"I will go to you, and we will fly; but from this moment until then, let
us not tempt providence, let us not see each other. It is a miracle, it
is a providence that we have not been discovered. If we were surprised,
if it were known that we met thus, we should have no further resource."
"You are right, Valentine; but how shall I ascertain?"
"From the notary, M. Deschamps."
"I know him."
"And for myself--I will write to you, depend on me. I dread this
marriage, Maximilian, as much as you."
"Thank you, my adored Valentine, thank you; that is enough. When once I
know the hour, I will hasten to this spot, you can easily get over this
fence with my assistance, a carriage will await us at the gate, in which
you will accompany me to my sister's; there living, retired or mingling
in society, as you wish, we shall be enabled to use our power to resist
oppression, and not suffer ourselves to be put to death like sheep,
which only defend themselves by sighs."
"Yes," said Valentine, "I will now acknowledge you are right,
Maximilian; and now are you satisfied with your betrothal?" said the
young girl sorrowfully.
"My adored Valentine, words cannot express one half of my satisfaction."
Valentine had approached, or rather, had placed her lips so near the
fence, that they nearly touched those of Morrel, which were pressed
against the other side of the cold and inexorable barrier. "Adieu, then,
till we meet again," said Valentine, tearing herself away. "I shall hear
from you?"
"Yes."
"Thanks, thanks, dear love, adieu!" The sound of a kiss was heard, and
Valentine fled through the avenue. Morrel listened to catch the last
sound of her dress brushing the branches, and of her footstep on the
gravel, then raised his eyes with an ineffable smile of thankfulness to
heaven for being permitted to be thus loved, and then also disappeared.
The young man returned home and waited all the evening and all the next
day without getting any message. It was only on the following day,
at about ten o'clock in the morning, as he was starting to call on M.
Deschamps, the notary, that he received from the postman a small billet,
which he knew to be from Valentine, although he had not before seen her
writing. It was to this effect:--
Tears, entreaties, prayers, have availed me nothing. Yesterday, for
two hours, I was at the church of Saint-Phillippe du Roule, and for two
hours I prayed most fervently. Heaven is as inflexible as man, and the
signature of the contract is fixed for this evening at nine o'clock. I
have but one promise and but one heart to give; that promise is pledged
to you, that heart is also yours. This evening, then, at a quarter to
nine at the gate.
Your betrothed,
Valentine de Villefort.
P.S.--My poor grandmother gets worse and worse; yesterday her fever
amounted to delirium; to-day her delirium is almost madness. You will
be very kind to me, will you not, Morrel, to make me forget my sorrow in
leaving her thus? I think it is kept a secret from grandpapa Noirtier,
that the contract is to be signed this evening.
Morrel went also to the notary, who confirmed the news that the contract
was to be signed that evening. Then he went to call on Monte Cristo and
heard still more. Franz had been to announce the ceremony, and Madame de
Villefort had also written to beg the count to excuse her not inviting
him; the death of M. de Saint-Meran and the dangerous illness of his
widow would cast a gloom over the meeting which she would regret should
be shared by the count whom she wished every happiness. The day before
Franz had been presented to Madame de Saint-Meran, who had left her bed
to receive him, but had been obliged to return to it immediately after.
It is easy to suppose that Morrel's agitation would not escape the
count's penetrating eye. Monte Cristo was more affectionate than
ever,--indeed, his manner was so kind that several times Morrel was on
the point of telling him all. But he recalled the promise he had made to
Valentine, and kept his secret.
The young man read Valentine's letter twenty times in the course of the
day. It was her first, and on what an occasion! Each time he read it he
renewed his vow to make her happy. How great is the power of a woman who
has made so courageous a resolution! What devotion does she deserve from
him for whom she has sacrificed everything! How ought she really to
be supremely loved! She becomes at once a queen and a wife, and it is
impossible to thank and love her sufficiently. Morrel longed intensely
for the moment when he should hear Valentine say, "Here I am,
Maximilian; come and help me." He had arranged everything for her
escape; two ladders were hidden in the clover-field; a cabriolet was
ordered for Maximilian alone, without a servant, without lights; at the
turning of the first street they would light the lamps, as it would be
foolish to attract the notice of the police by too many precautions.
Occasionally he shuddered; he thought of the moment when, from the
top of that wall, he should protect the descent of his dear Valentine,
pressing in his arms for the first time her of whom he had yet only
kissed the delicate hand.
When the afternoon arrived and he felt that the hour was drawing near,
he wished for solitude, his agitation was extreme; a simple question
from a friend would have irritated him. He shut himself in his room, and
tried to read, but his eye glanced over the page without understanding
a word, and he threw away the book, and for the second time sat down
to sketch his plan, the ladders and the fence. At length the hour
drew near. Never did a man deeply in love allow the clocks to go on
peacefully. Morrel tormented his so effectually that they struck eight
at half-past six. He then said, "It is time to start; the signature was
indeed fixed to take place at nine o'clock, but perhaps Valentine will
not wait for that." Consequently, Morrel, having left the Rue Meslay
at half-past eight by his timepiece, entered the clover-field while
the clock of Saint-Phillippe du Roule was striking eight. The horse and
cabriolet were concealed behind a small ruin, where Morrel had often
waited.
The night gradually drew on, and the foliage in the garden assumed a
deeper hue. Then Morrel came out from his hiding-place with a beating
heart, and looked through the small opening in the gate; there was yet
no one to be seen. The clock struck half-past eight, and still another
half-hour was passed in waiting, while Morrel walked to and fro, and
gazed more and more frequently through the opening. The garden became
darker still, but in the darkness he looked in vain for the white dress,
and in the silence he vainly listened for the sound of footsteps. The
house, which was discernible through the trees, remained in darkness,
and gave no indication that so important an event as the signature of a
marriage-contract was going on. Morrel looked at his watch, which wanted
a quarter to ten; but soon the same clock he had already heard strike
two or three times rectified the error by striking half-past nine.
