The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated

by Alexandre Dumas

  Chapter 80. The Accusation

  M. d’Avrigny soon restored the magistrate to consciousness, who hadlooked like a second corpse in that chamber of death.

  “Oh, death is in my house!” cried Villefort.

  “Say, rather, crime!” replied the doctor.

  “M. d’Avrigny,” cried Villefort, “I cannot tell you all I feel at thismoment,—terror, grief, madness.”

  “Yes,” said M. d’Avrigny, with an imposing calmness, “but I think it isnow time to act. I think it is time to stop this torrent of mortality. Ican no longer bear to be in possession of these secrets without the hopeof seeing the victims and society generally revenged.”

  Villefort cast a gloomy look around him. “In my house,” murmured he, “inmy house!”

  “Come, magistrate,” said M. d’Avrigny, “show yourself a man; as aninterpreter of the law, do honor to your profession by sacrificing yourselfish interests to it.”

  “You make me shudder, doctor. Do you talk of a sacrifice?”

  “I do.”

  “Do you then suspect anyone?”

  “I suspect no one; death raps at your door—it enters—it goes, notblindfolded, but circumspectly, from room to room. Well, I follow itscourse, I track its passage; I adopt the wisdom of the ancients, andfeel my way, for my friendship for your family and my respect for youare as a twofold bandage over my eyes; well——”

  “Oh, speak, speak, doctor; I shall have courage.”

  “Well, sir, you have in your establishment, or in your family, perhaps,one of the frightful monstrosities of which each century produces onlyone. Locusta and Agrippina, living at the same time, were an exception,and proved the determination of Providence to effect the entire ruin ofthe Roman empire, sullied by so many crimes. Brunhilda and Fredegundwere the results of the painful struggle of civilization in its infancy,when man was learning to control mind, were it even by an emissary fromthe realms of darkness. All these women had been, or were, beautiful.The same flower of innocence had flourished, or was still flourishing,on their brow, that is seen on the brow of the culprit in your house.”

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  Villefort shrieked, clasped his hands, and looked at the doctor with asupplicating air. But the latter went on without pity:

  “‘Seek whom the crime will profit,’ says an axiom of jurisprudence.”

  “Doctor,” cried Villefort, “alas, doctor, how often has man’s justicebeen deceived by those fatal words. I know not why, but I feel that thiscrime——”

  “You acknowledge, then, the existence of the crime?”

  “Yes, I see too plainly that it does exist. But it seems that it isintended to affect me personally. I fear an attack myself, after allthese disasters.”

  “Oh, man!” murmured d’Avrigny, “the most selfish of all animals, themost personal of all creatures, who believes the earth turns, the sunshines, and death strikes for him alone,—an ant cursing God from the topof a blade of grass! And have those who have lost their lives lostnothing?—M. de Saint-Méran, Madame de Saint-Méran, M. Noirtier——”

  “How? M. Noirtier?”

  “Yes; think you it was the poor servant’s life was coveted? No, no; likeShakespeare’s Polonius, he died for another. It was Noirtier thelemonade was intended for—it is Noirtier, logically speaking, who drankit. The other drank it only by accident, and, although Barrois is dead,it was Noirtier whose death was wished for.”

  “But why did it not kill my father?”

  “I told you one evening in the garden after Madame de Saint-Méran’sdeath—because his system is accustomed to that very poison, and the dosewas trifling to him, which would be fatal to another; because no oneknows, not even the assassin, that, for the last twelve months, I havegiven M. Noirtier brucine for his paralytic affection, while theassassin is not ignorant, for he has proved that brucine is a violentpoison.”

  “Oh, have pity—have pity!” murmured Villefort, wringing his hands.

  “Follow the culprit’s steps; he first kills M. de Saint-Méran——”

  “Oh, doctor!”

  “I would swear to it; what I heard of his symptoms agrees too well withwhat I have seen in the other cases.” Villefort ceased to contend; heonly groaned. “He first kills M. de Saint-Méran,” repeated the doctor,“then Madame de Saint-Méran,—a double fortune to inherit.” Villefortwiped the perspiration from his forehead. “Listen attentively.”

  “Alas,” stammered Villefort, “I do not lose a single word.”

  “M. Noirtier,” resumed M. d’Avrigny in the same pitiless tone,—“M.Noirtier had once made a will against you—against your family—in favorof the poor, in fact; M. Noirtier is spared, because nothing is expectedfrom him. But he has no sooner destroyed his first will and made asecond, than, for fear he should make a third, he is struck down. Thewill was made the day before yesterday, I believe; you see there hasbeen no time lost.”

  “Oh, mercy, M. d’Avrigny!”

