"Yes, madame."
"Is he not the son of General d'Epinay who was on our side, and who was
assassinated some days before the usurper returned from the Island of
Elba?"
"The same."
"Does he not dislike the idea of marrying the granddaughter of a
Jacobin?"
"Our civil dissensions are now happily extinguished, mother," said
Villefort; "M. d'Epinay was quite a child when his father died, he knows
very little of M. Noirtier, and will meet him, if not with pleasure, at
least with indifference."
"Is it a suitable match?"
"In every respect."
"And the young man?"
"Is regarded with universal esteem."
"You approve of him?"
"He is one of the most well-bred young men I know." During the whole
of this conversation Valentine had remained silent. "Well, sir," said
Madame de Saint-Meran, after a few minutes' reflection, "I must hasten
the marriage, for I have but a short time to live."
"You, madame?" "You, dear mamma?" exclaimed M. de Villefort and
Valentine at the same time.
"I know what I am saying," continued the marchioness; "I must hurry you,
so that, as she has no mother, she may at least have a grandmother to
bless her marriage. I am all that is left to her belonging to my poor
Renee, whom you have so soon forgotten, sir."
"Ah, madame," said Villefort, "you forget that I was obliged to give a
mother to my child."
"A stepmother is never a mother, sir. But this is not to the
purpose,--our business concerns Valentine, let us leave the dead in
peace."
All this was said with such exceeding rapidity, that there was something
in the conversation that seemed like the beginning of delirium.
"It shall be as you wish, madame," said Villefort; "more especially
since your wishes coincide with mine, and as soon as M. d'Epinay arrives
in Paris"--
"My dear grandmother," interrupted Valentine, "consider decorum--the
recent death. You would not have me marry under such sad auspices?"
"My child," exclaimed the old lady sharply, "let us hear none of the
conventional objections that deter weak minds from preparing for the
future. I also was married at the death-bed of my mother, and certainly
I have not been less happy on that account."
"Still that idea of death, madame," said Villefort.
"Still?--Always! I tell you I am going to die--do you understand? Well,
before dying, I wish to see my son-in-law. I wish to tell him to make
my child happy; I wish to read in his eyes whether he intends to obey
me;--in fact, I will know him--I will!" continued the old lady, with a
fearful expression, "that I may rise from the depths of my grave to find
him, if he should not fulfil his duty!"
"Madame," said Villefort, "you must lay aside these exalted ideas, which
almost assume the appearance of madness. The dead, once buried in their
graves, rise no more."
"And I tell you, sir, that you are mistaken. This night I have had a
fearful sleep. It seemed as though my soul were already hovering over my
body, my eyes, which I tried to open, closed against my will, and what
will appear impossible above all to you, sir, I saw, with my eyes shut,
in the spot where you are now standing, issuing from that corner where
there is a door leading into Madame Villefort's dressing-room--I saw, I
tell you, silently enter, a white figure." Valentine screamed. "It was
the fever that disturbed you, madame," said Villefort.
"Doubt, if you please, but I am sure of what I say. I saw a white
figure, and as if to prevent my discrediting the testimony of only one
of my senses, I heard my glass removed--the same which is there now on
the table."
"Oh, dear mother, it was a dream."
"So little was it a dream, that I stretched my hand towards the bell;
but when I did so, the shade disappeared; my maid then entered with a
light."
"But she saw no one?"
"Phantoms are visible to those only who ought to see them. It was the
soul of my husband!--Well, if my husband's soul can come to me, why
should not my soul reappear to guard my granddaughter? the tie is even
more direct, it seems to me."
"Oh, madame," said Villefort, deeply affected, in spite of himself, "do
not yield to those gloomy thoughts; you will long live with us, happy,
loved, and honored, and we will make you forget"--
"Never, never, never," said the marchioness. "When does M. d'Epinay
return?"
"We expect him every moment."
"It is well. As soon as he arrives inform me. We must be expeditious.
