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Chapter 103. Maximilian. Villefort rose, half ashamed of being surprised
in such a paroxysm of grief. The terrible office he had held for twenty-five years had
succeeded in making him more or less than man. His glance, at first wandering, fixed
itself upon Morrel. "Who are you, sir," he asked, "that forget that this is not the manner
to enter a house stricken with death? Go, sir, go!" But Morrel remained motionless;
he could not detach his eyes from that disordered bed, and the pale corpse of the young girl
who was lying on it. "Go!—do you hear?" said Villefort, while d'Avrigny advanced to
lead Morrel out. Maximilian stared for a moment at the corpse, gazed all around the room,
then upon the two men; he opened his mouth to speak, but finding it impossible to give
utterance to the innumerable ideas that occupied his brain, he went out, thrusting his hands
through his hair in such a manner that Villefort and d'Avrigny, for a moment diverted from
the engrossing topic, exchanged glances, which seemed to say,—"He is mad!"
But in less than five minutes the staircase groaned beneath an extraordinary weight. Morrel
was seen carrying, with superhuman strength, the arm-chair containing Noirtier up-stairs.
When he reached the landing he placed the arm-chair on the floor and rapidly rolled
it into Valentine's room. This could only have been accomplished by means of unnatural
strength supplied by powerful excitement. But the most fearful spectacle was Noirtier
being pushed towards the bed, his face expressing all his meaning, and his eyes supplying the
want of every other faculty. That pale face and flaming glance appeared to Villefort like
a frightful apparition. Each time he had been brought into contact with his father, something
terrible had happened. "See what they have done!" cried Morrel, with one hand leaning
on the back of the chair, and the other extended towards Valentine. "See, my father, see!"
Villefort drew back and looked with astonishment on the young man, who, almost a stranger to
him, called Noirtier his father. At this moment the whole soul of the old man seemed centred
in his eyes which became bloodshot; the veins of the throat swelled; his cheeks and temples
became purple, as though he was struck with epilepsy; nothing was wanting to complete
this but the utterance of a cry. And the cry issued from his pores, if we may thus speak—a
cry frightful in its silence. D'Avrigny rushed towards the old man and made him inhale a
powerful restorative. "Sir," cried Morrel, seizing the moist hand
of the paralytic, "they ask me who I am, and what right I have to be here. Oh, you know
it, tell them, tell them!" And the young man's voice was choked by sobs. As for the old man,
his chest heaved with his panting respiration. One could have thought that he was undergoing
the agonies preceding death. At length, happier than the young man, who sobbed without weeping,
tears glistened in the eyes of Noirtier. "Tell them," said Morrel in a hoarse voice, "tell
them that I am her betrothed. Tell them she was my beloved, my noble girl, my only blessing
in the world. Tell them—oh, tell them, that corpse belongs to me!"
The young man overwhelmed by the weight of his anguish, fell heavily on his knees before
the bed, which his fingers grasped with convulsive energy. D'Avrigny, unable to bear the sight
of this touching emotion, turned away; and Villefort, without seeking any further explanation,
and attracted towards him by the irresistible magnetism which draws us towards those who
have loved the people for whom we mourn, extended his hand towards the young man. But Morrel
saw nothing; he had grasped the hand of Valentine, and unable to weep vented his agony in groans
as he bit the sheets. For some time nothing was heard in that chamber but sobs, exclamations,
and prayers. At length Villefort, the most composed of all, spoke: "Sir," said he to
Maximilian, "you say you loved Valentine, that you were betrothed to her. I knew nothing
of this engagement, of this love, yet I, her father, forgive you, for I see that your grief
is real and deep; and besides my own sorrow is too great for anger to find a place in
my heart. But you see that the angel whom you hoped for has left this earth—she has
nothing more to do with the adoration of men. Take a last farewell, sir, of her sad remains;
take the hand you expected to possess once more within your own, and then separate yourself
from her forever. Valentine now requires only the ministrations of the priest."
"You are mistaken, sir," exclaimed Morrel, raising himself on one knee, his heart pierced
by a more acute pang than any he had yet felt—"you are mistaken; Valentine, dying as she has,
not only requires a priest, but an avenger. You, M. de Villefort, send for the priest;
I will be the avenger." "What do you mean, sir?" asked Villefort,
trembling at the new idea inspired by the delirium of Morrel.
"I tell you, sir, that two persons exist in you; the father has mourned sufficiently,
now let the procureur fulfil his office." The eyes of Noirtier glistened, and d'Avrigny
approached. "Gentlemen," said Morrel, reading all that
passed through the minds of the witnesses to the scene, "I know what I am saying, and
you know as well as I do what I am about to say—Valentine has been assassinated!" Villefort
hung his head, d'Avrigny approached nearer, and Noirtier said "Yes" with his eyes. "Now,
sir," continued Morrel, "in these days no one can disappear by violent means without
some inquiries being made as to the cause of her disappearance, even were she not a
young, beautiful, and adorable creature like Valentine. Mr. Procureur," said Morrel with
increasing vehemence, "no mercy is allowed; I denounce the crime; it is your place to
seek the assassin." The young man's implacable eyes interrogated Villefort, who, on his side,
glanced from Noirtier to d'Avrigny. But instead of finding sympathy in the eyes of the doctor
and his father, he only saw an expression as inflexible as that of Maximilian. "Yes,"
indicated the old man. "Assuredly," said d'Avrigny.
