Reading Help The Count of Monte Cristo Ch.75-117
been committed, and God, doubtless in anger, turns away his `
` face, it is for the physician to bring the culprit to `
` justice." `
` `
` "Have mercy on my child, sir," murmured Villefort. `
` `
` "You see it is yourself who have first named her -- you, her `
` father." `
` `
` "Have pity on Valentine! Listen -- it is impossible! I would `
` as willingly accuse myself! Valentine, whose heart is pure `
` as a diamond or a lily." `
` `
` "No pity, procureur; the crime is fragrant. Mademoiselle `
` herself packed all the medicines which were sent to M. de `
` Saint-Meran; and M. de Saint-Meran is dead. Mademoiselle de `
` Villefort prepared all the cooling draughts which Madame de `
` Saint-Meran took, and Madame de Saint-Meran is dead. `
` Mademoiselle de Villefort took from the hands of Barrois, `
` who was sent out, the lemonade which M. Noirtier had every `
` morning, and he has escaped by a miracle. Mademoiselle de `
` Villefort is the culprit -- she is the poisoner! To you, as `
` the king's attorney, I denounce Mademoiselle de Villefort, `
` do your duty." `
` `
` "Doctor, I resist no longer -- I can no longer defend myself `
` -- I believe you; but, for pity's sake, spare my life, my `
` honor!" `
` `
` "M. de Villefort," replied the doctor, with increased `
` vehemence, "there are occasions when I dispense with all `
` foolish human circumspection. If your daughter had committed `
` only one crime, and I saw her meditating another, I would `
` say `Warn her, punish her, let her pass the remainder of her `
` life in a convent, weeping and praying.' If she had `
` committed two crimes, I would say, `Here, M. de Villefort, `
` is a poison that the prisoner is not acquainted with, -- one `
` that has no known antidote, quick as thought, rapid as `
` lightning, mortal as the thunderbolt; give her that poison, `
` recommending her soul to God, and save your honor and your `
` life, for it is yours she aims at; and I can picture her `
` approaching your pillow with her hypocritical smiles and her `
` sweet exhortations. Woe to you, M. de Villefort, if you do `
` not strike first!' This is what I would say had she only `
` killed two persons but she has seen three deaths, -- has `
` contemplated three murdered persons, -- has knelt by three `
` corpses! To the scaffold with the poisoner -- to the `
` scaffold! Do you talk of your honor? Do what I tell you, and `
` immortality awaits you!" `
` `
` Villefort fell on his knees. "Listen," said he; "I have not `
` the strength of mind you have, or rather that which you `
` would not have, if instead of my daughter Valentine your `
` daughter Madeleine were concerned." The doctor turned pale. `
` "Doctor, every son of woman is born to suffer and to die; I `
` am content to suffer and to await death." `
` `
` "Beware," said M. d'Avrigny, "it may come slowly; you will `
` see it approach after having struck your father, your wife, `
` perhaps your son." `
` `
` Villefort, suffocating, pressed the doctor's arm. "Listen," `
` cried he; "pity me -- help me! No, my daughter is not `
` guilty. If you drag us both before a tribunal I will still `
` say, `No, my daughter is not guilty; -- there is no crime in `
` my house. I will not acknowledge a crime in my house; for `
` when crime enters a dwelling, it is like death -- it does `
` not come alone.' Listen. What does it signify to you if I am `
` murdered? Are you my friend? Are you a man? Have you a `
` heart? No, you are a physician! Well, I tell you I will not `
` drag my daughter before a tribunal, and give her up to the `
` executioner! The bare idea would kill me -- would drive me `
` like a madman to dig my heart out with my finger-nails! And `
` if you were mistaken, doctor -- if it were not my daughter `
` -- if I should come one day, pale as a spectre, and say to `
` you, `Assassin, you have killed my child!' -- hold -- if `
` that should happen, although I am a Christian, M. d'Avrigny, `
` I should kill myself." `
` `
` "Well," said the doctor, after a moment's silence, "I will `
` wait." Villefort looked at him as if he had doubted his `
` words. "Only," continued M. d'Avrigny, with a slow and `
` solemn tone, "if any one falls ill in your house, if you `
` feel yourself attacked, do not send for me, for I will come `
` no more. I will consent to share this dreadful secret with `
` you, but I will not allow shame and remorse to grow and `
` increase in my conscience, as crime and misery will in your `
` house." `
` `
` "Then you abandon me, doctor?" `
` `
` "Yes, for I can follow you no farther, and I only stop at `
` the foot of the scaffold. Some further discovery will be `
` made, which will bring this dreadful tragedy to a close. `
` Adieu." `
` `
` "I entreat you, doctor!" `
` `
` "All the horrors that disturb my thoughts make your house `
` odious and fatal. Adieu, sir." `
` `
` "One word -- one single word more, doctor! You go, leaving `
