Chapter 100. The Apparition
As the procureur had told Madame Danglars, Valentine was not yetrecovered. Bowed down with fatigue, she was indeed confined to her bed;and it was in her own room, and from the lips of Madame de Villefort,that she heard all the strange events we have related; we mean theflight of Eugénie and the arrest of Andrea Cavalcanti, or ratherBenedetto, together with the accusation of murder pronounced againsthim. But Valentine was so weak that this recital scarcely produced thesame effect it would have done had she been in her usual state ofhealth. Indeed, her brain was only the seat of vague ideas, and confusedforms, mingled with strange fancies, alone presented themselves beforeher eyes.
During the daytime Valentine’s perceptions remained tolerably clear,owing to the constant presence of M. Noirtier, who caused himself to becarried to his granddaughter’s room, and watched her with his paternaltenderness; Villefort also, on his return from the law courts,frequently passed an hour or two with his father and child.
At six o’clock Villefort retired to his study, at eight M. d’Avrignyhimself arrived, bringing the night draught prepared for the young girl,and then M. Noirtier was carried away. A nurse of the doctor’s choicesucceeded them, and never left till about ten or eleven o’clock, whenValentine was asleep. As she went downstairs she gave the keys ofValentine’s room to M. de Villefort, so that no one could reach thesick-room excepting through that of Madame de Villefort and littleEdward.
Every morning Morrel called on Noirtier to receive news of Valentine,and, extraordinary as it seemed, each day found him less uneasy.Certainly, though Valentine still labored under dreadful nervousexcitement, she was better; and moreover, Monte Cristo had told himwhen, half distracted, he had rushed to the count’s house, that if shewere not dead in two hours she would be saved. Now four days hadelapsed, and Valentine still lived.
The nervous excitement of which we speak pursued Valentine even in hersleep, or rather in that state of somnolence which succeeded her wakinghours; it was then, in the silence of night, in the dim light shed fromthe alabaster lamp on the chimney-piece, that she saw the shadows passand repass which hover over the bed of sickness, and fan the fever withtheir trembling wings. First she fancied she saw her stepmotherthreatening her, then Morrel stretched his arms towards her; sometimesmere strangers, like the Count of Monte Cristo came to visit her; eventhe very furniture, in these moments of delirium, seemed to move, andthis state lasted till about three o’clock in the morning, when a deep,heavy slumber overcame the young girl, from which she did not awake tilldaylight.
On the evening of the day on which Valentine had learned of the flightof Eugénie and the arrest of Benedetto,—Villefort having retired as wellas Noirtier and d’Avrigny,—her thoughts wandered in a confused maze,alternately reviewing her own situation and the events she had justheard.
Eleven o’clock had struck. The nurse, having placed the beverageprepared by the doctor within reach of the patient, and locked the door,was listening with terror to the comments of the servants in thekitchen, and storing her memory with all the horrible stories which hadfor some months past amused the occupants of the antechambers in thehouse of the king’s attorney. Meanwhile an unexpected scene was passingin the room which had been so carefully locked.
Ten minutes had elapsed since the nurse had left; Valentine, who for thelast hour had been suffering from the fever which returned nightly,incapable of controlling her ideas, was forced to yield to theexcitement which exhausted itself in producing and reproducing asuccession and recurrence of the same fancies and images. The night-lampthrew out countless rays, each resolving itself into some strange formto her disordered imagination, when suddenly by its flickering lightValentine thought she saw the door of her library, which was in therecess by the chimney-piece, open slowly, though she in vain listenedfor the sound of the hinges on which it turned.
At any other time Valentine would have seized the silken bell-pull andsummoned assistance, but nothing astonished her in her presentsituation. Her reason told her that all the visions she beheld were butthe children of her imagination, and the conviction was strengthened bythe fact that in the morning no traces remained of the nocturnalphantoms, who disappeared with the coming of daylight.
From behind the door a human figure appeared, but the girl was toofamiliar with such apparitions to be alarmed, and therefore only stared,hoping to recognize Morrel. The figure advanced towards the bed andappeared to listen with profound attention. At this moment a ray oflight glanced across the face of the midnight visitor.
