limbs and neck appear stiffened, that I became really alarmed. Then
I understood from your countenance there was more to fear than I had
thought. This crisis past, I endeavored to catch your eye, but could
not. You held her hand--you were feeling her pulse--and the second fit
came on before you had turned towards me. This was more terrible than
the first; the same nervous movements were repeated, and the mouth
contracted and turned purple."
"And at the third she expired."
"At the end of the first attack I discovered symptoms of tetanus; you
confirmed my opinion."
"Yes, before others," replied the doctor; "but now we are alone"--
"What are you going to say? Oh, spare me!"
"That the symptoms of tetanus and poisoning by vegetable substances are
the same." M. de Villefort started from his seat, then in a moment fell
down again, silent and motionless. Morrel knew not if he were dreaming
or awake. "Listen," said the doctor; "I know the full importance of the
statement I have just made, and the disposition of the man to whom I
have made it."
"Do you speak to me as a magistrate or as a friend?" asked Villefort.
"As a friend, and only as a friend, at this moment. The similarity in
the symptoms of tetanus and poisoning by vegetable substances is so
great, that were I obliged to affirm by oath what I have now stated, I
should hesitate; I therefore repeat to you, I speak not to a magistrate,
but to a friend. And to that friend I say. 'During the three-quarters of
an hour that the struggle continued, I watched the convulsions and the
death of Madame de Saint-Meran, and am thoroughly convinced that not
only did her death proceed from poison, but I could also specify the
poison.'"
"Can it be possible?"
"The symptoms are marked, do you see?--sleep broken by nervous spasms,
excitation of the brain, torpor of the nerve centres. Madame de
Saint-Meran succumbed to a powerful dose of brucine or of strychnine,
which by some mistake, perhaps, has been given to her." Villefort seized
the doctor's hand. "Oh, it is impossible," said he, "I must be dreaming!
It is frightful to hear such things from such a man as you! Tell me, I
entreat you, my dear doctor, that you may be deceived."
"Doubtless I may, but"--
"But?"
"But I do not think so."
"Have pity on me doctor! So many dreadful things have happened to me
lately that I am on the verge of madness."
"Has any one besides me seen Madame de Saint-Meran?"
"No."
"Has anything been sent for from a chemist's that I have not examined?"
"Nothing."
"Had Madame de Saint-Meran any enemies?"
"Not to my knowledge."
"Would her death affect any one's interest?"
"It could not indeed, my daughter is her only heiress--Valentine alone.
Oh, if such a thought could present itself, I would stab myself to
punish my heart for having for one instant harbored it."
"Indeed, my dear friend," said M. d'Avrigny, "I would not accuse any
one; I speak only of an accident, you understand,--of a mistake,--but
whether accident or mistake, the fact is there; it is on my conscience
and compels me to speak aloud to you. Make inquiry."
"Of whom?--how?--of what?"
"May not Barrois, the old servant, have made a mistake, and have given
Madame de Saint-Meran a dose prepared for his master?"
"For my father?"
"Yes."
"But how could a dose prepared for M. Noirtier poison Madame de
Saint-Meran?"
"Nothing is more simple. You know poisons become remedies in certain
diseases, of which paralysis is one. For instance, having tried every
other remedy to restore movement and speech to M. Noirtier, I resolved
to try one last means, and for three months I have been giving him
brucine; so that in the last dose I ordered for him there were six
grains. This quantity, which is perfectly safe to administer to the
paralyzed frame of M. Noirtier, which has become gradually accustomed to
it, would be sufficient to kill another person."
"My dear doctor, there is no communication between M. Noirtier's
apartment and that of Madame de Saint-Meran, and Barrois never entered
my mother-in-law's room. In short, doctor although I know you to be the
most conscientious man in the world, and although I place the utmost
reliance in you, I want, notwithstanding my conviction, to believe this
axiom, errare humanum est."