` me in all the horror of my situation, after increasing it by `
` what you have revealed to me. But what will be reported of `
` the sudden death of the poor old servant?" `
` `
` "True," said M. d'Avrigny; "we will return." The doctor went `
` out first, followed by M. de Villefort. The terrified `
` servants were on the stairs and in the passage where the `
` doctor would pass. "Sir," said d'Avrigny to Villefort, so `
` loud that all might hear, "poor Barrois has led too `
` sedentary a life of late; accustomed formerly to ride on `
` horseback, or in the carriage, to the four corners of `
` Europe, the monotonous walk around that arm-chair has killed `
` him -- his blood has thickened. He was stout, had a short, `
` thick neck; he was attacked with apoplexy, and I was called `
` in too late. By the way," added he in a low tone, "take care `
` to throw away that cup of syrup of violets in the ashes." `
` `
` The doctor, without shaking hands with Villefort, without `
` adding a word to what he had said, went out, amid the tears `
` and lamentations of the whole household. The same evening `
` all Villefort's servants, who had assembled in the kitchen, `
` and had a long consultation, came to tell Madame de `
` Villefort that they wished to leave. No entreaty, no `
` proposition of increased wages, could induce them to remain; `
` to every argument they replied, "We must go, for death is in `
` this house." They all left, in spite of prayers and `
` entreaties, testifying their regret at leaving so good a `
` master and mistress, and especially Mademoiselle Valentine, `
` so good, so kind, and so gentle. Villefort looked at `
` Valentine as they said this. She was in tears, and, strange `
` as it was, in spite of the emotions he felt at the sight of `
` these tears, he looked also at Madame de Villefort, and it `
` appeared to him as if a slight gloomy smile had passed over `
` her thin lips, like a meteor seen passing inauspiciously `
` between two clouds in a stormy sky. `
` `
` `
` `
` Chapter 81 `
` The Room of the Retired Baker. `
` `
` The evening of the day on which the Count of Morcerf had `
` left Danglars' house with feelings of shame and anger at the `
` rejection of the projected alliance, M. Andrea Cavalcanti, `
` with curled hair, mustaches in perfect order, and white `
` gloves which fitted admirably, had entered the courtyard of `
` the banker's house in La Chaussee d'Antin. He had not been `
` more than ten minutes in the drawing-room before he drew `
` Danglars aside into the recess of a bow-window, and, after `
` an ingenious preamble, related to him all his anxieties and `
` cares since his noble father's departure. He acknowledged `
` the extreme kindness which had been shown him by the `
` banker's family, in which he had been received as a son, and `
` where, besides, his warmest affections had found an object `
` on which to centre in Mademoiselle Danglars. Danglars `
` listened with the most profound attention; he had expected `
` this declaration for the last two or three days, and when at `
` last it came his eyes glistened as much as they had lowered `
` on listening to Morcerf. He would not, however, yield `
` immediately to the young man's request, but made a few `
` conscientious objections. "Are you not rather young, M. `
` Andrea, to think of marrying?" `
` `
` "I think not, sir," replied M. Cavalcanti; "in Italy the `
` nobility generally marry young. Life is so uncertain, that `
` we ought to secure happiness while it is within our reach." `
` `
` "Well, sir," said Danglars, "in case your proposals, which `
` do me honor, are accepted by my wife and daughter, by whom `
` shall the preliminary arrangements be settled? So important `
` a negotiation should, I think, be conducted by the `
` respective fathers of the young people." `
` `
` "Sir, my father is a man of great foresight and prudence. `
` Thinking that I might wish to settle in France, he left me `
` at his departure, together with the papers establishing my `
` identity, a letter promising, if he approved of my choice, `
` 150,000 livres per annum from the day I was married. So far `
` as I can judge, I suppose this to be a quarter of my `
` father's revenue." `
` `
` "I," said Danglars, "have always intended giving my daughter `
` 500,000 francs as her dowry; she is, besides, my sole `
` heiress." `
` `
` "All would then be easily arranged if the baroness and her `
` daughter are willing. We should command an annuity of `
` 175,000 livres. Supposing, also, I should persuade the `
` marquis to give me my capital, which is not likely, but `
` still is possible, we would place these two or three `
` millions in your hands, whose talent might make it realize `
` ten per cent." `
` `
` "I never give more than four per cent, and generally only `
` three and a half; but to my son-in-law I would give five, `
` and we would share the profit." `
` `
` "Very good, father-in-law," said Cavalcanti, yielding to his `
