CHAPTER 72. Madame de Saint-Meran.

A gloomy scene had indeed just passed at the house of M. de Villefort.
After the ladies had departed for the ball, whither all the entreaties
of Madame de Villefort had failed in persuading him to accompany them,
the procureur had shut himself up in his study, according to his custom,
with a heap of papers calculated to alarm any one else, but which
generally scarcely satisfied his inordinate desires. But this time the
papers were a mere matter of form. Villefort had secluded himself, not
to study, but to reflect; and with the door locked and orders given that
he should not be disturbed excepting for important business, he sat down
in his arm-chair and began to ponder over the events, the remembrance of
which had during the last eight days filled his mind with so many gloomy
thoughts and bitter recollections. Then, instead of plunging into the
mass of documents piled before him, he opened the drawer of his desk,
touched a spring, and drew out a parcel of cherished memoranda, amongst
which he had carefully arranged, in characters only known to himself,
the names of all those who, either in his political career, in money
matters, at the bar, or in his mysterious love affairs, had become his
enemies.

Their number was formidable, now that he had begun to fear, and yet
these names, powerful though they were, had often caused him to smile
with the same kind of satisfaction experienced by a traveller who from
the summit of a mountain beholds at his feet the craggy eminences, the
almost impassable paths, and the fearful chasms, through which he has so
perilously climbed. When he had run over all these names in his memory,
again read and studied them, commenting meanwhile upon his lists, he
shook his head.

"No," he murmured, "none of my enemies would have waited so patiently
and laboriously for so long a space of time, that they might now come
and crush me with this secret. Sometimes, as Hamlet says--

'Foul deeds will rise,
Tho' all the earth o'erwhelm them to men's eyes;'

but, like a phosphoric light, they rise but to mislead. The story has
been told by the Corsican to some priest, who in his turn has repeated
it. M. de Monte Cristo may have heard it, and to enlighten himself--but
why should he wish to enlighten himself upon the subject?" asked
Villefort, after a moment's reflection, "what interest can this M. de
Monte Cristo or M. Zaccone,--son of a shipowner of Malta, discoverer
of a mine in Thessaly, now visiting Paris for the first time,--what
interest, I say, can he take in discovering a gloomy, mysterious, and
useless fact like this? However, among all the incoherent details given
to me by the Abbe Busoni and by Lord Wilmore, by that friend and that
enemy, one thing appears certain and clear in my opinion--that in
no period, in no case, in no circumstance, could there have been any
contact between him and me."

But Villefort uttered words which even he himself did not believe. He
dreaded not so much the revelation, for he could reply to or deny its
truth;--he cared little for that mene, tekel, upharsin, which appeared
suddenly in letters of blood upon the wall;--but what he was really
anxious for was to discover whose hand had traced them. While he
was endeavoring to calm his fears,--and instead of dwelling upon the
political future that had so often been the subject of his ambitious
dreams, was imagining a future limited to the enjoyments of home, in
fear of awakening the enemy that had so long slept,--the noise of a
carriage sounded in the yard, then he heard the steps of an aged person
ascending the stairs, followed by tears and lamentations, such as
servants always give vent to when they wish to appear interested in
their master's grief. He drew back the bolt of his door, and almost
directly an old lady entered, unannounced, carrying her shawl on her
arm, and her bonnet in her hand. The white hair was thrown back from her
yellow forehead, and her eyes, already sunken by the furrows of age, now
almost disappeared beneath the eyelids swollen with grief. "Oh, sir,"
she said; "oh, sir, what a misfortune! I shall die of it; oh, yes, I
shall certainly die of it!"

And then, falling upon the chair nearest the door, she burst into a
paroxysm of sobs. The servants, standing in the doorway, not daring to
approach nearer, were looking at Noirtier's old servant, who had heard
the noise from his master's room, and run there also, remaining behind
the others. Villefort rose, and ran towards his mother-in-law, for it
was she.

"Why, what can have happened?" he exclaimed, "what has thus disturbed
you? Is M. de Saint-Meran with you?"

