"Not very," said Valentine. "And grandpapa has become my physician, and
I have the greatest confidence in him, because he knows everything."
"Do you then really suffer?" asked Morrel quickly.
"Oh, it must not be called suffering; I feel a general uneasiness, that
is all. I have lost my appetite, and my stomach feels as if it were
struggling to get accustomed to something." Noirtier did not lose a
word of what Valentine said. "And what treatment do you adopt for this
singular complaint?"
"A very simple one," said Valentine. "I swallow every morning a spoonful
of the mixture prepared for my grandfather. When I say one spoonful,
I began by one--now I take four. Grandpapa says it is a panacea."
Valentine smiled, but it was evident that she suffered.
Maximilian, in his devotedness, gazed silently at her. She was very
beautiful, but her usual pallor had increased; her eyes were more
brilliant than ever, and her hands, which were generally white like
mother-of-pearl, now more resembled wax, to which time was adding a
yellowish hue. From Valentine the young man looked towards Noirtier. The
latter watched with strange and deep interest the young girl, absorbed
by her affection, and he also, like Morrel, followed those traces of
inward suffering which was so little perceptible to a common observer
that they escaped the notice of every one but the grandfather and the
lover.
"But," said Morrel, "I thought this mixture, of which you now take four
spoonfuls, was prepared for M. Noirtier?"
"I know it is very bitter," said Valentine; "so bitter, that all I drink
afterwards appears to have the same taste." Noirtier looked inquiringly
at his granddaughter. "Yes, grandpapa," said Valentine; "it is so. Just
now, before I came down to you, I drank a glass of sugared water; I left
half, because it seemed so bitter." Noirtier turned pale, and made a
sign that he wished to speak. Valentine rose to fetch the dictionary.
Noirtier watched her with evident anguish. In fact, the blood was
rushing to the young girl's head already, her cheeks were becoming
red. "Oh," cried she, without losing any of her cheerfulness, "this is
singular! I can't see! Did the sun shine in my eyes?" And she leaned
against the window.
"The sun is not shining," said Morrel, more alarmed by Noirtier's
expression than by Valentine's indisposition. He ran towards her. The
young girl smiled. "Cheer up," said she to Noirtier. "Do not be alarmed,
Maximilian; it is nothing, and has already passed away. But listen! Do I
not hear a carriage in the court-yard?" She opened Noirtier's door, ran
to a window in the passage, and returned hastily. "Yes," said she,
"it is Madame Danglars and her daughter, who have come to call on us.
Good-by;--I must run away, for they would send here for me, or, rather,
farewell till I see you again. Stay with grandpapa, Maximilian; I
promise you not to persuade them to stay."
Morrel watched her as she left the room; he heard her ascend the little
staircase which led both to Madame de Villefort's apartments and to
hers. As soon as she was gone, Noirtier made a sign to Morrel to take
the dictionary. Morrel obeyed; guided by Valentine, he had learned how
to understand the old man quickly. Accustomed, however, as he was to the
work, he had to repeat most of the letters of the alphabet and to find
every word in the dictionary, so that it was ten minutes before the
thought of the old man was translated by these words, "Fetch the glass
of water and the decanter from Valentine's room."
Morrel rang immediately for the servant who had taken Barrois's
situation, and in Noirtier's name gave that order. The servant soon
returned. The decanter and the glass were completely empty. Noirtier
made a sign that he wished to speak. "Why are the glass and decanter
empty?" asked he; "Valentine said she only drank half the glassful." The
translation of this new question occupied another five minutes. "I
do not know," said the servant, "but the housemaid is in Mademoiselle
Valentine's room: perhaps she has emptied them."
"Ask her," said Morrel, translating Noirtier's thought this time by
his look. The servant went out, but returned almost immediately.
