deep thought, yet listened attentively.
"But," she exclaimed, suddenly, "arsenic is indelible,
indestructible; in whatsoever way it is absorbed, it will be found
again in the body of the victim from the moment when it has been
taken in sufficient quantity to cause death."
"Precisely so," cried Monte Cristo — "precisely so; and this is
what I said to my worthy Adelmonte. He reflected, smiled, and
replied to me by a Sicilian proverb, which I believe is also a
French proverb, `My son, the world was not made in a day — but in
seven. Return on Sunday.' On the Sunday following I did return to
him. Instead of having watered his cabbage with arsenic, he had
watered it this time with a solution of salts, having their basis
in strychnine, strychnos colubrina, as the learned term it. Now,
the cabbage had not the slightest appearance of disease in the
world, and the rabbit had not the smallest distrust; yet, five
minutes afterwards, the rabbit was dead. The fowl pecked at the
rabbit, and the next day was a dead hen. This time we were the
vultures; so we opened the bird, and this time all special symptoms


vultures; so we opened the bird, and this time all special symptoms
had disappeared, there were only general symptoms. There was no
peculiar indication in any organ — an excitement of the nervous
system — that was it; a case of cerebral congestion — nothing more.
The fowl had not been poisoned — she had died of apoplexy. Apoplexy
is a rare disease among fowls, I believe, but very common among
men." Madame de Villefort appeared more and more thoughtful.
"It is very fortunate," she observed, "that such substances
could only be prepared by chemists; otherwise, all the world would
be poisoning each other."
"By chemists and persons who have a taste for chemistry," said
Monte Cristo carelessly.
"And then," said Madame de Villefort, endeavoring by a struggle,
and with effort, to get away from her thoughts, "however skilfully
it is prepared, crime is always crime, and if it avoid human
scrutiny, it does not escape the eye of God. The Orientals are
stronger than we are in cases of conscience, and, very prudently,
have no hell — that is the point."
"Really, madame, this is a scruple which naturally must occur to
a pure mind like yours, but which would easily yield before sound
reasoning. The bad side of human thought will always be defined by
the paradox of Jean Jacques Rousseau, — you remember, — the
mandarin who is killed five hundred leagues off by raising the tip
of the finger. Man's whole life passes in doing these things, and
his intellect is exhausted by reflecting on them. You will find
very few persons who will go and brutally thrust a knife in the
heart of a fellow-creature, or will administer to him, in order to
remove him from the surface of the globe on which we move with life
and animation, that quantity of arsenic of which we just now
talked. Such a thing is really out of rule — eccentric or stupid.
To attain such a point, the blood must be heated to thirty-six
degrees, the pulse be, at least, at ninety, and the feelings
excited beyond the ordinary limit. But suppose one pass, as isexcited beyond the ordinary limit. But suppose one pass, as is
permissible in philology, from the word itself to its softened
synonym, then, instead of committing an ignoble assassination you
make an `elimination;' you merely and simply remove from your path
the individual who is in your way, and that without shock or
violence, without the display of the sufferings which, in the case
of becoming a punishment, make a martyr of the victim, and a
butcher, in every sense of the word, of him who inflicts them. Then
there will be no blood, no groans, no convulsions, and above all,
no consciousness of that horrid and compromising moment of
accomplishing the act, — then one escapes the clutch of the human
law, which says, `Do not disturb society!' This is the mode in
which they manage these things, and succeed in Eastern climes,
where there are grave and phlegmatic persons who care very little
for the questions of time in conjunctures of importance."
"Yet conscience remains," remarked Madame de Villefort in an
agitated voice, and with a stifled sigh.
"Yes," answered Monte Cristo "happily, yes, conscience does
remain; and if it did not, how wretched we should be! After every
action requiring exertion, it is conscience that saves us, for it
supplies us with a thousand good excuses, of which we alone are
judges; and these reasons, howsoever excellent in producing sleep,
would avail us but very little before a tribunal, when we were
tried for our lives. Thus Richard III., for instance, was
marvellously served by his conscience after the putting away of the
two children of Edward IV.; in fact, he could say, `These two
children of a cruel and persecuting king, who have inherited the
vices of their father, which I alone could perceive in their
juvenile propensities — these two children are impediments in my
way of promoting the happiness of the English people, whose
unhappiness they (the children) would infallibly have caused.' Thus
was Lady Macbeth served by her conscience, when she sought to givewas Lady Macbeth served by her conscience, when she sought to give
her son, and not her husband (whatever Shakespeare may say), a
throne. Ah, maternal love is a great virtue, a powerful motive — so
powerful that it excuses a multitude of things, even if, after
Duncan's death, Lady Macbeth had been at all pricked by her
conscience."
