Chapter 183: Chapter 183

The moon finally broke free from the clouds, bathing the estate in silver light. From his hiding spot in the garden, Morrel watched as Villefort stepped onto the terrace, followed by a man dressed entirely in black. The two figures descended the steps and walked toward the cluster of trees where Morrel was concealed. As they drew closer, Morrel recognized the second man as Doctor d’Avrigny.

Morrel instinctively backed away, retreating until a massive sycamore tree blocked his path. He was trapped. The two men stopped just a few feet away, completely unaware of his presence.

"My dear doctor," Villefort’s voice cracked with anguish, "heaven itself has cursed my family! What a terrible death, what a devastating blow! Don’t try to console me. Nothing can ease this pain. The wound is too deep, too fresh! Dead... she’s dead!"

Cold sweat broke out on Morrel’s forehead, and his teeth began to chatter. Who had died in that house, the same house Villefort had called cursed?

"My dear Monsieur Villefort," the doctor replied, his tone making Morrel’s blood run cold, "I didn’t bring you out here to comfort you. Quite the opposite."

"What do you mean?" Alarm flooded Villefort’s voice.

"I mean that beyond the tragedy that just befell you, there may be another, perhaps even greater."

"How is that possible?" Villefort clasped his hands together. "What are you about to tell me?"

"Are we completely alone?"

"Yes, completely. But why all this secrecy?"

"Because I have something terrible to share with you." The doctor gestured to a nearby bench. "Let’s sit down."

Villefort collapsed onto the bench more than sat. The doctor stood before him, one hand resting on his shoulder. Hidden behind the tree, Morrel pressed one hand to his head and the other to his chest, terrified his racing heartbeat might give him away.

Dead, dead! The word echoed in his mind. He felt like he was dying too.

"Speak, doctor. I’m listening," Villefort said. "Tell me everything. I’m prepared for the worst."

"Madame de Saint-Méran was certainly elderly, but she was in excellent health."

Morrel finally allowed himself to breathe again, something he hadn’t done properly for the past ten minutes.

"Grief killed her," Villefort said. "Yes, grief, doctor! After forty years of marriage to the marquis-"

"It wasn’t grief, my dear Villefort," the doctor interrupted. "Grief can kill, though it rarely does. But never in a single day. Never in an hour. Never in ten minutes."

Villefort said nothing. He simply lifted his head, which had been bowed, and stared at the doctor in shock.

"Were you present during her final moments?" Doctor d’Avrigny asked.

"I was. You asked me to stay."

"Did you notice the symptoms of her illness?"

"I did. Madame de Saint-Méran had three attacks, each one worse than the last. By the time you arrived, she’d been gasping for breath for several minutes. Then she had what I thought was just a nervous seizure. But when I saw her body go rigid, her limbs and neck completely stiff, I knew something was seriously wrong. I could tell from your expression that my fears were justified. Before I could catch your eye, she had a second attack. This one was even more violent. The same convulsions, but worse. Her mouth contracted and turned purple."

"And the third attack killed her."

"After the first attack, I suspected tetanus. You confirmed my diagnosis."

"Yes, in front of the others," the doctor said quietly. "But now we’re alone."

"What are you about to say? Please, spare me!"

"The symptoms of tetanus and poisoning by plant-based toxins are identical."

Villefort shot up from the bench, then immediately collapsed back down, silent and motionless. Behind the tree, Morrel wondered if he was dreaming or awake.

"Listen," the doctor continued, "I understand the gravity of what I’m saying, and I know who I’m saying it to."

"Are you speaking to me as a magistrate or as a friend?" Villefort asked.

"As a friend. Only as a friend, at this moment. The similarity between tetanus and plant-based poisoning is so striking that if I were forced to swear an oath in court, I would hesitate. So I repeat: I’m speaking to you as a friend. And to that friend I say this, during the forty-five minutes I watched Madame de Saint-Méran’s struggle, I observed every convulsion, every symptom. I am absolutely convinced that she didn’t just die from poison. I could even tell you which poison."

"The signs are unmistakable. Sleep interrupted by violent spasms. Brain excitation. Paralysis of the nervous system. Madame de Saint-Méran died from a massive dose of brucine or strychnine, which was somehow administered to her, perhaps by mistake."

Villefort grabbed the doctor’s hand. "No, this is impossible! I must be dreaming! It’s horrifying to hear such things from someone like you! Tell me you could be wrong, doctor. Please!"

"I could be mistaken, but..."

"But I don’t think I am."

"Have mercy, doctor! So many terrible things have happened to me lately that I’m losing my mind."

"Has anyone else examined Madame de Saint-Méran besides me?"

"Has anything been delivered from a pharmacy that I haven’t inspected?"

"Did Madame de Saint-Méran have any enemies?"

"Not that I know of."

"Would anyone benefit from her death?" Read complete versıon only at novel⦿fire.net

"Not at all. My daughter is her only heir, Valentine alone. If such a thought had even crossed my mind, I would stab myself for harboring it for even a second."

"Indeed, my friend," Doctor d’Avrigny said gently, "I’m not accusing anyone. I’m talking about an accident, a mistake. But accident or not, the facts are clear. My conscience compels me to speak. You need to investigate."

"Investigate whom? How? What?"

"Could Barrois, the old servant, have made a mistake? Could he have given Madame de Saint-Méran a dose meant for his master?"

"But how could medicine prepared for Monsieur Noirtier poison Madame de Saint-Méran?"

"It’s quite simple. Poisons can become remedies for certain conditions, like paralysis. I’ve tried everything to restore movement and speech to Monsieur Noirtier. Three months ago, I decided on one final treatment, brucine. The last dose I prescribed contained six grains. That amount is perfectly safe for Monsieur Noirtier’s paralyzed body, which has gradually built up tolerance. But it would be lethal to anyone else."

"Doctor, there’s no connection between my father’s apartment and Madame de Saint-Méran’s rooms. Barrois never entered my mother-in-law’s chamber. Listen, doctor, I know you’re the most conscientious man alive, and I trust you completely. But despite my faith in you, I want to believe in human error."

"Do you have equal confidence in any of my colleagues?"

"Why are you asking? What do you want?"

"Send for another doctor. I’ll tell him what I witnessed, and we’ll examine the body together."

"And you’ll find evidence of poison?"

"Not necessarily poison, but we can determine the body’s condition and discover what caused her sudden death. Then we’ll know whether this was negligence requiring you to watch your servants more carefully, or something more sinister requiring you to watch your enemies."

"What are you proposing, d’Avrigny?" Villefort’s voice filled with despair. "The moment someone else learns our secret, there will be an investigation. An investigation in my house? Impossible!" He paused, studying the doctor with growing anxiety. "But if you insist... if you demand it... then it must be done. Yet you see how grief-stricken I already am. How can I bring such scandal into my home after so much sorrow? My wife and daughter would die from the shame! And me, doctor, you know what it takes to reach my position. Twenty-five years as the king’s attorney doesn’t happen without making enemies. I have many. If this affair becomes public, it will be their triumph. They’ll rejoice while I’m covered in disgrace. Forgive me these worldly concerns, doctor. If you were a priest, I wouldn’t dare speak of such things. But you’re a man who understands human nature. Doctor, please, take back your words. You’ve said nothing, have you?"