The Count of Monte Cristo (Unabridged Penguin) (138 page)

Mme de Villefort was in shadow, behind a velvet curtain and, since she was constantly bent over her son, it was hard to tell what was going on in her mind. M. de Villefort, as always, was impassive.

The notary set out the papers with a lawyer’s habitual precision, sat down on his chair, raised his glasses and then turned to Franz. ‘Are you Monsieur Franz de Quesnel, Baron d’Epinay?’ he asked, perfectly aware of the answer.

‘I am,’ Franz replied.

The notary bowed. ‘I must inform you, Monsieur,’ he said, ‘as I am requested to do by Monsieur de Villefort, that your intended marriage with Mademoiselle de Villefort has altered the terms of Monsieur Noirtier’s will towards his granddaughter and that he is withdrawing entirely the fortune that he intended to bequeath to her. Let me at once add,’ the notary continued, ‘that the testator
has the right to alienate only a portion of his wealth and that, since he has withdrawn all of it, the will can successfully be contested, whereupon it will be declared null and void.’

‘Yes,’ Villefort said, ‘though I must warn Monsieur d’Epinay in advance that my father’s will is not to be contested in my lifetime, since my position does not allow me to suffer even the hint of a scandal.’

‘Monsieur,’ said Franz, ‘I regret that it has been found necessary to raise such a question in front of Mademoiselle Valentine. I have never tried to discover the amount of her fortune which, even reduced, will be much larger than mine. What my family sought in my marriage to Monsieur de Villefort’s family was rank; what I am seeking is happiness.’

Valentine made a barely perceptible sign of thanks, while two silent tears ran down her cheeks.

‘In any event, Monsieur,’ Villefort said to his future son-in-law, ‘apart from the loss of this portion of your expectations, there is nothing in this unexpected will which is to your discredit; it may be explained by Monsieur Noirtier’s weakness of mind. What displeases my father is not that Mademoiselle de Villefort is marrying you, but that she is marrying at all. Her marriage to any other man would have caused him equal displeasure. Old age is selfish, Monsieur, and Mademoiselle de Villefort was a devoted companion to Monsieur Noirtier in a way that the Baroness d’Epinay can no longer be. My father’s unfortunate state means that people seldom discuss serious matters with him, the feebleness of his wits not allowing him to follow such conversations. I am quite convinced that at the moment, while he is aware that his granddaughter is getting married, Monsieur Noirtier has even forgotten the name of the man who is to become his grandson.’

Hardly had M. de Villefort spoken these words, to which Franz replied with a bow, than the door of the room opened and Barrois appeared.

‘Gentlemen,’ he said, in a voice that was strangely firm for a servant speaking to his masters on such a solemn occasion. ‘Gentlemen, Monsieur Noirtier de Villefort wishes to speak immediately with Monsieur Franz de Quesnel, Baron d’Epinay.’ Like the notary, and so that no one could be mistaken, he gave the fiancé his full title.

Villefort started, Mme de Villefort let her son slip down from
her knees and Valentine got up, as pale and silent as a statue. Albert and Château-Renaud exchanged a second glance which was even more astonished than the first.

The notary looked at Villefort.

‘Impossible,’ said the crown prosecutor. ‘In any event, Monsieur d’Epinay cannot leave the drawing-room at this moment.’

‘It is precisely at this moment that my master, Monsieur Noirtier, wishes to speak of important matters with Monsieur Franz d’Epinay,’ said Barrois, with equal firmness.

‘Is grandpa Noirtier talking now?’ Edouard asked, with his usual impertinence. But Mme de Villefort did not even laugh at this quip, so much was everyone preoccupied and so solemn did the occasion seem.

‘Tell Monsieur Noirtier that it is impossible to do as he asks,’ Villefort went on.

‘Then Monsieur Noirtier would like to inform these gentlemen that he will have himself brought in person to the drawing-room,’ said Barrois.

The astonishment reached its height. A sort of smile crept over Mme de Villefort’s face. Valentine, as if involuntarily, looked towards the ceiling in gratitude to heaven.

