"Ah, it is No, then?"
"Yes." Valentine fetched a dictionary, which she placed on a
desk before Noirtier; she opened it, and, seeing that the odd man's
eye was thoroughly fixed on its pages, she ran her finger quickly
up and down the columns. During the six years which had passed
since Noirtier first fell into this sad state, Valentine's powers
of invention had been too often put to the test not to render her
expert in devising expedients for gaining a knowledge of his
wishes, and the constant practice had so perfected her in the art
that she guessed the old man's meaning as quickly as if he himself
had been able to seek for what he wanted. At the word "Notary,"
Noirtier made a sign to her to stop. "Notary," said she, "do you
want a notary, dear grandpapa?" The old man again signified that it
was a notary he desired.
"You would wish a notary to be sent for then?" said
Valentine.
"Yes."
"Shall my father be informed of your wish?"
"Yes."
"Do you wish the notary to be sent for immediately?"
"Yes."
"Then they shall go for him directly, dear grandpapa. Is that
all you want?"
"Yes." Valentine rang the bell, and ordered the servant to tell
Monsieur or Madame de Villefort that they were requested to come to
M. Noirtier's room. "Are you satisfied now?" inquired
Valentine.
"Yes."
"I am sure you are; it is not very difficult to discover that,"
— and the young girl smiled on her grandfather, as if he had been a
child. M. de Villefort entered, followed by Barrois. "What do you
want me for, sir?" demanded he of the paralytic.
"Sir," said Valentine, "my grandfather wishes for a notary." At
this strange and unexpected demand M. de Villefort and his father
exchanged looks. "Yes," motioned the latter, with a firmness which
seemed to declare that with the help of Valentine and his old
servant, who both knew what his wishes were, he was quite prepared
to maintain the contest. "Do you wish for a notary?" asked
Villefort.
"Yes."
"What to do?"
Noirtier made no answer. "What do you want with a notary?" againVillefort.
"Yes."
"What to do?"
Noirtier made no answer. "What do you want with a notary?" again
repeated Villefort. The invalid's eye remained fixed, by which
expression he intended to intimate that his resolution was
unalterable. "Is it to do us some ill turn? Do you think it is
worth while?" said Villefort.
"Still," said Barrois, with the freedom and fidelity of an old
servant, "if M. Noirtier asks for a notary, I suppose he really
wishes for a notary; therefore I shall go at once and fetch one."
Barrois acknowledged no master but Noirtier, and never allowed his
desires in any way to be contradicted.
"Yes, I do want a notary," motioned the old man, shutting his
eyes with a look of defiance, which seemed to say, "and I should
like to see the person who dares to refuse my request."
"You shall have a notary, as you absolutely wish for one, sir,"
said Villefort; "but I shall explain to him your state of health,
and make excuses for you, for the scene cannot fail of being a most
ridiculous one."
"Never mind that," said Barrois; "I shall go and fetch a notary,
nevertheless," — and the old servant departed triumphantly on his
mission.At the Place Louis XV. the three young people separated — that
is to say, Morrel went to the Boulevards, Chateau-Renaud to the
Pont de la Revolution, and Debray to the Quai. Most probably Morrel
and Chateau-Renaud returned to their "domestic hearths," as they
say in the gallery of the Chamber in well-turned speeches, and in
the theatre of the Rue Richelieu in well-written pieces; but it was
not the case with Debray. When he reached the wicket of the Louvre,
he turned to the left, galloped across the Carrousel, passed
through the Rue Saint-Roch, and, issuing from the Rue de la
Michodiere, he arrived at M. Danglars' door just at the same time
that Villefort's landau, after having deposited him and his wife at
the Faubourg St. Honore, stopped to leave the baroness at her own
house. Debray, with the air of a man familiar with the house,
entered first into the court, threw his bridle into the hands of a
footman, and returned to the door to receive Madame Danglars, to
whom he offered his arm, to conduct her to her apartments. The gate
once closed, and Debray and the baroness alone in the court, he
asked, — "What was the matter with you, Hermine? and why were you
so affected at that story, or rather fable, which the count
related?"
"Because I have been in such shocking spirits all the evening,
my friend," said the baroness.
"No, Hermine," replied Debray; "you cannot make me believe that;
on the contrary, you were in excellent spirits when you arrived at
the count's. M. Danglars was disagreeable, certainly, but I know
how much you care for his ill-humor. Some one has vexed you; I will
allow no one to annoy you."
"You are deceived, Lucien, I assure you," replied Madame
Danglars; "and what I have told you is really the case, added to
the ill-humor you remarked, but which I did not think it worth
while to allude to." It was evident that Madame Danglars was
suffering from that nervous irritability which women frequently
cannot account for even to themselves; or that, as Debray hadcannot account for even to themselves; or that, as Debray had
guessed, she had experienced some secret agitation that she would
not acknowledge to any one. Being a man who knew that the former of
these symptoms was one of the inherent penalties of womanhood, he
did not then press his inquiries, but waited for a more appropriate
opportunity when he should again interrogate her, or receive an
avowal proprio motu. At the door of her apartment the baroness met
Mademoiselle Cornelie, her confidential maid. "What is my daughter
doing?" asked Madame Danglars.
"She practiced all the evening, and then went to bed," replied
Mademoiselle Cornelie.
"Yet I think I hear her piano."
"It is Mademoiselle Louise d'Armilly, who is playing while
Mademoiselle Danglars is in bed."
"Well," said Madame Danglars, "come and undress me." They
entered the bedroom. Debray stretched himself upon a large couch,
and Madame Danglars passed into her dressing-room with Mademoiselle
Cornelie. "My dear M. Lucien," said Madame Danglars through the
door, "you are always complaining that Eugenie will not address a
word to you."
"Madame," said Lucien, playing with a little dog, who,
recognizing him as a friend of the house, expected to be caressed,
"I am not the only one who makes similar complaints, I think I
heard Morcerf say that he could not extract a word from his
betrothed."
"True," said Madame Danglars; "yet I think this will all pass
off, and that you will one day see her enter your study."
"My study?"
"At least that of the minister."
"Why so!"
"To ask for an engagement at the Opera. Really, I never saw such
an infatuation for music; it is quite ridiculous for a young lady
of fashion." Debray smiled. "Well," said he, "let her come, with
your consent and that of the baron, and we will try and give her an
engagement, though we are very poor to pay such talent as
hers."
"Go, Cornelie," said Madame Danglars, "I do not require you any
longer."
Cornelie obeyed, and the next minute Madame Danglars left her