Madame de Villefort listened with avidity to these appalling
maxims and horrible paradoxes, delivered by the count with that
ironical simplicity which was peculiar to him. After a moment's
silence, the lady inquired, "Do you know, my dear count," she said,
"that you are a very terrible reasoner, and that you look at the
world through a somewhat distempered medium? Have you really
measured the world by scrutinies, or through alembics and
crucibles? For you must indeed be a great chemist, and the elixir
you administered to my son, which recalled him to life almost
instantaneously" —
"Oh, do not place any reliance on that, madame; one drop of that
elixir sufficed to recall life to a dying child, but three drops
would have impelled the blood into his lungs in such a way as to
have produced most violent palpitations; six would have suspended
his respiration, and caused syncope more serious than that in which
he was; ten would have destroyed him. You know, madame, how
suddenly I snatched him from those phials which he so imprudently
touched?"
"Is it then so terrible a poison?"
"Oh, no. In the first place, let us agree that the word poison
does not exist, because in medicine use is made of the most violent
poisons, which become, according as they are employed, most
salutary remedies."
"What, then, is it?"
"A skilful preparation of my friend's the worthy Abbe Adelmonte,
who taught me the use of it."
"Oh," observed Madame de Villefort, "it must be an admirable
anti-spasmodic."
"Perfect, madame, as you have seen," replied the count; "and I
frequently make use of it — with all possible prudence though, be
it observed," he added with a smile of intelligence.


it observed," he added with a smile of intelligence.
"Most assuredly," responded Madame de Villefort in the same
tone. "As for me, so nervous, and so subject to fainting fits, I
should require a Doctor Adelmonte to invent for me some means of
breathing freely and tranquillizing my mind, in the fear I have of
dying some fine day of suffocation. In the meanwhile, as the thing
is difficult to find in France, and your abbe is not probably
disposed to make a journey to Paris on my account, I must continue
to use Monsieur Planche's anti-spasmodics; and mint and Hoffman's
drops are among my favorite remedies. Here are some lozenges which
I have made up on purpose; they are compounded doubly strong."
Monte Cristo opened the tortoise-shell box, which the lady
presented to him, and inhaled the odor of the lozenges with the air
of an amateur who thoroughly appreciated their composition. "They
are indeed exquisite," he said; "but as they are necessarily
submitted to the process of deglutition — a function which it is
frequently impossible for a fainting person to accomplish — I
prefer my own specific."
"Undoubtedly, and so should I prefer it, after the effects I
have seen produced; but of course it is a secret, and I am not so
indiscreet as to ask it of you."
"But I," said Monte Cristo, rising as he spoke — "I am gallant
enough to offer it you."
"How kind you are."
"Only remember one thing — a small dose is a remedy, a large one
is poison. One drop will restore life, as you have seen; five or
six will inevitably kill, and in a way the more terrible inasmuch
as, poured into a glass of wine, it would not in the slightest
degree affect its flavor. But I say no more, madame; it is really
as if I were prescribing for you." The clock struck half-past six,
and a lady was announced, a friend of Madame de Villefort, who came
to dine with her.
"If I had had the honor of seeing you for the third or fourth
time, count, instead of only for the second," said Madame de
Villefort; "if I had had the honor of being your friend, instead ofVillefort; "if I had had the honor of being your friend, instead of
only having the happiness of being under an obligation to you, I
should insist on detaining you to dinner, and not allow myself to
be daunted by a first refusal."
"A thousand thanks, madame," replied Monte Cristo "but I have an
engagement which I cannot break. I have promised to escort to the
Academie a Greek princess of my acquaintance who has never seen
your grand opera, and who relies on me to conduct her thither."
"Adieu, then, sir, and do not forget the prescription."
"Ah, in truth, madame, to do that I must forget the hour's
conversation I have had with you, which is indeed impossible."
Monte Cristo bowed, and left the house. Madame de Villefort
remained immersed in thought. "He is a very strange man," she said,
"and in my opinion is himself the Adelmonte he talks about." As to
Monte Cristo the result had surpassed his utmost expectations.
"Good," said he, as he went away; "this is a fruitful soil, and I
feel certain that the seed sown will not be cast on barren ground."