This was already half an hour past the time Valentine had fixed. It
was a terrible moment for the young man. The slightest rustling of the
foliage, the least whistling of the wind, attracted his attention, and
drew the perspiration to his brow; then he tremblingly fixed his ladder,
and, not to lose a moment, placed his foot on the first step. Amidst
all these alternations of hope and fear, the clock struck ten. "It is
impossible," said Maximilian, "that the signing of a contract should
occupy so long a time without unexpected interruptions. I have weighed
all the chances, calculated the time required for all the forms;
something must have happened." And then he walked rapidly to and fro,
and pressed his burning forehead against the fence. Had Valentine
fainted? or had she been discovered and stopped in her flight? These
were the only obstacles which appeared possible to the young man.
The idea that her strength had failed her in attempting to escape,
and that she had fainted in one of the paths, was the one that most
impressed itself upon his mind. "In that case," said he, "I should lose
her, and by my own fault." He dwelt on this idea for a moment, then it
appeared reality. He even thought he could perceive something on the
ground at a distance; he ventured to call, and it seemed to him that
the wind wafted back an almost inarticulate sigh. At last the half-hour
struck. It was impossible to wait longer, his temples throbbed
violently, his eyes were growing dim; he passed one leg over the wall,
and in a moment leaped down on the other side. He was on Villefort's
premises--had arrived there by scaling the wall. What might be the
consequences? However, he had not ventured thus far to draw back. He
followed a short distance close under the wall, then crossed a path, hid
entered a clump of trees. In a moment he had passed through them, and
could see the house distinctly. Then Morrel saw that he had been right
in believing that the house was not illuminated. Instead of lights at
every window, as is customary on days of ceremony, he saw only a gray
mass, which was veiled also by a cloud, which at that moment obscured
the moon's feeble light. A light moved rapidly from time to time past
three windows of the second floor. These three windows were in Madame de
Saint-Meran's room. Another remained motionless behind some red curtains
which were in Madame de Villefort's bedroom. Morrel guessed all this. So
many times, in order to follow Valentine in thought at every hour in the
day, had he made her describe the whole house, that without having seen
it he knew it all.
This darkness and silence alarmed Morrel still more than Valentine's
absence had done. Almost mad with grief, and determined to venture
everything in order to see Valentine once more, and be certain of the
misfortune he feared, Morrel gained the edge of the clump of trees, and
was going to pass as quickly as possible through the flower-garden, when
the sound of a voice, still at some distance, but which was borne upon
the wind, reached him.
At this sound, as he was already partially exposed to view, he stepped
back and concealed himself completely, remaining perfectly motionless.
He had formed his resolution. If it was Valentine alone, he would speak
as she passed; if she was accompanied, and he could not speak, still he
should see her, and know that she was safe; if they were strangers, he
would listen to their conversation, and might understand something of
this hitherto incomprehensible mystery. The moon had just then escaped
from behind the cloud which had concealed it, and Morrel saw Villefort
come out upon the steps, followed by a gentleman in black. They
descended, and advanced towards the clump of trees, and Morrel soon
recognized the other gentleman as Doctor d'Avrigny.
The young man, seeing them approach, drew back mechanically, until he
found himself stopped by a sycamore-tree in the centre of the clump;
there he was compelled to remain. Soon the two gentlemen stopped also.
"Ah, my dear doctor," said the procureur, "heaven declares itself
against my house! What a dreadful death--what a blow! Seek not to
console me; alas, nothing can alleviate so great a sorrow--the wound is
too deep and too fresh! Dead, dead!" The cold sweat sprang to the young
man's brow, and his teeth chattered. Who could be dead in that house,
which Villefort himself had called accursed? "My dear M. de Villefort,"
replied the doctor, with a tone which redoubled the terror of the young
man, "I have not led you here to console you; on the contrary"--
"What can you mean?" asked the procureur, alarmed.
"I mean that behind the misfortune which has just happened to you, there
is another, perhaps, still greater."
"Can it be possible?" murmured Villefort, clasping his hands. "What are
you going to tell me?"
"Are we quite alone, my friend?"
"Yes, quite; but why all these precautions?"
"Because I have a terrible secret to communicate to you," said the
doctor. "Let us sit down."
Villefort fell, rather than seated himself. The doctor stood before him,
with one hand placed on his shoulder. Morrel, horrified, supported
his head with one hand, and with the other pressed his heart, lest its
beatings should be heard. "Dead, dead!" repeated he within himself; and
he felt as if he were also dying.
"Speak, doctor--I am listening," said Villefort; "strike--I am prepared
for everything!"
"Madame de Saint-Meran was, doubtless, advancing in years, but she
enjoyed excellent health." Morrel began again to breathe freely, which
he had not done during the last ten minutes.
"Grief has consumed her," said Villefort--"yes, grief, doctor! After
living forty years with the marquis"--
"It is not grief, my dear Villefort," said the doctor; "grief may kill,
although it rarely does, and never in a day, never in an hour, never
in ten minutes." Villefort answered nothing, he simply raised his
head, which had been cast down before, and looked at the doctor with
amazement.
"Were you present during the last struggle?" asked M. d'Avrigny.
"I was," replied the procureur; "you begged me not to leave."
"Did you notice the symptoms of the disease to which Madame de
Saint-Meran has fallen a victim?"
"I did. Madame de Saint-Meran had three successive attacks, at intervals
of some minutes, each one more serious than the former. When you
arrived, Madame de Saint-Meran had already been panting for breath some
minutes; she then had a fit, which I took to be simply a nervous attack,
and it was only when I saw her raise herself in the bed, and her