"Mademoiselle Valentine passed through the room to go to Madame de
Villefort's," said he; "and in passing, as she was thirsty, she drank
what remained in the glass; as for the decanter, Master Edward had
emptied that to make a pond for his ducks." Noirtier raised his eyes to
heaven, as a gambler does who stakes his all on one stroke. From that
moment the old man's eyes were fixed on the door, and did not quit it.
It was indeed Madame Danglars and her daughter whom Valentine had seen;
they had been ushered into Madame de Villefort's room, who had said she
would receive them there. That is why Valentine passed through her room,
which was on a level with Valentine's, and only separated from it by
Edward's. The two ladies entered the drawing-room with that sort of
official stiffness which preludes a formal communication. Among worldly
people manner is contagious. Madame de Villefort received them with
equal solemnity. Valentine entered at this moment, and the formalities
were resumed. "My dear friend," said the baroness, while the two young
people were shaking hands, "I and Eugenie are come to be the first to
announce to you the approaching marriage of my daughter with Prince
Cavalcanti." Danglars kept up the title of prince. The popular banker
found that it answered better than count. "Allow me to present you
my sincere congratulations," replied Madame de Villefort. "Prince
Cavalcanti appears to be a young man of rare qualities."
"Listen," said the baroness, smiling; "speaking to you as a friend I can
say that the prince does not yet appear all he will be. He has about him
a little of that foreign manner by which French persons recognize, at
first sight, the Italian or German nobleman. Besides, he gives evidence
of great kindness of disposition, much keenness of wit, and as to
suitability, M. Danglars assures me that his fortune is majestic--that
is his word."
"And then," said Eugenie, while turning over the leaves of Madame de
Villefort's album, "add that you have taken a great fancy to the young
man."
"And," said Madame de Villefort, "I need not ask you if you share that
fancy."
"I?" replied Eugenie with her usual candor. "Oh, not the least in the
world, madame! My wish was not to confine myself to domestic cares, or
the caprices of any man, but to be an artist, and consequently free in
heart, in person, and in thought." Eugenie pronounced these words with
so firm a tone that the color mounted to Valentine's cheeks. The timid
girl could not understand that vigorous nature which appeared to have
none of the timidities of woman.
"At any rate," said she, "since I am to be married whether I will or
not, I ought to be thankful to providence for having released me from my
engagement with M. Albert de Morcerf, or I should this day have been the
wife of a dishonored man."
"It is true," said the baroness, with that strange simplicity sometimes
met with among fashionable ladies, and of which plebeian intercourse can
never entirely deprive them,--"it is very true that had not the Morcerfs
hesitated, my daughter would have married Monsieur Albert. The general
depended much on it; he even came to force M. Danglars. We have had a
narrow escape."
"But," said Valentine, timidly, "does all the father's shame revert upon
the son? Monsieur Albert appears to me quite innocent of the treason
charged against the general."
"Excuse me," said the implacable young girl, "Monsieur Albert claims and
well deserves his share. It appears that after having challenged M.
de Monte Cristo at the Opera yesterday, he apologized on the ground
to-day."
"Impossible," said Madame de Villefort.
"Ah, my dear friend," said Madame Danglars, with the same simplicity
we before noticed, "it is a fact. I heard it from M. Debray, who was
present at the explanation." Valentine also knew the truth, but she did
not answer. A single word had reminded her that Morrel was expecting
her in M. Noirtier's room. Deeply engaged with a sort of inward
contemplation, Valentine had ceased for a moment to join in the
conversation. She would, indeed, have found it impossible to repeat what
had been said the last few minutes, when suddenly Madame Danglars' hand,
pressed on her arm, aroused her from her lethargy.
"What is it?" said she, starting at Madame Danglars' touch as she would
have done from an electric shock. "It is, my dear Valentine," said the
baroness, "that you are, doubtless, suffering."
"I?" said the young girl, passing her hand across her burning forehead.
"Yes, look at yourself in that glass; you have turned pale and then red
successively, three or four times in one minute."
"Indeed," cried Eugenie, "you are very pale!"