Next morning, faithful to his promise, he sent the prescription
requested.Our readers must now allow us to transport them again to the
enclosure surrounding M. de Villefort's house, and, behind the
gate, half screened from view by the large chestnut-trees, which on
all sides spread their luxuriant branches, we shall find some
people of our acquaintance. This time Maximilian was the first to
arrive. He was intently watching for a shadow to appear among the
trees, and awaiting with anxiety the sound of a light step on the
gravel walk. At length, the long-desired sound was heard, and
instead of one figure, as he had expected, he perceived that two
were approaching him. The delay had been occasioned by a visit from
Madame Danglars and Eugenie, which had been prolonged beyond the
time at which Valentine was expected. That she might not appear to
fail in her promise to Maximilian, she proposed to Mademoiselle
Danglars that they should take a walk in the garden, being anxious
to show that the delay, which was doubtless a cause of vexation to
him, was not occasioned by any neglect on her part. The young man,
with the intuitive perception of a lover, quickly understood the
circumstances in which she was involuntarily placed, and he was
comforted. Besides, although she avoided coming within speaking
distance, Valentine arranged so that Maximilian could see her pass
and repass, and each time she went by, she managed, unperceived by
her companion, to cast an expressive look at the young man, which
seemed to say, "Have patience! You see it is not my fault." And
Maximilian was patient, and employed himself in mentally
contrasting the two girls, — one fair, with soft languishing eyes,
a figure gracefully bending like a weeping willow; the other a
brunette, with a fierce and haughty expression, and as straight as
a poplar. It is unnecessary to state that, in the eyes of the young
man, Valentine did not suffer by the contrast. In about half an
hour the girls went away, and Maximilian understood that
Mademoiselle Danglars' visit had at last come to an end. In a fewMademoiselle Danglars' visit had at last come to an end. In a few
minutes Valentine re-entered the garden alone. For fear that any
one should be observing her return, she walked slowly; and instead
of immediately directing her steps towards the gate, she seated
herself on a bench, and, carefully casting her eyes around, to
convince herself that she was not watched, she presently arose, and
proceeded quickly to join Maximilian.
"Good-evening, Valentine," said a well-known voice.
"Good-evening, Maximilian; I know I have kept you waiting, but
you saw the cause of my delay."
"Yes, I recognized Mademoiselle Danglars. I was not aware that
you were so intimate with her."
"Who told you we were intimate, Maximilian?"
"No one, but you appeared to be so. From the manner in which you
walked and talked together, one would have thought you were two
school-girls telling your secrets to each other."
"We were having a confidential conversation," returned
Valentine; "she was owning to me her repugnance to the marriage
with M. de Morcerf; and I, on the other hand, was confessing to her
how wretched it made me to think of marrying M. d'Epinay."
"Dear Valentine!"
"That will account to you for the unreserved manner which you
observed between me and Eugenie, as in speaking of the man whom I
could not love, my thoughts involuntarily reverted to him on whom
my affections were fixed."
"Ah, how good you are to say so, Valentine! You possess a
quality which can never belong to Mademoiselle Danglars. It is that
indefinable charm which is to a woman what perfume is to the flower
and flavor to the fruit, for the beauty of either is not the only
quality we seek."
"It is your love which makes you look upon everything in that
light."
"No, Valentine, I assure you such is not the case. I was
observing you both when you were walking in the garden, and, on my
honor, without at all wishing to depreciate the beauty of
Mademoiselle Danglars, I cannot understand how any man can really
love her."


Mademoiselle Danglars, I cannot understand how any man can really
love her."
"The fact is, Maximilian, that I was there, and my presence had
the effect of rendering you unjust in your comparison."
"No; but tell me — it is a question of simple curiosity, and
which was suggested by certain ideas passing in my mind relative to
Mademoiselle Danglars" —
"I dare say it is something disparaging which you are going to
say. It only proves how little indulgence we may expect from your
sex," interrupted Valentine.
"You cannot, at least, deny that you are very harsh judges of
each other."
"If we are so, it is because we generally judge under the
influence of excitement. But return to your question."
"Does Mademoiselle Danglars object to this marriage with M. de
Morcerf on account of loving another?"
"I told you I was not on terms of strict intimacy with
Eugenie."
"Yes, but girls tell each other secrets without being
particularly intimate; own, now, that you did question her on the
subject. Ah, I see you are smiling."
"If you are already aware of the conversation that passed, the
wooden partition which interposed between us and you has proved but
a slight security."
"Come, what did she say?"
"She told me that she loved no one," said Valentine; "that she
disliked the idea of being married; that she would infinitely
prefer leading an independent and unfettered life; and that she
almost wished her father might lose his fortune, that she might
become an artist, like her friend, Mademoiselle Louise
d'Armilly."
"Ah, you see" —
"Well, what does that prove?" asked Valentine.
"Nothing," replied Maximilian.
"Then why did you smile?"
"Why, you know very well that you are reflecting on yourself,
Valentine."
"Do you want me to go away?"
"Ah, no, no. But do not let us lose time; you are the subject on
which I wish to speak."
"True, we must be quick, for we have scarcely ten minutes more
to pass together."
"Ma foi," said Maximilian, in consternation.
"Yes, you are right; I am but a poor friend to you. What a life"Yes, you are right; I am but a poor friend to you. What a life
I cause you to lead, poor Maximilian, you who are formed for
happiness! I bitterly reproach myself, I assure you."
"Well, what does it signify, Valentine, so long as I am
satisfied, and feel that even this long and painful suspense is
amply repaid by five minutes of your society, or two words from
your lips? And I have also a deep conviction that heaven would not
have created two hearts, harmonizing as ours do, and almost
miraculously brought us together, to separate us at last."
