has made me share all his beverages during the last month?"
"And have they all tasted of a slightly bitter flavor, like that
of dried orange-peel?"
"Oh, yes, yes!"
"Then that explains all," said Monte Cristo. "Your grandfather
knows, then, that a poisoner lives here; perhaps he even suspects
the person. He has been fortifying you, his beloved child, against
the fatal effects of the poison, which has failed because your
system was already impregnated with it. But even this would have
availed little against a more deadly medium of death employed four
days ago, which is generally but too fatal."
"But who, then, is this assassin, this murderer?"
"Let me also ask you a question. Have you never seen any one
enter your room at night?"
"Oh, yes; I have frequently seen shadows pass close to me,
approach, and disappear; but I took them for visions raised by my
feverish imagination, and indeed when you entered I thought I was
under the influence of delirium."
"Then you do not know who it is that attempts your life?"
"No," said Valentine; "who could desire my death?"
"You shall know it now, then," said Monte Cristo, listening.
"How do you mean?" said Valentine, looking anxiously around.
"Because you are not feverish or delirious to-night, but
thoroughly awake; midnight is striking, which is the hour murderers
choose."
"Oh, heavens," exclaimed Valentine, wiping off the drops which
ran down her forehead. Midnight struck slowly and sadly; every hour
seemed to strike with leaden weight upon the heart of the poor
girl. "Valentine," said the count, "summon up all your courage;
still the beatings of your heart; do not let a sound escape you,
and feign to be asleep; then you will see." Valentine seized the
count's hand. "I think I hear a noise," she said; "leave me."
"Good-by, for the present," replied the count, walking upon
tiptoe towards the library door, and smiling with an expression so
sad and paternal that the young girl's heart was filled with
gratitude. Before closing the door he turned around once more, andgratitude. Before closing the door he turned around once more, and
said, "Not a movement — not a word; let them think you asleep, or
perhaps you may be killed before I have the power of helping you."
And with this fearful injunction the count disappeared through the
door, which noiselessly closed after him.Valentine was alone; two other clocks, slower than that of
Saint-Philippe du Roule, struck the hour of midnight from different
directions, and excepting the rumbling of a few carriages all was
silent. Then Valentine's attention was engrossed by the clock in
her room, which marked the seconds. She began counting them,
remarking that they were much slower than the beatings of her
heart; and still she doubted, — the inoffensive Valentine could not
imagine that any one should desire her death. Why should they? To
what end? What had she done to excite the malice of an enemy? There
was no fear of her falling asleep. One terrible idea pressed upon
her mind, — that some one existed in the world who had attempted to
assassinate her, and who was about to endeavor to do so again.
Supposing this person, wearied at the inefficacy of the poison,
should, as Monte Cristo intimated, have recourse to steel! — What
if the count should have no time to run to her rescue! — What if
her last moments were approaching, and she should never again see
Morrel! When this terrible chain of ideas presented itself,
Valentine was nearly persuaded to ring the bell, and call for help.
But through the door she fancied she saw the luminous eye of the
count — that eye which lived in her memory, and the recollection
overwhelmed her with so much shame that she asked herself whether
any amount of gratitude could ever repay his adventurous and
devoted friendship.
Twenty minutes, twenty tedious minutes, passed thus, then ten
more, and at last the clock struck the half-flour. Just then the
sound of finger-nails slightly grating against the door of the
library informed Valentine that the count was still watching, and
recommended her to do the same; at the same time, on the opposite
side, that is towards Edward's room, Valentine fancied that she
heard the creaking of the floor; she listened attentively, holding
her breath till she was nearly suffocated; the lock turned, and the
door slowly opened. Valentine had raised herself upon her elbow,door slowly opened. Valentine had raised herself upon her elbow,
and had scarcely time to throw herself down on the bed and shade
her eyes with her arm; then, trembling, agitated, and her heart
beating with indescribable terror, she awaited the event.
Some one approached the bed and drew back the curtains.
Valentine summoned every effort, and breathed with that regular
respiration which announces tranquil sleep. "Valentine!" said a low
voice. Still silent: Valentine had promised not to awake. Then
everything was still, excepting that Valentine heard the almost
noiseless sound of some liquid being poured into the glass she had
just emptied. Then she ventured to open her eyelids, and glance
over her extended arm. She saw a woman in a white dressing-gown
pouring a liquor from a phial into her glass. During this short
time Valentine must have held her breath, or moved in some slight
degree, for the woman, disturbed, stopped and leaned over the bed,
in order the better to ascertain whether Valentine slept — it was
Madame de Villefort.
On recognizing her step-mother, Valentine could not repress a
shudder, which caused a vibration in the bed. Madame de Villefort
instantly stepped back close to the wall, and there, shaded by the
bed-curtains, she silently and attentively watched the slightest
movement of Valentine. The latter recollected the terrible caution
of Monte Cristo; she fancied that the hand not holding the phial
clasped a long sharp knife. Then collecting all her remaining
strength, she forced herself to close her eyes; but this simple
operation upon the most delicate organs of our frame, generally so
easy to accomplish, became almost impossible at this moment, so
much did curiosity struggle to retain the eyelid open and learn the
truth. Madame de Villefort, however, reassured by the silence,
which was alone disturbed by the regular breathing of Valentine,
again extended her hand, and half hidden by the curtains succeeded
in emptying the contents of the phial into the glass. Then she