paternal that the young girl's heart was filled with gratitude.
Before closing the door he turned around once more, and said, "Not a
movement--not a word; let them think you asleep, or perhaps you may be
killed before I have the power of helping you." And with this fearful
injunction the count disappeared through the door, which noiselessly
closed after him.
Chapter 101. Locusta.
Valentine was alone; two other clocks, slower than that of
Saint-Philippe du Roule, struck the hour of midnight from different
directions, and excepting the rumbling of a few carriages all was
silent. Then Valentine's attention was engrossed by the clock in her
room, which marked the seconds. She began counting them, remarking that
they were much slower than the beatings of her heart; and still she
doubted,--the inoffensive Valentine could not imagine that any one
should desire her death. Why should they? To what end? What had she
done to excite the malice of an enemy? There was no fear of her falling
asleep. One terrible idea pressed upon her mind,--that some one existed
in the world who had attempted to assassinate her, and who was about
to endeavor to do so again. Supposing this person, wearied at the
inefficacy of the poison, should, as Monte Cristo intimated, have
recourse to steel!--What if the count should have no time to run to her
rescue!--What if her last moments were approaching, and she should never
again see Morrel! When this terrible chain of ideas presented itself,
Valentine was nearly persuaded to ring the bell, and call for help. But
through the door she fancied she saw the luminous eye of the count--that
eye which lived in her memory, and the recollection overwhelmed her with
so much shame that she asked herself whether any amount of gratitude
could ever repay his adventurous and devoted friendship.
Twenty minutes, twenty tedious minutes, passed thus, then ten more,
and at last the clock struck the half-hour. Just then the sound of
finger-nails slightly grating against the door of the library informed
Valentine that the count was still watching, and recommended her to
do the same; at the same time, on the opposite side, that is towards
Edward's room, Valentine fancied that she heard the creaking of the
floor; she listened attentively, holding her breath till she was nearly
suffocated; the lock turned, and the door slowly opened. Valentine had
raised herself upon her elbow, and had scarcely time to throw herself
down on the bed and shade her eyes with her arm; then, trembling,
agitated, and her heart beating with indescribable terror, she awaited
the event.
Some one approached the bed and drew back the curtains. Valentine
summoned every effort, and breathed with that regular respiration which
announces tranquil sleep. "Valentine!" said a low voice. Still silent:
Valentine had promised not to awake. Then everything was still,
excepting that Valentine heard the almost noiseless sound of some liquid
being poured into the glass she had just emptied. Then she ventured to
open her eyelids, and glance over her extended arm. She saw a woman in a
white dressing-gown pouring a liquor from a phial into her glass. During
this short time Valentine must have held her breath, or moved in some
slight degree, for the woman, disturbed, stopped and leaned over the
bed, in order the better to ascertain whether Valentine slept--it was
Madame de Villefort.
On recognizing her step-mother, Valentine could not repress a shudder,
which caused a vibration in the bed. Madame de Villefort instantly
stepped back close to the wall, and there, shaded by the bed-curtains,
she silently and attentively watched the slightest movement of
Valentine. The latter recollected the terrible caution of Monte Cristo;
she fancied that the hand not holding the phial clasped a long sharp
knife. Then collecting all her remaining strength, she forced herself to
close her eyes; but this simple operation upon the most delicate organs
of our frame, generally so easy to accomplish, became almost impossible
at this moment, so much did curiosity struggle to retain the eyelid
open and learn the truth. Madame de Villefort, however, reassured by
the silence, which was alone disturbed by the regular breathing of
Valentine, again extended her hand, and half hidden by the curtains
succeeded in emptying the contents of the phial into the glass. Then she
retired so gently that Valentine did not know she had left the room. She
only witnessed the withdrawal of the arm--the fair round arm of a woman
but twenty-five years old, and who yet spread death around her.
It is impossible to describe the sensations experienced by Valentine
during the minute and a half Madame de Villefort remained in the room.
The grating against the library-door aroused the young girl from
the stupor in which she was plunged, and which almost amounted to
insensibility. She raised her head with an effort. The noiseless door
again turned on its hinges, and the Count of Monte Cristo reappeared.
"Well," said he, "do you still doubt?"
"Oh," murmured the young girl.
"Have you seen?"
"Alas!"
"Did you recognize?" Valentine groaned. "Oh, yes;" she said, "I saw, but
I cannot believe!"
"Would you rather die, then, and cause Maximilian's death?"
"Oh," repeated the young girl, almost bewildered, "can I not leave the
house?--can I not escape?"
"Valentine, the hand which now threatens you will pursue you everywhere;
your servants will be seduced with gold, and death will be offered to
you disguised in every shape. You will find it in the water you drink
from the spring, in the fruit you pluck from the tree."
"But did you not say that my kind grandfather's precaution had
neutralized the poison?"
"Yes, but not against a strong dose; the poison will be changed, and the
quantity increased." He took the glass and raised it to his lips. "It
is already done," he said; "brucine is no longer employed, but a simple
narcotic! I can recognize the flavor of the alcohol in which it has been
dissolved. If you had taken what Madame de Villefort has poured into
your glass, Valentine--Valentine--you would have been doomed!"
"But," exclaimed the young girl, "why am I thus pursued?"
"Why?--are you so kind--so good--so unsuspicious of ill, that you cannot
understand, Valentine?"
"No, I have never injured her."
"But you are rich, Valentine; you have 200,000 livres a year, and you
prevent her son from enjoying these 200,000. livres."
"How so? The fortune is not her gift, but is inherited from my
relations."
"Certainly; and that is why M. and Madame de Saint-Meran have died; that
is why M. Noirtier was sentenced the day he made you his heir; that
is why you, in your turn, are to die--it is because your father would
inherit your property, and your brother, his only son, succeed to his."
