Chapter 179: Chapter 179

The next morning, Valentine found her grandmother still in bed. The fever hadn’t decreased, in fact, her eyes glittered and she appeared to be suffering from severe nervous agitation.

"Oh, dear grandmother, are you worse?" Valentine exclaimed, seeing these signs of distress.

"No, child, no," Madame de Saint-Méran said. "But I was waiting impatiently for you so I could send for your father."

"My father?" Valentine asked uneasily.

"Yes. I need to speak with him."

Valentine didn’t dare oppose her grandmother’s wish, though she didn’t understand the reason. A moment later, Villefort entered.

"Sir," Madame de Saint-Méran said without any roundabout phrasing, as if fearing she had no time to lose, "you wrote to me about this child’s marriage?"

"Yes, it’s not just planned, it’s arranged."

"Your intended son-in-law is Monsieur Franz d’Epinay?"

"Isn’t he the son of General d’Epinay, who was on our side and was assassinated shortly before the usurper returned from exile?"

"Doesn’t he object to marrying the granddaughter of someone from the opposing political faction?"

"Our civil conflicts are happily resolved now, Mother," Villefort said. "Monsieur d’Epinay was just a child when his father died. He barely knows Monsieur Noirtier and will meet him, if not with pleasure, at least with indifference."

"Is it a good match?"

"Is universally respected."

"You approve of him?"

"He’s one of the most well-mannered young men I know."

Throughout this entire conversation, Valentine had remained silent.

"Well, sir," Madame de Saint-Méran said after a few minutes of reflection, "we must hurry this marriage. I don’t have much time left."

"You?" "You, dear mother?" Villefort and Valentine exclaimed simultaneously.

"I know what I’m saying," the marchioness continued. "We must hurry so that since she has no mother, she may at least have a grandmother to bless her marriage. I’m all that’s left of my poor Renée, whom you’ve forgotten so quickly, sir."

"Madame," Villefort said, "you forget I had to give my child a mother."

"A stepmother is never a real mother. But that’s beside the point, our business concerns Valentine. Let’s leave the dead in peace."

All this was said with such rapid-fire intensity that it seemed almost delirious.

"It will be as you wish," Villefort said, "especially since your wishes match mine. As soon as Monsieur d’Epinay arrives in Paris-"

"Dear grandmother," Valentine interrupted, "think about propriety, the recent death. You wouldn’t want me to marry under such sad circumstances?"

"Child!" the old lady snapped. "Don’t give me those conventional objections that stop weak minds from preparing for the future. I was married at my mother’s deathbed, and I’ve been no less happy because of it."

"Still, that thought of death, Madame..." Villefort began.

"Still? Always! I tell you I’m going to die, do you understand? Before I die, I want to see my son-in-law. I want to tell him to make my child happy. I want to read in his eyes whether he intends to obey me. I want to know him!" The old lady’s expression turned fearful. "So I can rise from the depths of my grave to find him if he fails in his duty!"

"Madame," Villefort said, "you must set aside these extreme ideas, which border on madness. The dead, once buried, don’t rise again."

"I tell you, sir, you’re wrong. Last night I had a terrible sleep. It felt like my soul was already hovering above my body. My eyes, which I tried to open, closed against my will. And what will seem impossible to you, I saw, with my eyes closed, in the exact spot where you’re standing now, coming from that corner where there’s a door to Madame Villefort’s dressing room... I saw a white figure enter silently."

"It was the fever disturbing you," Villefort said.

"Doubt it if you want, but I’m certain of what I saw. A white figure. And to prevent me from distrusting just one sense, I also heard my glass being moved, the same one that’s there now on the table."

"Dear mother, it was a dream."

"It was so real that I reached for the bell. But when I did, the shadow disappeared. My maid entered with a light."

"But she saw nothing?"

"Phantoms appear only to those who need to see them. It was my husband’s soul! If my husband’s soul can visit me, why shouldn’t my soul return to protect my granddaughter? The connection is even stronger, I think."

"Oh Madame," Villefort said, deeply affected despite himself, "don’t surrender to these dark thoughts. You’ll live with us for a long time, happy, loved, and honored. We’ll make you forget-"

"Never, never, never," the marchioness said. "When does Monsieur d’Epinay return?"

"We expect him any moment."

"Good. As soon as he arrives, inform me. We must act quickly. And I also want to see a notary to ensure all our property goes to Valentine."

"Grandmother," Valentine murmured, pressing her lips to the burning forehead, "do you want to kill me? You’re so feverish! We shouldn’t send for a notary, we should send for a doctor."

"A doctor?" She shrugged. "I’m not ill. I’m just thirsty, that’s all."

"What are you drinking, dear grandmother?"

"The same as usual, dear. My glass is on the table, give it to me, Valentine."

