our present conversation, I will just say this much--that her extreme
dislike to me has its origin there; and I much fear she envies me the
fortune I enjoy in right of my mother, and which will be more than
doubled at the death of M. and Mme. de Saint-Meran, whose sole heiress
I am. Madame de Villefort has nothing of her own, and hates me for being
so richly endowed. Alas, how gladly would I exchange the half of this
wealth for the happiness of at least sharing my father's love. God
knows, I would prefer sacrificing the whole, so that it would obtain me
a happy and affectionate home."
"Poor Valentine!"
"I seem to myself as though living a life of bondage, yet at the
same time am so conscious of my own weakness that I fear to break the
restraint in which I am held, lest I fall utterly helpless. Then, too,
my father is not a person whose orders may be infringed with impunity;
protected as he is by his high position and firmly established
reputation for talent and unswerving integrity, no one could oppose him;
he is all-powerful even with the king; he would crush you at a word.
Dear Maximilian, believe me when I assure you that if I do not attempt
to resist my father's commands it is more on your account than my own."
"But why, Valentine, do you persist in anticipating the worst,--why
picture so gloomy a future?"
"Because I judge it from the past."
"Still, consider that although I may not be, strictly speaking, what
is termed an illustrious match for you, I am, for many reasons,
not altogether so much beneath your alliance. The days when such
distinctions were so nicely weighed and considered no longer exist in
France, and the first families of the monarchy have intermarried with
those of the empire. The aristocracy of the lance has allied itself with
the nobility of the cannon. Now I belong to this last-named class; and
certainly my prospects of military preferment are most encouraging as
well as certain. My fortune, though small, is free and unfettered, and
the memory of my late father is respected in our country, Valentine, as
that of the most upright and honorable merchant of the city; I say our
country, because you were born not far from Marseilles."
"Don't speak of Marseilles, I beg of you, Maximilian; that one word
brings back my mother to my recollection--my angel mother, who died too
soon for myself and all who knew her; but who, after watching over her
child during the brief period allotted to her in this world, now, I
fondly hope, watches from her home in heaven. Oh, if my mother were
still living, there would be nothing to fear, Maximilian, for I would
tell her that I loved you, and she would protect us."
"I fear, Valentine," replied the lover, "that were she living I should
never have had the happiness of knowing you; you would then have been
too happy to have stooped from your grandeur to bestow a thought on me."
"Now it is you who are unjust, Maximilian," cried Valentine; "but there
is one thing I wish to know."
"And what is that?" inquired the young man, perceiving that Valentine
hesitated.
"Tell me truly, Maximilian, whether in former days, when our fathers
dwelt at Marseilles, there was ever any misunderstanding between them?"
"Not that I am aware of," replied the young man, "unless, indeed, any
ill-feeling might have arisen from their being of opposite parties--your
father was, as you know, a zealous partisan of the Bourbons, while mine
was wholly devoted to the emperor; there could not possibly be any other
difference between them. But why do you ask?"
"I will tell you," replied the young girl, "for it is but right you
should know. Well, on the day when your appointment as an officer of the
Legion of honor was announced in the papers, we were all sitting with my
grandfather, M. Noirtier; M. Danglars was there also--you recollect M.
Danglars, do you not, Maximilian, the banker, whose horses ran away with
my mother-in-law and little brother, and very nearly killed them? While
the rest of the company were discussing the approaching marriage of
Mademoiselle Danglars, I was reading the paper to my grandfather; but
when I came to the paragraph about you, although I had done nothing else
but read it over to myself all the morning (you know you had told me all
about it the previous evening), I felt so happy, and yet so nervous, at
the idea of speaking your name aloud, and before so many people, that
I really think I should have passed it over, but for the fear that my
doing so might create suspicions as to the cause of my silence; so I
summoned up all my courage, and read it as firmly and as steadily as I
could."
"Dear Valentine!"
"Well, would you believe it? directly my father caught the sound of your
name he turned round quite hastily, and, like a poor silly thing, I was
so persuaded that every one must be as much affected as myself by the
utterance of your name, that I was not surprised to see my father start,
and almost tremble; but I even thought (though that surely must have
been a mistake) that M. Danglars trembled too."
"'Morrel, Morrel,' cried my father, 'stop a bit;' then knitting his
brows into a deep frown, he added, 'surely this cannot be one of the
Morrel family who lived at Marseilles, and gave us so much trouble from
their violent Bonapartism--I mean about the year 1815.'--'Yes,' replied
M. Danglars, 'I believe he is the son of the old shipowner.'"
"Indeed," answered Maximilian; "and what did your father say then,
Valentine?"
"Oh, such a dreadful thing, that I don't dare to tell you."
"Always tell me everything," said Maximilian with a smile.
"'Ah,' continued my father, still frowning, 'their idolized emperor
treated these madmen as they deserved; he called them 'food for powder,'
which was precisely all they were good for; and I am delighted to see
that the present government have adopted this salutary principle with
all its pristine vigor; if Algiers were good for nothing but to furnish
the means of carrying so admirable an idea into practice, it would be
an acquisition well worthy of struggling to obtain. Though it certainly
does cost France somewhat dear to assert her rights in that uncivilized
country.'"
"Brutal politics, I must confess." said Maximilian; "but don't attach
any serious importance, dear, to what your father said. My father was
not a bit behind yours in that sort of talk. 'Why,' said he, 'does
not the emperor, who has devised so many clever and efficient modes of
improving the art of war, organize a regiment of lawyers, judges and
legal practitioners, sending them in the hottest fire the enemy could
maintain, and using them to save better men?' You see, my dear, that
for picturesque expression and generosity of spirit there is not much
to choose between the language of either party. But what did M. Danglars
say to this outburst on the part of the procureur?"
