Chapter 73. The Promise
Maximilian Morrel had passed a wretched night. His lover’s instinct told him the marquis’s death portended catastrophe; pale and trembling, he drove to the gate beneath the chestnuts. Valentine, ignorant of his fears but feeling their weight, came to him by sympathy.
The cup of sorrow, she told him, was already full. Her grandmother favored her marriage to Franz d’Épinay; the contract would be signed tomorrow upon his arrival. Morrel had seen d’Épinay enter Monte Cristo’s house; his voice struck Morrel like the statue’s footstep in Don Juan. Tomorrow, Valentine would be promised to another.
When he asked if she intended to resist, she shook her head: she could not grieve her dying grandmother nor disobey her father. Morrel grew cold, almost bitter, speaking as a man admiring from afar. He would not importune or threaten; with terrible composure, he announced his intent to die rather than endure her loss.
Valentine broke. Unable to bear his suffering, she fell upon her knees and promised that if the contract could not be stopped, she would come to him—they would flee to his sister’s house, to Algiers, to England. Morrel made her swear on her mother’s memory the marriage would never take place; she made him swear to wait. They sealed their pact with a kiss through the gate-bars before she fled back along the avenue.
The next morning, a letter fixed the signing for that evening at nine; she would meet him at the gate at a quarter to nine. Morrel prepared with lover’s care: two ladders hidden in the clover-field, a lamp-less cabriolet with no servant. But the hour passed without her. Dread seized him. At quarter past ten he scaled the wall, dropped into the garden, and hid among the trees.
From concealment he overheard the procureur du roi and Doctor d’Avrigny discussing the marchioness’s death. The doctor confessed the symptoms matched brucine or strychnine—perhaps a dose meant for the paralyzed Noirtier, mistakenly given by old Barrois. Villefort, torn between his duty as a magistrate and his dread of scandal, begged d’Avrigny to bury the secret.
When they left, half-mad with love and terror, Morrel crossed the moonlit garden into the house. He found Valentine weeping at her grandmother’s bedside. After narrowly avoiding Villefort, she led him up a back staircase to Noirtier’s room. There, through signs and the dictionary, she confessed her love and begged his protection. Morrel laid out his plans: cabriolet at the gate, elopement to his sister’s. Noirtier rejected this. Nor would he permit a duel with d’Épinay. He would prevent the marriage himself. On the honor of an officer and gentleman, Morrel swore to await Noirtier’s direction, then was guided back through the darkness to his carriage.
Chapter 74. The Villefort Family Vault
Two days later a great crowd gathered before the Villefort house in the Faubourg Saint-Honoré. Two funerals were set: one for the marquis, one for the marchioness. Black mourning-coaches lined the street, including a covered wagon from afar bearing the marquis’s remains. The Parisians, ever curious, watched the splendid procession wind toward Père-Lachaise.
In one of the coaches, Beauchamp, Debray, and Château-Renaud discussed the sudden deaths—could grief alone have killed a woman of sixty-six, apparently so healthy? Beauchamp, who had seen her once, doubted it. Albert de Morcerf joined them and presented his Italian travelling companion Franz d’Épinay to Maximilian Morrel. Morrel struggled to bow with composure to the man hours from signing for Valentine. When Debray asked how Valentine bore her sorrow, Franz answered she was pale and mournful; the words pierced Morrel’s heart.
In the cemetery the two coffins were placed in the Saint-Méran vault. Albert whispered that Valentine would inherit eighty thousand livres yearly, doubled at Noirtier’s death. The crowd dispersed; Franz returned with Villefort. Within an hour, Villefort invited Franz to his study and proposed signing that very afternoon. Forms at the notary’s could be finished by day’s end, he said. Franz, who had pledged his word, agreed.
The notary, M. Deschamps, arrived with the documents. He paused to inform Franz that Noirtier had disinherited Valentine upon learning of the marriage; Villefort dismissed the will as null and void, never to be questioned in his lifetime. Franz, who had not inquired about her fortune, accepted with unaffected grace.
Valentine entered pale as marble, her blue veins visible at her temples. Madame de Villefort took her seat in shadow behind a velvet curtain, her child Edward on her knee. The witnesses—Albert and Château-Renaud—were bewildered by the mournful contrast. The notary arranged his papers, raised his spectacles, and began the questions. The bridegroom-elect had just responded when Barrois appeared. “Gentlemen,” he said firmly, surprising all, “M. Noirtier de Villefort wishes to speak immediately to M. Franz d’Épinay.” Astonishment held the room.
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