‘Valentine,’ Villefort said, ‘please be so good as to go and find out what this new whim of your grandfather’s is.’

She hurried towards the door, but then M. de Villefort thought better of it and said: ‘Wait, I shall come with you.’

‘Excuse me, Monsieur,’ said Franz, in his turn. ‘It seems to me that, since I am the one whom Monsieur Noirtier is asking to see, it is above all up to me to do as he wishes. In any case, I shall be happy to pay my respects, since I have not yet had the opportunity to request the favour of doing so.’

‘Oh, come, come!’ said Villefort, clearly uneasy. ‘Don’t put yourself out.’

‘Excuse me, Monsieur,’ Franz said, in the voice of a man who has made up his mind. ‘I should not like to miss this opportunity to prove to Monsieur Noirtier how wrong he would be to harbour any hostility towards me – and I am determined to overcome it, whatever the cause may be, by showing him my profound devotion.’

Without allowing Villefort to detain him any longer, Franz got up and followed Valentine, who was already going down the stairs
with the joy of a drowning person whose hand has touched a rock. M. de Villefort followed them.

Château-Renaud and Morcerf exchanged a third look which was even more astonished than the first two.

Noirtier was waiting, dressed in black and seated in his chair.

When the three people he was expecting to see had entered, he looked at the door, which his valet immediately closed.

‘Mind what I say,’ Villefort whispered to Valentine, who could not disguise her joy. ‘If Monsieur Noirtier wants to tell you something that will prevent your marriage, I forbid you to understand him.’

Valentine blushed but did not reply. Villefort went across to Noirtier. ‘Here is Monsieur Franz d’Epinay,’ he said. ‘You asked to see him, Monsieur, and he has acceded to your wishes. We have all doubtless wanted this interview to take place for a long time and I shall be delighted if it proves to you how ill-founded was your opposition to Valentine’s marriage.’

Noirtier replied only with a look that turned Villefort’s blood to ice. Then the same eyes asked Valentine to come over to him. In a moment, thanks to the means which she usually employed in her conversations with her grandfather, she had found the word ‘key’. Then she looked at the invalid, who was staring hard at the drawer in a little table between the two windows. She opened the drawer and did indeed find a key inside it.

Once she had the key and the old man had shown her that it was the right one, his eyes turned towards an old, long-forgotten writing-desk which everyone assumed to be full of useless papers.

‘Should I open the writing-desk?’ Valentine asked.

‘Yes,’ the old man indicated.

‘Should I open the drawers?’

‘Yes.’

‘The ones at the side?’

‘No.’

‘The one in the middle?’

‘Yes.’

Valentine opened it and took out a bundle. ‘Is this what you want, grandfather?’ she said.

‘No.’

She took out all the other papers in turn, until there was absolutely nothing left in the drawer. ‘It’s empty now,’ she said.

Noirtier’s eyes were fastened on the dictionary.

‘Yes, grandpa, I understand,’ the young woman said. And she repeated each letter of the alphabet, one after another. At the letter ‘S’, Noirtier stopped her. She opened the dictionary and went down to the word ‘secret’.

‘Ah, there’s a secret!’ said Valentine.

‘Yes,’ Noirtier replied.

‘Who knows it?’

Noirtier looked towards the door, through which the servant had just left.

‘Barrois?’ she asked.

‘Yes,’ said Noirtier.

‘Should I call him?’

‘Yes.’

She went to the door and called Barrois.

Meanwhile Villefort was sweating with impatience and Franz was struck dumb with astonishment.

The old servant appeared.

‘Barrois,’ said Valentine, ‘my grandfather has asked me to take the key out of this console, open the desk and pull out this drawer. Now there is some secret compartment to this drawer which, it appears, you know; please open it.’

Barrois looked at the old man.

‘Obey,’ said Noirtier’s intelligent eye. Barrois did so. A hidden compartment opened and revealed a bundle of papers, tied with a black ribbon.

‘Is this what you want, Monsieur?’ Barrois asked.

