Count of Monte Cristo (abridged) (Barnes & Noble Classics Series)

  “That is right,” said Villefort, “but I should like to warn Monsieur d’Épinay that never in my lifetime shall the will be contested, for my position does not permit of the slightest scandal.”

  “I greatly regret that this point should have been raised in Mademoiselle Valentine’s presence,” said Franz. “I have never asked the amount of her fortune, which, reduced though it may be, is still considerably larger than mine. What my family seeks in this alliance with Mademoiselle de Villefort is prestige, what I seek is happiness.”

  Valentine made a slight movement in acknowledgment, while two large tears rolled down her cheeks.

  “Apart from the disappointment to your hopes, which is due solely to Monsieur Noirtier’s weakness of mind,” said Villefort, addressing his future son-in-law, “this unexpected will contains nothing that adversely affects you. What displeases my father is not that Mademoiselle de Villefort is about to marry you, but that she marries at all; a union with any other would have caused him the same grief. Old age is selfish, monsieur. Mademoiselle de Villefort has been a faithful companion to Monsieur de Noirtier: this will be impossible when once she is Baroness d’Épinay.

  “My father’s sad condition prevents our speaking to him of serious affairs, which the weakness of his mind would not permit him to understand, and I am perfectly convinced that while grasping the fact that his granddaughter is to be married, Monsieur Noirtier has even forgotten the name of the man who is to be his grandson.”

  Scarcely had M. de Villefort finished these words, which Franz acknowledged with a bow, when the door opened and Barrois appeared.

  “Messieurs,” said he, in a voice strangely firm for a servant speaking to his masters on such a solemn occasion, “messieurs, Monsieur Noirtier de Villefort desires to have speech with Monsieur Franz de Quesnel, Baron d’Épinay, immediately.”

  That there might be no mistake made in the person, he also, like the notary, gave Franz his full title.

  Villefort started; Mme de Villefort let her son slip from her knees; Valentine rose as white and silent as a statue. The notary looked at Villefort.

  “It is impossible!” said the Procureur du Roi. “Monsieur d’Épinay cannot leave the room for the moment. Tell Monsieur Noirtier that what he asks cannot be.”

  “In that case Monsieur Noirtier warns you, messieurs, that he will have himself carried into the salon,” replied Barrois.

  Astonishment knew no bounds. A smile appeared on Mme de Villefort’s face. Valentine instinctively raised her eyes to the ceiling to thank her God in Heaven.

  “Valentine, please go and see what this new whim of your grandfather’s is,” said Villefort.

  Valentine jumped up to obey, but M. de Villefort changed his mind.

  “Wait,” said he, “I will accompany you.”

  “Excuse me, monsieur,” spoke Franz, “it seems to me that since Monsieur Noirtier has sent for me it is only right that I should do as he desires; besides, I shall be happy to pay him my respects, as I have not yet had the opportunity of doing so.”

  “I beg you, monsieur, do not give yourself so much trouble,” said Villefort with visible uneasiness.

  “Pardon me, monsieur,” said Franz in a determined tone, “I will not miss this opportunity of showing Monsieur Noirtier that he does wrong to harbour bad feeling towards me, and that I am decided to overcome it by my devotedness.”

  With these words he rose and followed Valentine, who was running downstairs with the joy of a shipwrecked mariner who has touched a rock. M. de Villefort followed them.

  Noirtier was waiting, dressed in black, and seated in his chair. When the three persons he expected to see had entered his room, he looked at the door, and his valet immediately closed it.

  Villefort went up to Noirtier.

  “Here is Monsieur Franz d’Épinay,” said he, “you sent for him; he has granted your wish. We have long desired this interview, and I hope it will prove to you that your opposition to this marriage is ill-founded.”

  Noirtier’s sole answer was a look which made the blood run cold in Villefort’s veins. He made a sign to Valentine to approach.

