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Then, instead of starting on the pile of dossiers in front of him, he opened a drawer in his desk, released a secret spring and took out a bundle of personal papers, precious manuscripts which he had put in order and labelled, with figures known only to him, the names of all those who had become his enemies -- whether in his political career, his business dealings, his legal practice or his secret love affairs.

A mournful scene had just taken place in M. de Villefort's house. After the departure of the two ladies for the ball, all Mme de Villefort's efforts having failed definitely to persuade her husband to accompany her, the crown prosecutor had shut himself up as usual in his study with a pile of dossiers which would have terrified another man but which, in normal circumstances, would hardly have been enough to satisfy his mania for work.

This time, however, the dossiers were merely a façade; Villefort was not shutting himself up to work but to reflect; and, once the door was shut and the order had been given that he should be disturbed only in an emergency, he sat down in the chair and went over in his mind everything that in the past week or so had filled his cup of bitter sorrows and dark memories to overflowing.

By this time the number was so huge that he began to tremble; and yet all these names, powerful and fearful as they were, had often brought a smile to his face, as a traveller may smile when, on reaching the summit of the mountain, he looks at the narrow peaks, impassable trails and steep precipices beneath him, up which he struggled for so long to reach his present station.

Foul deeds will rise, as Hamlet says, and sometimes fly through the air like a will-o'-the-wisp, but these are flames that light us a moment to deceive.

When he had gone through all the names in his memory, re-read them, studied them and commented on each list, he shook his head. "No," he muttered. "None of those enemies would have waited and toiled patiently until now to come and crush me with this secret."

Monte Cristo learned it and wanted to verify it…"But why want to verify?" he wondered after a moment's reflection. "What interest can a dark, mysterious and inconsequential event like that have for Monsieur de Monte Cristo, Monsieur Zaccone, son of a Maltese shipowner and operator of a Thessalian silver mine, who is paying his first visit to France? Among the jumble of information I obtained from that Abbé Busoni and Lord Wilmore, the friend and the enemy, only one thing stands out clearly and plainly in my view, which is that at no time, in no event and under no circumstances can there have been the slightest contact between him and me."

The story must have been told by the Corsican to some priest, and by him in turn to others.

But Villefort said this without believing his own words. The worst thing, for him, was not the revelation of what he had done, because he could deny it, or even reply to the accusation. It was not the Mene, mene, tekel, upharsin suddenly appearing in bloody letters on the wall; what troubled him was not knowing to what body the hand that traced them belonged.

Just as he was trying to reassure himself -- and, in place of the political career which he had sometimes envisaged in his ambitious imaginings, he was resigning himself to a future confined to the joys of family life, for fear of awakening this long-dormant enemy -- he heard the sound of a carriage outside, then the steps of an old person on the stairs, followed by sobs and exclamations of "Alas!", of the kind that servants emit when they want to make themselves interesting because of their masters' sorrows.

He hastened to pull back the bolt on his study door and soon, unannounced, an old woman came in, a shawl on her arm and a hat in her hand. Her white hair disclosed a brow as dull as yellowed ivory and her eyes, in the corners of which age had etched deep wrinkles, had almost vanished, so swollen were they with tears.

The servants, standing at the door and not daring to advance into the room, turned to look at Noirtier's old manservant who, having heard the noise from his master's room and hurried across, was now standing behind the rest. Villefort got up and ran over to his mother-in-law -- for she it was.

"Heaven preserve us, Madame!" he exclaimed. "What has happened? Who has put you in this state? And is Monsieur de Saint-Méran not with you?"

"Oh, Monsieur!" she said. "Oh, Monsieur! What a misfortune! I too shall die of it! Oh, yes, I shall surely die!" And, collapsing into the nearest armchair, she dissolved into tears.