And then I also wish to see a notary, that I may be assured that all our
property returns to Valentine."
"Ah, grandmamma," murmured Valentine, pressing her lips on the burning
brow, "do you wish to kill me? Oh, how feverish you are; we must not
send for a notary, but for a doctor."
"A doctor?" said she, shrugging her shoulders, "I am not ill; I am
thirsty--that is all."
"What are you drinking, dear grandmamma?"
"The same as usual, my dear, my glass is there on the table--give it to
me, Valentine." Valentine poured the orangeade into a glass and gave it
to her grandmother with a certain degree of dread, for it was the same
glass she fancied that had been touched by the spectre. The marchioness
drained the glass at a single draught, and then turned on her pillow,
repeating,--"The notary, the notary!"
M. de Villefort left the room, and Valentine seated herself at the
bedside of her grandmother. The poor child appeared herself to require
the doctor she had recommended to her aged relative. A bright spot
burned in either cheek, her respiration was short and difficult, and her
pulse beat with feverish excitement. She was thinking of the despair
of Maximilian, when he should be informed that Madame de Saint-Meran,
instead of being an ally, was unconsciously acting as his enemy. More
than once she thought of revealing all to her grandmother, and she would
not have hesitated a moment, if Maximilian Morrel had been named Albert
de Morcerf or Raoul de Chateau-Renaud; but Morrel was of plebeian
extraction, and Valentine knew how the haughty Marquise de Saint-Meran
despised all who were not noble. Her secret had each time been repressed
when she was about to reveal it, by the sad conviction that it would be
useless to do so; for, were it once discovered by her father and mother,
all would be lost. Two hours passed thus; Madame de Saint-Meran was in
a feverish sleep, and the notary had arrived. Though his coming was
announced in a very low tone, Madame de Saint-Meran arose from her
pillow. "The notary!" she exclaimed, "let him come in."
The notary, who was at the door, immediately entered. "Go, Valentine,"
said Madame de Saint-Meran, "and leave me with this gentleman."
"But, grandmamma"--
"Leave me--go!" The young girl kissed her grandmother, and left with her
handkerchief to her eyes; at the door she found the valet de chambre,
who told her that the doctor was waiting in the dining-room. Valentine
instantly ran down. The doctor was a friend of the family, and at
the same time one of the cleverest men of the day, and very fond of
Valentine, whose birth he had witnessed. He had himself a daughter about
her age, but whose life was one continued source of anxiety and fear to
him from her mother having been consumptive.
"Oh," said Valentine, "we have been waiting for you with such
impatience, dear M. d'Avrigny. But, first of all, how are Madeleine and
Antoinette?" Madeleine was the daughter of M. d'Avrigny, and Antoinette
his niece. M. d'Avrigny smiled sadly. "Antoinette is very well," he
said, "and Madeleine tolerably so. But you sent for me, my dear child.
It is not your father or Madame de Villefort who is ill. As for you,
although we doctors cannot divest our patients of nerves, I fancy you
have no further need of me than to recommend you not to allow your
imagination to take too wide a field." Valentine colored. M. d'Avrigny
carried the science of divination almost to a miraculous extent, for
he was one of the physicians who always work upon the body through the
mind. "No," she replied, "it is for my poor grandmother. You know the
calamity that has happened to us, do you not?"
"I know nothing." said M. d'Avrigny.
"Alas," said Valentine, restraining her tears, "my grandfather is dead."
"M. de Saint-Meran?"
"Yes."
"Suddenly?"
"From an apoplectic stroke."
"An apoplectic stroke?" repeated the doctor.
"Yes, and my poor grandmother fancies that her husband, whom she
never left, has called her, and that she must go and join him. Oh, M.
d'Avrigny, I beseech you, do something for her!"
"Where is she?"
"In her room with the notary."
"And M. Noirtier?"
"Just as he was, his mind perfectly clear, but the same incapability of
moving or speaking."
