The Count of Monte Cristo by Alexandre Dumas (best book club books .TXT) 📕

in need of rest. Noirtier would not say that the only rest he needed was to see his child, but wished her good night, for grief and fatigue had made her appear quite ill.

The next morning she found her grandmother in bed; the fever had not abated, on the contrary her eyes glistened and she appeared to be suffering from violent nervous irritability.

“Oh, dear grandmamma, are you worse?” exclaimed Valentine, perceiving all these signs of agitation.

“No, my child, no,” said Madame de Saint-Méran; “but I was impatiently waiting for your arrival, that I might send for your father.”

“My father?” inquired Valentine, uneasily.

“Yes, I wish to speak to him.”

Valentine durst not oppose her grandmother’s wish, the cause of which she did not know, and an instant afterwards Villefort entered.

“Sir,” said Madame de Saint-Méran, without using any circumlocution, and as if fearing she had no time to lose, “you wrote to me concerning the marriage of this child?”

“Yes, madame,” replied Villefort, “it is not only projected but arranged.”

“Your intended son-in-law is named M. Franz d’Épinay?”

“Yes, madame.”

“Is he not the son of General d’Épinay who was on our side, and who was assassinated some days before the usurper returned from the Island of Elba?”

“The same.”

“Does he not dislike the idea of marrying the granddaughter of a Jacobin?”

“Our civil dissensions are now happily extinguished, mother,” said Villefort; “M. d’Épinay was quite a child when his father died, he knows very little of M. Noirtier, and will meet him, if not with pleasure, at least with indifference.”

“Is it a suitable match?”

“In every respect.”

“And the young man?”

“Is regarded with universal esteem.”

“You approve of him?”

“He is one of the most well-bred young men I know.”

During the whole of this conversation Valentine had remained silent.

“Well, sir,” said Madame de Saint-Méran, after a few minutes’ reflection, “I must hasten the marriage, for I have but a short time to live.”

“You, madame?” “You, dear mamma?” exclaimed M. de Villefort and Valentine at the same time.

“I know what I am saying,” continued the marchioness; “I must hurry you, so that, as she has no mother, she may at least have a grandmother to bless her marriage. I am all that is left to her belonging to my poor Renée, whom you have so soon forgotten, sir.”

“Ah, madame,” said Villefort, “you forget that I was obliged to give a mother to my child.”

“A stepmother is never a mother, sir. But this is not to the purpose⁠—our business concerns Valentine, let us leave the dead in peace.”

All this was said with such exceeding rapidity, that there was something in the conversation that seemed like the beginning of delirium.

“It shall be as you wish, madame,” said Villefort; “more especially since your wishes coincide with mine, and as soon as M. d’Épinay arrives in Paris⁠—”

“My dear grandmother,” interrupted Valentine, “consider decorum⁠—the recent death. You would not have me marry under such sad auspices?”

“My child,” exclaimed the old lady sharply, “let us hear none of the conventional objections that deter weak minds from preparing for the future. I also was married at the deathbed of my mother, and certainly I have not been less happy on that account.”

“Still that idea of death, madame,” said Villefort.

“Still?⁠—Always! I tell you I am going to die⁠—do you understand? Well, before dying, I wish to see my son-in-law. I wish to tell him to make my child happy; I wish to read in his eyes whether he intends to obey me;⁠—in fact, I will know him⁠—I will!” continued the old lady, with a fearful expression, “that I may rise from the depths of my grave to find him, if he should not fulfil his duty!”

“Madame,” said Villefort, “you must lay aside these exalted ideas, which almost assume the appearance of madness. The dead, once buried in their graves, rise no more.”

“And I tell you, sir, that you are mistaken. This night I have had a fearful sleep. It seemed as though my soul were already hovering over my body, my eyes, which I tried to open, closed against my will, and what will appear impossible above all to you, sir, I saw, with my eyes shut, in the spot where you are now standing, issuing from that corner where there is a door leading into Madame Villefort’s dressing-room⁠—I saw, I tell you, silently enter, a white figure.”

Valentine screamed.

“It was the fever that disturbed you, madame,” said Villefort.

“Doubt, if you please, but I am sure of what I say. I saw a white figure, and as if to prevent my discrediting the testimony of only one of my senses, I heard my glass removed⁠—the same which is there now on the table.”

“Oh, dear mother, it was a dream.”

“So little was it a dream, that I stretched my hand towards the bell; but when I did so, the shade disappeared; my maid then entered with a light.”

“But she saw no one?”

“Phantoms are visible to those only who ought to see them. It was the soul of my husband!⁠—Well, if my husband’s soul can come to me, why should not my soul reappear to guard my granddaughter? the tie is even more direct, it seems to me.”

“Oh, madame,” said Villefort, deeply affected, in spite of himself, “do not yield to those gloomy thoughts; you will long live with us, happy, loved, and honored, and we will make you forget⁠—”

“Never, never, never,” said the marchioness. “When does M. d’Épinay return?”

“We expect him every moment.”

“It is well. As soon as he arrives inform me. We must be expeditious. And then I also wish to see a notary, that I may be assured that all our property returns to Valentine.”

“Ah, grandmamma,” murmured Valentine, pressing her lips on the burning brow, “do you wish to kill me? Oh, how feverish you are; we must not send for a notary, but for a doctor!”

“A doctor?” said she, shrugging her shoulders, “I am not ill; I am thirsty⁠—that is all.”

“What are you drinking, dear grandmamma?”

“The same as usual, my dear, my glass is there on the table⁠—give it to