The Count of Monte Cristo
were. He left the room to give orders for another notary to be sent,
but Barrois, who had heard all that passed, had guessed his master’s
wishes, and had already gone to fetch one. The procureur then told his
wife to come up. In the course of a quarter of an hour everyone had
assembled in the chamber of the paralytic; the second notary had also
arrived.
A few words sufficed for a mutual understanding between the two
officers of the law. They read to Noirtier the formal copy of a will,
in order to give him an idea of the terms in which such documents are
generally couched; then, in order to test the capacity of the testator,
the first notary said, turning towards him:
“When an individual makes his will, it is generally in favor or in
prejudice of some person.”
“Yes.”
“Have you an exact idea of the amount of your fortune?”
“Yes.”
“I will name to you several sums which will increase by gradation; you
will stop me when I reach the one representing the amount of your own
possessions?”
“Yes.”
There was a kind of solemnity in this interrogation. Never had the
struggle between mind and matter been more apparent than now, and if it
was not a sublime, it was, at least, a curious spectacle. They had
formed a circle round the invalid; the second notary was sitting at a
table, prepared for writing, and his colleague was standing before the
testator in the act of interrogating him on the subject to which we
have alluded.
“Your fortune exceeds 300,000 francs, does it not?” asked he. Noirtier
made a sign that it did.
“Do you possess 400,000 francs?” inquired the notary. Noirtier’s eye
remained immovable.
“500,000?” The same expression continued.
“600,000—700,000—800,000—900,000?”
Noirtier stopped him at the last-named sum.
“You are then in possession of 900,000 francs?” asked the notary.
“Yes.”
“In landed property?”
“No.”
“In stock?”
“Yes.”
“The stock is in your own hands?”
The look which M. Noirtier cast on Barrois showed that there was
something wanting which he knew where to find. The old servant left the
room, and presently returned, bringing with him a small casket.
“Do you permit us to open this casket?” asked the notary. Noirtier gave
his assent.
They opened it, and found 900,000 francs in bank scrip. The first
notary handed over each note, as he examined it, to his colleague.
The total amount was found to be as M. Noirtier had stated.
“It is all as he has said; it is very evident that the mind still
retains its full force and vigor.” Then, turning towards the paralytic,
he said, “You possess, then, 900,000 francs of capital, which,
according to the manner in which you have invested it, ought to bring
in an income of about 40,000 livres?”
“Yes.”
“To whom do you desire to leave this fortune?”
“Oh!” said Madame de Villefort, “there is not much doubt on that
subject. M. Noirtier tenderly loves his granddaughter, Mademoiselle de
Villefort; it is she who has nursed and tended him for six years, and
has, by her devoted attention, fully secured the affection, I had
almost said the gratitude, of her grandfather, and it is but just that
she should reap the fruit of her devotion.”
The eye of Noirtier clearly showed by its expression that he was not
deceived by the false assent given by Madame de Villefort’s words and
manner to the motives which she supposed him to entertain.
“Is it, then, to Mademoiselle Valentine de Villefort that you leave
these 900,000 francs?” demanded the notary, thinking he had only to
insert this clause, but waiting first for the assent of Noirtier, which
it was necessary should be given before all the witnesses of this
singular scene.
Valentine, when her name was made the subject of discussion, had
stepped back, to escape unpleasant observation; her eyes were cast
down, and she was crying. The old man looked at her for an instant with
an expression of the deepest tenderness, then, turning towards the
notary, he significantly winked his eye in token of dissent.
“What,” said the notary, “do you not intend making Mademoiselle
Valentine de Villefort your residuary legatee?”
“No.”
“You are not making any mistake, are you?” said the notary; “you really
mean to declare that such is not your intention?”
“No,” repeated Noirtier; “No.”
Valentine raised her head, struck dumb with astonishment. It was not so
much the conviction that she was disinherited that caused her grief,
but her total inability to account for the feelings which had provoked
her grandfather to such an act. But Noirtier looked at her with so much
affectionate tenderness that she exclaimed:
“Oh, grandpapa, I see now that it is only your fortune of which you
deprive me; you still leave me the love which I have always enjoyed.”
“Ah, yes, most assuredly,” said the eyes of the paralytic, for he
closed them with an expression which Valentine could not mistake.
“Thank you, thank you,” murmured she. The old man’s declaration that
Valentine was not the destined inheritor of his fortune had excited the
hopes of Madame de Villefort; she gradually approached the invalid, and
said:
“Then, doubtless, dear M. Noirtier, you intend leaving your fortune to
your grandson, Edward de Villefort?”
The winking of the eyes which answered this speech was most decided and
terrible, and expressed a feeling almost amounting to hatred.
“No?” said the notary; “then, perhaps, it is to your son, M. de
Villefort?”
“No.” The two notaries looked at each other in mute astonishment and
inquiry as to what were the real intentions of the testator. Villefort
and his wife both grew red, one from shame, the other from anger.
“What have we all done, then, dear grandpapa?” said Valentine; “you no
longer seem to love any of us?”
The old man’s eyes passed rapidly from Villefort and his wife, and
rested on Valentine with a look of unutterable fondness.