"A week ago," Mme de Saint-Méran continued. "We were getting into the carriage after dinner. For some days, Monsieur de Saint-Méran had been unwell, yet the idea of seeing our dear Valentine gave him strength despite his pain. He was just starting out when, six leagues from Marseille, after taking his usual pills, he fell into an unnaturally deep sleep. I was unwilling to wake him, but then his face seemed to go red and the veins in his temples to beat more violently than usual. However, as it was now night and getting too dark to see, I let him sleep. Shortly afterwards he gave a dull, heart-rending cry, like a man tormented by a nightmare, and sharply threw back his head. I called the valet, had the coach stopped, called to Monsieur de Saint-Méran and got him to breathe my sal volatile, but it was all over, he was dead and I journeyed to Aix seated beside his corpse."

"Monsieur de Saint-Méran is dead," the old marchioness said, coming directly to the matter, but without any sign of feeling, in a kind of stupor.

Villefort started back and struck his hands together. "Dead!" he stammered. "Dead, like that… so suddenly?"

"Monsieur de Saint-Méran always used to say that if he died far from Paris he would like his body to be brought to rest in the family vault. I had it put into a lead coffin and it is on its way, a few days' drive behind me."

"Yes, Monsieur, he did that. It appears to have been an apoplectic stroke."

"Immediately, but, as I told you, it was too late."

"So what did you do?"

"Oh, poor mother!" said Villefort. "To be entrusted with such a task, and after such a blow!"

"God gave me strength; and in any case the dear marquis would surely have done for me what I did for him. It is true that, since I left him behind me there, I have felt I am going mad. I can no longer weep, yet I feel that one should do so, as long as one is suffering. Where is Valentine, Monsieur? We were coming for her; I want to see Valentine."

"Of course, but at least he could say from what illness the poor marquis died."

Villefort stood there, thunderstruck, his mouth gaping. "You called a doctor, I suppose?" he said.

Villefort thought that it would be frightful to reply that Valentine was at the ball. He simply told the marchioness that her granddaughter had gone out with her stepmother and that she would be informed.

Villefort slipped his arm under that of Mme de Saint-Méran and took her to her apartment. "Rest, mother," he said.

"Now, Monsieur, at once, I beg you," said the old lady.

At that word, the marchioness looked up and, seeing the man who reminded her of the much-mourned daughter who seemed to live again for her in Valentine, struck by the name of "mother", she burst into tears and sank to her knees before a chair in which she buried her venerable head. Villefort told the women to look after her, while old Barrois hurried across in a state of consternation to his master: nothing terrifies old people so much as when death leaves their side to strike down another old person. Then, while Mme de Saint-Méran, still kneeling, began to pray from the depths of her heart, Villefort sent for a carriage and took it himself to collect his wife and daughter from Mme de Morcerf's. He was so pale when he got to the door of the drawing-room that Valentine ran across to him, crying: "Oh, father! Something terrible has happened!"

"And grandfather?" the girl asked, trembling.

"Your grandmother has just arrived, Valentine," he said.

M. de Villefort's only reply was to give her his arm. He was only just in time because Valentine reeled, nearly fainting. Mme de Villefort hurried over to support her and helped her husband to get her into the carriage, saying: "How strange! Who would have thought it! This truly is strange!" With that, the stricken family drove off, casting its sadness like a black veil across the rest of the gathering.

Valentine found Barrois waiting for her at the foot of the stairs. "Monsieur Noirtier would like to see you this evening," he whispered.

"Tell him to expect me when I have seen my dear grandmother," Valentine said, her delicate soul having realized that Mme de Saint-Méran was the person who needed her most at that time.

She found her in bed. Silent caresses, painful swelling of the heart, broken sighs and burning tears were the only positive events in what passed between them. Mme de Villefort was also present, on her husband's arm, and was full of respect for the poor widow -- or so at least it seemed.

After a short while she leant across to whisper in her husband's ear: "With your permission, I think I should retire, because the sight of me appears to make your mother-in-law more distressed."

Mme de Villefort went out and Valentine was left alone at her grandmother's bedside because the crown prosecutor, dismayed by this unexpected death, followed his wife.

M. de Saint-Méran and Noirtier had never been close, but the effect on one old man of hearing that another has died is well known. Noirtier let his head fall on his chest, like a man weighed down with sorrow or deep in thought, then shut one eye.

"Alas, Monsieur," said Barrois, "something terrible has happened: Madame de Saint-Méran is here and her husband is dead."

