Villefort passed on to his own room. "Now," said Valentine, "you can
neither go out by the front door nor by the garden." Morrel looked at
her with astonishment. "There is but one way left you that is safe,"
said she; "it is through my grandfather's room." She rose, "Come," she
added.--"Where?" asked Maximilian.
"To my grandfather's room."
"I in M. Noirtier's apartment?"
"Yes."
"Can you mean it, Valentine?"
"I have long wished it; he is my only remaining friend and we both need
his help,--come."
"Be careful, Valentine," said Morrel, hesitating to comply with the
young girl's wishes; "I now see my error--I acted like a madman in
coming in here. Are you sure you are more reasonable?"
"Yes," said Valentine; "and I have but one scruple,--that of leaving my
dear grandmother's remains, which I had undertaken to watch."
"Valentine," said Morrel, "death is in itself sacred."
"Yes," said Valentine; "besides, it will not be for long." She then
crossed the corridor, and led the way down a narrow staircase to M.
Noirtier's room; Morrel followed her on tiptoe; at the door they found
the old servant. "Barrois," said Valentine, "shut the door, and let
no one come in." She passed first. Noirtier, seated in his chair, and
listening to every sound, was watching the door; he saw Valentine, and
his eye brightened. There was something grave and solemn in the approach
of the young girl which struck the old man, and immediately his bright
eye began to interrogate. "Dear grandfather." said she hurriedly, "you
know poor grandmamma died an hour since, and now I have no friend in the
world but you." His expressive eyes evinced the greatest tenderness. "To
you alone, then, may I confide my sorrows and my hopes?" The paralytic
motioned "Yes." Valentine took Maximilian's hand. "Look attentively,
then, at this gentleman." The old man fixed his scrutinizing gaze with
slight astonishment on Morrel. "It is M. Maximilian Morrel," said
she; "the son of that good merchant of Marseilles, whom you doubtless
recollect."
"Yes," said the old man. "He brings an irreproachable name, which
Maximilian is likely to render glorious, since at thirty years of age he
is a captain, an officer of the Legion of Honor." The old man signified
that he recollected him. "Well, grandpapa," said Valentine, kneeling
before him, and pointing to Maximilian, "I love him, and will be only
his; were I compelled to marry another, I would destroy myself."
The eyes of the paralytic expressed a multitude of tumultuous thoughts.
"You like M. Maximilian Morrel, do you not, grandpapa?" asked Valentine.
"Yes."
"And you will protect us, who are your children, against the will of my
father?"--Noirtier cast an intelligent glance at Morrel, as if to say,
"perhaps I may." Maximilian understood him.
"Mademoiselle," said he, "you have a sacred duty to fulfil in your
deceased grandmother's room, will you allow me the honor of a few
minutes' conversation with M. Noirtier?"
"That is it," said the old man's eye. Then he looked anxiously at
Valentine.
"Do you fear he will not understand?"
"Yes."
"Oh, we have so often spoken of you, that he knows exactly how I talk
to you." Then turning to Maximilian, with an adorable smile; although
shaded by sorrow,--"He knows everything I know," said she.
Valentine arose, placed a chair for Morrel, requested Barrois not
to admit any one, and having tenderly embraced her grandfather, and
sorrowfully taken leave of Morrel, she went away. To prove to Noirtier
that he was in Valentine's confidence and knew all their secrets, Morrel
took the dictionary, a pen, and some paper, and placed them all on a
table where there was a light.
"But first," said Morrel, "allow me, sir, to tell you who I am, how much
I love Mademoiselle Valentine, and what are my designs respecting her."
Noirtier made a sign that he would listen.
It was an imposing sight to witness this old man, apparently a mere
useless burden, becoming the sole protector, support, and adviser of the
lovers who were both young, beautiful, and strong. His remarkably
noble and austere expression struck Morrel, who began his story with
trembling. He related the manner in which he had become acquainted with
Valentine, and how he had loved her, and that Valentine, in her solitude
and her misfortune, had accepted the offer of his devotion. He told
him his birth, his position, his fortune, and more than once, when he
consulted the look of the paralytic, that look answered, "That is good,
proceed."