  “No mercy, sir! The physician has a sacred mission on earth; and tofulfil it he begins at the source of life, and goes down to themysterious darkness of the tomb. When crime has been committed, and God,doubtless in anger, turns away his face, it is for the physician tobring the culprit to justice.”

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  “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 willinglyaccuse myself! Valentine, whose heart is pure as a diamond or a lily!”

  “No pity, procureur; the crime is fragrant. Mademoiselle herself packedall the medicines which were sent to M. de Saint-Méran; and M. de Saint-Méran is dead. Mademoiselle de Villefort prepared all the coolingdraughts which Madame de Saint-Méran took, and Madame de Saint-Méran isdead. Mademoiselle de Villefort took from the hands of Barrois, who wassent out, the lemonade which M. Noirtier had every morning, and he hasescaped by a miracle. Mademoiselle de Villefort is the culprit—she isthe poisoner! To you, as the king’s attorney, I denounce Mademoiselle deVillefort, 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, “thereare occasions when I dispense with all foolish human circumspection. Ifyour daughter had committed only one crime, and I saw her meditatinganother, I would say ‘Warn her, punish her, let her pass the remainderof her life in a convent, weeping and praying.’ If she had committed twocrimes, I would say, ‘Here, M. de Villefort, is a poison that theprisoner is not acquainted with,—one that has no known antidote, quickas thought, rapid as lightning, mortal as the thunderbolt; give her thatpoison, 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 yourpillow with her hypocritical smiles and her sweet exhortations. Woe toyou, M. de Villefort, if you do not strike first!’ This is what I wouldsay had she only killed two persons but she has seen three deaths,—hascontemplated three murdered persons,—has knelt by three corpses! To thescaffold 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 ratherthat which you would not have, if instead of my daughter Valentine yourdaughter Madeleine were concerned.” The doctor turned pale. “Doctor,every son of woman is born to suffer and to die; I am content to sufferand to await death.”

  “Beware,” said M. d’Avrigny, “it may come slowly; you will see itapproach after having struck your father, your wife, perhaps your son.”

  Villefort, suffocating, pressed the doctor’s arm.

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  “Listen,” cried he; “pity me—help me! No, my daughter is not guilty. Ifyou drag us both before a tribunal I will still say, ‘No, my daughter isnot guilty;—there is no crim
e in my house. I will not acknowledge acrime in my house; for when crime enters a dwelling, it is like death—itdoes not come alone.’ Listen. What does it signify to you if I ammurdered? Are you my friend? Are you a man? Have you a heart? No, youare a physician! Well, I tell you I will not drag my daughter before atribunal, and give her up to the executioner! The bare idea would killme—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 Ishould come one day, pale as a spectre, and say to you, ‘Assassin, youhave killed my child!’—hold—if that should happen, although I am aChristian, 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 anyonefalls ill in your house, if you feel yourself attacked, do not send forme, for I will come no more. I will consent to share this dreadfulsecret with you, but I will not allow shame and remorse to grow andincrease 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 ofthe scaffold. Some further discovery will be made, which will bring thisdreadful tragedy to a close. Adieu.”

  “I entreat you, doctor!”

  “All the horrors that disturb my thoughts make your house odious andfatal. Adieu, sir.”

  “One word—one single word more, doctor! You go, leaving me in all thehorror of my situation, after increasing it by what you have revealed tome. But what will be reported of the sudden death of the poor oldservant?”

  “True,” said M. d’Avrigny; “we will return.”

  The doctor went out first, followed by M. de Villefort. The terrifiedservants were on the stairs and in the passage where the doctor wouldpass.

  “Sir,” said d’Avrigny to Villefort, so loud that all might hear, “poorBarrois has led too sedentary a life of late; accustomed formerly toride on horseback, or in the carriage, to the four corners of Europe,the monotonous walk around that armchair has killed him—his blood hasthickened. He was stout, had a short, thick neck; he was attacked withapoplexy, and I was called in too late. By the way,” added he in a lowtone, “take care to throw away that cup of syrup of violets in theashes.”

  The doctor, without shaking hands with Villefort, without adding a wordto what he had said, went out, amid the tears and lamentations of thewhole household. The same evening all Villefort’s servants, who hadassembled in the kitchen, and had a long consultation, came to tellMadame de Villefort that they wished to leave. No entreaty, noproposition of increased wages, could induce them to remain; to everyargument they replied, “We must go, for death is in this house.”

  They all left, in spite of prayers and entreaties, testifying theirregret at leaving so good a master and mistress, and especiallyMademoiselle 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 ofthese tears, he looked also at Madame de Villefort, and it appeared tohim as if a slight gloomy smile had passed over her thin lips, like ameteor seen passing inauspiciously between two clouds in a stormy sky.