"Those are kind and cheering words. You must hope for us both,
Maximilian; that will make me at least partly happy."
"But why must you leave me so soon?"
"I do not know particulars. I can only tell you that Madame de
Villefort sent to request my presence, as she had a communication
to make on which a part of my fortune depended. Let them take my
fortune, I am already too rich; and, perhaps, when they have taken
it, they will leave me in peace and quietness. You would love me as
much if I were poor, would you not, Maximilian?"
"Oh, I shall always love you. What should I care for either
riches or poverty, if my Valentine was near me, and I felt certain
that no one could deprive me of her? But do you not fear that this
communication may relate to your marriage?"
"I do not think that is the case."
"However it may be, Valentine, you must not be alarmed. I assure
you that, as long as I live, I shall never love any one else!"
"You think to reassure me when you say that, Maximilian."
"Pardon me, you are right. I am a brute. But I was going to tell
you that I met M. de Morcerf the other day."
"Well?"
"Monsieur Franz is his friend, you know."
"What then?"
"Monsieur de Morcerf has received a letter from Franz,
announcing his immediate return." Valentine turned pale, and leaned
her hand against the gate. "Ah heavens, if it were that! But no,
the communication would not come through Madame de Villefort."
"Why not?"
"Because — I scarcely know why — but it has appeared as if"Why not?"
"Because — I scarcely know why — but it has appeared as if
Madame de Villefort secretly objected to the marriage, although she
did not choose openly to oppose it."
"Is it so? Then I feel as if I could adore Madame de
Villefort."
"Do not be in such a hurry to do that," said Valentine, with a
sad smile.
"If she objects to your marrying M. d'Epinay, she would be all
the more likely to listen to any other proposition."
"No, Maximilian, it is not suitors to which Madame de Villefort
objects, it is marriage itself."
"Marriage? If she dislikes that so much, why did she ever marry
herself?"
"You do not understand me, Maximilian. About a year ago, I
talked of retiring to a convent. Madame de Villefort, in spite of
all the remarks which she considered it her duty to make, secretly
approved of the proposition, my father consented to it at her
instigation, and it was only on account of my poor grandfather that
I finally abandoned the project. You can form no idea of the
expression of that old man's eye when he looks at me, the only
person in the world whom he loves, and, I had almost said, by whom
he is beloved in return. When he learned my resolution, I shall
never forget the reproachful look which he cast on me, and the
tears of utter despair which chased each other down his lifeless
cheeks. Ah, Maximilian, I experienced, at that moment, such remorse
for my intention, that, throwing myself at his feet, I exclaimed, —
`Forgive me, pray forgive me, my dear grandfather; they may do what
they will with me, I will never leave you.' When I had ceased
speaking, he thankfully raised his eyes to heaven, but without
uttering a word. Ah, Maximilian, I may have much to suffer, but I
feel as if my grandfather's look at that moment would more than
compensate for all."
"Dear Valentine, you are a perfect angel, and I am sure I do not
know what I — sabring right and left among the Bedouins — can have
done to merit your being revealed to me, unless, indeed, heaven


done to merit your being revealed to me, unless, indeed, heaven
took into consideration the fact that the victims of my sword were
infidels. But tell me what interest Madame de Villefort can have in
your remaining unmarried?"
"Did I not tell you just now that I was rich, Maximilian — too
rich? I possess nearly 50,000 livres in right of my mother; my
grandfather and my grandmother, the Marquis and Marquise de
Saint-Meran, will leave me as much, and M. Noirtier evidently
intends making me his heir. My brother Edward, who inherits nothing
from his mother, will, therefore, be poor in comparison with me.
Now, if I had taken the veil, all this fortune would have descended
to my father, and, in reversion, to his son."
"Ah, how strange it seems that such a young and beautiful woman
should be so avaricious."
"It is not for herself that she is so, but for her son, and what
you regard as a vice becomes almost a virtue when looked at in the
light of maternal love."
"But could you not compromise matters, and give up a portion of
your fortune to her son?"
"How could I make such a proposition, especially to a woman who
always professes to be so entirely disinterested?"
"Valentine, I have always regarded our love in the light of
something sacred; consequently, I have covered it with the veil of
respect, and hid it in the innermost recesses of my soul. No human
being, not even my sister, is aware of its existence. Valentine,
will you permit me to make a confidant of a friend and reveal to
him the love I bear you?"
Valentine started. "A friend, Maximilian; and who is this
friend? I tremble to give my permission."
