Chapter 178: Chapter 178

Meanwhile, at the Villefort residence, a grim scene had unfolded.

After the ladies left for the ball, Madame de Villefort had tried everything to convince him to join them, the prosecutor had locked himself in his study as usual with stacks of paperwork. But tonight, the papers were just for show. Villefort wasn’t working. He was thinking.

With the door locked and orders not to be disturbed except for emergencies, he sat in his chair and replayed the events of the past week. Instead of diving into the documents piled before him, he opened a drawer, pressed a hidden spring, and pulled out a bundle of private notes. In code only he could read, he’d carefully recorded the names of everyone who’d become his enemy, whether through his political career, financial dealings, legal cases, or secret affairs.

The list was intimidating. Yet these names, powerful as they were, often made him smile with the satisfaction of a mountain climber who reaches the summit and looks down at the treacherous paths he’d conquered.

He reviewed each name in his mind, reading and studying his notes, adding mental commentary.

"No," he muttered finally. "None of my enemies would have waited this patiently, worked this carefully, just to crush me with this secret now. Sometimes, as Shakespeare wrote, foul deeds will rise despite attempts to bury them. But they rise only to mislead, like false light in the darkness. Some priest probably heard this story from that Corsican and repeated it. Maybe Monte Cristo heard it and wants to learn more... but why would he care? What interest could this Monte Cristo, or Zaccone, son of a Maltese shipowner, discoverer of some mine in Thessaly, first-time visitor to Paris, what interest could he possibly have in uncovering a dark, mysterious, useless fact ? Among all the confusing details I’ve heard from Abbé Busoni and Lord Wilmore, one claiming to be my friend, one my enemy, one thing seems certain: there could never have been any connection between him and me. Not in any time, situation, or circumstance." Get full chapters from Nove1Fire.net

But even as he spoke these words aloud, Villefort didn’t believe them himself. He wasn’t afraid of the revelation itself, he could deny or explain it away. He cared little about ominous warnings appearing mysteriously. What he truly feared was discovering whose hand had written those warnings.

While he tried to calm his anxieties, forgetting his political ambitions and imagining a simpler future of domestic peace, afraid to wake a sleeping enemy, he heard a carriage in the courtyard. Then came the footsteps of an elderly person climbing the stairs, followed by crying and wailing from servants who always perform grief when they think their masters expect it.

He unlocked his door. Almost immediately, an old woman entered unannounced, carrying her shawl and bonnet. White hair fell back from her yellowed forehead, and her eyes, already sunken with age, had nearly disappeared beneath eyelids swollen from crying.

"Oh sir!" she cried. "Such a tragedy! I’ll die from this, yes, I’ll certainly die!"

She collapsed into the nearest chair, sobbing violently.

The servants crowded the doorway, not daring to come closer. They stared at Noirtier’s old servant, who’d heard the commotion and rushed from his master’s room to see what was happening.

Villefort stood and ran to his mother-in-law.

"What happened?" he demanded. "What’s upset you so much? Is Monsieur de Saint-Méran with you?"

"Monsieur de Saint-Méran is dead," the old marchioness announced without preamble or emotion. She seemed stunned, in shock.

Villefort stepped back, clasping his hands together. "Dead? So suddenly?"

"A week ago, we went out together in our carriage after dinner. Monsieur de Saint-Méran had been feeling unwell for several days, but the thought of seeing our dear Valentine gave him strength. Despite his illness, he insisted on leaving. About six hours outside Marseilles, after eating some of his usual lozenges, he fell into such a deep sleep that it seemed unnatural. I hesitated to wake him, though I noticed his face looked flushed and his temple veins throbbed more violently than usual. As it grew dark and I could no longer see clearly, I fell asleep too. Soon I was awakened by a piercing shriek, like someone suffering in nightmares. He suddenly threw his head back violently. I called our valet, stopped the driver, spoke to Monsieur de Saint-Méran, applied my smelling salts... but it was over. I arrived in Aix beside a corpse."

Villefort stood with his mouth half-open, completely shocked.

"You sent for a doctor, of course?"

"Immediately. But as I said, it was too late."

"But surely he could determine what killed the poor marquis?"

"Oh yes, he told me. It appears to have been a stroke."

"What did you do then?"

"Monsieur de Saint-Méran always said that if he died away from Paris, he wanted his body brought to the family vault. I had him placed in a lead coffin, and I’m traveling ahead of him by a few days."

"My poor mother," Villefort said softly, "to handle such duties at your age, after such a shock."