"Edward? Poor child! Are all these crimes committed on his account?"
"Ah, then you at length understand?"
"Heaven grant that this may not be visited upon him!"
"Valentine, you are an angel!"
"But why is my grandfather allowed to live?"
"It was considered, that you dead, the fortune would naturally revert
to your brother, unless he were disinherited; and besides, the crime
appearing useless, it would be folly to commit it."
"And is it possible that this frightful combination of crimes has been
invented by a woman?"
"Do you recollect in the arbor of the Hotel des Postes, at Perugia,
seeing a man in a brown cloak, whom your stepmother was questioning
upon aqua tofana? Well, ever since then, the infernal project has been
ripening in her brain."
"Ah, then, indeed, sir," said the sweet girl, bathed in tears, "I see
that I am condemned to die!"
"No, Valentine, for I have foreseen all their plots; no, your enemy is
conquered since we know her, and you will live, Valentine--live to
be happy yourself, and to confer happiness upon a noble heart; but to
insure this you must rely on me."
"Command me, sir--what am I to do?"
"You must blindly take what I give you."
"Alas, were it only for my own sake, I should prefer to die!"
"You must not confide in any one--not even in your father."
"My father is not engaged in this fearful plot, is he, sir?" asked
Valentine, clasping her hands.
"No; and yet your father, a man accustomed to judicial accusations,
ought to have known that all these deaths have not happened naturally;
it is he who should have watched over you--he should have occupied my
place--he should have emptied that glass--he should have risen against
the assassin. Spectre against spectre!" he murmured in a low voice, as
he concluded his sentence.
"Sir," said Valentine, "I will do all I can to live, for there are
two beings whose existence depends upon mine--my grandfather and
Maximilian."
"I will watch over them as I have over you."
"Well, sir, do as you will with me;" and then she added, in a low voice,
"oh, heavens, what will befall me?"
"Whatever may happen, Valentine, do not be alarmed; though you suffer;
though you lose sight, hearing, consciousness, fear nothing; though
you should awake and be ignorant where you are, still do not fear;
even though you should find yourself in a sepulchral vault or coffin.
Reassure yourself, then, and say to yourself: 'At this moment, a friend,
a father, who lives for my happiness and that of Maximilian, watches
over me!'"
"Alas, alas, what a fearful extremity!"
"Valentine, would you rather denounce your stepmother?"
"I would rather die a hundred times--oh, yes, die!"
"No, you will not die; but will you promise me, whatever happens, that
you will not complain, but hope?"
"I will think of Maximilian!"
"You are my own darling child, Valentine! I alone can save you, and I
will." Valentine in the extremity of her terror joined her hands,--for
she felt that the moment had arrived to ask for courage,--and began to
pray, and while uttering little more than incoherent words, she forgot
that her white shoulders had no other covering than her long hair, and
that the pulsations of her heart could be seen through the lace of her
nightdress. Monte Cristo gently laid his hand on the young girl's arm,
drew the velvet coverlet close to her throat, and said with a paternal
smile,--"My child, believe in my devotion to you as you believe in the
goodness of providence and the love of Maximilian."
Then he drew from his waistcoat-pocket the little emerald box, raised
the golden lid, and took from it a pastille about the size of a pea,
which he placed in her hand. She took it, and looked attentively on the
count; there was an expression on the face of her intrepid protector
which commanded her veneration. She evidently interrogated him by her
look. "Yes," said he. Valentine carried the pastille to her mouth, and
swallowed it. "And now, my dear child, adieu for the present. I will try
and gain a little sleep, for you are saved."
"Go," said Valentine, "whatever happens, I promise you not to fear."
Monte Cristo for some time kept his eyes fixed on the young girl, who
gradually fell asleep, yielding to the effects of the narcotic the
count had given her. Then he took the glass, emptied three parts of the
contents in the fireplace, that it might be supposed Valentine had taken
it, and replaced it on the table; then he disappeared, after throwing
a farewell glance on Valentine, who slept with the confidence and
innocence of an angel.
Chapter 102. Valentine.
The night-light continued to burn on the chimney-piece, exhausting the
last drops of oil which floated on the surface of the water. The globe
of the lamp appeared of a reddish hue, and the flame, brightening before
it expired, threw out the last flickerings which in an inanimate object
have been so often compared with the convulsions of a human creature in
its final agonies. A dull and dismal light was shed over the bedclothes
and curtains surrounding the young girl. All noise in the streets had
ceased, and the silence was frightful. It was then that the door of
Edward's room opened, and a head we have before noticed appeared in
the glass opposite; it was Madame de Villefort, who came to witness
the effects of the drink she had prepared. She stopped in the doorway,
listened for a moment to the flickering of the lamp, the only sound in
that deserted room, and then advanced to the table to see if Valentine's
glass were empty. It was still about a quarter full, as we before
stated. Madame de Villefort emptied the contents into the ashes, which
she disturbed that they might the more readily absorb the liquid; then
she carefully rinsed the glass, and wiping it with her handkerchief
replaced it on the table.
If any one could have looked into the room just then he would have
noticed the hesitation with which Madame de Villefort approached the bed
and looked fixedly on Valentine. The dim light, the profound silence,
and the gloomy thoughts inspired by the hour, and still more by her own
conscience, all combined to produce a sensation of fear; the poisoner
was terrified at the contemplation of her own work. At length she
rallied, drew aside the curtain, and leaning over the pillow gazed
intently on Valentine. The young girl no longer breathed, no breath
issued through the half-closed teeth; the white lips no longer
quivered--the eyes were suffused with a bluish vapor, and the long black
lashes rested on a cheek white as wax. Madame de Villefort gazed upon
the face so expressive even in its stillness; then she ventured to raise
the coverlet and press her hand upon the young girl's heart. It was
