Chapter 184: Chapter 184

"My dear Monsieur Villefort," the doctor replied, "my first duty is to humanity. I would have saved Madame de Saint-Méran if science could have done it. But she’s dead, and now my duty is to the living. Let’s bury this terrible secret in our hearts. If anyone suspects foul play, they can attribute my silence to ignorance. Meanwhile, sir, stay vigilant. Watch carefully, because this evil may not stop here. And if you find the culprit, when you find them, I’ll say to you: ’You are a magistrate. Do what you must.’"

"Thank you, doctor," Villefort said, his voice flooding with relief. "I’ve never had a better friend."

As if afraid the doctor might change his mind, Villefort hurried him back toward the house.

Once they were gone, Morrel emerged from beneath the trees. Moonlight illuminated his face, which was so pale he could have been mistaken for a ghost.

"I’m being protected in the most wonderful yet terrible way," he whispered to himself. "But Valentine, poor girl... how will she bear so much sorrow?"

Lost in thought, he looked between the window with red curtains and the three windows with white ones. The light had nearly disappeared from the former, Madame de Villefort must have just extinguished her lamp, leaving only a nightlight casting its dim glow. But at the far end of the building, one of the three white-curtained windows stood open. A candle on the mantelpiece cast pale rays into the night, and for a moment, a shadow appeared on the balcony.

Morrel shuddered. He thought he heard a sob.

It wasn’t surprising that his mind, usually so brave, but now overwhelmed by love and fear, the two strongest human emotions, had weakened enough to entertain superstitious thoughts. Though Valentine couldn’t possibly see him in his hiding place, he imagined the shadow at the window calling to him. His disturbed mind insisted it was true.

This double illusion became irresistible reality. In one of those incomprehensible impulses of youth, he burst from his hiding place. In two strides, risking discovery, risking alarming Valentine, risking exposure by any cry she might make, he crossed the flower garden. In the moonlight, it resembled a vast white lake. He passed the rows of orange trees extending before the house, reached the steps, ran up quickly, and pushed the door. It opened without resistance.

Valentine hadn’t seen him. Her eyes were raised toward heaven, watching a silvery cloud glide across the azure sky. Its form resembled a shadow ascending to heaven. Her poetic, emotional mind imagined it as her grandmother’s soul. Follow current novels on novel※fire.net

Meanwhile, Morrel had crossed the antechamber and found the carpeted staircase, which muffled his approach. His confidence had returned so completely that even an encounter with Monsieur Villefort wouldn’t have alarmed him. He was prepared for anything. He would approach Valentine’s father immediately, confess everything, and beg Villefort to forgive and bless the love between two devoted hearts.

Morrel was acting like a madman.

Fortunately, he met no one. Valentine’s description of the house’s interior proved invaluable. He reached the top of the staircase safely. As he felt his way forward, a sob guided his direction. He turned back. A partially open door revealed his path and let him hear the voice of someone in mourning. He pushed the door open and entered.

At the far end of the room, beneath a white sheet, lay the corpse, made even more terrifying by the conversation Morrel had accidentally overheard. Beside it, on her knees with her head buried in an armchair’s cushion, was Valentine. She trembled and sobbed, her hands extended above her head, clasped and rigid. She had turned from the open window and was praying in words that would have moved the coldest heart. Her words came rapidly, incoherently, unintelligibly, the burning weight of grief nearly choking her voice.

Moonlight streaming through the open blinds made the lamp appear to burn pale, casting a ghostly atmosphere over the entire scene. Morrel couldn’t resist. He wasn’t particularly religious or easily moved, but seeing Valentine suffering, weeping, wringing her hands before him was more than he could bear in silence. He sighed and whispered her name.

The head bathed in tears and pressed against the velvet cushion, looking like a Magdalen in a classical painting, lifted and turned toward him. Valentine saw him without showing the slightest surprise. A heart overwhelmed by profound grief becomes numb to lesser emotions.

Morrel extended his hand to her. Valentine, as her only apology for not meeting him, pointed to the shrouded corpse and began sobbing again.

For a long time, neither dared speak in that room. They hesitated to break the silence that death seemed to impose. Finally, Valentine found her voice.

"My friend," she said, "how did you get here? I would say you’re welcome, but death has opened the way for you into this house."

"Valentine," Morrel said, his voice trembling, "I’d been waiting since eight-thirty. When you didn’t come, I grew worried. I climbed the wall, made my way through the garden, and overheard voices discussing the tragedy..."

"What voices?" Valentine asked.

Morrel shuddered, remembering the doctor’s conversation with Monsieur Villefort. Through the sheet, he could almost see the extended hands, the rigid neck, the purple lips.

"Your servants," he lied, "repeating the entire sorrowful story. That’s how I learned what happened."

"But coming up here was risky. It could ruin our plan."

"Forgive me," Morrel replied. "I’ll leave now."

"No," Valentine said. "You might encounter someone. Stay."

"But if someone comes here-"

The young woman shook her head. "No one will come. Don’t worry. That’s our protection," she said, gesturing toward the bed.

"What happened to Monsieur d’Epinay?"

"Franz arrived to sign the marriage contract just as my dear grandmother was dying."

"Oh," Morrel said, unable to hide a selfish flutter of hope. Surely this death would postpone the wedding indefinitely.

"But what deepens my sorrow," Valentine continued, as if to immediately punish his fleeting joy, "is that my poor grandmother, on her deathbed, requested the marriage take place as soon as possible. Even while trying to protect me, she was working against me."

"Listen!" Morrel whispered.

They both froze. Footsteps echoed distinctly in the corridor and on the stairs.

"It’s my father, leaving his study."

"To see the doctor out," Morrel added.

"How do you know it was the doctor?" Valentine asked, astonished.

"I assumed it must be," Morrel said carefully.

Valentine studied the young man. They heard the street door close, then Monsieur Villefort locked the garden door and returned upstairs. He paused in the antechamber, seemingly debating whether to go to his own apartment or to Madame de Saint-Méran’s room. Morrel concealed himself behind a door. Valentine remained motionless, her grief apparently overwhelming all fear. Villefort continued to his own room.

"Now," Valentine said, "you can’t leave through the front door or the garden."

Morrel looked at her in bewilderment.

"There’s only one safe way out," she continued. "Through my grandfather’s room." She stood. "Come."

"Where?" Maximilian asked.

"To my grandfather’s room."

"You want me to go to Monsieur Noirtier’s apartment?"

"Are you serious, Valentine?"

"I’ve wanted this for a long time. He’s my only remaining friend, and we both need his help. Come."

"Be careful, Valentine," Morrel said, hesitating. "I see my mistake now. I acted like a madman coming here. Are you sure you’re thinking more clearly than I was?"

"Yes," Valentine said. "My only concern is leaving my grandmother’s body unwatched, which I had promised to do."

"Valentine," Morrel said gently, "death itself is sacred."

"You’re right," she agreed. "Besides, it won’t be for long."

She crossed the corridor and led him down a narrow staircase to Monsieur Noirtier’s room. Morrel followed on tiptoe. At the door, they found the old servant.

"Barrois," Valentine instructed, "close the door and don’t let anyone in."