“It is not he,” she murmured, and waited, in the assurance that this wasbut a dream, for the man to disappear or assume some other form. Still,she felt her pulse, and finding it throb violently she remembered thatthe best method of dispelling such illusions was to drink, for a draughtof the beverage prepared by the doctor to allay her fever seemed tocause a reaction of the brain, and for a short time she suffered less.Valentine therefore reached her hand towards the glass, but as soon asher trembling arm left the bed the apparition advanced more quicklytowards her, and approached the young girl so closely that she fanciedshe heard his breath, and felt the pressure of his hand.
This time the illusion, or rather the reality, surpassed anythingValentine had before experienced; she began to believe herself reallyalive and awake, and the belief that her reason was this time notdeceived made her shudder. The pressure she felt was evidently intendedto arrest her arm, and she slowly withdrew it. Then the figure, fromwhom she could not detach her eyes, and who appeared more protectingthan menacing, took the glass, and walking towards the night-light heldit up, as if to test its transparency. This did not seem sufficient; theman, or rather the ghost—for he trod so softly that no sound washeard—then poured out about a spoonful into the glass, and drank it.
Valentine witnessed this scene with a sentiment of stupefaction. Everyminute she had expected that it would vanish and give place to anothervision; but the man, instead of dissolving like a shadow, againapproached her, and said in an agitated voice, “Now you may drink.”
Valentine shuddered. It was the first time one of these visions had everaddressed her in a living voice, and she was about to utter anexclamation. The man placed his finger on her lips.
“The Count of Monte Cristo!” she murmured.
It was easy to see that no doubt now remained in the young girl’s mindas to the reality of the scene; her eyes started with terror, her handstrembled, and she rapidly drew the bedclothes closer to her. Still, thepresence of Monte Cristo at such an hour, his mysterious, fanciful, andextraordinary entrance into her room through the wall, might well seemimpossibilities to her shattered reason.
“Do not call anyone—do not be alarmed,” said the count; “do not let ashade of suspicion or uneasiness remain in your breast; the man standingbefore you, Valentine (for this time it is no ghost), is nothing morethan the tenderest father and the most respectful friend you could dreamof.”
Valentine could not reply; the voice which indicated the real presenceof a being in the room, alarmed her so much that she feared to utter asyllable; still the expression of her eyes seemed to inquire, “If yourintentions are pure, why are you here?” The count’s marvellous sagacityunderstood all that was passing in the young girl’s mind.
“Listen to me,” he said, “or, rather, look upon me; look at my face,paler even than usual, and my eyes, red with weariness—for four days Ihave not closed them, for I have been constantly watching you, toprotect and preserve you for Maximilian.”
The blood mounted rapidly to the cheeks of Valentine, for the name justannounced by the count dispelled all the fear with which his presencehad inspired her.
“Maximilian!” she exclaimed, and so sweet did the sound appear to her,that she repeated it—“Maximilian!—has he then owned all to you?”
“Everything. He told me your life was his, and I have promised him thatyou shall live.”
“You have promised him that I shall live?”
“Yes
.”
“But, sir, you spoke of vigilance and protection. Are you a doctor?”
“Yes; the best you could have at the present time, believe me.”
“But you say you have watched?” said Valentine uneasily; “where have youbeen?—I have not seen you.”
The count extended his hand towards the library.
“I was hidden behind that door,” he said, “which leads into the nexthouse, which I have rented.”
Valentine turned her eyes away, and, with an indignant expression ofpride and modest fear, exclaimed:
“Sir, I think you have been guilty of an unparalleled intrusion, andthat what you call protection is more like an insult.”
“Valentine,” he answered, “during my long watch over you, all I haveobserved has been what people visited you, what nourishment wasprepared, and what beverage was served; then, when the latter appeareddangerous to me, I entered, as I have now done, and substituted, in theplace of the poison, a healthful draught; which, instead of producingthe death intended, caused life to circulate in your veins.”