"M. de Saint-Meran is dead," answered the old marchioness, without
preface and without expression; she appeared to be stupefied. Villefort
drew back, and clasping his hands together, exclaimed--"Dead!--so
suddenly?"

"A week ago," continued Madame de Saint-Meran, "we went out together in
the carriage after dinner. M. de Saint-Meran had been unwell for some
days; still, the idea of seeing our dear Valentine again inspired him
with courage, and notwithstanding his illness he would leave. At six
leagues from Marseilles, after having eaten some of the lozenges he is
accustomed to take, he fell into such a deep sleep, that it appeared to
me unnatural; still I hesitated to wake him, although I fancied that
his face was flushed, and that the veins of his temples throbbed more
violently than usual. However, as it became dark, and I could no longer
see, I fell asleep; I was soon aroused by a piercing shriek, as from
a person suffering in his dreams, and he suddenly threw his head back
violently. I called the valet, I stopped the postilion, I spoke to M.
de Saint-Meran, I applied my smelling-salts; but all was over, and I
arrived at Aix by the side of a corpse." Villefort stood with his mouth
half open, quite stupefied.

"Of course you sent for a doctor?"

"Immediately; but, as I have told you, it was too late."

"Yes; but then he could tell of what complaint the poor marquis had
died."

"Oh, yes, sir, he told me; it appears to have been an apoplectic
stroke."

"And what did you do then?"

"M. de Saint-Meran had always expressed a desire, in case his death
happened during his absence from Paris, that his body might be brought
to the family vault. I had him put into a leaden coffin, and I am
preceding him by a few days."

"Oh, my poor mother," said Villefort, "to have such duties to perform at
your age after such a blow!"

"God has supported me through all; and then, my dear marquis, he would
certainly have done everything for me that I performed for him. It is
true that since I left him, I seem to have lost my senses. I cannot cry;
at my age they say that we have no more tears,--still I think that
when one is in trouble one should have the power of weeping. Where
is Valentine, sir? It is on her account I am here; I wish to see
Valentine." Villefort thought it would be terrible to reply that
Valentine was at a ball; so he only said that she had gone out with her
step-mother, and that she should be fetched. "This instant, sir--this
instant, I beseech you!" said the old lady. Villefort placed the arm
of Madame de Saint-Meran within his own, and conducted her to his
apartment. "Rest yourself, mother," he said.

The marchioness raised her head at this word, and beholding the man who
so forcibly reminded her of her deeply-regretted child, who still
lived for her in Valentine, she felt touched at the name of mother, and
bursting into tears, she fell on her knees before an arm-chair, where
she buried her venerable head. Villefort left her to the care of the
women, while old Barrois ran, half-scared, to his master; for nothing
frightens old people so much as when death relaxes its vigilance over
them for a moment in order to strike some other old person. Then,
while Madame de Saint-Meran remained on her knees, praying fervently,
Villefort sent for a cab, and went himself to fetch his wife and
daughter from Madame de Morcerf's. He was so pale when he appeared at
the door of the ball-room, that Valentine ran to him, saying--

"Oh, father, some misfortune has happened!"

"Your grandmamma has just arrived, Valentine," said M. de Villefort.

"And grandpapa?" inquired the young girl, trembling with apprehension.
M. de Villefort only replied by offering his arm to his daughter. It was
just in time, for Valentine's head swam, and she staggered; Madame de
Villefort instantly hastened to her assistance, and aided her husband in
dragging her to the carriage, saying--"What a singular event! Who could
have thought it? Ah, yes, it is indeed strange!" And the wretched
family departed, leaving a cloud of sadness hanging over the rest of
the evening. At the foot of the stairs, Valentine found Barrois awaiting
her.

"M. Noirtier wishes to see you to-night, he said, in an undertone.

