Chapter 94 Maximilian's Avowal
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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 and Villefort the night of Madame de Saint-Mижran's death, recurred to him;
these symptoms, to a less alarming extent, were the same which had
preceded the death of Barrois. At the same time Monte Cristo's voice
seemed to resound in his ear with the words he had heard only two hours
before, "Whatever you want, Morrel, come to me; I have great
power." More rapidly than thought, he darted down the Rue Matignon,
and thence to the Avenue des Champs Elysижes. Meanwhile
M. de Villefort arrived in a hired cabriolet at M. d'Avrigny's door. He
rang so violently that the porter was alarmed. Villefort ran up-stairs
without saying a word. The porter knew him, and let him pass, only calling
to him, "In his study, Monsieur Procureur--in his study!"
Villefort pushed, or rather forced, the door open. "Ah," said
the doctor, "is it you?" "Yes,"
said Villefort, closing the door after him, "it is I, who am come in
my turn to ask you if we are quite alone. Doctor, my house is
accursed!" "What?"
said the latter with apparent coolness, but with deep emotion, "have
you another invalid?" "Yes,
doctor," cried Villefort, clutching his hair, "yes!" D'Avrigny's
look implied, "I told you it would be so." Then he slowly
uttered these words, "Who is now dying in your house? What new victim
is going to accuse you of weakness before God?" A mournful sob burst
from Villefort's heart; he approached the doctor, and seizing his
arm,--"Valentine," said he, "it is Valentine's turn!" "Your
daughter?" cried d'Avrigny with grief and surprise. "You
see you were deceived," murmured the magistrate; "come and see
her, and on her bed of agony entreat her pardon for having suspected
her." "Each
time you have applied to me," said the doctor, "it has been too
late; still I will go. But let us make haste, sir; with the enemies you
have to do with there is no time to be lost." "Oh,
this time, doctor, you shall not have to reproach me with weakness. This
time I will know the assassin, and will pursue him." "Let
us try first to save the victim before we think of revenging her,"
said d'Avrigny. "Come." The same cabriolet which had brought
Villefort took them back at full speed, and at this moment Morrel rapped
at Monte Cristo's door. The count was in his study and was reading with an
angry look something which Bertuccio had brought in haste. Hearing the
name of Morrel, who had left him only two hours before, the count raised
his head, arose, and sprang to meet him. "What is the matter,
Maximilian?" asked he; "you are pale, and the perspiration rolls
from your forehead." Morrel fell into a chair. "Yes," said
he, "I came quickly; I wanted to speak to you." "Are
all your family well?" asked the count, with an affectionate
benevolence, whose sincerity no one could for a moment doubt. "Thank
you, count--thank you," said the young man, evidently embarrassed how
to begin the conversation; "yes, every one in my family is
well." "So
much the better; yet you have something to tell me?" replied the
count with increased anxiety. "Yes,"
said Morrel, "it is true; I have but now left a house where death has
just entered, to run to you." "Are
you then come from M. de Morcerf's?" asked Monte Cristo. "No,"
said Morrel; "is some one dead in his house?" "The
general has just blown his brains out," replied Monte Cristo with
great coolness. "Oh,
what a dreadful event!" cried Maximilian. "Not
for the countess, or for Albert," said Monte Cristo; "a dead
father or husband is better than a dishonored one,--blood washes out
shame." "Poor
countess," said Maximilian, "I pity her very much; she is so
noble a woman!" "Pity
Albert also, Maximilian; for believe me he is the worthy son of the
countess. But let us return to yourself. You have hastened to me--can I
have the happiness of being useful to you?" "Yes,
I need your help: that is I thought like a madman that you could lend me
your assistance in a case where God alone can succor me." "Tell
me what it is," replied Monte Cristo. "Oh,"
said Morrel, "I know not, indeed, if I may reveal this secret to
mortal ears, but fatality impels me, necessity constrains me,
count"--Morrel hesitated. "Do you think I love you?" said
Monte Cristo, taking the young man's hand affectionately in his. "Oh,
you encourage me, and something tells me there," placing his hand on
his heart, "that I ought to have no secret from you." "You
are right, Morrel; God is speaking to your heart, and your heart speaks to