  With her usual alertness in conversing with her grandfather, she very quickly understood him to signify the word ‘Key.’ Then she consulted the paralytic’s eyes, which were fixed on the drawer of a little chest placed between the windows. She opened it, and, found therein a key.

  The paralytic made a sign that that was what he wanted, and then his eyes rested on a writing-desk which had been forgotten for years and which was believed to contain nothing but useless papers.

  “Do you wish me to open the desk?” asked Valentine.

  “Yes,” signalled the old man.

  “Do you wish me to open the drawers?”

  “Yes.”

  “The middle one?”

  “Yes.”

  Valentine opened it and took out a bundle of papers.

  “Is this what you want, Grandpapa?” said she.

  “No.”

  She took out all the papers, one after the other, till there were no more left in the drawer.

  “The drawer is empty now,” said she.

  Noirtier’s eyes were fixed on the dictionary.

  “Very well,” said Valentine, “I understand you,” and she repeated the letters of the alphabet; at S Noirtier stopped her. She opened the dictionary and found the word ‘Secret.’ Noirtier looked at the door by which his servant had gone out.

  “Do you wish me to call Barrois?” Valentine said.

  “Yes.”

  She did as he bade her.

  Villefort was becoming more and more impatient during this conversation, and Franz was stupefied with amazement.

  The old servant entered.

  “Barrois,” began Valentine, “my grandfather desired me to take a key from this chest and open his desk. There is a secret drawer which you apparently understand; open it.”

  Barrois looked at his master.

  “Obey!” said Noirtier’s intelligent eyes.

  Barrois obeyed and took out the false bottom, revealing a bundle of papers tied together with a black ribbon.

  “Is this what you wish, monsieur?” asked Barrois.

  “Yes.”

  “Shall I give the papers to Monsieur de Villefort?”

  “No.”

  “To Monsieur Franz d’Épinay?”

  “Yes.”

  Amazed, Franz advanced a step and took the papers from Barrois. Casting a glance over the envelope, he read:

  “To be given, after my death, to General Durand; who shall bequeath the packet to his son with an injunction to preserve it as containing a paper of the utmost importance.”

  “And what do you wish me to do with this paper, monsieur?” asked Franz.

  “He doubtless wishes you to keep it, sealed as it is,” said the Procureur du Roi.

  “No, no!” replied Noirtier vigorously.

  “Perhaps you wish Monsieur Franz to read it?” said Valentine.

  “Yes,” was the reply.

  “Then let us be seated,” said Villefort impatiently, “for it will take some time.”

  Villefort sat down, but Valentine remained standing beside her grandfather, leaning against his chair, while Franz stood before him. He held the mysterious document in his hand; he unsealed the envelope, and complete silence reigned in the room as he read:

  “Extract from the Minutes of a Sitting of the Bonapartist Club in Rue Saint-Jacques, held on February the fifth, eighteen-fifteen.

  “The undersigned, Louis-Jacques Beaurepaire, Lieutenant-Colonel of Artillery, Étienne Duchampy, Brigadier-General, and Claude Lecharpal, Director of Waterways and Forests, hereby declare that on February the fourth, eighteen-fifteen, a letter arrived from the Isle of Elba recommending to the goodwill and confidence of the members of the Bonapartist Club one General Flavien de Quesnel who, having served the Emperor from eighteen-four to eighteen-fifteen, was supposed to be most devoted to the Napoleonic dynasty notwithst
anding the title of Baron that Louis the Eighteenth had conferred on him, together with his estate of Épinay.

  “In consequence thereof, a note was dispatched to General de Quesnel inviting him to attend the meeting the next day, the fifth. The note gave neither the name of the road nor the number of the house where the meeting was to be held, neither did it bear any signature, but it informed the General that, if he were ready at nine o’clock, some one would call for him.

  “The meeting lasted from nine o’clock in the evening until midnight.

  “At nine o’clock the President of the club presented himself. The General was ready. The President told him that one of the conditions of his introduction into the club was that he should be for ever ignorant of the place of the meeting and that he should allow himself to be blindfolded, at the same time swearing on oath that he would not attempt to raise the bandage.