"Listen, Valentine. Have you never experienced for any one that
sudden and irresistible sympathy which made you feel as if the
object of it had been your old and familiar friend, though, in
reality, it was the first time you had ever met? Nay, further, have
you never endeavored to recall the time, place, and circumstances
of your former intercourse, and failing in this attempt, haveof your former intercourse, and failing in this attempt, have
almost believed that your spirits must have held converse with each
other in some state of being anterior to the present, and that you
are only now occupied in a reminiscence of the past?"
"Yes."
"Well, that is precisely the feeling which I experienced when I
first saw that extraordinary man."
"Extraordinary, did you say?"
"Yes."
"You have known him for some time, then?"
"Scarcely longer than eight or ten days."
"And do you call a man your friend whom you have only known for
eight or ten days? Ah, Maximilian, I had hoped you set a higher
value on the title of friend."
"Your logic is most powerful, Valentine, but say what you will,
I can never renounce the sentiment which has instinctively taken
possession of my mind. I feel as if it were ordained that this man
should be associated with all the good which the future may have in
store for me, and sometimes it really seems as if his eye was able
to see what was to come, and his hand endowed with the power of
directing events according to his own will."
"He must be a prophet, then," said Valentine, smiling.
"Indeed," said Maximilian, "I have often been almost tempted to
attribute to him the gift of prophecy; at all events, he has a
wonderful power of foretelling any future good."
"Ah," said Valentine in a mournful tone, "do let me see this
man, Maximilian; he may tell me whether I shall ever be loved
sufficiently to make amends for all I have suffered."
"My poor girl, you know him already."
"I know him?"
"Yes; it was he who saved the life of your step-mother and her
son."
"The Count of Monte Cristo?"
"The same."
"Ah," cried Valentine, "he is too much the friend of Madame de
Villefort ever to be mine."
"The friend of Madame de Villefort! It cannot be; surely,
Valentine, you are mistaken?"
"No, indeed, I am not; for I assure you, his power over our
household is almost unlimited. Courted by my step-mother, who
regards him as the epitome of human wisdom; admired by my father,regards him as the epitome of human wisdom; admired by my father,
who says he has never before heard such sublime ideas so eloquently
expressed; idolized by Edward, who, notwithstanding his fear of the
count's large black eyes, runs to meet him the moment he arrives,
and opens his hand, in which he is sure to find some delightful
present, — M. de Monte Cristo appears to exert a mysterious and
almost uncontrollable influence over all the members of our
family."
"If such be the case, my dear Valentine, you must yourself have
felt, or at all events will soon feel, the effects of his presence.
He meets Albert de Morcerf in Italy — it is to rescue him from the
hands of the banditti; he introduces himself to Madame Danglars —
it is that he may give her a royal present; your step-mother and
her son pass before his door — it is that his Nubian may save them
from destruction. This man evidently possesses the power of
influencing events, both as regards men and things. I never saw
more simple tastes united to greater magnificence. His smile is so
sweet when he addresses me, that I forget it ever can be bitter to
others. Ah, Valentine, tell me, if he ever looked on you with one
of those sweet smiles? if so, depend on it, you will be happy."
"Me?" said the young girl, "he never even glances at me; on the
contrary, if I accidentally cross his path, he appears rather to
avoid me. Ah, he is not generous, neither does he possess that
supernatural penetration which you attribute to him, for if he did,
he would have perceived that I was unhappy; and if he had been
generous, seeing me sad and solitary, he would have used his
influence to my advantage, and since, as you say, he resembles the
sun, he would have warmed my heart with one of his life-giving
rays. You say he loves you, Maximilian; how do you know that he
does? All would pay deference to an officer like you, with a fierce
mustache and a long sabre, but they think they may crush a poor
weeping girl with impunity."
"Ah, Valentine, I assure you you are mistaken."


weeping girl with impunity."
"Ah, Valentine, I assure you you are mistaken."
"If it were otherwise — if he treated me diplomatically — that
is to say, like a man who wishes, by some means or other, to obtain
a footing in the house, so that he may ultimately gain the power of
dictating to its occupants — he would, if it had been but once,
have honored me with the smile which you extol so loudly; but no,
he saw that I was unhappy, he understood that I could be of no use
to him, and therefore paid no attention to me whatever. Who knows
but that, in order to please Madame de Villefort and my father, he
may not persecute me by every means in his power? It is not just
that he should despise me so, without any reason. Ah, forgive me,"
said Valentine, perceiving the effect which her words were
producing on Maximilian: "I have done wrong, for I have given
utterance to thoughts concerning that man which I did not even know
existed in my heart. I do not deny the influence of which you
speak, or that I have not myself experienced it, but with me it has
been productive of evil rather than good."
"Well, Valentine," said Morrel with a sigh, "we will not discuss
the matter further. I will not make a confidant of him."
"Alas," said Valentine, "I see that I have given you pain. I can
only say how sincerely I ask pardon for having griefed you. But,
indeed, I am not prejudiced beyond the power of conviction. Tell me
what this Count of Monte Cristo has done for you."