you. Tell me what it says." "Count,
will you allow me to send Baptistin to inquire after some one you
know?" "I
am at your service, and still more my servants." "Oh,
I cannot live if she is not better." "Shall
I ring for Baptistin?" "No,
I will go and speak to him myself." Morrel went out, called Baptistin,
and whispered a few words to him. The valet ran directly. "Well, have
you sent?" asked Monte Cristo, seeing Morrel return. "Yes,
and now I shall be more calm." "You
know I am waiting," said Monte Cristo, smiling. "Yes,
and I will tell you. One evening I was in a garden; a clump of trees
concealed me; no one suspected I was there. Two persons passed near
me--allow me to conceal their names for the present; they were speaking in
an undertone, and yet I was so interested in what they said that I did not
lose a single word." "This
is a gloomy introduction, if I may judge from your pallor and shuddering,
Morrel." "Oh,
yes, very gloomy, my friend. Some one had just died in the house to which
that garden belonged. One of the persons whose conversation I overheard
was the master of the house; the other, the physician. The former was
confiding to the latter his grief and fear, for it was the second time
within a month that death had suddenly and unexpectedly entered that house
which was apparently destined to destruction by some exterminating angel,
as an object of God's anger." "Ah,
indeed?" said Monte Cristo, looking earnestly at the young man, and
by an imperceptible movement turning his chair, so that he remained in the
shade while the light fell full on Maximilian's face. "Yes,"
continued Morrel, "death had entered that house twice within one
month." "And
what did the doctor answer?" asked Monte Cristo. "He
replied--he replied, that the death was not a natural one, and must be
attributed"-- "To
what?" "To
poison." "Indeed?"
said Monte Cristo with a slight cough which in moments of extreme emotion
helped him to disguise a blush, or his pallor, or the intense interest
with which he listened; "indeed, Maximilian, did you hear that?"
"Yes,
my dear count, I heard it; and the doctor added that if another death
occurred in a similar way he must appeal to justice." Monte Cristo
listened, or appeared to do so, with the greatest calmness.
"Well," said Maximilian, "death came a third time, and
neither the master of the house nor the doctor said a word. Death is now,
perhaps, striking a fourth blow. Count, what am I bound to do, being in
possession of this secret?" "My
dear friend," said Monte Cristo, "you appear to be relating an
adventure which we all know by heart. I know the house where you heard it,
or one very similar to it; a house with a garden, a master, a physician,
and where there have been three unexpected and sudden deaths. Well, I have
not intercepted your confidence, and yet I know all that as well as you,
and I have no conscientious scruples. No, it does not concern me. You say
an exterminating angel appears to have devoted that house to God's
anger--well, who says your supposition is not reality? Do not notice
things which those whose interest it is to see them pass over. If it is
God's justice, instead of his anger, which is walking through that house,
Maximilian, turn away your face and let his justice accomplish its
purpose." Morrel shuddered. There was something mournful, solemn, and
terrible in the count's manner. "Besides," continued he, in so
changed a tone that no one would have supposed it was the same person
speaking--"besides, who says that it will begin again?" "It
has returned, count," exclaimed Morrel; "that is why I hastened
to you." "Well,
what do you wish me to do? Do you wish me, for instance, to give
information to the procureur?" Monte Cristo uttered the last words
with so much meaning that Morrel, starting up, cried out, "You know
of whom I speak, count, do you not?" "Perfectly
well, my good friend; and I will prove it to you by putting the dots to
the 'i,' or rather by naming the persons. You were walking one evening in
M. de Villefort's garden; from what you relate, I suppose it to have been
the evening of Madame de Saint-Mижran's
death. You heard M. de Villefort talking to M. d'Avrigny about the death
of M. de Saint-Mижran,
and that no less surprising, of the countess. M. d'Avrigny said he
believed they both proceeded from poison; and you, honest man, have ever
since been asking your heart and sounding your conscience to know if you
ought to expose or conceal this secret. Why do you torment them?
