"No, I did not say of poison, but we can prove what was the state of the body; we shall discover the cause of her sudden death, and we shall say, `Dear Villefort, if this thing has been caused by negligence, watch over your servants; if from hatred, watch your enemies.'""What do you propose to me, d'Avrigny?" said Villefort in despair; "so soon as another is admitted into our secret, an inquest will become necessary; and an inquest in my house --impossible! Still," continued the procureur, looking at the doctor with uneasiness, "if you wish it -- if you demand it, why then it shall be done.But, doctor, you see me already so grieved -- how can I introduce into my house so much scandal, after so much sorrow? My wife and my daughter would die of it! And I, doctor -- you know a man does not arrive at the post I occupy -- one has not been king's attorney twenty-five years without having amassed a tolerable number of enemies; mine are numerous.Let this affair be talked of, it will be a triumph for them, which will make them rejoice, and cover me with shame.Pardon me, doctor, these worldly ideas; were you a priest I should not dare tell you that, but you are a man, and you know mankind.Doctor, pray recall your words; you have said nothing, have you?""My dear M.de Villefort," replied the doctor, "my first duty is to humanity.I would have saved Madame de Saint-Meran, if science could have done it; but she is dead and my duty regards the living.Let us bury this terrible secret in the deepest recesses of our hearts; I am willing, if any one should suspect this, that my silence on the subject should be imputed to my ignorance.Meanwhile, sir, watch always -- watch carefully, for perhaps the evil may not stop here.And when you have found the culprit, if you find him, I will say to you, `You are a magistrate, do as you will!'""I thank you, doctor," said Villefort with indescribable joy; "I never had a better friend than you." And, as if he feared Doctor d'Avrigny would recall his promise, he hurried him towards the house.
When they were gone, Morrel ventured out from under the trees, and the moon shone upon his face, which was so pale it might have been taken for that of a ghost."I am manifestly protected in a most wonderful, but most terrible manner," said he; "but Valentine, poor girl, how will she bear so much sorrow?"As he thought thus, he looked alternately at the window with red curtains and the three windows with white curtains.The light had almost disappeared from the former; doubtless Madame de Villefort had just put out her lamp, and the nightlamp alone reflected its dull light on the window.At the extremity of the building, on the contrary, he saw one of the three windows open.A wax-light placed on the mantle-piece threw some of its pale rays without, and a shadow was seen for one moment on the balcony.Morrel shuddered; he thought he heard a sob.
It cannot be wondered at that his mind, generally so courageous, but now disturbed by the two strongest human passions, love and fear, was weakened even to the indulgence of superstitious thoughts.Although it was impossible that Valentine should see him, hidden as he was, he thought he heard the shadow at the window call him; his disturbed mind told him so.This double error became an irresistible reality, and by one of the incomprehensible transports of youth, he bounded from his hiding-place, and with two strides, at the risk of being seen, at the risk of alarming Valentine, at the risk of being discovered by some exclamation which might escape the young girl, he crossed the flower-garden, which by the light of the moon resembled a large white lake, and having passed the rows of orange-trees which extended in front of the house, he reached the step, ran quickly up and pushed the door, which opened without offering any resistance.Valentine had not seen him.Her eyes, raised towards heaven, were watching a silvery cloud gliding over the azure, its form that of a shadow mounting towards heaven.Her poetic and excited mind pictured it as the soul of her grandmother.
Meanwhile, Morrel had traversed the anteroom and found the staircase, which, being carpeted, prevented his approach being heard, and he had regained that degree of confidence that the presence of M.de Villefort even would not have alarmed him.He was quite prepared for any such encounter.
He would at once approach Valentine's father and acknowledge all, begging Villefort to pardon and sanction the love which united two fond and loving hearts.Morrel was mad.Happily he did not meet any one.Now, especially, did he find the description Valentine had given of the interior of the house useful to him; he arrived safely at the top of the staircase, and while he was feeling his way, a sob indicated the direction he was to take.He turned back, a door partly open enabled him to see his road, and to hear the voice of one in sorrow.He pushed the door open and entered.At the other end of the room, under a white sheet which covered it, lay the corpse, still more alarming to Morrel since the account he had so unexpectedly overheard.By its side, on her knees, and with her head buried in the cushion of an easy-chair, was Valentine, trembling and sobbing, her hands extended above her head, clasped and stiff.She had turned from the window, which remained open, and was praying in accents that would have affected the most unfeeling; her words were rapid, incoherent, unintelligible, for the burning weight of grief almost stopped her utterance.The moon shining through the open blinds made the lamp appear to burn paler, and cast a sepulchral hue over the whole scene.