Mme de Saint-Méran overheard the remark. "Yes, yes," she said in Valentine's ear. "Let her go; but you, stay."

Barrois, however, had gone back to Noirtier's side the first time; the old man had heard the commotion in the house and sent his servant, as we said, to find out the cause of it. When he returned, the lively and, above all, intelligent eyes asked for his message.

"Monsieur knows very well that she is at the ball, because she came to say goodbye and to show him her dress."

Noirtier indicated: "Yes."

"Mademoiselle Valentine?" Barrois asked.

"Well, no doubt they are going to fetch her from Madame de Morcerf's. I shall await her on her return and tell her to come up. Is that correct?"

This is why Barrois was waiting for Valentine's return and, as we have seen, informed her of her grandfather's wishes. Consequently, Valentine went up to M. Noirtier's on leaving Mme de Saint-Méran who, despite her distress, had finally succumbed to tiredness and was sleeping feverishly. Within her reach they had put a little table with a carafe of orange juice, her usual drink, and a glass. When that was done, the girl left the marchioness's bedside to go up to Noirtier.

"You want to see her?"

"Yes," said the paralysed man.

The old man indicated that he did.

Noirtier again shut his left eye.

She went to kiss the old man, who looked at her with such tenderness that the young woman felt new tears rising to her eyes from a well that she thought had dried. The old man looked insistently at her.

"Yes, yes," said Valentine. "What you are saying is that I still have one good grandfather; is that it?"

The next day she came in to see her grandmother and found her still in bed. Her fever had not gone down; on the contrary, a dull fire burned in the old marchioness's eyes and she seemed to have been seized by a violent fit of nervous irritation.

It was one o'clock in the morning. Barrois, who wanted to go to bed himself, remarked that after such a painful evening everyone needed rest. The old man did not like to say that rest, as far as he was concerned, was to see his granddaughter. He sent Valentine away; tiredness and sorrow had indeed made her look unwell.

The old man indicated that this was indeed what his look had meant.

"Oh, my dear grandmother! Are you feeling worse this morning?" Valentine exclaimed, seeing these signs of agitation.

"Luckily, alas!" said Valentine. "Because, without that, what would become of me?"

"No, no, my girl," said Mme de Saint-Méran. "I was waiting for you to come so that I could send you to fetch your father."

"The son is not deterred by the idea of marrying the granddaughter of a Jacobin?"

"Son of General d'Epinay, one of our people, who was assassinated a few days before the usurper returned from Elba?"

"My father?" Valentine asked anxiously.

Valentine did not dare to object to the old woman's wish -- and in any case did not know what was behind it; so a moment later Villefort came in.

"Yes, Madame."

"Thankfully, mother, our civil strife is ended," said Villefort. "Monsieur d'Epinay was little more than a child when his father died. He is not well acquainted with Monsieur Noirtier and will regard him, if not with pleasure, at least with indifference."

"Yes, I want to speak to him."

"Monsieur," Mme de Saint-Méran said, without any preliminaries and as though she was afraid of running out of time. "You wrote to tell me that there were plans to marry your daughter, I believe?"

"Yes, Madame," Villefort replied. "It is more than a plan, it is an agreement."

"And your future son-in-law is Franz d"Epinay?"

"Precisely."

Valentine had remained silent throughout this conversation.

"Enjoys general respect."

"The young man…"

"In every way."

"Well, Monsieur," said Mme de Saint-Méran after a few moments' thought. "You must hurry, because I have little time left to live."

"Madame," said Villefort, "you forget that I had to give this poor child a mother when she no longer had her own."

"A stepmother can never be a mother. But we're not talking about that. We're talking about Valentine. Let the dead lie!"

All this was said with such volubility and emphasis that the conversation almost seemed like the beginning of a delirium.

"Is he acceptable?"

"You, Madame! You, dear grandmother!" Villefort and Valentine exclaimed together.

"He is one of the most distinguished young men I know."

"I know what I am saying," the marchioness went on. "You must hurry so that, not having a mother, she may at least have a grandmother to bless her marriage. I am the only one remaining to her from the side of my poor dear Renée, whom you so soon forgot, Monsieur."

