"No; and yet your father, a man accustomed to judicial accusations, ought to have known that all these deaths have not happened naturally; it is he who should have watched over you--he should have occupied my place--he should have emptied that glass--he should have risen against the assassin.
Spectre against spectre!" he murmured in a low voice, as he concluded his sentence.
"Sir," said Valentine, "I will do all I can to live, for there are two beings whose existence depends upon mine--my grandfather and Maximilian."
"I will watch over them as I have over you."
"Well, sir, do as you will with me;" and then she added, in a low voice, "oh, heavens, what will befall me?"
"Whatever may happen, Valentine, do not be alarmed; though you suffer; though you lose sight, hearing, consciousness, fear nothing; though you should awake and be ignorant where you are, still do not fear; even though you should find yourself in a sepulchral vault or coffin. Reassure yourself, then, and say to yourself: 'At this moment, a friend, a father, who lives for my happiness and that of Maximilian, watches over me!'"
"Alas, alas, what a fearful extremity!"
"Valentine, would you rather denounce your stepmother?"
"I would rather die a hundred times--oh, yes, die!"
"No, you will not die; but will you promise me, whatever happens, that you will not complain, but hope?"
"I will think of Maximilian!"
"You are my own darling child, Valentine! I alone can save you, and I will."
Valentine in the extremity of her terror joined her hands,--for she felt that the moment had arrived to ask for courage,--and began to pray, and while uttering little more than incoherent words, she forgot that her white shoulders had no other covering than her long hair, and that the pulsations of her heart could be seen through the lace of her nightdress.
Monte Cristo gently laid his hand on the young girl's arm, drew the velvet coverlet close to her throat, and said with a paternal smile,--"My child, believe in my devotion to you as you believe in the goodness of providence and the love of Maximilian."
Then he drew from his waistcoat-pocket the little emerald box, raised the golden lid, and took from it a pastille about the size of a pea, which he placed in her hand.
She took it, and looked attentively on the count; there was an expression on the face of her intrepid protector which commanded her veneration.
She evidently interrogated him by her look.
"Yes," said he.
Valentine carried the pastille to her mouth, and swallowed it.
"And now, my dear child, adieu for the present. I will try and gain a little sleep, for you are saved."
"Go," said Valentine, "whatever happens, I promise you not to fear."
Monte Cristo for some time kept his eyes fixed on the young girl, who gradually fell asleep, yielding to the effects of the narcotic the count had given her.
Then he took the glass, emptied three parts of the contents in the fireplace, that it might be supposed Valentine had taken it, and replaced it on the table; then he disappeared, after throwing a farewell glance on Valentine, who slept with the confidence and innocence of an angel.
Chapter 102.
Valentine.
The night-light continued to burn on the chimney-piece, exhausting the last drops of oil which floated on the surface of the water. The globe of the lamp appeared of a reddish hue, and the flame, brightening before it expired, threw out the last flickerings which in an inanimate object have been so often compared with the convulsions of a human creature in its final agonies. A dull and dismal light was shed over the bedclothes and curtains surrounding the young girl.
All noise in the streets had ceased, and the silence was frightful.
It was then that the door of Edward's room opened, and a head we have before noticed appeared in the glass opposite; it was Madame de Villefort, who came to witness the effects of the drink she had prepared.
She stopped in the doorway, listened for a moment to the flickering of the lamp, the only sound in that deserted room, and then advanced to the table to see if Valentine's glass were empty.
It was still about a quarter full, as we before stated.
Madame de Villefort emptied the contents into the ashes, which she disturbed that they might the more readily absorb the liquid; then she carefully rinsed the glass, and wiping it with her handkerchief replaced it on the table.
If any one could have looked into the room just then he would have noticed the hesitation with which Madame de Villefort approached the bed and looked fixedly on Valentine.
The dim light, the profound silence, and the gloomy thoughts inspired by the hour, and still more by her own conscience, all combined to produce a sensation of fear; the poisoner was terrified at the contemplation of her own work.
At length she rallied, drew aside the curtain, and leaning over the pillow gazed intently on Valentine.
The young girl no longer breathed, no breath issued through the half-closed teeth; the white lips no longer quivered--the eyes were suffused with a bluish vapor, and the long black lashes rested on a cheek white as wax.
Madame de Villefort gazed upon the face so expressive even in its stillness; then she ventured to raise the coverlet and press her hand upon the young girl's heart.
It was cold and motionless.
She only felt the pulsation in her own fingers, and withdrew her hand with a shudder.
One arm was hanging out of the bed; from shoulder to elbow it was moulded after the arms of Germain Pillon's "Graces," [*] but the fore-arm seemed to be slightly distorted by convulsion, and the hand, so delicately formed, was resting with stiff outstretched fingers on the framework of the bed.
The nails, too, were turning blue.
* Germain Pillon was a famous French sculptor (1535-1598). His best known work is "The Three Graces," now in the Louvre. Madame de Villefort had no longer any doubt; all was over--she had consummated the last terrible work she had to accomplish.
There was no more to do in the room, so the poisoner retired stealthily, as though fearing to hear the sound of her own footsteps; but as she withdrew she still held aside the curtain, absorbed in the irresistible attraction always exerted by the picture of death, so long as it is merely mysterious and does not excite disgust.
Just then the lamp again flickered; the noise startled Madame de Villefort, who shuddered and dropped the curtain.
Immediately afterwards the light expired, and the room was plunged in frightful obscurity, while the clock at that minute struck half-past four.
Overpowered with agitation, the poisoner succeeded in groping her way to the door, and reached her room in an agony of fear.
The darkness lasted two hours longer; then by degrees a cold light crept through the Venetian blinds, until at length it revealed the objects in the room.
About this time the nurse's cough was heard on the stairs and the woman entered the room with a cup in her hand.
To the tender eye of a father or a lover, the first glance would have sufficed to reveal Valentine's condition; but to this hireling, Valentine only appeared to sleep.
"Good," she exclaimed, approaching the table, "she has taken part of her draught; the glass is three-quarters empty."
Then she went to the fireplace and lit the fire, and although she had just left her bed, she could not resist the temptation offered by Valentine's sleep, so she threw herself into an arm-chair to snatch a little more rest.