The Count of Monte Cristo (Unabridged Penguin) (113 page)

‘No, no!’ the invalid said.

‘What! Valentine has no interest in your will?’ M. de Villefort asked.

‘No,’ said Noirtier.

The notary was delighted by the results of the test and determined to dine out on this picturesque anecdote. ‘Nothing, Monsieur,’ he said, ‘now seems simpler to me than this task which a moment ago I considered impossible. This will quite simply be a “mystical”, that is to say, one allowed for under the law provided it is read before seven witnesses, approved by the testator in their presence and sealed by the notary, also in their presence. As for the time involved, it will scarcely take longer than an ordinary will. There are, first of all, the usual formalities which are always the same; as for the details, most of these will be supplied by the state of the testator’s affairs themselves and by you who, having managed his
estate, are acquainted with it. At the same time, to make this will unchallengeable, we shall make sure that everything is signed and sealed: one of my colleagues will serve as my assistant and, contrary to the usual practice, be present when the will is dictated. Does that satisfy you, Monsieur?’ he continued, turning to the old man.

‘Yes,’ Noirtier said, delighted at having been understood.

‘What is he going to do?’ wondered Villefort, whose eminent position did not allow him to show his feelings and who, in any event, could not guess what his father had in mind.

He turned around to look for the second notary whom the first had mentioned, but Barrois, having heard everything and anticipated his master’s wishes, had already left. So the prosecutor sent for his wife. A quarter of an hour later, everyone was assembled in the invalid’s room and the second notary had arrived.

The two officials quickly agreed. Noirtier was read a vague and commonplace form of last will and testament; then, to begin probing his intelligence so to speak, the first notary turned to him and said: ‘When one makes a will, Monsieur, it is in favour of someone.’

‘Yes,’ said Noirtier.

‘Do you have some idea of the amount of your fortune?’

‘Yes.’

‘I am going to mention several figures, in ascending order. Stop me when I get to the one you think is correct.’

‘Yes.’

There was a kind of solemnity in this interrogation. Never had the struggle of mind against matter been more clearly visible, and the resulting spectacle, if not sublime (as we were inclined to call it), was at least curious.

They formed a circle around Noirtier. The second notary was seated at a table, poised to write. The first stood in front of him and asked the questions.

‘Is your fortune greater than three hundred thousand francs?’ he asked.

Noirtier indicated that it was.

‘Do you have four hundred thousand francs?’ the notary asked.

Noirtier remained impassive.

‘Five hundred thousand?’

Still no movement.

‘Six hundred? Seven hundred? Eight hundred? Nine hundred?’

Noirtier indicated: ‘Yes.’

‘You have nine hundred thousand francs?’

‘Yes.’

‘In property?’ the notary asked.

Noirtier said, ‘No.’

‘In government bonds?’

Noirtier said, ‘Yes.’

‘And do you have these bonds in your possession?’

A glance at Barrois sent the old servant hurrying out, to return a moment later with a small box.

‘Will you allow us to open this box?’ asked the notary.

Noirtier said, ‘Yes.’

The box was opened to reveal government bonds to the amount of 900,000 francs. The first notary passed them, one by one, to his colleague. The amount stated by Noirtier was exact.

‘Correct,’ the notary said. ‘It is clear that the man’s intelligence is unimpaired.’ Then he turned to the invalid and said: ‘So, you have a capital of nine hundred thousand francs which, invested in this way, must bring you an income of around forty thousand
livres
?’

‘Yes,’ said Noirtier.

‘To whom do you wish to leave this fortune?’

‘Oh!’ Mme de Villefort said. ‘There can be no doubt on that score. Monsieur Noirtier only loves his granddaughter, Mademoiselle Valentine de Villefort. She has looked after him for six years and this dedicated care has managed to win her grandfather’s affection, I might even say his gratitude. So it is only fair that she should have some reward for her devotion.’

Noirtier’s eyes flashed, as if to show that he was not taken in by this false consent that Mme de Villefort was giving to what she supposed to be his intentions.

‘Do you then wish to leave these nine hundred thousand francs to Mademoiselle Valentine de Villefort?’ the notary asked, thinking that he had only to write this provision into the will, but wanting, even so, to have Noirtier’s consent and to let it be noted by all the witnesses to this unusual scene.

Valentine had stepped back and was weeping, her eyes lowered. The old man looked at her for a moment with an expression of profound tenderness, then turned back to the notary and blinked his eyes in the most emphatic way.

‘No?’ the notary asked. ‘Do you mean that you do not wish to name Mademoiselle Valentine de Villefort as your sole heir and legatee?’

Noirtier said, ‘No.’

‘Are you sure that you are not making a mistake?’ the notary exclaimed. ‘Are you really saying “no”?’

‘No!’ Noirtier repeated. ‘No.’

Valentine looked up. She was astonished, not at being disinherited but at the feeling which usually dictates such an action. But Noirtier was looking at her with such an expression of tenderness that she exclaimed: ‘Oh, grandfather, I can see that you are only depriving me of your fortune, while leaving me your heart!’

‘Oh yes, indeed,’ said the invalid’s eyes, closing with an emphasis that Valentine could not fail to understand.

‘Thank you, thank you!’ she murmured.