"I own that your question embarrasses me, Valentine, for I
cannot say that the count has rendered me any ostensible service.
Still, as I have already told you I have an instinctive affection
for him, the source of which I cannot explain to you. Has the sun
done anything for me? No; he warms me with his rays, and it is by
his light that I see you — nothing more. Has such and such a
perfume done anything for me? No; its odor charms one of my senses
— that is all I can say when I am asked why I praise it. My— that is all I can say when I am asked why I praise it. My
friendship for him is as strange and unaccountable as his for me. A
secret voice seems to whisper to me that there must be something
more than chance in this unexpected reciprocity of friendship. In
his most simple actions, as well as in his most secret thoughts, I
find a relation to my own. You will perhaps smile at me when I tell
you that, ever since I have known this man, I have involuntarily
entertained the idea that all the good fortune which his befallen
me originated from him. However, I have managed to live thirty
years without this protection, you will say; but I will endeavor a
little to illustrate my meaning. He invited me to dine with him on
Saturday, which was a very natural thing for him to do. Well, what
have I learned since? That your mother and M. de Villefort are both
coming to this dinner. I shall meet them there, and who knows what
future advantages may result from the interview? This may appear to
you to be no unusual combination of circumstances; nevertheless, I
perceive some hidden plot in the arrangement — something, in fact,
more than is apparent on a casual view of the subject. I believe
that this singular man, who appears to fathom the motives of every
one, has purposely arranged for me to meet M. and Madame de
Villefort, and sometimes, I confess, I have gone so far as to try
to read in his eyes whether he was in possession of the secret of
our love."
"My good friend," said Valentine, "I should take you for a
visionary, and should tremble for your reason, if I were always to
hear you talk in a strain similar to this. Is it possible that you
can see anything more than the merest chance in this meeting? Pray
reflect a little. My father, who never goes out, has several times
been on the point of refusing this invitation; Madame de Villefort,
on the contrary, is burning with the desire of seeing this
extraordinary nabob in his own house, therefore, she has with greatextraordinary nabob in his own house, therefore, she has with great
difficulty prevailed on my father to accompany her. No, no; it is
as I have said, Maximilian, — there is no one in the world of whom
I can ask help but yourself and my grandfather, who is little
better than a corpse."
"I see that you are right, logically speaking," said Maximilian;
"but the gentle voice which usually has such power over me fails to
convince me to-day."
"I feel the same as regards yourself." said Valentine; "and I
own that, if you have no stronger proof to give me" —
"I have another," replied Maximilian; "but I fear you will deem
it even more absurd than the first."
"So much the worse," said Valentine, smiling.
"It is, nevertheless, conclusive to my mind. My ten years of
service have also confirmed my ideas on the subject of sudden
inspirations, for I have several times owed my life to a mysterious
impulse which directed me to move at once either to the right or to
the left, in order to escape the ball which killed the comrade
fighting by my side, while it left me unharmed."
"Dear Maximilian, why not attribute your escape to my constant
prayers for your safety? When you are away, I no longer pray for
myself, but for you."
"Yes, since you have known me," said Morrel, smiling; "but that
cannot apply to the time previous to our acquaintance,
Valentine."
"You are very provoking, and will not give me credit for
anything; but let me hear this second proof, which you yourself own
to be absurd."
"Well, look through this opening, and you will see the beautiful
new horse which I rode here."
"Ah, what a beautiful creature!" cried Valentine; "why did you
not bring him close to the gate, so that I could talk to him and
pat him?"
"He is, as you see, a very valuable animal," said Maximilian.
"You know that my means are limited, and that I am what would be
designated a man of moderate pretensions. Well, I went to a horse
dealer's, where I saw this magnificent horse, which I have named


dealer's, where I saw this magnificent horse, which I have named
Medeah. I asked the price; they told me it was 4,500 francs. I was,
therefore, obliged to give it up, as you may imagine, but I own I
went away with rather a heavy heart, for the horse had looked at me
affectionately, had rubbed his head against me and, when I mounted
him, had pranced in the most delightful way imaginable, so that I
was altogether fascinated with him. The same evening some friends
of mine visited me, — M. de Chateau-Renaud, M. Debray, and five or
six other choice spirits, whom you do not know, even by name. They
proposed a game of bouillotte. I never play, for I am not rich
enough to afford to lose, or sufficiently poor to desire to gain.
But I was at my own house, you understand, so there was nothing to
be done but to send for the cards, which I did.
