The Count of Monte Cristo

At the same moment M. de Villefort’s voice was heard calling from his study, “What is the matter?” Morrel looked at Noirtier who had recovered his self-command, and with a glance indicated the closet where once before under somewhat similar circumstances, he had taken refuge. He had only time to get his hat and throw himself breathless into the closet when the procureur’s footstep was heard in the passage. Villefort sprang into the room, ran to Valentine, and took her in his arms. “A physician, a physician,—M. d’Avrigny!” cried Villefort; “or rather I will go for him myself.” He flew from the apartment, and Morrel at the same moment darted out at the other door. He had been struck to the heart by a frightful recollection—the conversation he had heard between the doctor and Villefort the night of Madame de Saint-Méran’s death, recurred to him; these symptoms, to a less alarming extent, were the same which had preceded the death of Barrois. At the same time Monte Cristo’s voice seemed to resound in his ear with the words he had heard only two hours before, “Whatever you want, Morrel, come to me; I have great power.” More rapidly than thought, he darted down the Rue Matignon, and thence to the Avenue des Champs-Élysées. Meanwhile M. de Villefort arrived in a hired cabriolet at M. d’Avrigny’s door. He rang so violently that the porter was alarmed. Villefort ran upstairs without saying a word. The porter knew him, and let him pass, only calling to him: “In his study, Monsieur Procureur—in his study!” Villefort pushed, or rather forced, the door open. “Ah,” said the doctor, “is it you?” “Yes,” said Villefort, closing the door after him, “it is I, who am come in my turn to ask you if we are quite alone. Doctor, my house is accursed!” “What?” said the latter with apparent coolness, but with deep emotion, “have you another invalid?” “Yes, doctor,” cried Villefort, clutching his hair, “yes!” D’Avrigny’s look implied, “I told you it would be so.” Then he slowly uttered these words, “Who is now dying in your house? What new victim is going to accuse you of weakness before God?” A mournful sob burst from Villefort’s heart; he approached the doctor, and seizing his arm,—“Valentine,” said he, “it is Valentine’s turn!” 40284m “Your daughter!” cried d’Avrigny with grief and surprise. “You see you were deceived,” murmured the magistrate; “come and see her, and on her bed of agony entreat her pardon for having suspected her.” “Each time you have applied to me,” said the doctor, “it has been too late; still I will go. But let us make haste, sir; with the enemies you have to do with there is no time to be lost.” “Oh, this time, doctor, you shall not have to reproach me with weakness. This time I will know the assassin, and will pursue him.” “Let us try first to save the victim before we think of revenging her,” said d’Avrigny. “Come.”...