"And now," said Morrel, when he had finished the first part of his
recital, "now I have told you of my love and my hopes, may I inform you
of my intentions?"
"Yes," signified the old man.
"This was our resolution; a cabriolet was in waiting at the gate, in
which I intended to carry off Valentine to my sister's house, to marry
her, and to wait respectfully M. de Villefort's pardon."
"No," said Noirtier.
"We must not do so?"
"No."
"You do not sanction our project?"
"No."
"There is another way," said Morrel. The old man's interrogative eye
said, "What?"
"I will go," continued Maximilian, "I will seek M. Franz d'Epinay--I
am happy to be able to mention this in Mademoiselle de Villefort's
absence--and will conduct myself toward him so as to compel him to
challenge me." Noirtier's look continued to interrogate. "You wish to
know what I will do?"
"Yes."
"I will find him, as I told you. I will tell him the ties which bind me
to Mademoiselle Valentine; if he be a sensible man, he will prove it by
renouncing of his own accord the hand of his betrothed, and will secure
my friendship, and love until death; if he refuse, either through
interest or ridiculous pride, after I have proved to him that he would
be forcing my wife from me, that Valentine loves me, and will have no
other, I will fight with him, give him every advantage, and I shall
kill him, or he will kill me; if I am victorious, he will not marry
Valentine, and if I die, I am very sure Valentine will not marry him."
Noirtier watched, with indescribable pleasure, this noble and sincere
countenance, on which every sentiment his tongue uttered was depicted,
adding by the expression of his fine features all that coloring adds to
a sound and faithful drawing. Still, when Morrel had finished, he shut
his eyes several times, which was his manner of saying "No."
"No?" said Morrel; "you disapprove of this second project, as you did of
the first?"
"I do," signified the old man.
"But what then must be done?" asked Morrel. "Madame de Saint-Meran's
last request was, that the marriage might not be delayed; must I let
things take their course?" Noirtier did not move. "I understand," said
Morrel; "I am to wait."
"Yes."
"But delay may ruin our plan, sir," replied the young man. "Alone,
Valentine has no power; she will be compelled to submit. I am here
almost miraculously, and can scarcely hope for so good an opportunity to
occur again. Believe me, there are only the two plans I have proposed to
you; forgive my vanity, and tell me which you prefer. Do you authorize
Mademoiselle Valentine to intrust herself to my honor?"
"No."
"Do you prefer I should seek M. d'Epinay?"
"No."
"Whence then will come the help we need--from chance?" resumed Morrel.
"No."
"From you?"
"Yes."
"You thoroughly understand me, sir? Pardon my eagerness, for my life
depends on your answer. Will our help come from you?"
"Yes."
"You are sure of it?"
"Yes." There was so much firmness in the look which gave this answer,
no one could, at any rate, doubt his will, if they did his power. "Oh,
thank you a thousand times! But how, unless a miracle should restore
your speech, your gesture, your movement, how can you, chained to that
arm-chair, dumb and motionless, oppose this marriage?" A smile lit up
the old man's face, a strange smile of the eyes in a paralyzed face.
"Then I must wait?" asked the young man.
"Yes."
"But the contract?" The same smile returned. "Will you assure me it
shall not be signed?"
"Yes," said Noirtier.
"The contract shall not be signed!" cried Morrel. "Oh, pardon me, sir; I
can scarcely realize so great a happiness. Will they not sign it?"