“Poison—death!” exclaimed Valentine, half believing herself under theinfluence of some feverish hallucination; “what are you saying, sir?”
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“Hush, my child,” said Monte Cristo, again placing his finger upon herlips, “I did say poison and death. But drink some of this;” and thecount took a bottle from his pocket, containing a red liquid, of whichhe poured a few drops into the glass. “Drink this, and then take nothingmore tonight.”
Valentine stretched out her hand, but scarcely had she touched the glasswhen she drew back in fear. Monte Cristo took the glass, drank half itscontents, and then presented it to Valentine, who smiled and swallowedthe rest.
“Oh, yes,” she exclaimed, “I recognize the flavor of my nocturnalbeverage which refreshed me so much, and seemed to ease my aching brain.Thank you, sir, thank you!”
“This is how you have lived during the last four nights, Valentine,”said the count. “But, oh, how I passed that time! Oh, the wretched hoursI have endured—the torture to which I have submitted when I saw thedeadly poison poured into your glass, and how I trembled lest you shoulddrink it before I could find time to throw it away!”
“Sir,” said Valentine, at the height of her terror, “you say you enduredtortures when you saw the deadly poison poured into my glass; but if yousaw this, you must also have seen the person who poured it?”
“Yes.”
Valentine raised herself in bed, and drew over her chest, which appearedwhiter than snow, the embroidered cambric, still moist with the colddews of delirium, to which were now added those of terror. “You saw theperson?” repeated the young girl.
“Yes,” repeated the count.
“What you tell me is horrible, sir. You wish to make me believesomething too dreadful. What?—attempt to murder me in my father’s house,in my room, on my bed of sickness? Oh, leave me, sir; you are temptingme—you make me doubt the goodness of Providence—it is impossible, itcannot be!”
“Are you the first that this hand has stricken? Have you not seen M. deSaint-Méran, Madame de Saint-Méran, Barrois, all fall? Would not M.Noirtier also have fallen a victim, had not the treatment he has beenpursuing for the last three years neutralized the effects of thepoison?”
“Oh, Heaven,” said Valentine; “is this the reason why grandpapa has mademe share all his beverages during the last month?”
“And have they all tasted of a slightly bitter flavor, like that ofdried orange-peel?”
“Oh, yes, yes!”
“Then that explains all,” said Monte Cristo. “Your grandfather knows,then, that a poisoner lives here; perhaps he even suspects the person.He has been fortifying you, his beloved child, against the fatal effectsof the poison, which has failed because your system was alreadyimpregnated with it. But even this would have availed little against amore deadly medium of death employed four days ago, which is generallybut too fatal.”
“But who, then, is this assassin, this murderer?”
“Let me also ask you a question. Have you never seen anyone enter yourroom at night?”
“Oh, yes; I have frequently seen shadows pass close to me, approach, anddisappear; but I took them for visions raised by my feverishimagination, and indeed when you entered I thought I was under theinfluence of delirium.”
“Then you do not know who it is that attempts your life?”
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“No,” said Valentine; “who could desire my death?”
“You shall know it now, then,” said Monte Cristo, listening.
“How do you mean?” said Valentine, looking anxiously around.
“Because you are not feverish or delirious tonight, but thoroughlyawake; midnight is striking, which is the hour murderers choose.”
“Oh, heavens,” exclaimed Valentine, wiping off the drops which ran downher forehead. Midnight struck slowly and sadly; every hour seemed tostrike with leaden weight upon the heart of the poor girl.
“Valentine,” said the count, “summon up all your courage; still thebeatings of your heart; do not let a sound escape you, and feign to beasleep; then you will see.”
Valentine seized the count’s hand. “I think I hear a noise,” she said;“leave me.”
“Good-bye, for the present,” replied the count, walking upon tiptoetowards the library door, and smiling with an expression so sad andpaternal that the young girl’s heart was filled with gratitude.
Before closing the door he turned around once more, and said, “Not amovement—not a word; let them think you asleep, or perhaps you may bekilled before I have the power of helping you.”
And with this fearful injunction the count disappeared through the door,which noiselessly closed after him.