"Sir," said Villefort, striving to struggle against this triple force and his own emotion,—"sir,
you are deceived; no one commits crimes here. I am stricken by fate. It is horrible, indeed,
but no one assassinates." The eyes of Noirtier lighted up with rage,
and d'Avrigny prepared to speak. Morrel, however, extended his arm, and commanded silence. "And
I say that murders are committed here," said Morrel, whose voice, though lower in tone,
lost none of its terrible distinctness: "I tell you that this is the fourth victim within
the last four months. I tell you, Valentine's life was attempted by poison four days ago,
though she escaped, owing to the precautions of M. Noirtier. I tell you that the dose has
been double, the poison changed, and that this time it has succeeded. I tell you that
you know these things as well as I do, since this gentleman has forewarned you, both as
a doctor and as a friend." "Oh, you rave, sir," exclaimed Villefort,
in vain endeavoring to escape the net in which he was taken.
"I rave?" said Morrel; "well, then, I appeal to M. d'Avrigny himself. Ask him, sir, if
he recollects the words he uttered in the garden of this house on the night of Madame
de Saint-Meran's death. You thought yourselves alone, and talked about that tragical death,
and the fatality you mentioned then is the same which has caused the *** of Valentine."
Villefort and d'Avrigny exchanged looks. "Yes, yes," continued Morrel; "recall the scene,
for the words you thought were only given to silence and solitude fell into my ears.
Certainly, after witnessing the culpable indolence manifested by M. de Villefort towards his
own relations, I ought to have denounced him to the authorities; then I should not have
been an accomplice to thy death, as I now am, sweet, beloved Valentine; but the accomplice
shall become the avenger. This fourth *** is apparent to all, and if thy father abandon
thee, Valentine, it is I, and I swear it, that shall pursue the assassin." And this
time, as though nature had at least taken compassion on the vigorous frame, nearly bursting
with its own strength, the words of Morrel were stifled in his throat; his breast heaved;
the tears, so long rebellious, gushed from his eyes; and he threw himself weeping on
his knees by the side of the bed. Then d'Avrigny spoke. "And I, too," he exclaimed
in a low voice, "I unite with M. Morrel in demanding justice for crime; my blood boils
at the idea of having encouraged a murderer by my cowardly concession."
"Oh, merciful heavens!" murmured Villefort. Morrel raised his head, and reading the eyes
of the old man, which gleamed with unnatural lustre,—"Stay," he said, "M. Noirtier wishes
to speak." "Yes," indicated Noirtier, with an expression
the more terrible, from all his faculties being centred in his glance.
"Do you know the assassin?" asked Morrel. "Yes," replied Noirtier.
"And will you direct us?" exclaimed the young man. "Listen, M. d'Avrigny, listen!" Noirtier
looked upon Morrel with one of those melancholy smiles which had so often made Valentine happy,
and thus fixed his attention. Then, having riveted the eyes of his interlocutor on his
own, he glanced towards the door. "Do you wish me to leave?" said Morrel, sadly.
"Yes," replied Noirtier. "Alas, alas, sir, have pity on me!"
The old man's eyes remained fixed on the door. "May I, at least, return?" asked Morrel.
"Yes." "Must I leave alone?"
"No." "Whom am I to take with me? The procureur?"
"No." "The doctor?"
"Yes." "You wish to remain alone with M. de Villefort?"
"Yes." "But can he understand you?"
"Yes." "Oh," said Villefort, inexpressibly delighted
to think that the inquiries were to be made by him alone,—"oh, be satisfied, I can understand
my father." D'Avrigny took the young man's arm, and led him out of the room. A more than
deathlike silence then reigned in the house. At the end of a quarter of an hour a faltering
footstep was heard, and Villefort appeared at the door of the apartment where d'Avrigny
and Morrel had been staying, one absorbed in meditation, the other in grief. "You can
come," he said, and led them back to Noirtier. Morrel looked attentively on Villefort. His
face was livid, large drops rolled down his face, and in his fingers he held the fragments
of a quill pen which he had torn to atoms. "Gentlemen," he said in a hoarse voice, "give
me your word of honor that this horrible secret shall forever remain buried amongst ourselves!"
The two men drew back. "I entreat you."—continued Villefort.
"But," said Morrel, "the culprit—the murderer—the assassin."
"Do not alarm yourself, sir; justice will be done," said Villefort. "My father has revealed
the culprit's name; my father thirsts for revenge as much as you do, yet even he conjures
you as I do to keep this secret. Do you not, father?"
"Yes," resolutely replied Noirtier. Morrel suffered an exclamation of horror and surprise
to escape him. "Oh, sir," said Villefort, arresting Maximilian by the arm, "if my father,
the inflexible man, makes this request, it is because he knows, be assured, that Valentine
will be terribly revenged. Is it not so, father?" The old man made a sign in the affirmative.