  “General de Quesnel accepted these conditions, and gave his word of honour not to attempt to see whither he was being conducted.

  “The General ordered his carriage, but the President told him it was impossible to use it as it would not be worth while blindfolding the master if the coachman was permitted to know through which streets they passed.

  “‘What shall we do then?’ asked the General.

  “‘I have my own carriage,’ said the President.

  “‘Are you so sure of your coachman that you can trust him with a secret you cannot confide in mine?’

  “‘Our coachman is a member of the club,’ said the President, ‘we shall be driven by a State Councillor.’

  “‘Then we run the risk of being upset,’ said the General laughing.

  “We record this joke as a proof that the General was in no way forced to attend the meeting, but on the contrary came of his own free will.

  “As soon as they were in the carriage, the President reminded the General of his promise to suffer himself to be blindfolded and he made no objection to this act of formality. On the way, the President thought he saw the General endeavour to see under his bandage and reminded him of his oath.

  “‘Ah! just so,’ said the General.

  “The carriage drew up at a passage leading to the Rue Saint-Jacques. The General alighted, leaning on the arm of the President, whom he took for an ordinary member of the club. They crossed the passage, went up some stairs, and entered the conference room. The sitting was in progress. The members of the club, apprised of the introduction that was to take place, were in full complement. The General was invited to remove his bandage, which he instantly did, and appeared extremely astonished to find such a large number of acquaintances in a society of whose existence he had had no idea. They questioned him as to his sentiments, but he merely answered that the letters from the Isle of Elba must have given them full information on that score.”

  Franz stopped short, saying: “My father was a Royalist; it was unnecessary to question him regarding his views, they were well known.”

  “Hence my acquaintance with your father, dear Monsieur Franz,” said Monsieur Villefort. “A similarity of views soon draws people together.”

  “Read on,” said the old man’s eyes.

  Franz continued:

  “The President then requested the General to express himself more explicitly. Monsieur de Quesnel replied that he first of all wished to know what they wanted of him. He was made acquainted with the contents of the letter from the Isle of Elba which recommended him to the members of the club as a man on whose assistance they might rely. One paragraph was entirely devoted to the probable return of Napoleon from Elba and gave promise of another letter with further details upon the arrival of the Pharaon, a ship belonging to Morrel of Marseilles, whose captain was a loyal adherent of the Emperor’s. While the letter was being read, the General, on whom they thought they could rely as on a brother, gave visible signs of discontent and repugnance. When they had finished, he stood silent with knit brows.

  “‘Well, what have you to say to this letter, General?’ the President asked.

  “‘What I say is, that the vows of fealty made to Louis the Eighteenth are still too fresh to be violated in favour of the ex-Emperor. ’

  “This answer was too plain to permit of any doubt as to his views.

  “‘General,’ said the President, ‘for us there is no King Louis the Eighteenth any more than there is an ex-Emperor. For us there is but His Majesty the Emperor and King, who was driven out of France, his kingdom, ten months ago by violence and treason!’

  “‘Pardon, messieurs,’ returned the General, ‘maybe there is no King Louis the Eighteenth for you, but there is for me; it was he who created me Baron and Maréchal, and I shall never forget that I owe these two titles to his happy return to France.’

  “‘Be careful what you say, monsieur,’ said the President in a very grave tone as he rose from his seat. ‘Your words clearly denote that they were mistaken about you in the Isle of Elba and that they have also misled us. The communication made to you was inspired by the confidence they placed in you, a sentiment which does you honour. We have been acting under a misapprehension; for the sake of promotion and a title, you have thrown in your lot with the new Government, a Government we would overthrow. We will not force you to give us your assistance; we do not enroll anyone against his will or conscience, but we would compel you to act like a man of honour, even though you do not feel that way disposed.’