"Tell him I will come when I leave my dear grandmamma," she replied,
feeling, with true delicacy, that the person to whom she could be of the
most service just then was Madame de Saint-Meran. Valentine found her
grandmother in bed; silent caresses, heartwrung sobs, broken sighs,
burning tears, were all that passed in this sad interview, while Madame
de Villefort, leaning on her husband's arm, maintained all outward forms
of respect, at least towards the poor widow. She soon whispered to
her husband, "I think it would be better for me to retire, with
your permission, for the sight of me appears still to afflict your
mother-in-law." Madame de Saint-Meran heard her. "Yes, yes," she
said softly to Valentine, "let her leave; but do you stay." Madame de
Villefort left, and Valentine remained alone beside the bed, for the
procureur, overcome with astonishment at the unexpected death, had
followed his wife. Meanwhile, Barrois had returned for the first time to
old Noirtier, who having heard the noise in the house, had, as we have
said, sent his old servant to inquire the cause; on his return, his
quick intelligent eye interrogated the messenger. "Alas, sir," exclaimed
Barrois, "a great misfortune has happened. Madame de Saint-Meran has
arrived, and her husband is dead!"

M. de Saint-Meran and Noirtier had never been on strict terms of
friendship; still, the death of one old man always considerably
affects another. Noirtier let his head fall upon his chest, apparently
overwhelmed and thoughtful; then he closed one eye, in token of inquiry.
"Mademoiselle Valentine?" Noirtier nodded his head. "She is at the
ball, as you know, since she came to say good-by to you in full dress."
Noirtier again closed his left eye. "Do you wish to see her?" Noirtier
again made an affirmative sign. "Well, they have gone to fetch her, no
doubt, from Madame de Morcerf's; I will await her return, and beg her to
come up here. Is that what you wish for?"

"Yes," replied the invalid.

Barrois, therefore, as we have seen, watched for Valentine, and informed
her of her grandfather's wish. Consequently, Valentine came up to
Noirtier, on leaving Madame de Saint-Meran, who in the midst of her
grief had at last yielded to fatigue and fallen into a feverish sleep.
Within reach of her hand they placed a small table upon which stood a
bottle of orangeade, her usual beverage, and a glass. Then, as we have
said, the young girl left the bedside to see M. Noirtier. Valentine
kissed the old man, who looked at her with such tenderness that her eyes
again filled with tears, whose sources he thought must be exhausted.
The old gentleman continued to dwell upon her with the same expression.
"Yes, yes," said Valentine, "you mean that I have yet a kind grandfather
left, do you not." The old man intimated that such was his meaning.
"Ah, yes, happily I have," replied Valentine. "Without that, what would
become of me?"

It was one o'clock in the morning. Barrois, who wished to go to bed
himself, observed that after such sad events every one stood 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-Meran; "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-Meran, 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'Epinay?"

"Yes, madame."

"Is he not the son of General d'Epinay 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'Epinay 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-Meran, 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
Renee, 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'Epinay 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 death-bed 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'Epinay
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
me, Valentine." Valentine poured the orangeade into a glass and gave it
to her grandmother with a certain degree of dread, for it was the same
glass she fancied that had been touched by the spectre. The marchioness
drained the glass at a single draught, and then turned on her pillow,
repeating,--"The notary, the notary!"

M. de Villefort left the room, and Valentine seated herself at the
bedside of her grandmother. The poor child appeared herself to require
the doctor she had recommended to her aged relative. A bright spot
burned in either cheek, her respiration was short and difficult, and her
pulse beat with feverish excitement. She was thinking of the despair
of Maximilian, when he should be informed that Madame de Saint-Meran,
instead of being an ally, was unconsciously acting as his enemy. More
than once she thought of revealing all to her grandmother, and she would
not have hesitated a moment, if Maximilian Morrel had been named Albert
de Morcerf or Raoul de Chateau-Renaud; but Morrel was of plebeian
extraction, and Valentine knew how the haughty Marquise de Saint-Meran
despised all who were not noble. Her secret had each time been repressed
when she was about to reveal it, by the sad conviction that it would be
useless to do so; for, were it once discovered by her father and mother,
all would be lost. Two hours passed thus; Madame de Saint-Meran was in
a feverish sleep, and the notary had arrived. Though his coming was
announced in a very low tone, Madame de Saint-Meran arose from her
pillow. "The notary!" she exclaimed, "let him come in."