‘Yes,’ said Noirtier.

‘To whom should I give these papers? To Monsieur de Villefort?’

‘No.’

‘To Mademoiselle Valentine?’

‘No.’

‘To Monsieur Franz d’Epinay?’

‘Yes.’

Franz, in astonishment, took a step backwards. ‘To me, Monsieur?’ he asked.

‘Yes.’

Barrois handed him the papers and, looking at the cover, Franz read:

To be entrusted after my death to my friend General Durand, who will himself, when he dies, bequeath this packet to his son, with instructions to keep it, since it contains a document of the greatest importance.

‘Well, then, Monsieur,’ Franz asked, ‘what would you like me to do with this document?’

‘To preserve it, sealed, as it is, no doubt,’ said the crown prosecutor.

‘No, no,’ Noirtier replied vigorously.

‘Perhaps you would like the gentleman to read it?’ Valentine asked.

‘Yes,’ the old man replied.

‘Did you understand, Baron? My grandfather is asking you to read the paper,’ Valentine said.

‘In that case, let’s sit down,’ Villefort said impatiently. ‘This will take some time.’

‘Sit down,’ said the old man’s eye.

Villefort did so, but Valentine remained standing beside her father and leaning on the back of his chair, with Franz in front of him. The mysterious piece of paper was in his hand.

‘Read,’ said the old man’s look.

Franz unwrapped the envelope and everything in the room fell silent. In the midst of this, he read: ‘Abstract of the proceedings of the session of the Bonapartist Club in the Rue Saint-Jacques, held on February the fifth, 1815.’ At that, Franz paused and exclaimed: ‘February the fifth, 1815! That is the day on which my father was assassinated!’

Valentine and Villefort said nothing; only the old man’s eye clearly commanded him to read on.

‘But it was after he left this very club that my father disappeared,’ Franz said.

Noirtier’s look still said: ‘Read!’

Franz continued: ‘We, the undersigned Louis-Jacques Beaurepaire,
lieutenant-colonel in the artillery, Etienne Duchampy, brigadier, and Claude Lecharpal, director of forestry,

‘Hereby declare that on February the fourth, 1815, a letter reached us from the island of Elba, recommending to the members of the Bonapartist Club, General Flavien de Quesnel who, having served the emperor from 1804 to 1815, was worthy of their trust and goodwill, as being entirely devoted to the Napoleonic dynasty, despite the title of baron with which King Louis XVIII had just endowed his estate of Epinay.

‘A letter was consequently sent to General de Quesnel inviting him to take part in the following day’s session, February the fifth. This letter did not inform the general of either the street or the number of the house in which the meeting was to be held, but asked him to be ready for someone to collect him at nine o’clock in the evening. Meetings were held between nine and midnight.

‘At nine o’clock the president of the club called on the general. The latter was ready. The president told him that one condition of his admission was that he should always remain ignorant of the venue for the meeting, and that he should allow his eyes to be bound, swearing that he would not try to raise the blindfold. General de Quesnel accepted this condition and promised on his honour not to try to see where he was to be led.

‘He had asked for his carriage to be prepared, but the president told him that it could not under any circumstances be used, since there was no sense in blindfolding the master if his coachman was to keep his eyes open and recognize the streets through which they drove.

‘ “What is to be done, then?” asked the general.

‘ “I have my own carriage,” said the president.

‘ “Are you then so sure of your coachman that you would confide in him a secret that you consider unwise to impart to mine?”

‘ “Our coachman belongs to the club,” said the president. “We are to be driven by a member of the council of state.”

‘ “In that case,” the general said, laughing, “We are running a different risk, which is that we shall end in the ditch!”

‘We cite this pleasantry as evidence that the general was in no way obliged to take part in the meeting, but attended it of his own free will.

‘Once they had got into the coach, the president reminded the general of his promise to let his eyes be bound. The general made
no objection to this formality and it was carried out with a scarf, left ready for the purpose in the coach. As they were driving, the president thought he observed the general trying to look under his blindfold and again reminded him of his oath. “Of course,” said the general.