"Is it a good match?"

"Everything shall be done according to your wishes, Madame," said Villefort, "particularly as they accord with my own; and as soon as Monsieur d'Epinay arrives in Paris…"

"My dear girl," said the grandmother, brusquely interrupting her, "don't give me any of those trite arguments that prevent weak minds from building a solid future for themselves. I too was married at my mother's deathbed, and was no unhappier for that."

"Grandmother," said Valentine, "think of convention, your recent bereavement… Would you wish a marriage to take place under such sad auspices?"

"Again, this idea of death, Madame!" said Villefort.

"Again! Still! I tell you, I am going to die, do you understand? Well, before dying I want to see my grandson-in-law, I want to tell him to make my granddaughter happy, I want to read in his eyes whether he intends to obey me, in short I want to know him," the old woman continued, with a terrifying look, "so that I can seek him out from the depth of my tomb if he is not what he should be, if he is not what he must be."

"Whatever you say, Monsieur," the marchioness said, "I have to tell you that things are not as you believe. Last night I slept very badly. I could, as it were, see myself sleeping, as though my soul was already hovering above my body. I struggled to open my eyes, but they refused to obey me. I know that this will seem impossible to you, especially to you, Monsieur, but with my eyes shut, at the very spot where you are now standing, coming from the corner where there is a door leading to Madame de Villefort's dressing-room, I saw a white shape."

"Oh, yes, grandmother, calm yourself," said Valentine.

"Madame," said Villefort, "you must put aside such wild fancies, which are close to madness. Once the dead have been laid in their tombs, they sleep there and do not return."

Valentine gave a cry. Villefort said: "You were feverish, Madame."

"Doubt me if you wish, but I am sure of what I am saying. I saw a white figure and, as if God were afraid that I might doubt the evidence of any of my senses, I heard my glass move -- that glass, on the table."

In spite of himself, Villefort was profoundly shaken. "Madame," he said, "do not give way to such mournful ideas. You will live with us, you will live for a long time, happy, loved, honoured, and we shall help you to forget…"

"It was so surely not a dream that I reached out for the bell, and upon that the shadow vanished. Then the chambermaid came in with a lantern. Ghosts only appear to those who ought to see them. This was the soul of my husband. Well, if my husband's soul is coming back to call me, why should my soul not come back to defend my granddaughter? I think the tie is even stronger."

"Very well. Tell me as soon as he arrives. We must hurry. Then I should like to see a lawyer to ensure that all our property goes to Valentine."

"Oh, grandmother," Valentine murmured, pressing her lips to the old woman's burning brow. "Do you want me to die? You are feverish. It's not a lawyer you need, but a doctor."

"Oh, grandmother, it was a dream!"

"We are expecting him at any moment."

"Never! Never! Never!" said the marquise. "When does Monsieur d'Epinay return?"

M. de Villefort went out. Valentine sat down near her grandmother's bed. The poor child herself seemed much in need of the doctor whom she had suggested calling. Her cheeks burned red, her breathing was short and panting, and her pulse was beating as if she had a high temperature. She was thinking of Maximilien's despair when he learned that Mme de Saint-Méran, instead of being an ally, was unconsciously acting as though she were his enemy.

"A doctor?" she said, shrugging her shoulders. "I am not in pain; a little thirsty, that's all."

"What would you like to drink?"

"You know what I like: my orange juice. The glass is on that table. Please give it to me, Valentine."

Valentine poured out the orange juice from the carafe into the glass and forced herself to pick it up and give it to her grandmother: this was the same glass that the ghost was supposed to have touched. The marquise emptied it at a single gulp, then lay back on her pillow, saying: "A lawyer, a lawyer!"

More than once, Valentine had thought of telling her grandmother everything, and she would not have hesitated for a moment if Maximilien Morrel had been called Albert de Morcerf or Raoul de Château-Renaud; but Morrel came from a lower-class family and Valentine knew how much the proud Marquise de Saint-Méran despised everyone who was not well bred. Consequently, whenever her secret had been on the point of coming out, it had been driven back into her heart by the sad assurance that she would reveal it in vain and that, once her father and grandmother shared that secret, all would be lost.