` low-born nature, which would escape sometimes through the `
`
` face, it is for the physician to bring the culprit to `
` justice." `
` `
` "Have mercy on my child, sir," murmured Villefort. `
` `
` "You see it is yourself who have first named her -- you, her `
` father." `
` `
` "Have pity on Valentine! Listen -- it is impossible! I would `
` as willingly accuse myself! Valentine, whose heart is pure `
` as a diamond or a lily." `
` `
` "No pity, procureur; the crime is fragrant. Mademoiselle `
` herself packed all the medicines which were sent to M. de `
` Saint-Meran; and M. de Saint-Meran is dead. Mademoiselle de `
` Villefort prepared all the cooling draughts which Madame de `
` Saint-Meran took, and Madame de Saint-Meran is dead. `
` Mademoiselle de Villefort took from the hands of Barrois, `
` who was sent out, the lemonade which M. Noirtier had every `
` morning, and he has escaped by a miracle. Mademoiselle de `
` Villefort is the culprit -- she is the poisoner! To you, as `
` the king's attorney, I denounce Mademoiselle de Villefort, `
` do your duty." `
` `
` "Doctor, I resist no longer -- I can no longer defend myself `
` -- I believe you; but, for pity's sake, spare my life, my `
` honor!" `
` `
` "M. de Villefort," replied the doctor, with increased `
` vehemence, "there are occasions when I dispense with all `
` foolish human circumspection. If your daughter had committed `
` only one crime, and I saw her meditating another, I would `
` say `Warn her, punish her, let her pass the remainder of her `
` life in a convent, weeping and praying.' If she had `
` committed two crimes, I would say, `Here, M. de Villefort, `
` is a poison that the prisoner is not acquainted with, -- one `
` that has no known antidote, quick as thought, rapid as `
` lightning, mortal as the thunderbolt; give her that poison, `
` recommending her soul to God, and save your honor and your `
` life, for it is yours she aims at; and I can picture her `
` approaching your pillow with her hypocritical smiles and her `
` sweet exhortations. Woe to you, M. de Villefort, if you do `
` not strike first!' This is what I would say had she only `
` killed two persons but she has seen three deaths, -- has `
` contemplated three murdered persons, -- has knelt by three `
` corpses! To the scaffold with the poisoner -- to the `
` scaffold! Do you talk of your honor? Do what I tell you, and `
` immortality awaits you!" `
` `
` Villefort fell on his knees. "Listen," said he; "I have not `
` the strength of mind you have, or rather that which you `
` would not have, if instead of my daughter Valentine your `
` daughter Madeleine were concerned." The doctor turned pale. `
` "Doctor, every son of woman is born to suffer and to die; I `
` am content to suffer and to await death." `
` `
` "Beware," said M. d'Avrigny, "it may come slowly; you will `
` see it approach after having struck your father, your wife, `
` perhaps your son." `
` `
` Villefort, suffocating, pressed the doctor's arm. "Listen," `
` cried he; "pity me -- help me! No, my daughter is not `
` guilty. If you drag us both before a tribunal I will still `
` say, `No, my daughter is not guilty; -- there is no crime in `
` my house. I will not acknowledge a crime in my house; for `
` when crime enters a dwelling, it is like death -- it does `
` not come alone.' Listen. What does it signify to you if I am `
` murdered? Are you my friend? Are you a man? Have you a `
` heart? No, you are a physician! Well, I tell you I will not `
` drag my daughter before a tribunal, and give her up to the `
` executioner! The bare idea would kill me -- would drive me `
` like a madman to dig my heart out with my finger-nails! And `
` if you were mistaken, doctor -- if it were not my daughter `
` -- if I should come one day, pale as a spectre, and say to `
` you, `Assassin, you have killed my child!' -- hold -- if `
` that should happen, although I am a Christian, M. d'Avrigny, `
` I should kill myself." `
` `
` "Well," said the doctor, after a moment's silence, "I will `
` wait." Villefort looked at him as if he had doubted his `
` words. "Only," continued M. d'Avrigny, with a slow and `
` solemn tone, "if any one falls ill in your house, if you `
` feel yourself attacked, do not send for me, for I will come `
` no more. I will consent to share this dreadful secret with `
` you, but I will not allow shame and remorse to grow and `
` increase in my conscience, as crime and misery will in your `
` house." `
` `
` "Then you abandon me, doctor?" `
` `
` "Yes, for I can follow you no farther, and I only stop at `
` the foot of the scaffold. Some further discovery will be `
` made, which will bring this dreadful tragedy to a close. `
` Adieu." `
` `
` "I entreat you, doctor!" `
` `
` "All the horrors that disturb my thoughts make your house `
` odious and fatal. Adieu, sir." `
` `
` "One word -- one single word more, doctor! You go, leaving `
` me in all the horror of my situation, after increasing it by `