"Is there one of my brethren in whom you have equal confidence with
myself?"
"Why do you ask me that?--what do you wish?"
"Send for him; I will tell him what I have seen, and we will consult
together, and examine the body."
"And you will find traces of poison?"
"No, I did not say of poison, but we can prove what was the state of the
body; we shall discover the cause of her sudden death, and we shall say,
'Dear Villefort, if this thing has been caused by negligence, watch over
your servants; if from hatred, watch your enemies.'"
"What do you propose to me, d'Avrigny?" said Villefort in despair; "so
soon as another is admitted into our secret, an inquest will become
necessary; and an inquest in my house--impossible! Still," continued the
procureur, looking at the doctor with uneasiness, "if you wish it--if
you demand it, why then it shall be done. But, doctor, you see me
already so grieved--how can I introduce into my house so much scandal,
after so much sorrow? My wife and my daughter would die of it! And I,
doctor--you know a man does not arrive at the post I occupy--one has
not been king's attorney twenty-five years without having amassed a
tolerable number of enemies; mine are numerous. Let this affair be
talked of, it will be a triumph for them, which will make them rejoice,
and cover me with shame. Pardon me, doctor, these worldly ideas; were
you a priest I should not dare tell you that, but you are a man, and
you know mankind. Doctor, pray recall your words; you have said nothing,
have you?"
"My dear M. de Villefort," replied the doctor, "my first duty is to
humanity. I would have saved Madame de Saint-Meran, if science could
have done it; but she is dead and my duty regards the living. Let us
bury this terrible secret in the deepest recesses of our hearts; I am
willing, if any one should suspect this, that my silence on the subject
should be imputed to my ignorance. Meanwhile, sir, watch always--watch
carefully, for perhaps the evil may not stop here. And when you have
found the culprit, if you find him, I will say to you, 'You are a
magistrate, do as you will!'"
"I thank you, doctor," said Villefort with indescribable joy; "I never
had a better friend than you." And, as if he feared Doctor d'Avrigny
would recall his promise, he hurried him towards the house.
When they were gone, Morrel ventured out from under the trees, and the
moon shone upon his face, which was so pale it might have been taken
for that of a ghost. "I am manifestly protected in a most wonderful, but
most terrible manner," said he; "but Valentine, poor girl, how will she
bear so much sorrow?"
As he thought thus, he looked alternately at the window with red
curtains and the three windows with white curtains. The light had almost
disappeared from the former; doubtless Madame de Villefort had just put
out her lamp, and the nightlamp alone reflected its dull light on the
window. At the extremity of the building, on the contrary, he saw one
of the three windows open. A wax-light placed on the mantle-piece threw
some of its pale rays without, and a shadow was seen for one moment on
the balcony. Morrel shuddered; he thought he heard a sob.
It cannot be wondered at that his mind, generally so courageous, but
now disturbed by the two strongest human passions, love and fear, was
weakened even to the indulgence of superstitious thoughts. Although
it was impossible that Valentine should see him, hidden as he was, he
thought he heard the shadow at the window call him; his disturbed mind
told him so. This double error became an irresistible reality, and by
one of the incomprehensible transports of youth, he bounded from his
hiding-place, and with two strides, at the risk of being seen, at the
risk of alarming Valentine, at the risk of being discovered by
some exclamation which might escape the young girl, he crossed the
flower-garden, which by the light of the moon resembled a large white
lake, and having passed the rows of orange-trees which extended in front
of the house, he reached the step, ran quickly up and pushed the door,
which opened without offering any resistance. Valentine had not seen
him. Her eyes, raised towards heaven, were watching a silvery cloud
gliding over the azure, its form that of a shadow mounting towards
heaven. Her poetic and excited mind pictured it as the soul of her
grandmother.
