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Noirtier's face remained perfectly passive during this long preamble, while, on the contrary, Villefort's eye was endeavoring to penetrate into the inmost recesses of the old man's heart. "This communication," continued the procureur, in that cold and decisive tone which seemed at once to preclude all discussion, "will, we are sure, meet with your approbation."
"Oh, whatever may be M. Noirtier's reason," answered Morrel, "I can readily believe it to be a good one." "An excellent one," said Valentine. "He pretends the air of the Faubourg St. Honore is not good for me." "Indeed?" said Morrel; "in that M. Noirtier may be right; you have not seemed to be well for the last fortnight." "Not very," said Valentine.
"To-day," he said with an effort, "to-day the man who holds the blade of justice must strike wherever there is guilt." Involuntarily his eyes wandered towards the window of Noirtier's room, where he had seen him the preceding night.
The old man looked at her with that stern and forbidding expression with which he was accustomed to receive her. "Sir," said she, "it is superfluous for me to tell you that Valentine's marriage is broken off, since it was here that the affair was concluded." Noirtier's countenance remained immovable.
Valentine, by means of her love, her patience, and her devotion, had learned to read in Noirtier's look all the varied feelings which were passing in his mind.
Noirtier's eye remained immovable. "Five hundred thousand?" The same expression continued. "Six hundred thousand 700,000 800,000 900,000?" Noirtier stopped him at the last-named sum. "You are then in possession of 900,000. francs?" asked the notary. "Yes." "In landed property?" "No." "In stock?" "Yes." "The stock is in your own hands?"
D'Avrigny returned about eight o'clock in the morning; he met Villefort on his way to Noirtier's room, and accompanied him to see how the old man had slept. They found him in the large arm-chair, which served him for a bed, enjoying a calm, nay, almost a smiling sleep. They both stood in amazement at the door. "See," said d'Avrigny to Villefort, "nature knows how to alleviate the deepest sorrow.
He now arose, his head bowed beneath the weight of grief, and, shaking his damp, dishevelled hair, he who had never felt compassion for any one determined to seek his father, that he might have some one to whom he could relate his misfortunes, some one by whose side he might weep. He descended the little staircase with which we are acquainted, and entered Noirtier's room.
"Now that this marriage, which I know you so much disliked, is done away with, I come to you on an errand which neither M. de Villefort nor Valentine could consistently undertake." Noirtier's eyes demanded the nature of her mission.
"February 5th, 1815!" said he; "it is the day my father was murdered." Valentine and Villefort were dumb; the eye of the old man alone seemed to say clearly, "Go on." "But it was on leaving this club," said he, "my father disappeared." Noirtier's eye continued to say, "Read." He resumed:
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