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When the three people he was expecting to see had entered, he looked at the door, which his valet immediately closed.

Noirtier replied only with a look that turned Villefort's blood to ice. Then the same eyes asked Valentine to come over to him. In a moment, thanks to the means which she usually employed in her conversations with her grandfather, she had found the word "key". Then she looked at the invalid, who was staring hard at the drawer in a little table between the two windows. She opened the drawer and did indeed find a key inside it. Once she had the key and the old man had shown her that it was the right one, his eyes turned towards an old, long-forgotten writing-desk which everyone assumed to be full of useless papers.

Valentine blushed but did not reply. Villefort went across to Noirtier. "Here is Monsieur Franz d'Epinay," he said. "You asked to see him, Monsieur, and he has acceded to your wishes. We have all doubtless wanted this interview to take place for a long time and I shall be delighted if it proves to you how ill-founded was your opposition to Valentine's marriage."

Noirtier was waiting, dressed in black and seated in his chair.

"Mind what I say," Villefort whispered to Valentine, who could not disguise her joy. "If Monsieur Noirtier wants to tell you something that will prevent your marriage, I forbid you to understand him."

Valentine opened it and took out a bundle. "Is this what you want, grandfather?" she said.

"No."

"Ah, there's a secret!" said Valentine.

"Should I call him?"

"The ones at the side?"

Noirtier looked towards the door, through which the servant had just left.

Noirtier's eyes were fastened on the dictionary.

"Should I open the drawers?"

"No."

"The one in the middle?"

"Yes."

"Yes," the old man indicated.

She went to the door and called Barrois.

"Who knows it?"

"Should I open the writing-desk?" Valentine asked.

"Yes, grandpa, I understand," the young woman said. And she repeated each letter of the alphabet, one after another. At the letter "S", Noirtier stopped her. She opened the dictionary and went down to the word "secret".

"Yes."

"Yes," Noirtier replied.

She took out all the other papers in turn, until there was absolutely nothing left in the drawer. "It's empty now," she said.

"Barrois?" she asked.

"Yes," said Noirtier.

"Yes."

Meanwhile Villefort was sweating with impatience and Franz was struck dumb with astonishment.

Barrois handed him the papers and, looking at the cover, Franz read:

"No."

"To Monsieur Franz d'Epinay?"

"Yes."

To be entrusted after my death to my friend General Durand, who will himself, when he dies, bequeath this packet to his son, with instructions to keep it, since it contains a document of the greatest importance.

"Barrois," said Valentine, "my grandfather has asked me to take the key out of this console, open the desk and pull out this drawer. Now there is some secret compartment to this drawer which, it appears, you know; please open it."

Franz, in astonishment, took a step backwards. "To me, Monsieur?" he asked.

The old servant appeared.

Barrois did so. A hidden compartment opened and revealed a bundle of papers, tied with a black ribbon.

"To Mademoiselle Valentine?"

"Yes," said Noirtier.

"No."

"To whom should I give these papers? To Monsieur de Villefort?"

"Yes."

"Obey," said Noirtier's intelligent eye.

"Is this what you want, Monsieur?" Barrois asked.

Barrois looked at the old man.

"Well, then, Monsieur," Franz asked, "what would you like me to do with this document?"

"To preserve it, sealed, as it is, no doubt," said the crown prosecutor.

"Perhaps you would like the gentleman to read it?" Valentine asked.

Villefort did so, but Valentine remained standing beside her father and leaning on the back of his chair, with Franz in front of him. The mysterious piece of paper was in his hand.

"No, no," Noirtier replied vigorously.

"Did you understand, Baron? My grandfather is asking you to read the paper," Valentine said.

At that, Franz paused and exclaimed: "February the fifth, 1815! That is the day on which my father was assassinated!"

"Read," said the old man's look.

"Yes," the old man replied.

Franz unwrapped the envelope and everything in the room fell silent. In the midst of this, he read: "Abstract of the proceedings of the session of the Bonapartist Club in the Rue Saint-Jacques, held on February the fifth, 1815."

