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"Then Valentine must have been buried alive," muttered Villefort, fixing his eyes upon the physician. "And if that were the case?" said D'Avigny solemnly. "Then I would say God has done a miracle to save the innocent," said Villefort, the tears starting in his eyes. "Monsieur de Villefort," said the physician, earnestly, "do you know how Valentine died?" "Too well she was poisoned by my wife."
Anselmo whistled for his rat, and, pointing to the little animal, solemnly said: "Here is our savior the little rat-king will free us!" Dr. D'Avigny sat in his private office and studied the sick-list of his asylum. A servant entered, and announced a young man who desired to speak with him. "You know, Jean, that I do not like to receive visitors so late at night," said the physician.
Morrel handed the following letter to the doctor: "MADEMOISELLE VALENTINE In Paris, in the house of Dr. D'Avigny, a dying man awaits your consolation. If you wish to see your father alive, hurry to him. "The Count of Monte-Cristo must have written this note," said D'Avigny. "The initials M. C. prove it." "We thought so, too," said Maximilian. "Do you know where the count is now?" "No."
"Where is Valentine now?" asked D'Avigny after a short pause. "Since the fall of the house of Villefort, Valentine has lived with her grandfather, Monsieur Noirtier, on his estate near Marseilles." "That is the reason, then, why Monsieur Noirtier disappeared so suddenly from Paris?" said D'Avigny.
"That depends upon the nature of the excitement," answered D'Avigny. "There can hardly be any more joys for Villefort, and troubles I would keep aloof from him." "It is a question of a great joy, which, however, is not free from certain anxieties." "You are speaking in riddles, Monsieur Morrel." "Then let me unravel these riddles to you. Valentine de Villefort lives."
"What for?" "Madame de Villefort wished to have Valentine's fortune go to her son." "That is dastardly," said the district-attorney. "Do you remember, Monsieur de Villefort," continued D'Avigny, "to have seen a mysterious man in your house some time prior to Valentine's death, whose mission it appears is to reward the good and punish the guilty?"
"Gentlemen," said the physician quietly, "you know I am a sensible man; why should I try to tell you a fable?" "But I was at the funeral," stammered Flambois. "I also, and yet I tell you the dead woman lives," persisted D'Avigny, "or if we want to call it by its proper name, Valentine de Villefort is dead and the daughter of Naya and the Rajah Duttjah lives."
"Monsieur de Villefort," said D'Avigny, anxiously, "you are exerting yourself too much; postpone the continuation until to-morrow." "No, no," replied Villefort, "I must speak to-day; to-morrow would be too late. "Three months later, Renee de St. Meran became my wife, the battle of Waterloo followed, and Napoleon was deposed forever.
If Valentine lives, I will believe God has pardoned a portion of my sins." "Gentlemen," said the district-attorney, doubtingly, "I only believe what I see; if Valentine de Villefort lives, let her show herself." "Maximilian," called D'Avigny, opening the door, "tell Valentine to come in." "Whom did you just call?" asked Villefort, when D'Avigny had closed the door again.
Doctor, will you confirm this statement to the gentlemen of the jury?" "Certainly, judge," said the old physician, deeply moved. "Monsieur de Villefort's condition is hopeless, and would not be changed in any way by his appearing in court the apathy of my patient is beyond description." Thereupon Dr. d'Avigny turned to his patient and led him to a chair. Deep silence reigned throughout the room.
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