Chapter 78. We hear From Yanina
If Valentine could have seen Franz’s trembling step as he left Noirtier’s chamber, she would have pitied him. Within two hours Villefort received a letter: any alliance was now impossible, the young baron so startled and ashamed. Madame de Villefort implored Noirtier, since the marriage was broken, to restore his fortune to his granddaughter. Noirtier agreed; next day he summoned the notary, tore up the old will, and made a new one leaving everything to Valentine, provided she never be separated from him. Rumors of her regained favor spread at once.
Across Paris, the Comte de Morcerf in full uniform drove to Danglars and formally asked for Eugénie’s hand. The banker, his brow darkened, refused outright. He had not forgotten the name Fernand; he had certain information from Greece. Stunned and angry, Morcerf withdrew without pressing further.
Next morning Danglars opened l’Impartial and smiled at a Yanina paragraph: a French officer named Fernand had betrayed Ali Tepelini’s castle to the Turks. That morning, Albert de Morcerf, dressed in black and agitated, made his way to Monte Cristo’s house. The count was out; Albert traced him to Gosset’s shooting-gallery, where Monte Cristo turned playing-cards into bullets with unerring aim.
Over breakfast at the count’s residence, Albert unfolded the article from his pocket. Monte Cristo read it calmly. The name Fernand meant nothing; Yanina had fallen twenty years before. Albert insisted on a full retraction. Beauchamp, he said, must publish it.
“Then do not take witnesses with you when you go to Beauchamp,” Monte Cristo advised. “Visit him alone. If he wishes to retract, give him the chance; if he refuses, you can still call on your seconds.” Albert refused any thought of consulting Haydée. He would go to Beauchamp that morning; Monte Cristo declined to serve as his second.
At the dusty, paper-strewn sanctuary of l’Impartial, Albert demanded satisfaction. “He is merely my father,” he declared. “M. Fernand Mondego, Count of Morcerf—an old soldier who has fought in twenty battles and whose honorable scars they would denounce as badges of disgrace.” Beauchamp admitted that was quite another thing; he read the article a third time, and refused retraction without investigation. They agreed to meet on 21 September—three weeks hence. Beauchamp bowed coldly; Albert stormed out, sending loose newspapers flying with his stick.
At the barrier, in bright morning air, he saw Morrel—bright-eyed, walking swiftly toward the Madeleine, enviably happy to Albert’s bitter eyes.
Chapter 79. The Lemonade
Maximilian Morrel rushed on foot to Noirtier’s Faubourg Saint-Honoré house, too eager to wait for a cab; the old servant Barrois struggled to keep up. Inside, Valentine told Morrel their future: Noirtier would move to a new home, she would accompany him, and in ten months, when she came of age, she would marry Morrel with her grandfather’s blessing. Noirtier approved, and Barrois—sweating from his errand—drank a glass of Noirtier’s lemonade.
Moments later, Barrois collapsed in violent convulsions, eyes bulging, foam at his lips. Villefort and Madame de Villefort arrived to the chaos, and Doctor d’Avrigny was summoned. D’Avrigny bounded down the back staircase, nearly knocking down Madame de Villefort descending to the kitchen. Possessed with one idea, he rushed into the kitchen, seized the three-parts-empty decanter still on the waiter, and returned upstairs. By then Barrois had suffered a second, deadlier seizure and died. D’Avrigny questioned Noirtier, who confirmed the lemonade had been bitter, and realized it had been meant for Noirtier: the old man was immune to brucine, the very poison d’Avrigny had been administering for his paralysis. A syrup-of-violets test proved it—the lemonade turned the blue syrup emerald green. D’Avrigny directly accused Villefort of presiding over a household rife with serial poisonings, leaving the prosecutor horrified.
Chapter 80. The Accusation
D’Avrigny revived the stunned Villefort and laid out the pattern of poisonings: the Saint-Méran couple had died of the same brucine, their deaths tied to a new will Noirtier had made cutting Villefort’s family out of his inheritance. The poisoner was after Noirtier’s fortune; Barrois had drunk the lethal dose by accident. D’Avrigny named Valentine as the culprit: she had packed the Saint-Mérans’ medicines, made their draughts, and taken the lemonade from Barrois for Noirtier. Villefort begged for mercy, swearing his daughter was innocent, but d’Avrigny was unmoved, telling him Valentine had stood by three corpses and deserved the scaffold. Villefort fell to his knees, arguing that if wrong he would have killed his own child. D’Avrigny agreed, but warned he would not return if another death occurred in the house. He lied to the assembled servants, saying Barrois had died of apoplexy. Terrified, all the servants quit their posts, declaring “death is in this house.” As they left, Villefort saw a faint, gloomy smile on his wife’s lips—a dark hint of her involvement.
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