"No."
"No?" said Morrel; "you disapprove of this second project, as
you did of the first?"
"I do," signified the old man.
"But what then must be done?" asked Morrel. "Madame de
Saint-Meran's last request was, that the marriage might not be
delayed; must I let things take their course?" Noirtier did not
move. "I understand," said Morrel; "I am to wait."
"Yes."
"But delay may ruin our plan, sir," replied the young man.
"Alone, Valentine has no power; she will be compelled to submit. I
am here almost miraculously, and can scarcely hope for so good an
opportunity to occur again. Believe me, there are only the two
plans I have proposed to you; forgive my vanity, and tell me which
you prefer. Do you authorize Mademoiselle Valentine to intrust
herself to my honor?"
"No."
"Do you prefer I should seek M. d'Epinay?"
"No."
"Whence then will come the help we need — from chance?" resumed
Morrel.
"No."
"From you?"
"Yes."
"You thoroughly understand me, sir? Pardon my eagerness, for my
life depends on your answer. Will our help come from you?"
"Yes."
"You are sure of it?"
"Yes." There was so much firmness in the look which gave this
answer, no one could, at any rate, doubt his will, if they did his
power. "Oh, thank you a thousand times! But how, unless a miracle
should restore your speech, your gesture, your movement, how can
you, chained to that arm-chair, dumb and motionless, oppose this
marriage?" A smile lit up the old man's face, a strange smile of
the eyes in a paralyzed face. "Then I must wait?" asked the young
man.
"Yes."
"But the contract?" The same smile returned. "Will you assure me
it shall not be signed?"
"Yes," said Noirtier.
"The contract shall not be signed!" cried Morrel. "Oh, pardon
me, sir; I can scarcely realize so great a happiness. Will they not
sign it?"
"No," said the paralytic. Notwithstanding that assurance, Morrel
still hesitated. This promise of an impotent old man was so strange
that, instead of being the result of the power of his will, itthat, instead of being the result of the power of his will, it
might emanate from enfeebled organs. Is it not natural that the
madman, ignorant of his folly, should attempt things beyond his
power? The weak man talks of burdens he can raise, the timid of
giants he can confront, the poor of treasures he spends, the most
humble peasant, in the height of his pride, calls himself Jupiter.
Whether Noirtier understood the young man's indecision, or whether
he had not full confidence in his docility, he looked uneasily at
him. "What do you wish, sir?" asked Morrel; "that I should renew my
promise of remaining tranquil?" Noirtier's eye remained fixed and
firm, as if to imply that a promise did not suffice; then it passed
from his face to his hands.
"Shall I swear to you, sir?" asked Maximilian.
"Yes?" said the paralytic with the same solemnity. Morrel
understood that the old man attached great importance to an oath.
He extended his hand.
"I swear to you, on my honor," said he, "to await your decision
respecting the course I am to pursue with M. d'Epinay."
"That is right," said the old man.
"Now," said Morrel, "do you wish me to retire?"
"Yes."
"Without seeing Mademoiselle Valentine?"
"Yes."
Morrel made a sign that he was ready to obey. "But," said he,
"first allow me to embrace you as your daughter did just now."
Noirtier's expression could not be understood. The young man
pressed his lips on the same spot, on the old man's forehead, where
Valentine's had been. Then he bowed a second time and retired. He
found outside the door the old servant, to whom Valentine had given
directions. Morrel was conducted along a dark passage, which led to
a little door opening on the garden, soon found the spot where he
had entered, with the assistance of the shrubs gained the top of
the wall, and by his ladder was in an instant in the clover-field
where his cabriolet was still waiting for him. He got in it, and
thoroughly wearied by so many emotions, arrived about midnight in
the Rue Meslay, threw himself on his bed and slept soundly.Two days after, a considerable crowd was assembled, towards ten
o'clock in the morning, around the door of M. de Villefort's house,
and a long file of mourning-coaches and private carriages extended
along the Faubourg Saint-Honore and the Rue de la Pepiniere. Among
them was one of a very singular form, which appeared to have come
from a distance. It was a kind of covered wagon, painted black, and
was one of the first to arrive. Inquiry was made, and it was
ascertained that, by a strange coincidence, this carriage contained
the corpse of the Marquis de Saint-Meran, and that those who had
come thinking to attend one funeral would follow two. Their number
was great. The Marquis de Saint-Meran, one of the most zealous and
faithful dignitaries of Louis XVIII. and King Charles X., had
preserved a great number of friends, and these, added to the
personages whom the usages of society gave Villefort a claim on,
formed a considerable body.
Due information was given to the authorities, and permission
obtained that the two funerals should take place at the same time.
A second hearse, decked with the same funereal pomp, was brought to
M. de Villefort's door, and the coffin removed into it from the
post-wagon. The two bodies were to be interred in the cemetery of
Pere-la-Chaise, where M. de Villefort had long since had a tomb
prepared for the reception of his family. The remains of poor Renee
were already deposited there, and now, after ten years of
separation, her father and mother were to be reunited with her. The
Parisians, always curious, always affected by funereal display,
looked on with religious silence while the splendid procession
accompanied to their last abode two of the number of the old
aristocracy — the greatest protectors of commerce and sincere
devotees to their principles. In one of the mourning-coaches
Beauchamp, Debray, and Chateau-Renaud were talking of the very
sudden death of the marchioness. "I saw Madame de Saint-Meran only
last year at Marseilles, when I was coming back from Algiers," said