'Conscience, what hast thou to do with me?' as Sterne said. My dear
fellow, let them sleep on, if they are asleep; let them grow pale in their
drowsiness, if they are disposed to do so, and pray do you remain in
peace, who have no remorse to disturb you." Deep grief was depicted
on Morrel's features; he seized Monte Cristo's hand. "But it is
beginning again, I say!" "Well,"
said the Count, astonished at his perseverance, which he could not
understand, and looking still more earnestly at Maximilian, "let it
begin again,--it is like the house of the Atreidae;* God has condemned
them, and they must submit to their punishment. They will all disappear,
like the fabrics children build with cards, and which fall, one by one,
under the breath of their builder, even if there are two hundred of them.
Three months since it was M. de Saint-Mижran;
Madame de Saint-Mижran
two months since; the other day it was Barrois; to-day, the old Noirtier,
or young Valentine." *
In the old Greek legend the Atreidae, or children of Atreus, were doomed
to punishment because of the abominable crime of their father. The
Agamemnon of Aeschylus is based on this legend. "You
knew it?" cried Morrel, in such a paroxysm of terror that Monte
Cristo started,--he whom the falling heavens would have found unmoved;
"you knew it, and said nothing?" "And
what is it to me?" replied Monte Cristo, shrugging his shoulders;
"do I know those people? and must I lose the one to save the other?
Faith, no, for between the culprit and the victim I have no choice." "But
I," cried Morrel, groaning with sorrow, "I love her!" "You
love?--whom?" cried Monte Cristo, starting to his feet, and seizing
the two hands which Morrel was raising towards heaven. "I
love most fondly--I love madly--I love as a man who would give his
life-blood to spare her a tear--I love Valentine de Villefort, who is
being murdered at this moment! Do you understand me? I love her; and I ask
God and you how I can save her?" Monte Cristo uttered a cry which
those only can conceive who have heard the roar of a wounded lion.
"Unhappy man," cried he, wringing his hands in his turn;
"you love Valentine,--that daughter of an accursed race!" Never
had Morrel witnessed such an expression--never had so terrible an eye
flashed before his face--never had the genius of terror he had so often
seen, either on the battle-field or in the murderous nights of Algeria,
shaken around him more dreadful fire. He drew back terrified. As
for Monte Cristo, after this ebullition he closed his eyes as if dazzled
by internal light. In a moment he restrained himself so powerfully that
the tempestuous heaving of his breast subsided, as turbulent and foaming
waves yield to the sun's genial influence when the cloud has passed. This
silence, self-control, and struggle lasted about twenty seconds, then the
count raised his pallid face. "See," said he, "my dear
friend, how God punishes the most thoughtless and unfeeling men for their
indifference, by presenting dreadful scenes to their view. I, who was
looking on, an eager and curious spectator,--I, who was watching the
working of this mournful tragedy,--I, who like a wicked angel was laughing
at the evil men committed protected by secrecy (a secret is easily kept by
the rich and powerful), I am in my turn bitten by the serpent whose
tortuous course I was watching, and bitten to the heart!" Morrel
groaned. "Come, come," continued the count, "complaints are
unavailing, be a man, be strong, be full of hope, for I am here and will
watch over you." Morrel shook his head sorrowfully. "I tell you
to hope. Do you understand me?" cried Monte Cristo. "Remember
that I never uttered a falsehood and am never deceived. It is twelve
o'clock, Maximilian; thank heaven that you came at noon rather than in the
evening, or to-morrow morning. Listen, Morrel--it is noon; if Valentine is
not now dead, she will not die." "How
so?" cried Morrel, "when I left her dying?" Monte Cristo
pressed his hands to his forehead. What was passing in that brain, so
loaded with dreadful secrets? What does the angel of light or the angel of
darkness say to that mind, at once implacable and generous? God only
knows. Monte
Cristo raised his head once more, and this time he was calm as a child
awaking from its sleep. "Maximilian," said he, "return
home. I command you not to stir--attempt nothing, not to let your
countenance betray a thought, and I will send you tidings. Go." "Oh,
count, you overwhelm me with that coolness. Have you, then, power against
death? Are you superhuman? Are you an angel?" And the young man, who
had never shrunk from danger, shrank before Monte Cristo with
indescribable terror. But Monte Cristo looked at him with so melancholy
and sweet a smile, that Maximilian felt the tears filling his eyes.