“Well,” said she; “if you love me, grandpapa, try and bring that love
to bear upon your actions at this present moment. You know me well
enough to be quite sure that I have never thought of your fortune;
besides, they say I am already rich in right of my mother—too rich,
even. Explain yourself, then.”
Noirtier fixed his intelligent eyes on Valentine’s hand.
“My hand?” said she.
“Yes.”
“Her hand!” exclaimed everyone.
“Oh, gentlemen, you see it is all useless, and that my father’s mind is
really impaired,” said Villefort.
“Ah,” cried Valentine suddenly, “I understand. It is my marriage you
mean, is it not, dear grandpapa?”
“Yes, yes, yes,” signed the paralytic, casting on Valentine a look of
joyful gratitude for having guessed his meaning.
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“You are angry with us all on account of this marriage, are you not?”
“Yes?”
“Really, this is too absurd,” said Villefort.
“Excuse me, sir,” replied the notary; “on the contrary, the meaning of
M. Noirtier is quite evident to me, and I can quite easily connect the
train of ideas passing in his mind.”
“You do not wish me to marry M. Franz d’Épinay?” observed Valentine.
“I do not wish it,” said the eye of her grandfather.
“And you disinherit your granddaughter,” continued the notary, “because
she has contracted an engagement contrary to your wishes?”
“Yes.”
“So that, but for this marriage, she would have been your heir?”
“Yes.”
There was a profound silence. The two notaries were holding a
consultation as to the best means of proceeding with the affair.
Valentine was looking at her grandfather with a smile of intense
gratitude, and Villefort was biting his lips with vexation, while
Madame de Villefort could not succeed in repressing an inward feeling
of joy, which, in spite of herself, appeared in her whole countenance.
“But,” said Villefort, who was the first to break the silence, “I
consider that I am the best judge of the propriety of the marriage in
question. I am the only person possessing the right to dispose of my
daughter’s hand. It is my wish that she should marry M. Franz
d’Épinay—and she shall marry him.”
Valentine sank weeping into a chair.
“Sir,” said the notary, “how do you intend disposing of your fortune in
case Mademoiselle de Villefort still determines on marrying M. Franz?”
The old man gave no answer.
“You will, of course, dispose of it in some way or other?”
“Yes.”
“In favor of some member of your family?”
“No.”
“Do you intend devoting it to charitable purposes, then?” pursued the
notary.
“Yes.”
“But,” said the notary, “you are aware that the law does not allow a
son to be entirely deprived of his patrimony?”
“Yes.”
“You only intend, then, to dispose of that part of your fortune which
the law allows you to subtract from the inheritance of your son?”
Noirtier made no answer.
“Do you still wish to dispose of all?”
“Yes.”
“But they will contest the will after your death?”
“No.”
“My father knows me,” replied Villefort; “he is quite sure that his
wishes will be held sacred by me; besides, he understands that in my
position I cannot plead against the poor.” The eye of Noirtier beamed
with triumph.
“What do you decide on, sir?” asked the notary of Villefort.
“Nothing, sir; it is a resolution which my father has taken and I know
he never alters his mind. I am quite resigned. These 900,000 francs
will go out of the family in order to enrich some hospital; but it is
ridiculous thus to yield to the caprices of an old man, and I shall,
therefore, act according to my conscience.”
Having said this, Villefort quitted the room with his wife, leaving his
father at liberty to do as he pleased. The same day the will was made,
the witnesses were brought, it was approved by the old man, sealed in
the presence of all and given in charge to M. Deschamps, the family
notary.
Chapter 60. The Telegraph
M. and Madame de Villefort found on their return that the Count of
Monte Cristo, who had come to visit them in their absence, had been
ushered into the drawing-room, and was still awaiting them there.
Madame de Villefort, who had not yet sufficiently recovered from her
late emotion to allow of her entertaining visitors so immediately,
retired to her bedroom, while the procureur, who could better depend
upon himself, proceeded at once to the salon.
Although M. de Villefort flattered himself that, to all outward view,
he had completely masked the feelings which were passing in his mind,
he did not know that the cloud was still lowering on his brow, so much
so that the count, whose smile was radiant, immediately noticed his
sombre and thoughtful air.
“_Ma foi!_” said Monte Cristo, after the first compliments were over,
“what is the matter with you, M. de Villefort? Have I arrived at the
moment when you were drawing up an indictment for a capital crime?”
Villefort tried to smile.
“No, count,” he replied, “I am the only victim in this case. It is I
who lose my cause, and it is ill-luck, obstinacy, and folly which have
caused it to be decided against me.”
“To what do you refer?” said Monte Cristo with well-feigned interest.
“Have you really met with some great misfortune?”
“Oh, no, monsieur,” said Villefort with a bitter smile; “it is only a
loss of money which I have sustained—nothing worth mentioning, I assure
you.”
“True,” said Monte Cristo, “the loss of a sum of money becomes almost
immaterial with a fortune such as you possess, and to one of your
philosophic spirit.”
“It is not so much the loss of the money that vexes me,” said
Villefort, “though, after all, 900,000 francs are worth regretting; but
I am the more annoyed with this fate, chance, or whatever you please to
call the power which has destroyed my hopes and my fortune, and may
blast the prospects of my child also, as it is all occasioned by an old
man relapsed into second childhood.”
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