"Oh, he laughed, and in that singular manner so peculiar to
himself--half-malicious, half-ferocious; he almost immediately got up
and took his leave; then, for the first time, I observed the agitation
of my grandfather, and I must tell you, Maximilian, that I am the only
person capable of discerning emotion in his paralyzed frame. And I
suspected that the conversation that had been carried on in his presence
(for they always say and do what they like before the dear old man,
without the smallest regard for his feelings) had made a strong
impression on his mind; for, naturally enough, it must have pained him
to hear the emperor he so devotedly loved and served spoken of in that
depreciating manner."
"The name of M. Noirtier," interposed Maximilian, "is celebrated
throughout Europe; he was a statesman of high standing, and you may
or may not know, Valentine, that he took a leading part in every
Bonapartist conspiracy set on foot during the restoration of the
Bourbons."
"Oh, I have often heard whispers of things that seem to me most
strange--the father a Bonapartist, the son a Royalist; what can have
been the reason of so singular a difference in parties and politics?
But to resume my story; I turned towards my grandfather, as though to
question him as to the cause of his emotion; he looked expressively
at the newspaper I had been reading. 'What is the matter, dear
grandfather?' said I, 'are you pleased?' He gave me a sign in the
affirmative. 'With what my father said just now?' He returned a sign in
the negative. 'Perhaps you liked what M. Danglars said?' Another sign in
the negative. 'Oh, then, you were glad to hear that M. Morrel (I didn't
dare to say Maximilian) had been made an officer of the Legion of
Honor?' He signified assent; only think of the poor old man's being so
pleased to think that you, who were a perfect stranger to him, had been
made an officer of the Legion of Honor! Perhaps it was a mere whim on
his part, for he is falling, they say, into second childhood, but I love
him for showing so much interest in you."
"How singular," murmured Maximilian; "your father hates me, while your
grandfather, on the contrary--What strange feelings are aroused by
politics."
"Hush," cried Valentine, suddenly; "some one is coming!" Maximilian
leaped at one bound into his crop of lucerne, which he began to pull up
in the most ruthless way, under the pretext of being occupied in weeding
it.
"Mademoiselle, mademoiselle!" exclaimed a voice from behind the trees.
"Madame is searching for you everywhere; there is a visitor in the
drawing-room."
"A visitor?" inquired Valentine, much agitated; "who is it?"
"Some grand personage--a prince I believe they said--the Count of Monte
Cristo."
"I will come directly," cried Valentine aloud. The name of Monte Cristo
sent an electric shock through the young man on the other side of the
iron gate, to whom Valentine's "I am coming" was the customary signal
of farewell. "Now, then," said Maximilian, leaning on the handle of his
spade, "I would give a good deal to know how it comes about that the
Count of Monte Cristo is acquainted with M. de Villefort."
Chapter 52. Toxicology.
It was really the Count of Monte Cristo who had just arrived at Madame
de Villefort's for the purpose of returning the procureur's visit,
and at his name, as may be easily imagined, the whole house was in
confusion. Madame de Villefort, who was alone in her drawing-room when
the count was announced, desired that her son might be brought thither
instantly to renew his thanks to the count; and Edward, who heard this
great personage talked of for two whole days, made all possible haste to
come to him, not from obedience to his mother, or out of any feeling of
gratitude to the count, but from sheer curiosity, and that some chance
remark might give him the opportunity for making one of the impertinent
speeches which made his mother say,--"Oh, that naughty child! But I
can't be severe with him, he is really so bright."
After the usual civilities, the count inquired after M. de Villefort.
"My husband dines with the chancellor," replied the young lady; "he has
just gone, and I am sure he'll be exceedingly sorry not to have had the
pleasure of seeing you before he went." Two visitors who were there
when the count arrived, having gazed at him with all their eyes, retired
after that reasonable delay which politeness admits and curiosity
requires. "What is your sister Valentine doing?" inquired Madame de
Villefort of Edward; "tell some one to bid her come here, that I may
have the honor of introducing her to the count."
"You have a daughter, then, madame?" inquired the count; "very young, I
presume?"
"The daughter of M. de Villefort by his first marriage," replied the
young wife, "a fine well-grown girl."
"But melancholy," interrupted Master Edward, snatching the feathers out
of the tail of a splendid parroquet that was screaming on its gilded
perch, in order to make a plume for his hat. Madame de Villefort merely
cried,--"Be still, Edward!" She then added,--"This young madcap is,
however, very nearly right, and merely re-echoes what he has heard me
say with pain a hundred times; for Mademoiselle de Villefort is, in
spite of all we can do to rouse her, of a melancholy disposition and
taciturn habit, which frequently injure the effect of her beauty. But
what detains her? Go, Edward, and see."
"Because they are looking for her where she is not to be found."
"And where are they looking for her?"
"With grandpapa Noirtier."
"And do you think she is not there?"
"No, no, no, no, no, she is not there," replied Edward, singing his
words.
"And where is she, then? If you know, why don't you tell?"
"She is under the big chestnut-tree," replied the spoiled brat, as he
gave, in spite of his mother's commands, live flies to the parrot, which
seemed keenly to relish such fare. Madame de Villefort stretched out her
hand to ring, intending to direct her waiting-maid to the spot where she
would find Valentine, when the young lady herself entered the
apartment. She appeared much dejected; and any person who considered her
attentively might have observed the traces of recent tears in her eyes.
Valentine, whom we have in the rapid march of our narrative presented
to our readers without formally introducing her, was a tall and graceful
girl of nineteen, with bright chestnut hair, deep blue eyes, and that
reposeful air of quiet distinction which characterized her mother.