The notary, who was at the door, immediately entered. "Go, Valentine,"
said Madame de Saint-Meran, "and leave me with this gentleman."

"But, grandmamma"--

"Leave me--go!" The young girl kissed her grandmother, and left with her
handkerchief to her eyes; at the door she found the valet de chambre,
who told her that the doctor was waiting in the dining-room. Valentine
instantly ran down. The doctor was a friend of the family, and at
the same time one of the cleverest men of the day, and very fond of
Valentine, whose birth he had witnessed. He had himself a daughter about
her age, but whose life was one continued source of anxiety and fear to
him from her mother having been consumptive.

"Oh," said Valentine, "we have been waiting for you with such
impatience, dear M. d'Avrigny. But, first of all, how are Madeleine and
Antoinette?" Madeleine was the daughter of M. d'Avrigny, and Antoinette
his niece. M. d'Avrigny smiled sadly. "Antoinette is very well," he
said, "and Madeleine tolerably so. But you sent for me, my dear child.
It is not your father or Madame de Villefort who is ill. As for you,
although we doctors cannot divest our patients of nerves, I fancy you
have no further need of me than to recommend you not to allow your
imagination to take too wide a field." Valentine colored. M. d'Avrigny
carried the science of divination almost to a miraculous extent, for
he was one of the physicians who always work upon the body through the
mind. "No," she replied, "it is for my poor grandmother. You know the
calamity that has happened to us, do you not?"

"I know nothing." said M. d'Avrigny.

"Alas," said Valentine, restraining her tears, "my grandfather is dead."

"M. de Saint-Meran?"

"Yes."

"Suddenly?"

"From an apoplectic stroke."

"An apoplectic stroke?" repeated the doctor.

"Yes, and my poor grandmother fancies that her husband, whom she
never left, has called her, and that she must go and join him. Oh, M.
d'Avrigny, I beseech you, do something for her!"

"Where is she?"

"In her room with the notary."

"And M. Noirtier?"

"Just as he was, his mind perfectly clear, but the same incapability of
moving or speaking."

"And the same love for you--eh, my dear child?"

"Yes," said Valentine, "he was very fond of me."

"Who does not love you?" Valentine smiled sadly. "What are your
grandmother's symptoms?"

"An extreme nervous excitement and a strangely agitated sleep; she
fancied this morning in her sleep that her soul was hovering above her
body, which she at the same time watched. It must have been delirium;
she fancies, too, that she saw a phantom enter her chamber and even
heard the noise it made on touching her glass."

"It is singular," said the doctor; "I was not aware that Madame de
Saint-Meran was subject to such hallucinations."

"It is the first time I ever saw her in this condition," said Valentine;
"and this morning she frightened me so that I thought her mad; and my
father, who you know is a strong-minded man, himself appeared deeply
impressed."

"We will go and see," said the doctor; "what you tell me seems very
strange." The notary here descended, and Valentine was informed that her
grandmother was alone. "Go upstairs," she said to the doctor.

"And you?"

"Oh, I dare not--she forbade my sending for you; and, as you say, I am
myself agitated, feverish and out of sorts. I will go and take a turn in
the garden to recover myself." The doctor pressed Valentine's hand, and
while he visited her grandmother, she descended the steps. We need not
say which portion of the garden was her favorite walk. After remaining
for a short time in the parterre surrounding the house, and gathering
a rose to place in her waist or hair, she turned into the dark avenue
which led to the bench; then from the bench she went to the gate.
As usual, Valentine strolled for a short time among her flowers, but
without gathering them. The mourning in her heart forbade her assuming
this simple ornament, though she had not yet had time to put on the
outward semblance of woe. She then turned towards the avenue. As she
advanced she fancied she heard a voice speaking her name. She stopped
astonished, then the voice reached her ear more distinctly, and she
recognized it to be that of Maximilian.