Villefort continued: "He knows me, and I have pledged my word to him. Rest assured, gentlemen,
that within three days, in a less time than justice would demand, the revenge I shall
have taken for the *** of my child will be such as to make the boldest heart tremble;"
and as he spoke these words he ground his teeth, and grasped the old man's senseless
hand. "Will this promise be fulfilled, M. Noirtier?"
asked Morrel, while d'Avrigny looked inquiringly. "Yes," replied Noirtier with an expression
of sinister joy. "Swear, then," said Villefort, joining the
hands of Morrel and d'Avrigny, "swear that you will spare the honor of my house, and
leave me to avenge my child." D'Avrigny turned round and uttered a very feeble "Yes," but
Morrel, disengaging his hand, rushed to the bed, and after having pressed the cold lips
of Valentine with his own, hurriedly left, uttering a long, deep groan of despair and
anguish. We have before stated that all the servants had fled. M. de Villefort was therefore
obliged to request M. d'Avrigny to superintend all the arrangements consequent upon a death
in a large city, more especially a death under such suspicious circumstances.
It was something terrible to witness the silent agony, the mute despair of Noirtier, whose
tears silently rolled down his cheeks. Villefort retired to his study, and d'Avrigny left to
summon the doctor of the mayoralty, whose office it is to examine bodies after decease,
and who is expressly named "the doctor of the dead." M. Noirtier could not be persuaded
to quit his grandchild. At the end of a quarter of an hour M. d'Avrigny returned with his
associate; they found the outer gate closed, and not a servant remaining in the house;
Villefort himself was obliged to open to them. But he stopped on the landing; he had not
the courage to again visit the death chamber. The two doctors, therefore, entered the room
alone. Noirtier was near the bed, pale, motionless, and silent as the corpse. The district doctor
approached with the indifference of a man accustomed to spend half his time amongst
the dead; he then lifted the sheet which was placed over the face, and just unclosed the
lips. "Alas," said d'Avrigny, "she is indeed dead,
poor child!" "Yes," answered the doctor laconically, dropping
the sheet he had raised. Noirtier uttered a kind of hoarse, rattling sound; the old
man's eyes sparkled, and the good doctor understood that he wished to behold his child. He therefore
approached the bed, and while his companion was dipping the fingers with which he had
touched the lips of the corpse in chloride of lime, he uncovered the calm and pale face,
which looked like that of a sleeping angel. A tear, which appeared in the old man's eye,
expressed his thanks to the doctor. The doctor of the dead then laid his permit on the corner
of the table, and having fulfilled his duty, was conducted out by d'Avrigny. Villefort
met them at the door of his study; having in a few words thanked the district doctor,
he turned to d'Avrigny, and said,—"And now the priest."
"Is there any particular priest you wish to pray with Valentine?" asked d'Avrigny.
"No." said Villefort; "fetch the nearest." "The nearest," said the district doctor, "is
a good Italian abbe, who lives next door to you. Shall I call on him as I pass?"
"D'Avrigny," said Villefort, "be so kind, I beseech you, as to accompany this gentleman.
Here is the key of the door, so that you can go in and out as you please; you will bring
the priest with you, and will oblige me by introducing him into my child's room."
"Do you wish to see him?" "I only wish to be alone. You will excuse
me, will you not? A priest can understand a father's grief." And M. de Villefort, giving
the key to d'Avrigny, again bade farewell to the strange doctor, and retired to his
study, where he began to work. For some temperaments work is a remedy for all afflictions. As the
doctors entered the street, they saw a man in a cassock standing on the threshold of
the next door. "This is the abbe of whom I spoke," said the doctor to d'Avrigny. D'Avrigny
accosted the priest. "Sir," he said, "are you disposed to confer a great obligation
on an unhappy father who has just lost his daughter? I mean M. de Villefort, the king's
attorney." "Ah," said the priest, in a marked Italian
accent; "yes, I have heard that death is in that house."
"Then I need not tell you what kind of service he requires of you."
"I was about to offer myself, sir," said the priest; "it is our mission to forestall our
duties." "It is a young girl."
"I know it, sir; the servants who fled from the house informed me. I also know that her
name is Valentine, and I have already prayed for her."
"Thank you, sir," said d'Avrigny; "since you have commenced your sacred office, deign to
continue it. Come and watch by the dead, and all the wretched family will be grateful to
you." "I am going, sir; and I do not hesitate to
say that no prayers will be more fervent than mine." D'Avrigny took the priest's hand, and
without meeting Villefort, who was engaged in his study, they reached Valentine's room,
which on the following night was to be occupied by the undertakers. On entering the room,
Noirtier's eyes met those of the abbe, and no doubt he read some particular expression
in them, for he remained in the room. D'Avrigny recommended the attention of the priest to
the living as well as to the dead, and the abbe promised to devote his prayers to Valentine
and his attentions to Noirtier. In order, doubtless, that he might not be disturbed
while fulfilling his sacred mission, the priest rose as soon as d'Avrigny departed, and not
only bolted the door through which the doctor had just left, but also that leading to Madame
de Villefort's room.