  “‘What you call acting like a man of honour is presumably knowing of your conspiracy and not revealing it. I call that being your accomplice. You see, I am more frank than you are.’”

  “Poor father!” Franz broke in again. “Now I understand why they assassinated you!”

  Valentine subconsciously looked at Franz; the young man was actually beautiful in his filial enthusiasm. Villefort paced up and down behind him. Noirtier watched the expression on each face, while he himself preserved his dignified and severe attitude.

  Franz took up the manuscript and continued:

  “‘You were not brought by force into the midst of our assembly, monsieur,’ continued the President, ‘you were invited; it was suggested you should be blindfolded, and you accepted. When you acceded to these two requests, you knew perfectly well we were not interested in securing the throne to Louis the Eighteenth, otherwise we should not have taken such precautions. Now, you understand, it would be too convenient for you to put on a mask to aid you in learning the secret of others and then have nothing further to do than remove the mask to ruin those who put their trust in you. No, no, you must tell us quite frankly whether you stand for the king of the moment who is now reigning, or for His Majesty the Emperor.’

  “‘I am a Royalist,’ was the General’s reply. ‘I have taken the oath of allegiance to Louis the Eighteenth, and I shall abide by my oath.’

  “These words were followed by a general murmur, and it was evident that a large number of the members of the club were discussing the propriety of making Monsieur d’Épinay repent of his foolish words.

  “The President stood up, and, calling for silence, said: ‘You are too serious-minded and too sensible, monsieur, not to understand the consequences of our present position. Your candour dictates to us what conditions to make. You will swear on your honour to reveal nothing of what you have heard.’

  “The General put his hand to his sword and cried out: ‘If you speak of honour, begin by not ignoring its laws and impose nothing by violence.’

  “‘And I would advise you, General, not to touch your sword,’ continued the President with a calmness that was perhaps more terrible than the General’s anger.

  “The General glanced round him, and the look in his eyes betrayed signs of uneasiness. Nevertheless, summoning all his courage, he said without flinching: ‘I will not swear.’

  “‘Then, monsieur, you shall die!’ replied the President calmly.

  “Monsieur d’Épinay turned very pale; he looked round him once more and perceived that several of the members were whispering
together and getting their arms from under their cloaks.

  “‘You need fear nothing as yet, General,’ said the President. ‘You are amongst men of honour who will employ every means to convince you before having recourse to the last extremity. At the same time, however, as you yourself said, you are amongst conspirators. You are in possession of their secret and must restore it to them.’

  “An ominous silence ensued, and, as the General still made no reply, the President called out to the doorkeeper: ‘Shut the doors!’

  “Again there was a deathlike silence. Then the General advanced and, making a violent effort, said: ‘I have a son and must think of him when surrounded by assassins.’

  “‘One man always has the right to offer insult to fifty, General, it is the privilege of weakness,’ said the head of the assembly gallantly; ‘nevertheless, you act wrongly in using this privilege. It were best to take the oath instead of heaping insults upon our members.’

  “Once more dominated by the superiority of the President, the General hesitated an instant; finally he advanced to the presidential desk and asked: ‘What is the formula?’

  “‘The formula is this: I swear on my honor never to reveal to anyone what I have seen and heard between nine and ten o’clock of the evening of February the fifth, eighteen-fifteen, and I hereby declare that, if I violate my oath, it is only just that my life pay forfeit.’

  “The General was so affected by a nervous shivering for a few seconds that he was unable to reply. Finally overcoming his obvious repugnance, he took the oath demanded of him, but in such a low and inaudible voice that several of the members insisted that it should be repeated louder and more distinctly. This the General did.

  “‘Now I should like to retire,’ said the General. ‘Am I at liberty to do so?’”

  “The President rose, appointed three members of the assembly to accompany him, and after having blindfolded the General stepped into the carriage with him. In addition to the three members was the coachman who had driven them before. The other members of the club dispersed in silence.

  “‘Where would you like us to take you?’ asked the President.