The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas (have you read this book TXT) 📕

“Yes,” looked the invalid, his eye beaming with delight at the ready interpretation of his meaning.

“What is he going to do?” thought Villefort, whose position demanded much reserve, but who was longing to know what his father’s intentions were. He left the room to give orders for another notary to be sent, but Barrois, who had heard all that passed, had guessed his master’s wishes, and had already gone to fetch one. The procureur then told his wife to come up. In the course of a quarter of an hour everyone had assembled in the chamber of the paralytic; the second notary had also arrived.

A few words sufficed for a mutual understanding between the two officers of the law. They read to Noirtier the formal copy of a will, in order to give him an idea of the terms in which such documents are generally couched; then, in order to test the capacity of the testator, the first notary said, turning towards him:

“When an individual makes his will, it is generally in favor or in prejudice of some person.”

“Yes.”

“Have you an exact idea of the amount of your fortune?”

“Yes.”

“I will name to you several sums which will increase by gradation; you will stop me when I reach the one representing the amount of your own possessions?”

“Yes.”

There was a kind of solemnity in this interrogation. Never had the struggle between mind and matter been more apparent than now, and if it was not a sublime, it was, at least, a curious spectacle. They had formed a circle round the invalid; the second notary was sitting at a table, prepared for writing, and his colleague was standing before the testator in the act of interrogating him on the subject to which we have alluded.

“Your fortune exceeds 300,000 francs, does it not?” asked he. Noirtier made a sign that it did.

“Do you possess 400,000 francs?” inquired the notary. Noirtier’s eye remained immovable.

“500,000?” The same expression continued.

“600,000—700,000—800,000—900,000?”

Noirtier stopped him at the last-named sum.

“You are then in possession of 900,000 francs?” asked the notary.

“Yes.”

“In landed property?”

“No.”

“In stock?”

“Yes.”

“The stock is in your own hands?”

The look which M. Noirtier cast on Barrois showed that there was something wanting which he knew where to find. The old servant left the room, and presently returned, bringing with him a small casket.

“Do you permit us to open this casket?” asked the notary. Noirtier gave his assent.

They opened it, and found 900,000 francs in bank scrip. The first notary handed over each note, as he examined it, to his colleague.

The total amount was found to be as M. Noirtier had stated.

“It is all as he has said; it is very evident that the mind still retains its full force and vigor.” Then, turning towards the paralytic, he said, “You possess, then, 900,000 francs of capital, which, according to the manner in which you have invested it, ought to bring in an income of about 40,000 livres?”

“Yes.”

“To whom do you desire to leave this fortune?”

“Oh!” said Madame de Villefort, “there is not much doubt on that subject. M. Noirtier tenderly loves his granddaughter, Mademoiselle de Villefort; it is she who has nursed and tended him for six years, and has, by her devoted attention, fully secured the affection, I had almost said the gratitude, of her grandfather, and it is but just that she should reap the fruit of her devotion.”

The eye of Noirtier clearly showed by its expression that he was not deceived by the false assent given by Madame de Villefort’s words and manner to the motives which she supposed him to entertain.

“Is it, then, to Mademoiselle Valentine de Villefort that you leave these 900,000 francs?” demanded the notary, thinking he had only to insert this clause, but waiting first for the assent of Noirtier, which it was necessary should be given before all the witnesses of this singular scene.

Valentine, when her name was made the subject of discussion, had stepped back, to escape unpleasant observation; her eyes were cast down, and she was crying. The old man looked at her for an instant with an expression of the deepest tenderness, then, turning towards the notary, he significantly winked his eye in token of dissent.

“What,” said the notary, “do you not intend making Mademoiselle Valentine de Villefort your residuary legatee?”

“No.”

“You are not making any mistake, are you?” said the notary; “you really mean to declare that such is not your intention?”

“No,” repeated Noirtier; “No.”

Valentine raised her head, struck dumb with astonishment. It was not so much the conviction that she was disinherited that caused her grief, but her total inability to account for the feelings which had provoked her grandfather to such an act. But Noirtier looked at her with so much affectionate tenderness that she exclaimed:

“Oh, grandpapa, I see now that it is only your fortune of which you deprive me; you still leave me the love which I have always enjoyed.”

“Ah, yes, most assuredly,” said the eyes of the paralytic, for he closed them with an expression which Valentine could not mistake.

“Thank you, thank you,” murmured she. The old man’s declaration that Valentine was not the destined inheritor of his fortune had excited the hopes of Madame de Villefort; she gradually approached the invalid, and said:

“Then, doubtless, dear M. Noirtier, you intend leaving your fortune to your grandson, Edward de Villefort?”

The winking of the eyes which answered this speech was most decided and terrible, and expressed a feeling almost amounting to hatred.

“No?” said the notary; “then, perhaps, it is to your son, M. de Villefort?”

“No.” The two notaries looked at each other in mute astonishment and inquiry as to what were the real intentions of the testator. Villefort and his wife both grew red, one from shame, the other from anger.

“What have we all done, then, dear grandpapa?” said Valentine; “you no longer seem to love any of us?”

The old man’s eyes passed rapidly from Villefort and his wife, and rested on Valentine with a look of unutterable fondness.

“Well,” said she; “if you love me, grandpapa, try and bring that love to bear upon your actions at this present moment. You know me well enough to be quite sure that I have never thought of your fortune; besides, they say I am already rich in right of my mother—too rich, even. Explain yourself, then.”

Noirtier fixed his intelligent eyes on Valentine’s hand.

“My hand?” said she.

“Yes.”

“Her hand!” exclaimed everyone.

“Oh, gentlemen, you see it is all useless, and that my father’s mind is really impaired,” said Villefort.

“Ah,” cried Valentine suddenly, “I understand. It is my marriage you mean, is it not, dear grandpapa?”

“Yes, yes, yes,” signed the paralytic, casting on Valentine a look of joyful gratitude for having guessed his meaning.