"Just as they were sitting down to table, M. de Monte Cristo
arrived. He took his seat amongst them; they played, and I won. I
am almost ashamed to say that my gains amounted to 5,000 francs. We
separated at midnight. I could not defer my pleasure, so I took a
cabriolet and drove to the horse dealer's. Feverish and excited, I
rang at the door. The person who opened it must have taken me for a
madman, for I rushed at once to the stable. Medeah was standing at
the rack, eating his hay. I immediately put on the saddle and
bridle, to which operation he lent himself with the best grace
possible; then, putting the 4,500 francs into the hands of the
astonished dealer, I proceeded to fulfil my intention of passing
the night in riding in the Champs Elysees. As I rode by the count's
house I perceived a light in one of the windows, and fancied I saw
the shadow of his figure moving behind the curtain. Now, Valentine,
I firmly believe that he knew of my wish to possess this horse, and
that he lost expressly to give me the means of procuring him."
"My dear Maximilian, you are really too fanciful; you will not
love even me long. A man who accustoms himself to live in such alove even me long. A man who accustoms himself to live in such a
world of poetry and imagination must find far too little excitement
in a common, every-day sort of attachment such as ours. But they
are calling me. Do you hear?"
"Ah, Valentine," said Maximilian, "give me but one finger
through this opening in the grating, one finger, the littlest
finger of all, that I may have the happiness of kissing it."
"Maximilian, we said we would be to each other as two voices,
two shadows."
"As you will, Valentine."
"Shall you be happy if I do what you wish?"
"Oh, yes!" Valentine mounted on a bench, and passed not only her
finger but her whole hand through the opening. Maximilian uttered a
cry of delight, and, springing forwards, seized the hand extended
towards him, and imprinted on it a fervent and impassioned kiss.
The little hand was then immediately withdrawn, and the young man
saw Valentine hurrying towards the house, as though she were almost
terrified at her own sensations.We will now relate what was passing in the house of the king's
attorney after the departure of Madame Danglars and her daughter,
and during the time of the conversation between Maximilian and
Valentine, which we have just detailed. M. de Villefort entered his
father's room, followed by Madame de Villefort. Both of the
visitors, after saluting the old man and speaking to Barrois, a
faithful servant, who had been twenty-five years in his service,
took their places on either side of the paralytic.
M. Noirtier was sitting in an arm-chair, which moved upon
casters, in which he was wheeled into the room in the morning, and
in the same way drawn out again at night. He was placed before a
large glass, which reflected the whole apartment, and so, without
any attempt to move, which would have been impossible, he could see
all who entered the room and everything which was going on around
him. M. Noirtier, although almost as immovable as a corpse, looked
at the newcomers with a quick and intelligent expression,
perceiving at once, by their ceremonious courtesy, that they were
come on business of an unexpected and official character. Sight and
hearing were the only senses remaining, and they, like two solitary
sparks, remained to animate the miserable body which seemed fit for
nothing but the grave; it was only, however, by means of one of
these senses that he could reveal the thoughts and feelings that
still occupied his mind, and the look by which he gave expression
to his inner life was like the distant gleam of a candle which a
traveller sees by night across some desert place, and knows that a
living being dwells beyond the silence and obscurity. Noirtier's
hair was long and white, and flowed over his shoulders; while in
his eyes, shaded by thick black lashes, was concentrated, as it
often happens with an organ which is used to the exclusion of the
others, all the activity, address, force, and intelligence which
were formerly diffused over his whole body; and so although thewere formerly diffused over his whole body; and so although the
movement of the arm, the sound of the voice, and the agility of the
body, were wanting, the speaking eye sufficed for all. He commanded
with it; it was the medium through which his thanks were conveyed.
In short, his whole appearance produced on the mind the impression
of a corpse with living eyes, and nothing could be more startling
than to observe the expression of anger or joy suddenly lighting up
these organs, while the rest of the rigid and marble-like features
were utterly deprived of the power of participation. Three persons
only could understand this language of the poor paralytic; these
were Villefort, Valentine, and the old servant of whom we have
already spoken. But as Villefort saw his father but seldom, and
then only when absolutely obliged, and as he never took any pains
to please or gratify him when he was there, all the old man's
happiness was centred in his granddaughter. Valentine, by means of
her love, her patience, and her devotion, had learned to read in
Noirtier's look all the varied feelings which were passing in his
mind. To this dumb language, which was so unintelligible to others,
she answered by throwing her whole soul into the expression of her
countenance, and in this manner were the conversations sustained
between the blooming girl and the helpless invalid, whose body
could scarcely be called a living one, but who, nevertheless,
possessed a fund of knowledge and penetration, united with a will
as powerful as ever although clogged by a body rendered utterly
incapable of obeying its impulses. Valentine had solved the
problem, and was able easily to understand his thoughts, and to
convey her own in return, and, through her untiring and devoted
assiduity, it was seldom that, in the ordinary transactions of
every-day life, she failed to anticipate the wishes of the living,
thinking mind, or the wants of the almost inanimate body. As to the
servant, he had, as we have said, been with his master for five and


servant, he had, as we have said, been with his master for five and
twenty years, therefore he knew all his habits, and it was seldom
that Noirtier found it necessary to ask for anything, so prompt was
he in administering to all the necessities of the invalid.