"And the same love for you--eh, my dear child?"
"Yes," said Valentine, "he was very fond of me."
"Who does not love you?" Valentine smiled sadly. "What are your
grandmother's symptoms?"
"An extreme nervous excitement and a strangely agitated sleep; she
fancied this morning in her sleep that her soul was hovering above her
body, which she at the same time watched. It must have been delirium;
she fancies, too, that she saw a phantom enter her chamber and even
heard the noise it made on touching her glass."
"It is singular," said the doctor; "I was not aware that Madame de
Saint-Meran was subject to such hallucinations."
"It is the first time I ever saw her in this condition," said Valentine;
"and this morning she frightened me so that I thought her mad; and my
father, who you know is a strong-minded man, himself appeared deeply
impressed."
"We will go and see," said the doctor; "what you tell me seems very
strange." The notary here descended, and Valentine was informed that her
grandmother was alone. "Go upstairs," she said to the doctor.
"And you?"
"Oh, I dare not--she forbade my sending for you; and, as you say, I am
myself agitated, feverish and out of sorts. I will go and take a turn in
the garden to recover myself." The doctor pressed Valentine's hand, and
while he visited her grandmother, she descended the steps. We need not
say which portion of the garden was her favorite walk. After remaining
for a short time in the parterre surrounding the house, and gathering
a rose to place in her waist or hair, she turned into the dark avenue
which led to the bench; then from the bench she went to the gate.
As usual, Valentine strolled for a short time among her flowers, but
without gathering them. The mourning in her heart forbade her assuming
this simple ornament, though she had not yet had time to put on the
outward semblance of woe. She then turned towards the avenue. As she
advanced she fancied she heard a voice speaking her name. She stopped
astonished, then the voice reached her ear more distinctly, and she
recognized it to be that of Maximilian.
Chapter 73. The Promise.
It was, indeed, Maximilian Morrel, who had passed a wretched existence
since the previous day. With the instinct peculiar to lovers he had
anticipated after the return of Madame de Saint-Meran and the death
of the marquis, that something would occur at M. de Villefort's in
connection with his attachment for Valentine. His presentiments were
realized, as we shall see, and his uneasy forebodings had goaded him
pale and trembling to the gate under the chestnut-trees. Valentine was
ignorant of the cause of this sorrow and anxiety, and as it was not his
accustomed hour for visiting her, she had gone to the spot simply by
accident or perhaps through sympathy. Morrel called her, and she ran
to the gate. "You here at this hour?" said she. "Yes, my poor girl,"
replied Morrel; "I come to bring and to hear bad tidings."
"This is, indeed, a house of mourning," said Valentine; "speak,
Maximilian, although the cup of sorrow seems already full."
"Dear Valentine," said Morrel, endeavoring to conceal his own emotion,
"listen, I entreat you; what I am about to say is very serious. When are
you to be married?"
"I will tell you all," said Valentine; "from you I have nothing
to conceal. This morning the subject was introduced, and my dear
grandmother, on whom I depended as my only support, not only declared
herself favorable to it, but is so anxious for it, that they only await
the arrival of M. d'Epinay, and the following day the contract will
be signed." A deep sigh escaped the young man, who gazed long and
mournfully at her he loved. "Alas," replied he, "it is dreadful thus to
hear my condemnation from your own lips. The sentence is passed, and, in
a few hours, will be executed; it must be so, and I will not endeavor
to prevent it. But, since you say nothing remains but for M. d'Epinay to
arrive that the contract may be signed, and the following day you will
be his, to-morrow you will be engaged to M. d'Epinay, for he came this
morning to Paris." Valentine uttered a cry.
"I was at the house of Monte Cristo an hour since," said Morrel; "we
were speaking, he of the sorrow your family had experienced, and I of
your grief, when a carriage rolled into the court-yard. Never, till
then, had I placed any confidence in presentiments, but now I cannot
