Villefort is the culprit — she is the poisoner! To you, as the
king's attorney, I denounce Mademoiselle de Villefort, do your
duty."
"Doctor, I resist no longer — I can no longer defend myself — I
believe you; but, for pity's sake, spare my life, my honor!"
"M. de Villefort," replied the doctor, with increased vehemence,
"there are occasions when I dispense with all foolish human
circumspection. If your daughter had committed only one crime, and
I saw her meditating another, I would say `Warn her, punish her,
let her pass the remainder of her life in a convent, weeping and
praying.' If she had committed two crimes, I would say, `Here, M.
de Villefort, is a poison that the prisoner is not acquainted with,
— one that has no known antidote, quick as thought, rapid as
lightning, mortal as the thunderbolt; give her that poison,
recommending her soul to God, and save your honor and your life,
for it is yours she aims at; and I can picture her approaching your
pillow with her hypocritical smiles and her sweet exhortations. Woe
to you, M. de Villefort, if you do not strike first!' This is what
I would say had she only killed two persons but she has seen three
deaths, — has contemplated three murdered persons, — has knelt by
three corpses! To the scaffold with the poisoner — to the scaffold!
Do you talk of your honor? Do what I tell you, and immortality
awaits you!"
Villefort fell on his knees. "Listen," said he; "I have not the
strength of mind you have, or rather that which you would not have,
if instead of my daughter Valentine your daughter Madeleine were
concerned." The doctor turned pale. "Doctor, every son of woman is
born to suffer and to die; I am content to suffer and to await
death."
"Beware," said M. d'Avrigny, "it may come slowly; you will see
it approach after having struck your father, your wife, perhaps
your son."
Villefort, suffocating, pressed the doctor's arm. "Listen,"
cried he; "pity me — help me! No, my daughter is not guilty. If you
drag us both before a tribunal I will still say, `No, my daughterdrag us both before a tribunal I will still say, `No, my daughter
is not guilty; — there is no crime in my house. I will not
acknowledge a crime in my house; for when crime enters a dwelling,
it is like death — it does not come alone.' Listen. What does it
signify to you if I am murdered? Are you my friend? Are you a man?
Have you a heart? No, you are a physician! Well, I tell you I will
not drag my daughter before a tribunal, and give her up to the
executioner! The bare idea would kill me — would drive me like a
madman to dig my heart out with my finger-nails! And if you were
mistaken, doctor — if it were not my daughter — if I should come
one day, pale as a spectre, and say to you, `Assassin, you have
killed my child!' — hold — if that should happen, although I am a
Christian, M. d'Avrigny, I should kill myself."
"Well," said the doctor, after a moment's silence, "I will
wait." Villefort looked at him as if he had doubted his words.
"Only," continued M. d'Avrigny, with a slow and solemn tone, "if
any one falls ill in your house, if you feel yourself attacked, do
not send for me, for I will come no more. I will consent to share
this dreadful secret with you, but I will not allow shame and
remorse to grow and increase in my conscience, as crime and misery
will in your house."
"Then you abandon me, doctor?"
"Yes, for I can follow you no farther, and I only stop at the
foot of the scaffold. Some further discovery will be made, which
will bring this dreadful tragedy to a close. Adieu."
"I entreat you, doctor!"
"All the horrors that disturb my thoughts make your house odious
and fatal. Adieu, sir."
"One word — one single word more, doctor! You go, leaving me in
all the horror of my situation, after increasing it by what you
have revealed to me. But what will be reported of the sudden death
of the poor old servant?"
"True," said M. d'Avrigny; "we will return." The doctor went out
first, followed by M. de Villefort. The terrified servants were on
the stairs and in the passage where the doctor would pass. "Sir,"the stairs and in the passage where the doctor would pass. "Sir,"
said d'Avrigny to Villefort, so loud that all might hear, "poor
Barrois has led too sedentary a life of late; accustomed formerly
to ride on horseback, or in the carriage, to the four corners of
Europe, the monotonous walk around that arm-chair has killed him —
his blood has thickened. He was stout, had a short, thick neck; he
was attacked with apoplexy, and I was called in too late. By the
way," added he in a low tone, "take care to throw away that cup of
syrup of violets in the ashes."
The doctor, without shaking hands with Villefort, without adding
a word to what he had said, went out, amid the tears and
lamentations of the whole household. The same evening all
Villefort's servants, who had assembled in the kitchen, and had a
long consultation, came to tell Madame de Villefort that they
wished to leave. No entreaty, no proposition of increased wages,
could induce them to remain; to every argument they replied, "We
must go, for death is in this house." They all left, in spite of
prayers and entreaties, testifying their regret at leaving so good
a master and mistress, and especially Mademoiselle Valentine, so
good, so kind, and so gentle. Villefort looked at Valentine as they
said this. She was in tears, and, strange as it was, in spite of
the emotions he felt at the sight of these tears, he looked also at
Madame de Villefort, and it appeared to him as if a slight gloomy
smile had passed over her thin lips, like a meteor seen passing
inauspiciously between two clouds in a stormy sky.