"I can do much for you, my friend," replied the count. "Go;
I must be alone." Morrel, subdued by the extraordinary ascendancy
Monte Cristo exercised over everything around him, did not endeavor to
resist it. He pressed the count's hand and left. He stopped one moment at
the door for Baptistin, whom he saw in the Rue Matignon, and who was
running. Meanwhile,
Villefort and d'Avrigny had made all possible haste, Valentine had not
revived from her fainting fit on their arrival, and the doctor examined
the invalid with all the care the circumstances demanded, and with an
interest which the knowledge of the secret intensified twofold. Villefort,
closely watching his countenance and his lips, awaited the result of the
examination. Noirtier, paler than even the young girl, more eager than
Villefort for the decision, was watching also intently and affectionately.
At last d'Avrigny slowly uttered these words:--"she is still
alive!" "Still?"
cried Villefort; "oh, doctor, what a dreadful word is that." "Yes,"
said the physician, "I repeat it; she is still alive, and I am
astonished at it." "But
is she safe?" asked the father. "Yes,
since she lives." At that moment d'Avrigny's glance met Noirtier's
eye. It glistened with such extraordinary joy, so rich and full of
thought, that the physician was struck. He placed the young girl again on
the chair,--her lips were scarcely discernible, they were so pale and
white, as well as her whole face,--and remained motionless, looking at
Noirtier, who appeared to anticipate and commend all he did.
"Sir," said d'Avrigny to Villefort, "call Mademoiselle
Valentine's maid, if you please." Villefort went himself to find her;
and d'Avrigny approached Noirtier. "Have you something to tell
me?" asked he. The old man winked his eyes expressively, which we may
remember was his only way of expressing his approval. "Privately?"
"Yes."
"Well,
I will remain with you." At this moment Villefort returned, followed
by the lady's maid; and after her came Madame de Villefort. "What
is the matter, then, with this dear child? she has just left me, and she
complained of being indisposed, but I did not think seriously of it."
The young woman with tears in her eyes and every mark of affection of a
true mother, approached Valentine and took her hand. D'Avrigny continued
to look at Noirtier; he saw the eyes of the old man dilate and become
round, his cheeks turn pale and tremble; the perspiration stood in drops
upon his forehead. "Ah," said he, involuntarily following
Noirtier's eyes, which were fixed on Madame de Villefort, who
repeated,--"This poor child would be better in bed. Come, Fanny, we
will put her to bed." M. d'Avrigny, who saw that would be a means of
his remaining alone with Noirtier, expressed his opinion that it was the
best thing that could be done; but he forbade that anything should be
given to her except what he ordered. They
carried Valentine away; she had revived, but could scarcely move or speak,
so shaken was her frame by the attack. She had, however, just power to
give one parting look to her grandfather, who in losing her seemed to be
resigning his very soul. D'Avrigny followed the invalid, wrote a
prescription, ordered Villefort to take a cabriolet, go in person to a
chemist's to get the prescribed medicine, bring it himself, and wait for
him in his daughter's room. Then, having renewed his injunction not to
give Valentine anything, he went down again to Noirtier, shut the doors
carefully, and after convincing himself that no one was
listening,--"Do you," said he, "know anything of this young
lady's illness?" "Yes,"
said the old man. "We
have no time to lose; I will question, and do you answer me."
