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Updated: June 16, 2025
"Maximilian Morrel, Valentine's betrothed, the son of the shipping merchant Morrel, of Marseilles." "Morrel Marseilles Edmond Dantes," murmured Villefort. "Ah, there is justice in Heaven!" The door was now opened, and Valentine entered. She strode to Villefort's bed and sank on her knees beside it. "Oh, father," she sobbed, embracing him tenderly. "Thank God, I see you again!"
The third, Caderousse, an envious tailor, had allowed himself to be made a tool of to bring to the notice of the authorities the denunciation against the young sailor which Danglars had dictated and Mondego written down. His worst enemy was Villefort, who had now become the procureur du roi at Paris.
As he approached it, Noirtier's gaze followed him, and his eyes appeared of such a fiery brightness that Villefort felt them pierce to the depths of his heart. In that earnest look might be read a deep reproach, as well as a terrible menace. Then Noirtier raised his eyes to heaven, as though to remind his son of a forgotten oath.
At these words he rose, and put off his frock-coat and cravat, went towards a table on which lay his son's toilet articles, lathered his face, took a razor, and, with a firm hand, cut off the compromising whiskers. Villefort watched him with alarm not devoid of admiration.
Some of your people have committed the strangest mistake they have just arrested Edmond Dantes, mate of my vessel." "I know it, monsieur," replied Villefort, "and I am now going to examine him." "Oh," said Morrel, carried away by his friendship, "you do not know him, and I do.
While Madame de Villefort remained rooted to the spot like a statue of terror, and Villefort, with his head hidden in the bedclothes, saw nothing around him, d'Avrigny approached the window, that he might the better examine the contents of the glass, and dipping the tip of his finger in, tasted it. "Ah," he exclaimed, "it is no longer brucine that is used; let me see what it is!"
When Villefort arrived at his own house he found everything in confusion. Making his way to his wife's apartments, he had the horror of meeting her while she still lived, just at the very instant when the poison she had taken did its work, and of finding a moment or two after that she had poisoned his little son Edward.
"Thanks, my dear friend," said Madame Danglars, trying to smile; "it is over now, and I am much better." The Beggar. The evening passed on; Madame de Villefort expressed a desire to return to Paris, which Madame Danglars had not dared to do, notwithstanding the uneasiness she experienced. On his wife's request, M. de Villefort was the first to give the signal of departure.
"Ah, here you are, monsieur," she said in her naturally calm voice; "but how pale you are! Have you been working all night? Why did you not come down to breakfast? Well, will you take me, or shall I take Edward?" Madame de Villefort had multiplied her questions in order to gain one answer, but to all her inquiries M. de Villefort remained mute and cold as a statue.
I will no longer detain you, M. de Villefort, for you must be fatigued after so long a journey; go and rest. Of course you stopped at your father's?" A feeling of faintness came over Villefort. "No, sire," he replied, "I alighted at the Hotel de Madrid, in the Rue de Tournon." "But you have seen him?" "Sire, I went straight to the Duc de Blacas." "But you will see him, then?" "I think not, sire."
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