The Count of Monte Cristo, Illustrated

by Alexandre Dumas

  Chapter 101. Locusta

  Valentine was alone; two other clocks, slower than that of Saint-Philippe-du-Roule, struck the hour of midnight from differentdirections, and excepting the rumbling of a few carriages all wassilent. Then Valentine’s attention was engrossed by the clock in herroom, which marked the seconds. She began counting them, remarking thatthey were much slower than the beatings of her heart; and still shedoubted,—the inoffensive Valentine could not imagine that anyone shoulddesire her death. Why should they? To what end? What had she done toexcite the malice of an enemy?

  There was no fear of her falling asleep. One terrible idea pressed uponher mind,—that someone existed in the world who had attempted toassassinate her, and who was about to endeavor to do so again. Supposingthis person, wearied at the inefficacy of the poison, should, as MonteCristo intimated, have recourse to steel!—What if the count should haveno 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 nearlypersuaded to ring the bell, and call for help. But through the door shefancied she saw the luminous eye of the count—that eye which lived inher memory, and the recollection overwhelmed her with so much shame thatshe asked herself whether any amount of gratitude could ever repay hisadventurous and devoted friendship.

  Twenty minutes, twenty tedious minutes, passed thus, then ten more, andat last the clock struck the half-hour.

  Just then the sound of finger-nails slightly grating against the door ofthe library informed Valentine that the count was still watching, andrecommended her to do the same; at the same time, on the opposite side,that is towards Edward’s room, Valentine fancied that she heard thecreaking of the floor; she listened attentively, holding her breath tillshe was nearly suffocated; the lock turned, and the door slowly opened.Valentine had raised herself upon her elbow, and had scarcely time tothrow 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.

  Someone approached the bed and drew back the curtains. Valentinesummoned every effort, and breathed with that regular respiration whichannounces tranquil sleep.

  “Valentine!” said a low voice.

  The girl shuddered to the heart but did not reply.

  “Valentine,” repeated the same voice.

  Still silent: Valentine had promised not to wake. Then everything wasstill, excepting that Valentine heard the almost noiseless sound of someliquid being poured into the glass she had just emptied. Then sheventured to open her eyelids, and glance over her extended arm. She sawa woman in a white dressing-gown pouring a liquor from a phial into herglass. During this short time Valentine must have held her breath, ormoved in some slight degree, for the woman, disturbed, stopped andleaned over the bed, in order the better to ascertain whether Valentineslept: 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 instantlystepped back close to the wall, and there, shaded by the bed-curtains,she silently and attentively watched the slightest movement ofValentine. The latter recollected the terrible caution of Monte Cristo;she fancied that the hand not holding the phial clasped a long sharpknife. Then collecting all her remaining strength, she forced herself toclose her eyes; but this simple operation upon the most delicate organsof our frame, generally so easy to accomplish, became almost impossibleat this moment, so much did curiosity struggle to retain the eyelid openand learn the truth. Madame de Villefort, however, reassured by thesilence, which was alone disturbed by the regular breathing ofValentine, again extended her hand, and half hidden by the curtainssucceeded in emptying the contents of the phial into the glass. Then sheretired so gently that Valentine did not know she had left the room. Sheonly witnessed the withdrawal of the arm—the fair round arm of a womanbut twenty-five years old, and who yet spread death around her.

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  It is impossible to describe the sensations experienced by Valentineduring the minute and a half Madame de Villefort remained in the room.

  The grating against the library-door aroused the young girl from thestupor in which she was plunged, and which almost amounted toinsensibility. She raised her head with an effort. The noiseless dooragain turned on its hinges, and the Count of Monte Cristo reappeared.

  “Well,” said he, “do you still doubt?”

  “Oh,” murmured the young girl.

  “Have you seen?”

  “Alas!”

  “Did you recognize?” Valentine groaned.

  “Oh, yes;” she said, “I saw, but I cannot believe!”

  “Would you rather die, then, and cause Maximilian’s death?”

  “Oh,” repeated the young girl, almost bewildered, “can I not leave thehouse?—can I not escape?”

  “Valentine, the hand which now threatens you will pursue you everywhere;your servants will be seduced with gold, and death will be offered toyou disguised in every shape. You will find it in the water you drinkfrom the spring, in the fruit you pluck from the tree.”

  “But did you not say that my kind grandfather’s precaution hadneutralized the poison?”

  “Yes, but not against a strong dose; the poison will be changed, and thequantity increased.” He took the glass and raised it to his lips. “It isalready done,” he said; “brucine is no longer employed, but a simplenarcotic! I can recognize the flavor of the alcohol in which it has beendissolved. If you had taken what Madame de Villefort has poured intoyour glass, Valentine—Valentine—you would have been doomed!”

  “But,” exclaimed the young girl, “why am I thus pursued?”