"Oh, do not be alarmed; I have been so for many days." Artless as she
was, the young girl knew that this was an opportunity to leave,
and besides, Madame de Villefort came to her assistance. "Retire,
Valentine," said she; "you are really suffering, and these ladies will
excuse you; drink a glass of pure water, it will restore you." Valentine
kissed Eugenie, bowed to Madame Danglars, who had already risen to take
her leave, and went out. "That poor child," said Madame de Villefort
when Valentine was gone, "she makes me very uneasy, and I should not be
astonished if she had some serious illness."
Meanwhile, Valentine, in a sort of excitement which she could not quite
understand, had crossed Edward's room without noticing some trick of
the child, and through her own had reached the little staircase. She was
within three steps of the bottom; she already heard Morrel's voice, when
suddenly a cloud passed over her eyes, her stiffened foot missed the
step, her hands had no power to hold the baluster, and falling against
the wall she lost her balance wholly and toppled to the floor. Morrel
bounded to the door, opened it, and found Valentine stretched out at the
bottom of the stairs. Quick as a flash, he raised her in his arms and
placed her in a chair. Valentine opened her eyes.
"Oh, what a clumsy thing I am," said she with feverish volubility;
"I don't know my way. I forgot there were three more steps before the
landing."
"You have hurt yourself, perhaps," said Morrel. "What can I do for you,
Valentine?" Valentine looked around her; she saw the deepest terror
depicted in Noirtier's eyes. "Don't worry, dear grandpapa," said she,
endeavoring to smile; "it is nothing--it is nothing; I was giddy, that
is all."
"Another attack of giddiness," said Morrel, clasping his hands. "Oh,
attend to it, Valentine, I entreat you."
"But no," said Valentine,--"no, I tell you it is all past, and it was
nothing. Now, let me tell you some news; Eugenie is to be married in
a week, and in three days there is to be a grand feast, a betrothal
festival. We are all invited, my father, Madame de Villefort, and I--at
least, I understood it so."
"When will it be our turn to think of these things? Oh, Valentine,
you who have so much influence over your grandpapa, try to make him
answer--Soon."
"And do you," said Valentine, "depend on me to stimulate the tardiness
and arouse the memory of grandpapa?"
"Yes," cried Morrel, "make haste. So long as you are not mine,
Valentine, I shall always think I may lose you."
"Oh," replied Valentine with a convulsive movement, "oh, indeed,
Maximilian, you are too timid for an officer, for a soldier who,
they say, never knows fear. Ah, ha, ha!" she burst into a forced and
melancholy laugh, her arms stiffened and twisted, her head fell back
on her chair, and she remained motionless. The cry of terror which
was stopped on Noirtier's lips, seemed to start from his eyes. Morrel
understood it; he knew he must call assistance. The young man rang the
bell violently; the housemaid who had been in Mademoiselle Valentine's
room, and the servant who had replaced Barrois, ran in at the same
moment. Valentine was so pale, so cold, so inanimate that without
listening to what was said to them they were seized with the fear which
pervaded that house, and they flew into the passage crying for help.
Madame Danglars and Eugenie were going out at that moment; they heard
the cause of the disturbance. "I told you so!" exclaimed Madame de
Villefort. "Poor child!"
Chapter 94. Maximilian's Avowal.
At the same moment M. de Villefort's voice was heard calling from his
study, "What is the matter?" Morrel looked at Noirtier who had recovered
his self-command, and with a glance indicated the closet where once
before under somewhat similar circumstances, he had taken refuge. He had
only time to get his hat and throw himself breathless into the closet
when the procureur's footstep was heard in the passage. Villefort sprang
into the room, ran to Valentine, and took her in his arms. "A physician,
a physician,--M. d'Avrigny!" cried Villefort; "or rather I will go for
him myself." He flew from the apartment, and Morrel at the same moment
darted out at the other door. He had been struck to the heart by a
frightful recollection--the conversation he had heard between the doctor