Even though the servant had spoken very softly, Mme de Saint-Méran sat up in bed. "The lawyer?" she said. "Have him brought here!"

About two hours passed. Mme de Saint-Méran slept fitfully and feverishly. The lawyer was announced.

He had been standing outside, and came in.

Valentine quickly went down. The doctor was a family friend and at the same time one of the most skilled of his profession. He was very fond of Valentine, whom he had seen being born. He had a daughter of roughly Mlle de Villefort's age but whose mother was a consumptive. His life was spent in continual fear for her child.

"But, grandmother…"

"Go away, Valentine," Mme de Saint-Méran said, "and leave me with this gentleman."

The girl kissed her grandmother's forehead and went out, holding a handkerchief to her eyes. At the door she found the valet de chambre, who told her that the doctor was waiting in the drawing-room.

"Oh, dear Monsieur d'Avrigny," said Valentine. "We have been waiting for you. But, first of all, how are Madeleine and Antoinette?"

"Go, go."

"An attack of apoplexy."

"Antoinette, very well," he answered, with a sad smile, "Madeleine, quite well. But you called for me, my dear child. I hope it is not your father or Madame de Villefort who is ill? As for us, although clearly we have trouble overcoming our nerves, I suppose you have no need of me except to recommend that you don't let your imagination run away with you?"

Valentine blushed. M. d'Avrigny had almost miraculous powers of divination: he was one of those doctors who always treat physical ills through the mind.

"No," she said, "it's my poor grandmother. I suppose you know the misfortune that we have suffered?"

Madeleine was M. d"Avrigny's daughter, Antoinette his niece.

"I don't know anything," said d'Avrigny.

"Monsieur de Saint-Méran? Was it sudden?"

"Alas," Valentine said, repressing a sob. "My grandfather is dead."

"Apoplexy?" the doctor repeated.

"Yes, and the result is that my poor grandmother has the idea that her husband, whose side she never left, is calling for her and she is going to join him. Oh, Monsieur d'Avrigny! Please go and look at her!"

"How does your grandmother's illness manifest itself?"

"Always the same: perfectly clear in his mind, but still immobile and speechless."

"Where is she?"

"In her room, with the lawyer."

"And still as affectionate towards you, I imagine, my dear child?"

She smiled sadly.

"This is the first time I have seen her like that," said Valentine. "This morning she really frightened me, I thought she was going mad. Even my father -- and, Monsieur d'Avrigny, you know what a serious-minded man my father is -- even my father seemed deeply troubled."

"And Monsieur Noirtier?"

"Unusual nervous excitement and oddly troubled sleep. This morning she claimed that while she was asleep her soul had hovered above her body and she had seen herself sleeping. She is delirious. She claimed to have seen a ghost come into her room and heard the noise made by this supposed ghost when it touched her glass."

"Who would not be?"

"Oh, yes, he is very fond of me," Valentine said with a sigh.

"That's odd," the doctor said. "I did not know Madame de Saint-Méran was subject to such hallucinations."

"I dare not. She forbade me to send for you. And then, as you say, I am upset, feverish and unwell. I shall take a walk round the garden to revive myself."

"What about you?"

The lawyer came down and the servant came to tell Valentine that her grandmother was alone. "Go up," she said to the doctor.

The doctor shook Valentine's hand and, while he went up to her grandmother, she went down the steps.

This time, as usual, she walked two or three times round among her flowers, but without picking any. The mourning in her heart, though it had not yet had time to be reflected in her dress, rejected that simple ornament. Then she went over to the path by the gate. As she was going there, she thought she heard a voice speaking her name. She stopped short in astonishment.

The voice seemed more distinct, and she recognized it as Maximilien's.

"Let's go and see. What you tell me is odd."

We hardly need say what part of the garden was Valentine's favourite walk. After walking twice round the path that encircled the house, and plucking a rose to put in her hair or her belt, she set off down the dark path that led to the bench, then from the bench she went across to the grille.