Noirtier made a sign that he was ready to answer. "Did you anticipate
the accident which has happened to your granddaughter?" "Yes."
D'Avrigny reflected a moment; then approaching Noirtier,--"Pardon
what I am going to say," added he, "but no indication should be
neglected in this terrible situation. Did you see poor Barrois die?"
Noirtier raised his eyes to heaven. "Do you know of what he
died!" asked d'Avrigny, placing his hand on Noirtier's shoulder. "Yes,"
replied the old man. "Do
you think he died a natural death?" A sort of smile was discernible
on the motionless lips of Noirtier. "Then
you have thought that Barrois was poisoned?" "Yes."
"Do
you think the poison he fell a victim to was intended for him?" "No."
"Do
you think the same hand which unintentionally struck Barrois has now
attacked Valentine?" "Yes."
"Then
will she die too?" asked d'Avrigny, fixing his penetrating gaze on
Noirtier. He watched the effect of this question on the old man.
"No," replied he with an air of triumph which would have puzzled
the most clever diviner. "Then you hope?" said d'Avrigny, with
surprise. "Yes."
"What
do you hope?" The old man made him understand with his eyes that he
could not answer. "Ah, yes, it is true," murmured d'Avrigny.
Then, turning to Noirtier,--"Do you hope the assassin will be
tried?" "No."
"Then
you hope the poison will take no effect on Valentine?" "Yes."
"It
is no news to you," added d'Avrigny, "to tell you that an
attempt has been made to poison her?" The old man made a sign that he
entertained no doubt upon the subject. "Then how do you hope
Valentine will escape?" Noirtier kept his eyes steadfastly fixed on
the same spot. D'Avrigny followed the direction and saw that they were
fixed on a bottle containing the mixture which he took every morning.
"Ah, indeed?" said d'Avrigny, struck with a sudden thought,
"has it occurred to you"--Noirtier did not let him finish.
"Yes," said he. "To prepare her system to resist
poison?" "Yes."
"By
accustoming her by degrees"-- "Yes,
yes, yes," said Noirtier, delighted to be understood. "Of
course. I had told you that there was brucine in the mixture I give
you." "Yes."
"And
by accustoming her to that poison, you have endeavored to neutralize the
effect of a similar poison?" Noirtier's joy continued. "And you
have succeeded," exclaimed d'Avrigny. "Without that precaution
Valentine would have died before assistance could have been procured. The
dose has been excessive, but she has only been shaken by it; and this
time, at any rate, Valentine will not die." A superhuman joy expanded
the old man's eyes, which were raised towards heaven with an expression of
infinite gratitude. At this moment Villefort returned. "Here,
doctor," said he, "is what you sent me for." "Was
this prepared in your presence?" "Yes,"
replied the procureur. "Have
you not let it go out of your hands?" "No."
D'Avrigny took the bottle, poured some drops of the mixture it contained
in the hollow of his hand, and swallowed them. "Well," said he,
"let us go to Valentine; I will give instructions to every one, and
you, M. de Villefort, will yourself see that no one deviates from
them." At
the moment when d'Avrigny was returning to Valentine's room, accompanied
by Villefort, an Italian priest, of serious demeanor and calm and firm
tone, hired for his use the house adjoining the hotel of M. de Villefort.
No one knew how the three former tenants of that house left it. About two
hours afterwards its foundation was reported to be unsafe; but the report
did not prevent the new occupant establishing himself there with his
modest furniture the same day at five o'clock. The lease was drawn up for
three, six, or nine years by the new tenant, who, according to the rule of
the proprietor, paid six months in advance. This new tenant, who, as we
have said, was an Italian, was called Il Signor Giacomo Busoni. Workmen
were immediately called in, and that same night the passengers at the end
of the faubourg saw with surprise that carpenters and masons were occupied
in repairing the lower part of the tottering house. |
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