exclamation of the doctor and the cry of the father, the servants
all fled with muttered imprecations; they were heard running down
the stairs and through the long passages, then there was a rush in
the court, afterwards all was still; they had, one and all,
deserted the accursed house. Just then, Madame de Villefort, in the
act of slipping on her dressing-gown, threw aside the drapery and
for a moment stood motionless, as though interrogating the
occupants of the room, while she endeavored to call up some
rebellious tears. On a sudden she stepped, or rather bounded, with
outstretched arms, towards the table. She saw d'Avrigny curiously
examining the glass, which she felt certain of having emptied
during the night. It was now a third full, just as it was when she
threw the contents into the ashes. The spectre of Valentine rising
before the poisoner would have alarmed her less. It was, indeed,
the same color as the draught she had poured into the glass, and
which Valentine had drank; it was indeed the poison, which could
not deceive M. d'Avrigny, which he now examined so closely; it was
doubtless a miracle from heaven, that, notwithstanding her
precautions, there should be some trace, some proof remaining to
reveal the crime. While Madame de Villefort remained rooted to the
spot like a statue of terror, and Villefort, with his head hidden
in the bedclothes, saw nothing around him, d'Avrigny approached the
window, that he might the better examine the contents of the glass,
and dipping the tip of his finger in, tasted it. "Ah," he
exclaimed, "it is no longer brucine that is used; let me see what
it is!"
Then he ran to one of the cupboards in Valentine's room, which
had been transformed into a medicine closet, and taking from its
silver case a small bottle of nitric acid, dropped a little of it
into the liquor, which immediately changed to a blood-red color.
"Ah," exclaimed d'Avrigny, in a voice in which the horror of a
judge unveiling the truth was mingled with the delight of a studentjudge unveiling the truth was mingled with the delight of a student
making a discovery. Madame de Villefort was overpowered, her eyes
first flashed and then swam, she staggered towards the door and
disappeared. Directly afterwards the distant sound of a heavy
weight falling on the ground was heard, but no one paid any
attention to it; the nurse was engaged in watching the chemical
analysis, and Villefort was still absorbed in grief. M. d'Avrigny
alone had followed Madame de Villefort with his eyes, and watched
her hurried retreat. He lifted up the drapery over the entrance to
Edward's room, and his eye reaching as far as Madame de Villefort's
apartment, he beheld her extended lifeless on the floor. "Go to the
assistance of Madame de Villefort," he said to the nurse. "Madame
de Villefort is ill."
"But Mademoiselle de Villefort" — stammered the nurse.
"Mademoiselle de Villefort no longer requires help," said
d'Avrigny, "since she is dead."
"Dead, — dead!" groaned forth Villefort, in a paroxysm of grief,
which was the more terrible from the novelty of the sensation in
the iron heart of that man.
"Dead!" repeated a third voice. "Who said Valentine was
dead?"
The two men turned round, and saw Morrel standing at the door,
pale and terror-stricken. This is what had happened. At the usual
time, Morrel had presented himself at the little door leading to
Noirtier's room. Contrary to custom, the door was open, and having
no occasion to ring he entered. He waited for a moment in the hall
and called for a servant to conduct him to M. Noirtier; but no one
answered, the servants having, as we know, deserted the house.
Morrel had no particular reason for uneasiness; Monte Cristo had
promised him that Valentine should live, and so far he had always
fulfilled his word. Every night the count had given him news, which
was the next morning confirmed by Noirtier. Still this
extraordinary silence appeared strange to him, and he called a
second and third time; still no answer. Then he determined to gosecond and third time; still no answer. Then he determined to go
up. Noirtier's room was opened, like all the rest. The first thing
he saw was the old man sitting in his arm-chair in his usual place,
but his eyes expressed alarm, which was confirmed by the pallor
which overspread his features.
"How are you, sir?" asked Morrel, with a sickness of heart.
"Well," answered the old man, by closing his eyes; but his
appearance manifested increasing uneasiness.
"You are thoughtful, sir," continued Morrel; "you want
something; shall I call one of the servants?"
"Yes," replied Noirtier.
Morrel pulled the bell, but though he nearly broke the cord no
one answered. He turned towards Noirtier; the pallor and anguish
expressed on his countenance momentarily increased.
"Oh," exclaimed Morrel, "why do they not come? Is any one ill in
the house?" The eyes of Noirtier seemed as though they would start
from their sockets. "What is the matter? You alarm me. Valentine?
Valentine?"
"Yes, yes," signed Noirtier. Maximilian tried to speak, but he
could articulate nothing; he staggered, and supported himself
against the wainscot. Then he pointed to the door.
"Yes, yes, yes!" continued the old man. Maximilian rushed up the
little staircase, while Noirtier's eyes seemed to say, — "Quicker,
quicker!"
In a minute the young man darted through several rooms, till at
length he reached Valentine's. There was no occasion to push the
door, it was wide open. A sob was the only sound he heard. He saw
as though in a mist, a black figure kneeling and buried in a
confused mass of white drapery. A terrible fear transfixed him. It
was then he heard a voice exclaim "Valentine is dead!" and another
voice which, like an echo repeated, — "Dead, — dead!"