"In that case, let's sit down," Villefort said impatiently. "This will take some time."

"Sit down," said the old man's eye.

Franz continued: "We, the undersigned Louis-Jacques Beaurepaire, lieutenant-colonel in the artillery, Etienne Duchampy, brigadier, and Claude Lecharpal, director of forestry, Hereby declare that on February the fourth, 1815, a letter reached us from the island of Elba, recommending to the members of the Bonapartist Club, General Flavien de Quesnel who, having served the emperor from 1804 to 1815, was worthy of their trust and goodwill, as being entirely devoted to the Napoleonic dynasty, despite the title of baron with which King Louis XVIII had just endowed his estate of Epinay.

"But it was after he left this very club that my father disappeared," Franz said.

Valentine and Villefort said nothing; only the old man's eye clearly commanded him to read on.

Noirtier's look still said: "Read!"

"A letter was consequently sent to General de Quesnel inviting him to take part in the following day's session, February the fifth. This letter did not inform the general of either the street or the number of the house in which the meeting was to be held, but asked him to be ready for someone to collect him at nine o'clock in the evening. Meetings were held between nine and midnight.

"At nine o'clock the president of the club called on the general. The latter was ready. The president told him that one condition of his admission was that he should always remain ignorant of the venue for the meeting, and that he should allow his eyes to be bound, swearing that he would not try to raise the blindfold. General de Quesnel accepted this condition and promised on his honour not to try to see where he was to be led.

"He had asked for his carriage to be prepared, but the president told him that it could not under any circumstances be used, since there was no sense in blindfolding the master if his coachman was to keep his eyes open and recognize the streets through which they drove.

"'What is to be done, then?' asked the general.

"'I have my own carriage,' said the president.

"'Our coachman belongs to the club,' said the president. 'We are to be driven by a member of the council of state.'

"'Are you then so sure of your coachman that you would confide in him a secret that you consider unwise to impart to mine?'

"The meeting had already begun. The members of the club, informed of the person who was to be introduced that evening, were all present. The general was led to the centre of the room and asked to take off his blindfold. He immediately complied and seemed very astonished at finding so many well-known faces in an organization, the very existence of which until then he had not even suspected.

"We cite this pleasantry as evidence that the general was in no way obliged to take part in the meeting, but attended it of his own free will.

"Once they had got into the coach, the president reminded the general of his promise to let his eyes be bound. The general made no objection to this formality and it was carried out with a scarf, left ready for the purpose in the coach. As they were driving, the president thought he observed the general trying to look under his blindfold and again reminded him of his oath. 'Of course,' said the general.

"The carriage stopped in a driveway off the Rue Saint-Jacques. The general got down, guided by the hand of the president, without being aware of the latter's eminence: he took him to be a simple member of the club. Crossing the drive, they went up to the first floor of the house and into the council chamber.

"'In that case,' the general said, laughing, 'We are running a different risk, which is that we shall end in the ditch!'

"Hence my own attachment to him," said Villefort. "When two people share the same ideas, my dear Franz, they easily become attached to one another."

"He was questioned about his loyalties, but contented himself with the answer that the letters from Elba must have made clear…"

Franz stopped reading. "My father was a Royalist," he said. "There was no need to ask him about his loyalities, which were well known."

Franz continued: "Here, the president requested the general to explain himself more fully, but Monsieur de Quesnel replied that his chief wish was to know what they wanted of him.

"Read!" the old man said with a look.

"He was then acquainted with the contents of the letter from the island of Elba, recommending him to the club as a man whose help and co-operation could be counted on. One paragraph dealt at length with the emperor's probable return from Elba and promised a further letter with more details on the arrival of the ship Pharaon, belonging to the shipowner Morrel, of Marseille, whose captain was entirely devoted to the imperial cause.