"No," said the paralytic. Notwithstanding that assurance, Morrel still
hesitated. This promise of an impotent old man was so strange that,
instead of being the result of the power of his will, it might emanate
from enfeebled organs. Is it not natural that the madman, ignorant of
his folly, should attempt things beyond his power? The weak man talks of
burdens he can raise, the timid of giants he can confront, the poor
of treasures he spends, the most humble peasant, in the height of his
pride, calls himself Jupiter. Whether Noirtier understood the young
man's indecision, or whether he had not full confidence in his docility,
he looked uneasily at him. "What do you wish, sir?" asked Morrel;
"that I should renew my promise of remaining tranquil?" Noirtier's eye
remained fixed and firm, as if to imply that a promise did not suffice;
then it passed from his face to his hands.
"Shall I swear to you, sir?" asked Maximilian.
"Yes," said the paralytic with the same solemnity. Morrel understood
that the old man attached great importance to an oath. He extended his
hand.
"I swear to you, on my honor," said he, "to await your decision
respecting the course I am to pursue with M. d'Epinay."
"That is right," said the old man.
"Now," said Morrel, "do you wish me to retire?"
"Yes."
"Without seeing Mademoiselle Valentine?"
"Yes."
Morrel made a sign that he was ready to obey. "But," said he, "first
allow me to embrace you as your daughter did just now." Noirtier's
expression could not be understood. The young man pressed his lips on
the same spot, on the old man's forehead, where Valentine's had been.
Then he bowed a second time and retired. He found outside the door
the old servant, to whom Valentine had given directions. Morrel was
conducted along a dark passage, which led to a little door opening
on the garden, soon found the spot where he had entered, with the
assistance of the shrubs gained the top of the wall, and by his ladder
was in an instant in the clover-field where his cabriolet was still
waiting for him. He got in it, and thoroughly wearied by so many
emotions, arrived about midnight in the Rue Meslay, threw himself on his
bed and slept soundly.
Chapter 74. The Villefort Family Vault.
Two days after, a considerable crowd was assembled, towards ten o'clock
in the morning, around the door of M. de Villefort's house, and a
long file of mourning-coaches and private carriages extended along the
Faubourg Saint-Honore and the Rue de la Pepiniere. Among them was one
of a very singular form, which appeared to have come from a distance. It
was a kind of covered wagon, painted black, and was one of the first
to arrive. Inquiry was made, and it was ascertained that, by a strange
coincidence, this carriage contained the corpse of the Marquis de
Saint-Meran, and that those who had come thinking to attend one funeral
would follow two. Their number was great. The Marquis de Saint-Meran,
one of the most zealous and faithful dignitaries of Louis XVIII. and
King Charles X., had preserved a great number of friends, and these,
added to the personages whom the usages of society gave Villefort a
claim on, formed a considerable body.
Due information was given to the authorities, and permission obtained
that the two funerals should take place at the same time. A second
hearse, decked with the same funereal pomp, was brought to M. de
Villefort's door, and the coffin removed into it from the post-wagon.
The two bodies were to be interred in the cemetery of Pere-la-Chaise,
where M. de Villefort had long since had a tomb prepared for the
reception of his family. The remains of poor Renee were already
deposited there, and now, after ten years of separation, her father
and mother were to be reunited with her. The Parisians, always curious,
always affected by funereal display, looked on with religious silence
while the splendid procession accompanied to their last abode two of the
number of the old aristocracy--the greatest protectors of commerce and
sincere devotees to their principles. In one of the mourning-coaches
Beauchamp, Debray, and Chateau-Renaud were talking of the very sudden
death of the marchioness. "I saw Madame de Saint-Meran only last year at
Marseilles, when I was coming back from Algiers," said Chateau-Renaud;
"she looked like a woman destined to live to be a hundred years old,
from her apparent sound health and great activity of mind and body. How
old was she?"
"Franz assured me," replied Albert, "that she was sixty-six years old.
But she has not died of old age, but of grief; it appears that since
the death of the marquis, which affected her very deeply, she has not
completely recovered her reason."
"But of what disease, then, did she die?" asked Debray.