Valentine poured the orange juice into the glass and handed it to her grandmother with a certain dread. It was the same glass she imagined had been touched by the specter.

The marchioness drained the glass in one swallow, then turned on her pillow, repeating, "The notary, the notary!"

Villefort left the room, and Valentine sat at her grandmother’s bedside. The poor girl looked like she needed the doctor she’d recommended to her elderly relative. Bright spots burned in both cheeks, her breathing was short and difficult, and her pulse beat with feverish intensity.

She was thinking about Maximilian’s despair when he learned that Madame de Saint-Méran, instead of being an ally, was unconsciously acting as his enemy. More than once she considered revealing everything to her grandmother. She wouldn’t have hesitated if Maximilian Morrel had been Albert de Morcerf or Raoul de Château-Renaud. But Morrel came from common origins, and Valentine knew how the proud Marquise de Saint-Méran looked down on anyone without noble blood.

Each time she was about to reveal her secret, sad conviction stopped her. If her father and mother discovered it, all would be lost.

Two hours passed this way. Madame de Saint-Méran lay in feverish sleep while the notary arrived. Though his arrival was announced quietly, Madame de Saint-Méran sat up in bed.

"The notary!" she exclaimed. "Let him in!"

The notary, waiting at the door, immediately entered.

"Go, Valentine," Madame de Saint-Méran said. "Leave me alone with this gentleman."

The young girl kissed her grandmother and left with her handkerchief pressed to her eyes. At the door, she found the valet who told her the doctor was waiting in the dining room.

Valentine ran downstairs immediately.

The doctor was a family friend and also one of the most brilliant medical minds of the day. He’d been very fond of Valentine since witnessing her birth. He had a daughter about her age whose life was a constant source of anxiety because her mother had been consumptive.

"Oh," Valentine said, "we’ve been waiting for you so anxiously, dear Monsieur d’Avrigny! But first, how are Madeleine and Antoinette?"

Madeleine was d’Avrigny’s daughter, and Antoinette was his niece.

D’Avrigny smiled sadly. "Antoinette is very well, and Madeleine is tolerably so. But you sent for me, dear child. It’s not your father or Madame de Villefort who’s ill. As for you, although we doctors can’t remove our patients’ nerves, I think you need only my recommendation not to let your imagination run too wild."

Valentine blushed. D’Avrigny had an almost supernatural ability to diagnose his patients, he was one of those physicians who always worked on the body through the mind.

"No," she replied, "it’s for my poor grandmother. You know what tragedy has befallen us?"

"My grandfather is dead," Valentine said, holding back tears.

"Monsieur de Saint-Méran?"

"A stroke?" the doctor repeated.

"Yes. And my poor grandmother believes her husband, whom she never left, has called her to join him. Oh, Monsieur d’Avrigny, please do something for her!"

"In her room with the notary."

"And Monsieur Noirtier?"

"Just as he was. His mind perfectly clear, but still unable to move or speak."

"And he still loves you just as much, my dear child?"

"Yes," Valentine said. "He was very fond of me."

"Who doesn’t love you?"

Valentine smiled sadly.

"What are your grandmother’s symptoms?"

"Extreme nervous excitement and strangely agitated sleep. This morning she imagined in her sleep that her soul was hovering above her body while she watched it. It must have been delirium. She also claims she saw a phantom enter her room and even heard the noise it made touching her glass."

"How peculiar," the doctor said. "I didn’t know Madame de Saint-Méran suffered from such hallucinations."

"This is the first time I’ve seen her ," Valentine said. "This morning she frightened me so much I thought she’d gone mad. Even my father, who you know is very strong-minded, seemed deeply disturbed."

"We’ll go see," the doctor said. "What you’re describing seems very strange."

The notary descended at that moment, and Valentine was told her grandmother was alone.

"Go upstairs," she said to the doctor.

"I don’t dare. She forbade me to send for you. And as you said, I’m agitated, feverish, and unwell myself. I’ll take a walk in the garden to calm down."

The doctor pressed Valentine’s hand. While he went to visit her grandmother, she descended the steps.

We don’t need to specify which part of the garden was her favorite place to walk. After spending a short time in the flower beds surrounding the house, gathering a rose to place in her dress or hair, she turned into the dark avenue leading to the bench. From the bench she went to the gate.

As usual, Valentine wandered briefly among her flowers without picking them. The grief in her heart prevented her from assuming even this simple adornment, though she hadn’t yet had time to put on mourning clothes. For more chapters visıt n͟o͟v͟e͟l͟f͟i͟r͟e͟.net

She turned toward the avenue. As she walked forward, she thought she heard a voice calling her name. She stopped, surprised. Then the voice reached her more clearly, and she recognized it as Maximilian’s.