"Throughout the time that this was being read, the general, on whom the company had thought they could rely as on a brother, gave on the contrary visible signs of disgust and dissatisfaction. When the letter had been read, he remained silent, with lowered brow.

"'I say that it is a little soon,' he replied, 'since we gave our oaths to King Louis XVIII, for us to violate them on behalf of the former emperor.'

"'Well?' the president asked. 'What do you say to this letter, Monsieur le Général?'

This time the reply was too unambiguous for there to be any mistake about his feelings.

"'Excuse me, gentlemen,' said the general. 'It may be that for you there is no King Louis XVIII, but there is one for me, since it was he who made me baron and brigadier. I shall never forget that I owe these two titles to his fortunate return to France.'

"'General,' the president said, 'for us there is no present King Louis XVIII any more than there is any former emperor. There is only His Majesty the King and Emperor, who for ten months has been exiled from France, his state, by violence and treachery.'

"'By man of honour you mean knowing of your conspiracy and not revealing it! I for my part should describe this as being your accomplice. You see that I am even more open than you are.'"

"'Monsieur,' the president said, in the gravest tones, rising to his feet, 'beware of what you are saying. Your words clearly demonstrate that our friends on Elba were mistaken about you and that they misled us. What you have been told depended on the confidence we had in you and, consequently, on a belief that did you honour. Now it appears we were wrong: a title and a military rank have led you to transfer your loyalty to the new government that we wish to overthrow. We shall not oblige you to assist us: we would not enrol anyone against his conscience and his will; but we shall oblige you to behave as a man of honour, even if you should not be inclined to do so.'

"Oh, father," said Franz, pausing. "Now I understand why they killed you."

Valentine could not help glancing at Franz: the young man was truly handsome in his filial devotion. Villefort was pacing up and down behind him, and Noirtier's eyes searched the face of everyone there, while the man's attitude remained stern and dignified.

"'I am a Royalist,' the general replied. 'I have sworn an oath to Louis XVIII and I shall keep it.'

Franz went back to the manuscript and continued: "'Monsieur,' the president said, 'we asked you to come to this meeting, we did not drag you here by force. When we suggested blindfolding you, you did not demur. By agreeing to these two requests, you knew perfectly well that we were not concerned with bolstering up the throne of King Louis XVIII, because in that case we should not have taken so much trouble to hide from the police. Now, you understand, it would be too convenient if one could put on a mask in order to uncover people's secrets and then have simply to take off that mask to destroy those who have trusted in you. No, no, you must first of all say frankly if you support this present fortuitous monarch or His Majesty the Emperor.'

"At these words a murmur ran round the room and, from the looks exchanged between several members of the club, it was evident that they were debating the question of whether Monsieur d'Epinay should be made to regret these rash words.

"The general reached for his sword: 'Since you mention honour, then at least start by not ignoring the rules of honour, and do not attempt to impose anything by violence.'

"The president rose once more and called for silence. 'Monsieur,' he said, 'you are too serious and sensible a man not to realize the consequences of the situation in which we stand towards one another. Your very frankness dictates the conditions that we must now impose on you: you must therefore swear on your honour that you will reveal nothing of what you have heard.'

"Monsieur d'Epinay became very pale. Once more he looked all around him. Several members of the club were muttering and searching for weapons under their cloaks.

"'In that case, Monsieur, you will die,' the president replied calmly.

"The general looked around him with an expression which betrayed a hint of anxiety. However, he still did not give way but, on the contrary, summoning up all his strength, he said: 'I shall not swear!'

"'And you, Monsieur,' the president went on, with a calm that was perhaps more awful than the general's anger, 'I advise you not to touch your sword.'

"'Calm yourself, general,' the president said. 'You are among men of honour who will try every means to persuade you, before turning to the last resort. But, as you said, you are also among conspirators and in possession of our secret, so you must restore it to us.'

"Once more reduced to silence by the other's moral superiority, the general hesitated for a moment; then, at last, he walked across to the president's desk and asked: 'What is the form of words you require?'