` what you have revealed to me. But what will be reported of `
` the sudden death of the poor old servant?" `
` `
` "True," said M. d'Avrigny; "we will return." The doctor went `
` out first, followed by M. de Villefort. The terrified `
` servants were on the stairs and in the passage where the `
` doctor would pass. "Sir," said d'Avrigny to Villefort, so `
` loud that all might hear, "poor Barrois has led too `
` sedentary a life of late; accustomed formerly to ride on `
` horseback, or in the carriage, to the four corners of `
` Europe, the monotonous walk around that arm-chair has killed `
` him -- his blood has thickened. He was stout, had a short, `
` thick neck; he was attacked with apoplexy, and I was called `
` in too late. By the way," added he in a low tone, "take care `
` to throw away that cup of syrup of violets in the ashes." `
` `
` The doctor, without shaking hands with Villefort, without `
` adding a word to what he had said, went out, amid the tears `
` and lamentations of the whole household. The same evening `
` all Villefort's servants, who had assembled in the kitchen, `
` and had a long consultation, came to tell Madame de `
` Villefort that they wished to leave. No entreaty, no `
` proposition of increased wages, could induce them to remain; `
` to every argument they replied, "We must go, for death is in `
` this house." They all left, in spite of prayers and `
` entreaties, testifying their regret at leaving so good a `
` master and mistress, and especially Mademoiselle Valentine, `
` so good, so kind, and so gentle. Villefort looked at `
` Valentine as they said this. She was in tears, and, strange `
` as it was, in spite of the emotions he felt at the sight of `
` these tears, he looked also at Madame de Villefort, and it `
` appeared to him as if a slight gloomy smile had passed over `
` her thin lips, like a meteor seen passing inauspiciously `
` between two clouds in a stormy sky. `
` `
` `
` `
` Chapter 81 `
` The Room of the Retired Baker. `
` `
` The evening of the day on which the Count of Morcerf had `
` left Danglars' house with feelings of shame and anger at the `
` rejection of the projected alliance, M. Andrea Cavalcanti, `
` with curled hair, mustaches in perfect order, and white `
` gloves which fitted admirably, had entered the courtyard of `
` the banker's house in La Chaussee d'Antin. He had not been `
` more than ten minutes in the drawing-room before he drew `
` Danglars aside into the recess of a bow-window, and, after `
` an ingenious preamble, related to him all his anxieties and `
` cares since his noble father's departure. He acknowledged `
` the extreme kindness which had been shown him by the `
` banker's family, in which he had been received as a son, and `
` where, besides, his warmest affections had found an object `
` on which to centre in Mademoiselle Danglars. Danglars `
` listened with the most profound attention; he had expected `
` this declaration for the last two or three days, and when at `
` last it came his eyes glistened as much as they had lowered `
` on listening to Morcerf. He would not, however, yield `
` immediately to the young man's request, but made a few `
` conscientious objections. "Are you not rather young, M. `
` Andrea, to think of marrying?" `
` `
` "I think not, sir," replied M. Cavalcanti; "in Italy the `
` nobility generally marry young. Life is so uncertain, that `
` we ought to secure happiness while it is within our reach." `
` `
` "Well, sir," said Danglars, "in case your proposals, which `
` do me honor, are accepted by my wife and daughter, by whom `
` shall the preliminary arrangements be settled? So important `
` a negotiation should, I think, be conducted by the `
` respective fathers of the young people." `
` `
` "Sir, my father is a man of great foresight and prudence. `
` Thinking that I might wish to settle in France, he left me `
` at his departure, together with the papers establishing my `
` identity, a letter promising, if he approved of my choice, `
` 150,000 livres per annum from the day I was married. So far `
` as I can judge, I suppose this to be a quarter of my `
` father's revenue." `
` `
` "I," said Danglars, "have always intended giving my daughter `
` 500,000 francs as her dowry; she is, besides, my sole `
` heiress." `
` `
` "All would then be easily arranged if the baroness and her `
` daughter are willing. We should command an annuity of `
` 175,000 livres. Supposing, also, I should persuade the `
` marquis to give me my capital, which is not likely, but `
` still is possible, we would place these two or three `
` millions in your hands, whose talent might make it realize `
` ten per cent." `
` `
` "I never give more than four per cent, and generally only `
` three and a half; but to my son-in-law I would give five, `
` and we would share the profit." `
` `
` "Very good, father-in-law," said Cavalcanti, yielding to his `
` low-born nature, which would escape sometimes through the `
`