Meanwhile, Morrel had traversed the anteroom and found the staircase,
which, being carpeted, prevented his approach being heard, and he had
regained that degree of confidence that the presence of M. de Villefort
even would not have alarmed him. He was quite prepared for any such
encounter. He would at once approach Valentine's father and acknowledge
all, begging Villefort to pardon and sanction the love which united two
fond and loving hearts. Morrel was mad. Happily he did not meet any one.
Now, especially, did he find the description Valentine had given of the
interior of the house useful to him; he arrived safely at the top of
the staircase, and while he was feeling his way, a sob indicated the
direction he was to take. He turned back, a door partly open enabled him
to see his road, and to hear the voice of one in sorrow. He pushed the
door open and entered. At the other end of the room, under a white sheet
which covered it, lay the corpse, still more alarming to Morrel since
the account he had so unexpectedly overheard. By its side, on her knees,
and with her head buried in the cushion of an easy-chair, was Valentine,
trembling and sobbing, her hands extended above her head, clasped and
stiff. She had turned from the window, which remained open, and was
praying in accents that would have affected the most unfeeling; her
words were rapid, incoherent, unintelligible, for the burning weight of
grief almost stopped her utterance. The moon shining through the open
blinds made the lamp appear to burn paler, and cast a sepulchral hue
over the whole scene. Morrel could not resist this; he was not exemplary
for piety, he was not easily impressed, but Valentine suffering,
weeping, wringing her hands before him, was more than he could bear in
silence. He sighed, and whispered a name, and the head bathed in tears
and pressed on the velvet cushion of the chair--a head like that of
a Magdalen by Correggio--was raised and turned towards him. Valentine
perceived him without betraying the least surprise. A heart overwhelmed
with one great grief is insensible to minor emotions. Morrel held out
his hand to her. Valentine, as her only apology for not having met him,
pointed to the corpse under the sheet, and began to sob again. Neither
dared for some time to speak in that room. They hesitated to break the
silence which death seemed to impose; at length Valentine ventured.
"My friend," said she, "how came you here? Alas, I would say you are
welcome, had not death opened the way for you into this house."
"Valentine," said Morrel with a trembling voice, "I had waited since
half-past eight, and did not see you come; I became uneasy, leaped the
wall, found my way through the garden, when voices conversing about the
fatal event"--
"What voices?" asked Valentine. Morrel shuddered as he thought of the
conversation of the doctor and M. de Villefort, and he thought he could
see through the sheet the extended hands, the stiff neck, and the purple
lips.
"Your servants," said he, "who were repeating the whole of the sorrowful
story; from them I learned it all."
"But it was risking the failure of our plan to come up here, love."
"Forgive me," replied Morrel; "I will go away."
"No," said Valentine, "you might meet some one; stay."
"But if any one should come here"--
The young girl shook her head. "No one will come," said she; "do not
fear, there is our safeguard," pointing to the bed.
"But what has become of M. d'Epinay?" replied Morrel.
"M. Franz arrived to sign the contract just as my dear grandmother was
dying."
"Alas," said Morrel with a feeling of selfish joy; for he thought this
death would cause the wedding to be postponed indefinitely. "But what
redoubles my sorrow," continued the young girl, as if this feeling was
to receive its immediate punishment, "is that the poor old lady, on
her death-bed, requested that the marriage might take place as soon as
possible; she also, thinking to protect me, was acting against me."
"Hark!" said Morrel. They both listened; steps were distinctly heard in
the corridor and on the stairs.
"It is my father, who has just left his study."
"To accompany the doctor to the door," added Morrel.
"How do you know it is the doctor?" asked Valentine, astonished.
"I imagined it must be," said Morrel. Valentine looked at the young man;
they heard the street door close, then M. de Villefort locked the garden
door, and returned up-stairs. He stopped a moment in the anteroom, as
if hesitating whether to turn to his own apartment or into Madame
de Saint-Meran's; Morrel concealed himself behind a door; Valentine
remained motionless, grief seeming to deprive her of all fear. M. de