"A highly charged silence followed these words and, since the general did not reply, the president ordered the footmen to close the doors. The same deathly silence followed this order. Then the general came forward and, making a violent effort to control his feelings, said: 'I have a son, and I must think of him, now that I find myself among murderers.'

"'General,' the leader of the assembly said, with dignity, 'a single man always has the right to insult fifty: that is the privilege of weakness. However, he is wrong to exercise that right. Believe me, you would do better to swear and not to abuse us.'

"'Now I wish to leave,' the general said. 'Am I free at last?'

"The general appeared to suffer a nervous tremor that for some seconds prevented him from replying. At length, overcoming his obvious reluctance, he did utter the words required of him, but in such a low voice that it could hardly be heard. Several members therefore demanded that he should repeat it more loudly, and this was done.

"'The following: I swear on my honour never to reveal to anyone in the world what I saw and heard on February the fifth, 1815, between nine and ten o'clock in the evening, and I declare that I deserve the punishment of death if I should violate this oath.'

"'Wherever I can be delivered from your presence,' Monsieur d'Epinay answered.

"'Where would you like us to take you?' the president asked.

"The president stood up, nominated three members of the group to accompany him and, after blindfolding the general, got into the carriage with him. One of the three members was the coachman who had brought them. The other members of the club dispersed in silence.

"But, instead of taking his meaning, Monsieur d'Epinay replied: 'You are still as bold in your carriage as you were in your club, for no other reason, Monsieur, than that four men are always stronger than one.'

"'Take care, Monsieur,' the president warned. 'You are no longer in a large company -- you are dealing with individuals. Don't insult them unless you wish to take responsibility for your remarks.'

"The president called on the driver to stop the carriage. They had just arrived at the end of the Quai des Ormes, where there is a stairway leading down to the river.

"'Here is yet another method of assassination,' said the general, shrugging his shoulders.

"'Because you have insulted a man, Monsieur,' said the president, 'and this man does not want to take a step further without demanding that you make honourable amends.'

"'Silence!' the president replied. 'Unless you wish me to consider you as one of those people you referred to a short while ago, that is to say, as a coward who uses his weakness as a shield. You are alone, and one man alone will answer you. You have a sword at your side, and I have one in this cane. You have no second, but one of these gentlemen will serve you. Now, if you are agreeable, you can take off your blindfold.'

"'Why have you pulled up here?' Monsieur d'Epinay asked.

"The general at once tore off the handkerchief around his eyes, saying: 'At last, I shall find out whom I am dealing with.'

"The carriage door was opened and the four men got down…"

Once more Franz paused. He wiped the sweat from his brow: there was something fearful in the sight of this son, pale and trembling, reading aloud these previously unknown details of his father's death.

Franz continued: "As we mentioned, it was February the fifth. For the past three days the temperature had fallen to five or six degrees below freezing. The stairway was coated with ice, the general was tall and fat, so the president offered him the side nearest the rail to go down. The two seconds followed behind.

Valentine clasped her hands as if in prayer. Noirtier looked at Villefort with an almost sublime expression of contempt and pride.

"The night was dark, the quayside between the stairway and the river was damp with snow and frost, and a few blocks of ice flowed past in the deep, black water. One of the seconds went to fetch a lantern from a coal barge and by the light of it they examined the weapons.

"The president's sword, which he said was a simple swordstick, was shorter than that of his opponent and had no handguard. General d'Epinay suggested that they should draw lots for the two swords, but the president replied that he had provoked the duel and that by so doing he had implied that each of them should use their own weapon. The seconds tried to persuade him, but the president told them to desist.

"The seconds thought he was dead, but his opponent, who knew that he had not hit him, offered his hand to help him back to his feet. This gesture, instead of calming the general, annoyed him and he threw himself in his turn against his opponent.

"The general had the reputation of being one of the best blades in the army. But, from the first passes, he was harried so hard that he gave ground and, in doing so, he fell.