  “Why?—are you so kind—so good—so unsuspicious of ill, that you cannotunderstand, Valentine?”

  “No, I have never injured her.”

  “But you are rich, Valentine; you have 200,000 livres a year, and youprevent her son from enjoying these 200,000 livres.”

  “How so? The fortune is not her gift, but is inherited from myrelations.”

  “Certainly; and that is why M. and Madame de Saint-Méran have died; thatis why M. Noirtier was sentenced the day he made you his heir; that iswhy you, in your turn, are to die—it is because your father wouldinherit your property, and your brother, his only son, succeed to his.”

  “Edward? Poor child! Are all these crimes committed on his account?”

  “Ah, then you at length understand?”

  “Heaven grant that this may not be visited upon him!”

  “Valentine, you are an angel!”

  “But why is my grandfather allowed to live?”

  “It was considered, that you dead, the fortune would naturally revert toyour brother, unless he were disinherited; and besides, the crimeappearing useless, it would be folly to commit it.”

  “And is it possible that this frightful combination of crimes has beeninvented by a woman?”

  “Do you recollect in the arbor of the Hôtel des Postes, at Perugia,seeing a man in a brown cloak, whom your stepmother was questioning uponaqua tofana? Well, ever since then, the infernal project has beenripening in her brain.”

  “Ah, then, indeed, sir,” said the sweet girl, bathed in tears, “I seethat I am condemned to die!”

  “No, Valentine, for I have foreseen all their plots; no, your enemy isconquered since we know her, and you will live, Valentine—live to behappy yourself, and to confer happiness upon a noble heart; but toinsure this you must rely on me.”

  “Command me, sir—what am I to do?”

  “You must blindly take what I give you.”

  “Alas, were it only for my own sake, I should prefer to die!”

  “You must not confide in anyone—not even in your father.”

  “My father is not engaged in this fearful plot, is he, sir?” askedValentine, clasping her hands.

  “No; and yet your father, a man accustomed to judicial accusations,ought to have known t
hat all these deaths have not happened naturally;it is he who should have watched over you—he should have occupied myplace—he should have emptied that glass—he should have risen against theassassin. Spectre against spectre!” he murmured in a low voice, as heconcluded his sentence.

  “Sir,” said Valentine, “I will do all I can to live, for there are twobeings who love me and will die if I die—my grandfather and Maximilian.”

  “I will watch over them as I have over you.”

  “Well, sir, do as you will with me;” and then she added, in a low voice,“oh, heavens, what will befall me?”

  “Whatever may happen, Valentine, do not be alarmed; though you suffer;though you lose sight, hearing, consciousness, fear nothing; though youshould awake and be ignorant where you are, still do not fear; eventhough you should find yourself in a sepulchral vault or coffin.Reassure yourself, then, and say to yourself: ‘At this moment, a friend,a father, who lives for my happiness and that of Maximilian, watchesover me!’”

  “Alas, alas, what a fearful extremity!”

  “Valentine, would you rather denounce your stepmother?”

  “I would rather die a hundred times—oh, yes, die!”

  “No, you will not die; but will you promise me, whatever happens, thatyou will not complain, but hope?”

  “I will think of Maximilian!”

  “You are my own darling child, Valentine! I alone can save you, and Iwill.”

  Valentine in the extremity of her terror joined her hands,—for she feltthat the moment had arrived to ask for courage,—and began to pray, andwhile uttering little more than incoherent words, she forgot that herwhite shoulders had no other covering than her long hair, and that thepulsations of her heart could be seen through the lace of hernightdress. Monte Cristo gently laid his hand on the young girl’s arm,drew the velvet coverlet close to her throat, and said with a paternalsmile:

  “My child, believe in my devotion to you as you believe in the goodnessof Providence and the love of Maximilian.” Valentine gave him a lookfull of gratitude, and remained as docile as a child.

  Then he drew from his waistcoat-pocket the little emerald box, raisedthe golden lid, and took from it a pastille about the size of a pea,which he placed in her hand. She took it, and looked attentively on thecount; there was an expression on the face of her intrepid protectorwhich commanded her veneration. She evidently interrogated him by herlook.

  “Yes,” said he.

  Valentine carried the pastille to her mouth, and swallowed it.

  “And now, my dear child, adieu for the present. I will try and gain alittle sleep, for you are saved.”

  “Go,” said Valentine, “whatever happens, I promise you not to fear.”

  Monte Cristo for some time kept his eyes fixed on the young girl, whogradually fell asleep, yielding to the effects of the narcotic the counthad given her. Then he took the glass, emptied three parts of thecontents in the fireplace, that it might be supposed Valentine had takenit, and replaced it on the table; then he disappeared, after throwing afarewell glance on Valentine, who slept with the confidence andinnocence of an angel at the feet of the Lord.