Villefort did not need the help of either Valentine or the domestic
in order to carry on with his father the strange conversation which
he was about to begin. As we have said, he perfectly understood the
old man's vocabulary, and if he did not use it more often, it was
only indifference and ennui which prevented him from so doing. He
therefore allowed Valentine to go into the garden, sent away
Barrois, and after having seated himself at his father's right
hand, while Madame de Villefort placed herself on the left, he
addressed him thus: —
"I trust you will not be displeased, sir, that Valentine has not
come with us, or that I dismissed Barrois, for our conference will
be one which could not with propriety be carried on in the presence
of either. Madame de Villefort and I have a communication to make
to you."
Noirtier's face remained perfectly passive during this long
preamble, while, on the contrary, Villefort's eye was endeavoring
to penetrate into the inmost recesses of the old man's heart.
"This communication," continued the procureur, in that cold and
decisive tone which seemed at once to preclude all discussion,
"will, we are sure, meet with your approbation." The eye of the
invalid still retained that vacancy of expression which prevented
his son from obtaining any knowledge of the feelings which were
passing in his mind; he listened, nothing more. "Sir," resumed
Villefort, "we are thinking of marrying Valentine." Had the old
man's face been moulded in wax it could not have shown less emotion
at this news than was now to be traced there. "The marriage will
take place in less than three months," said Villefort. Noirtier's
eye still retained its inanimate expression.
Madame de Villefort now took her part in the conversation andMadame de Villefort now took her part in the conversation and
added, — "We thought this news would possess an interest for you,
sir, who have always entertained a great affection for Valentine;
it therefore only now remains for us to tell you the name of the
young man for whom she is destined. It is one of the most desirable
connections which could possibly be formed; he possesses fortune, a
high rank in society, and every personal qualification likely to
render Valentine supremely happy, — his name, moreover, cannot be
wholly unknown to you. It is M. Franz de Quesnel, Baron
d'Epinay."
While his wife was speaking, Villefort had narrowly watched the
old man's countenance. When Madame de Villefort pronounced the name
of Franz, the pupil of M. Noirtier's eye began to dilate, and his
eyelids trembled with the same movement that may be perceived on
the lips of an individual about to speak, and he darted a lightning
glance at Madame de Villefort and his son. The procureur, who knew
the political hatred which had formerly existed between M. Noirtier
and the elder d'Epinay, well understood the agitation and anger
which the announcement had produced; but, feigning not to perceive
either, he immediately resumed the narrative begun by his wife.
"Sir," said he, "you are aware that Valentine is about to enter her
nineteenth year, which renders it important that she should lose no
time in forming a suitable alliance. Nevertheless, you have not
been forgotten in our plans, and we have fully ascertained
beforehand that Valentine's future husband will consent, not to
live in this house, for that might not be pleasant for the young
people, but that you should live with them; so that you and
Valentine, who are so attached to each other, would not be
separated, and you would be able to pursue exactly the same course
of life which you have hitherto done, and thus, instead of losing,
you will be a gainer by the change, as it will secure to you two
children instead of one, to watch over and comfort you."children instead of one, to watch over and comfort you."
Noirtier's look was furious; it was very evident that something
desperate was passing in the old man's mind, for a cry of anger and
grief rose in his throat, and not being able to find vent in
utterance, appeared almost to choke him, for his face and lips
turned quite purple with the struggle. Villefort quietly opened a
window, saying, "It is very warm, and the heat affects M.
Noirtier." He then returned to his place, but did not sit down.
"This marriage," added Madame de Villefort, "is quite agreeable to
the wishes of M. d'Epinay and his family; besides, he had no
relations nearer than an uncle and aunt, his mother having died at
his birth, and his father having been assassinated in 1815, that is
to say, when he was but two years old; it naturally followed that
the child was permitted to choose his own pursuits, and he has,
therefore, seldom acknowledged any other authority but that of his
own will."
"That assassination was a mysterious affair," said Villefort,
"and the perpetrators have hitherto escaped detection, although
suspicion has fallen on the head of more than one person." Noirtier
made such an effort that his lips expanded into a smile.
"Now," continued Villefort, "those to whom the guilt really
belongs, by whom the crime was committed, on whose heads the
justice of man may probably descend here, and the certain judgment
of God hereafter, would rejoice in the opportunity thus afforded of
bestowing such a peace-offering as Valentine on the son of him
whose life they so ruthlessly destroyed." Noirtier had succeeded in
mastering his emotion more than could have been deemed possible
with such an enfeebled and shattered frame. "Yes, I understand,"
was the reply contained in his look; and this look expressed a
feeling of strong indignation, mixed with profound contempt.
Villefort fully understood his father's meaning, and answered by a
slight shrug of his shoulders. He then motioned to his wife to take