"God gave me strength. And my dear marquis would have done the same for me. Though I admit, since I left him, I feel like I’ve lost my mind. I can’t cry. They say at my age we have no more tears, but I think when we’re in pain, we should still be able to weep. Where is Valentine? That’s why I’m here, I need to see Valentine."

Villefort thought it would be cruel to say Valentine was at a ball, so he simply said she’d gone out with her stepmother and would be brought home immediately.

"Right now! Please, this instant!" the old lady begged.

Villefort offered his arm to Madame de Saint-Méran and led her to his apartment. "Rest here, Mother."

At the word "mother," the marchioness looked up. Seeing this man who so strongly reminded her of her deeply mourned daughter, who still lived on in Valentine, she felt touched. Bursting into tears, she fell to her knees before an armchair and buried her head there.

Villefort left her with the women while old Barrois hurried, half-terrified, to his master. Nothing frightens elderly people more than death temporarily forgetting them to strike another old person instead.

While Madame de Saint-Méran knelt praying, Villefort called for a cab and went himself to fetch his wife and daughter from Madame de Morcerf’s party.

He looked so pale when he appeared at the ballroom door that Valentine ran to him immediately.

"Father! Has something terrible happened?"

"Your grandmother just arrived, Valentine."

"And grandfather?" the young girl asked, trembling with fear.

Villefort only responded by offering his daughter his arm. It was just in time, Valentine’s head swam and she staggered. Madame de Villefort quickly came to help, assisting her husband in guiding Valentine to the carriage.

"What a strange event!" she said. "Who could have imagined? Yes, truly bizarre!"

The miserable family departed, leaving a cloud of sadness over the rest of the evening.

At the bottom of the stairs, Valentine found Barrois waiting.

"Monsieur Noirtier wishes to see you tonight," he said quietly.

"Tell him I’ll come after I leave my dear grandmother," she replied, understanding with true sensitivity that the person who needed her most right now was Madame de Saint-Méran.

Valentine found her grandmother in bed. Silent caresses, heart-wrenching sobs, broken sighs, and burning tears, these were all that passed during that sad meeting. Meanwhile, Madame de Villefort, leaning on her husband’s arm, maintained all outward forms of respect toward the poor widow.

She soon whispered to her husband, "I think it would be better if I retired. My presence seems to upset your mother-in-law further."

Madame de Saint-Méran heard her. "Yes, yes," she said softly to Valentine. "Let her leave. But you stay."

Madame de Villefort left, and Valentine remained alone at the bedside. The prosecutor, overwhelmed by the unexpected death, had followed his wife.

Meanwhile, Barrois had returned to old Noirtier for the first time. Noirtier had heard the noise in the house and sent his servant to investigate. When Barrois returned, Noirtier’s quick, intelligent eyes questioned him silently.

"Alas, sir," Barrois exclaimed, "a great tragedy has occurred. Madame de Saint-Méran has arrived, and her husband is dead!"

Monsieur de Saint-Méran and Noirtier had never been close friends, but one old man’s death always deeply affects another. Noirtier let his head fall to his chest, seemingly overwhelmed and thoughtful. Then he closed one eye, his way of asking a question.

"Mademoiselle Valentine?" Noirtier nodded. "She’s at the ball, as you know. She came to say goodbye to you in her evening dress."

Noirtier closed his left eye again.

"Do you want to see her?"

Another affirmative sign.

"Well, they’ve gone to fetch her from Madame de Morcerf’s. I’ll wait for her return and ask her to come up. Is that what you want?"

"Yes," the invalid communicated.

So Barrois, as we saw, watched for Valentine and told her of her grandfather’s wish. Valentine went up to Noirtier after leaving Madame de Saint-Méran, who had finally yielded to exhaustion despite her grief and fallen into a feverish sleep.

They’d placed a small table within reach of the old woman’s hand. On it sat a bottle of orange juice, her usual drink, and a glass.

As mentioned, the young girl left the bedside to see Monsieur Noirtier. Valentine kissed the old man, who looked at her with such tenderness that her eyes filled with tears again, tears she thought she’d already exhausted.

The old gentleman continued gazing at her with the same expression.

"Yes, yes," Valentine said. "You mean I still have a kind grandfather left, don’t you?"

The old man indicated that was exactly his meaning.

"Yes, fortunately I do," Valentine replied. "Without that, what would become of me?"

It was one in the morning. Barrois, who wanted to sleep himself, observed that after such sad events, everyone needed rest. Noirtier wouldn’t say that the only rest he needed was seeing his granddaughter, but he wished her goodnight. Grief and exhaustion had made her look quite ill.