at the risk of being seen, at the risk of alarming Valentine, at
the risk of being discovered by some exclamation which might escape
the young girl, he crossed the flower-garden, which by the light of
the moon resembled a large white lake, and having passed the rows
of orange-trees which extended in front of the house, he reached
the step, ran quickly up and pushed the door, which opened without
offering any resistance. Valentine had not seen him. Her eyes,
raised towards heaven, were watching a silvery cloud gliding over
the azure, its form that of a shadow mounting towards heaven. Her
poetic and excited mind pictured it as the soul of her
grandmother.
Meanwhile, Morrel had traversed the anteroom and found the
staircase, which, being carpeted, prevented his approach being
heard, and he had regained that degree of confidence that the
presence of M. de Villefort even would not have alarmed him. He was
quite prepared for any such encounter. He would at once approach
Valentine's father and acknowledge all, begging Villefort to pardon
and sanction the love which united two fond and loving hearts.
Morrel was mad. Happily he did not meet any one. Now, especially,
did he find the description Valentine had given of the interior of
the house useful to him; he arrived safely at the top of the
staircase, and while he was feeling his way, a sob indicated the
direction he was to take. He turned back, a door partly open
enabled him to see his road, and to hear the voice of one in
sorrow. He pushed the door open and entered. At the other end of
the room, under a white sheet which covered it, lay the corpse,
still more alarming to Morrel since the account he had so
unexpectedly overheard. By its side, on her knees, and with her
head buried in the cushion of an easy-chair, was Valentine,
trembling and sobbing, her hands extended above her head, clasped
and stiff. She had turned from the window, which remained open, and
was praying in accents that would have affected the most unfeeling;was praying in accents that would have affected the most unfeeling;
her words were rapid, incoherent, unintelligible, for the burning
weight of grief almost stopped her utterance. The moon shining
through the open blinds made the lamp appear to burn paler, and
cast a sepulchral hue over the whole scene. Morrel could not resist
this; he was not exemplary for piety, he was not easily impressed,
but Valentine suffering, weeping, wringing her hands before him,
was more than he could bear in silence. He sighed, and whispered a
name, and the head bathed in tears and pressed on the velvet
cushion of the chair — a head like that of a Magdalen by Correggio
— was raised and turned towards him. Valentine perceived him
without betraying the least surprise. A heart overwhelmed with one
great grief is insensible to minor emotions. Morrel held out his
hand to her. Valentine, as her only apology for not having met him,
pointed to the corpse under the sheet, and began to sob again.
Neither dared for some time to speak in that room. They hesitated
to break the silence which death seemed to impose; at length
Valentine ventured.
"My friend," said she, "how came you here? Alas, I would say you
are welcome, had not death opened the way for you into this
house."
"Valentine," said Morrel with a trembling voice, "I had waited
since half-past eight, and did not see you come; I became uneasy,
leaped the wall, found my way through the garden, when voices
conversing about the fatal event" —
"What voices ?" asked Valentine. Morrel shuddered as he
thought of the conversation of the doctor and M. de Villefort, and
he thought he could see through the sheet the extended hands, the
stiff neck, and the purple lips.
"Your servants," said he, "who were repeating the whole of the
sorrowful story; from them I learned it all."
"But it was risking the failure of our plan to come up here,
love."
"Forgive me," replied Morrel; "I will go away."
"No," said Valentine, "you might meet some one; stay."
"But if any one should come here" —"No," said Valentine, "you might meet some one; stay."
"But if any one should come here" —
The young girl shook her head. "No one will come," said she; "do
not fear, there is our safeguard," pointing to the bed.
"But what has become of M. d'Epinay?" replied Morrel.
"M. Franz arrived to sign the contract just as my dear
grandmother was dying."
"Alas," said Morrel with a feeling of selfish joy; for he
thought this death would cause the wedding to be postponed
indefinitely. "But what redoubles my sorrow," continued the young
girl, as if this feeling was to receive its immediate punishment,
"is that the poor old lady, on her death-bed, requested that the
marriage might take place as soon as possible; she also, thinking
to protect me, was acting against me."
"Hark!" said Morrel. They both listened; steps were distinctly
heard in the corridor and on the stairs.
"It is my father, who has just left his study."
"To accompany the doctor to the door," added Morrel.
"How do you know it is the doctor?" asked Valentine,
astonished.
"I imagined it must be," said Morrel. Valentine looked at the
young man; they heard the street door close, then M. de Villefort
locked the garden door, and returned up-stairs. He stopped a moment
in the anteroom, as if hesitating whether to turn to his own
apartment or into Madame de Saint-Meran's; Morrel concealed himself
behind a door; Valentine remained motionless, grief seeming to
deprive her of all fear. M. de Villefort passed on to his own room.
"Now," said Valentine, "you can neither go out by the front door
nor by the garden." Morrel looked at her with astonishment. "There
is but one way left you that is safe," said she; "it is through my
grandfather's room." She rose, "Come," she added. — "Where?" asked
Maximilian.
"To my grandfather's room."
"I in M. Noirtier's apartment?"
"Yes."
"Can you mean it, Valentine?"
"I have long wished it; he is my only remaining friend and we
both need his help, — come."
"Be careful, Valentine," said Morrel, hesitating to comply with