"The lantern was set on the ground, the two adversaries stood on either side of it and the duel began. The light transformed the two swords into shafts of lightning, but the men could hardly be seen, so dark was it.

"The general, who had more or less lost consciousness, recovered his senses and said: 'Ah, they sent me some swordsman, some fencing master from the army.'

"They thought that he had slipped, as before; but, since he did not get up, the witnesses went over to him and tried to lift him to his feet. Then the man who had taken hold of his shoulders felt something wet beneath his hands. It was blood.

"General d'Epinay was in his death-agony. He expired five minutes later."

"Without replying, the president went over to the second who was holding the lantern and, rolling back his sleeve, showed two wounds that had pierced his arm and then, opening his coat and unbuttoning his waistcoat, he pointed to a third wound in his side. Yet he had not uttered a sigh.

"The latter, however, did not give an inch, blocking him against his sword. Three times the general retreated, finding he was too hard-pressed, then returned to the fray. On the third occasion, he fell once more.

Franz read these last words in such a choking voice that they could hardly be heard. After reading them, he stopped, passing his hand across his eyes as if to dispel a cloud. But after a moment's silence, he went on:

"In witness of which we have signed the present account to establish the true facts, so that none of the participants in these terrible events should ever be accused of premeditated murder or of failing to respect the laws of honour. Signed: Beaurepaire, Duchampy and Lecharpal."

"The president went back up the stairway, after replacing his sword in its stick. A trace of blood in the snow marked his passage. He had not yet reached the top of the stairs when he heard the dull sound of something hitting the water: it was the general's body which the seconds had just thrown into the river after confirming that it was dead.

"Consequently, the general died as the result of an honourable duel and not, as might be supposed, in an ambush.

When Franz had finished this account, so terrible for a son to read; when Valentine, pale and tense, had wiped away a tear; and when Villefort, trembling in a corner, had tried to avert the storm with a look of entreaty towards the pitiless old man, d'Epinay turned to Noirtier and said: "Monsieur, since you know every detail of this frightful story, since you have had it witnessed by honourable men, and finally since you seem to take an interest in me, even though so far your interest has only been a source of pain, do not deny me one last satisfaction: tell me the name of the president of the club, so that I may at last know who killed my poor father."

Villefort, as though distracted, was groping for the handle of the door. Valentine shrank back a pace: she had guessed the old man's reply before anyone, having often noticed the scars of two sword-wounds on his forearm.

"Alas, no!" said Franz. "The one hope that sustained me throughout the account and gave me the strength to read it to the end, was that I should at least learn the name of the man who killed my father. Monsieur!" he cried, turning to Noirtier, "In heaven's name, do what you can… I beg you, try to show me, to let me know…"

"In heaven's name, Mademoiselle," Franz said, turning to his fiancée, "assist me, so that I may discover the name of the man who made me an orphan at the age of two."

Valentine remained silent and motionless.

"Come, Monsieur," said Villefort. "Take my advice, do not prolong this frightful scene. In any case, the names were concealed deliberately. Even my father does not know this president; or, if he does, he would not be able to tell us. There are no proper names in the dictionary."

"Yes," said Noirtier.

"M!" Franz repeated. The young man's finger ran down the words but, at every one, Noirtier replied in the negative. Valentine's head was buried in her hands.

"Ah, Mademoiselle!" said Franz. "Your grandfather indicated that he can tell me… the man's name… Help me… You understand him… Give us your aid."

At last Franz reached the word: "MYSELF".

"You!" Franz cried, his hair rising on his head. "You, Monsieur Noirtier! Did you kill my father?"

Noirtier looked towards the dictionary. Franz picked it up with a nervous shudder and said the letters of the alphabet until he reached "M". Here the old man signalled "Yes."

"Yes," the old man said.

Franz's feet could no longer support him and he slumped into a chair. Villefort opened the door and fled, for he had just had an impulse to stifle the last dregs of life still remaining in the old man's fearsome heart.

"Yes," Noirtier replied, fixing the young man with an imperious look.