However, the old man’s emphatic ‘No’ had awakened an unexpected hope in Mme de Villefort’s heart. She came closer to him and asked: ‘So, dear Monsieur Noirtier, are you leaving your money to your grandson, Edouard de Villefort?’

There was a fearful blinking of the eyelids, almost expressive of loathing.

‘No,’ said the notary. ‘Then is it your son, here present?’

‘No,’ the old man answered.

The two notaries exchanged looks of astonishment, while Villefort and his wife felt the blood rise to their cheeks, one in shame, the other in fury.

‘But what have we done to you, grandfather?’ said Valentine. ‘Don’t you love us any more?’

The old man’s eyes swept rapidly past his son and daughter-in-law, to rest, with an expression of deep tenderness, on Valentine.

‘Well, then,’ she said. ‘If you love me, my dearest grandfather, try to associate that love with what you are doing at the moment. You know me, you know that I have never considered your fortune. In any event, they say that I am rich on my mother’s side… too rich. So explain yourself.’

Noirtier stared eagerly at Valentine’s hand.

‘My hand?’ she said.

‘Yes,’ said Noirtier.

‘Her hand!’ everyone exclaimed.

‘There, gentlemen!’ said Villefort. ‘Now you can plainly see that this is useless and that my poor father is ill.’

‘Ah! I understand!’ Valentine exclaimed suddenly. ‘You mean my marriage, don’t you, grandfather?’

‘Yes, yes, yes,’ the invalid said, three times, his eyes flashing each time the lid was raised.

‘You reproach us, concerning the marriage?’

‘Yes.’

‘But this is absurd,’ said Villefort.

‘On the contrary, Monsieur, if I may say so,’ said the notary, ‘but all this is very logical and seems to me to hang together quite perfectly.’

‘You don’t want me to marry Monsieur Franz d’Epinay?’

‘No, I don’t want you to,’ said the old man’s eyes.

‘And you are disinheriting your granddaughter because she is engaging in a match of which you do not approve?’ the notary exclaimed.

‘Yes,’ said Noirtier.

‘Meaning that, without this marriage, she would be your heir?’

‘Yes.’

At this, a profound silence fell over everyone.

The two notaries looked questioningly at each other. Valentine, her hands clasped, gave her grandfather a grateful smile. Villefort bit his thin lips. Mme de Villefort could not repress a feeling of joy which, in spite of herself, showed on her face.

Villefort was the first to break the silence. ‘But,’ he said at length, ‘it seems to me that I alone am able to assess the advantages of this union. I alone am master of my daughter’s hand and I want her to marry Monsieur Franz d’Epinay. So she will marry him.’

Valentine let herself fall, weeping, on to a chair.

‘Monsieur,’ the notary said, speaking to the old man, ‘what do you intend to do with your fortune, in the event of Mademoiselle Valentine marrying Monsieur Franz?’

The old man did not budge.

‘You do, however, intend to bequeath it to someone?’

‘Yes,’ said Noirtier.

‘Someone in your family?’

‘No.’

‘To the poor, then?’

‘Yes.’

‘But you do realize that the law will not permit you to deprive your son altogether?’

‘Yes.’

‘So you will only bequeath the share that the law authorizes you to dispose of outside your family?’

Noirtier did not move.

‘You still want to dispose of the whole amount?’

‘Yes.’

‘But after your death the will will be contested!’

‘No.’

‘My father knows me, gentlemen,’ M. de Villefort said. ‘He realizes that his wishes will be sacred to me, and, in any case, he knows that in my position I cannot argue my case against the poor.’

Noirtier’s eyes wore an expression of triumph.

‘What are you going to do, Monsieur?’ the notary asked Villefort.

‘Nothing. This decision has been taken by my father and I know that he does not change his mind. Consequently, I am resigned. The nine hundred thousand francs will leave our family and go to enrich some charitable foundation; but I will not give in to an old man’s whim. I shall follow my conscience.’

At this, Villefort and his wife left, leaving Noirtier free to make his will in whatever way he desired.

The last will and testament was drawn up the same day. The witnesses were sent for and the old man gave his approval of the document, which was sealed in the presence of the witnesses and deposited with M. Deschamps, the family lawyer.

When M. and Mme de Villefort returned to their own apartments, they learned that the Count of Monte Cristo, who had come to pay them a visit, had been shown into the drawing-room and was waiting for them there. Mme de Villefort was too upset to go in directly but went first to her bedroom, while the crown prosecutor was more sure of himself and proceeded at once towards the drawing-room.
But, however successful he was in controlling his feelings and not letting them show on his face, M. de Villefort was unable entirely to dispel the cloud from his brow, so the count, greeting him with a radiant smile, could not help noticing his sombre air of preoccupation.

‘Good Lord, Monsieur de Villefort!’ Monte Cristo said, after the first greetings had been exchanged. ‘What is wrong? Have I come at a moment when you were compiling rather too capital an indictment?’

Villefort tried to smile. ‘No, Count,’ he said. ‘I am the only victim here. I am losing my own case, and the indictment was drawn up as a result of chance, obstinacy and folly.’

‘How do you mean?’ Monte Cristo asked, with a perfect show of sympathetic curiosity. ‘Have you really suffered some serious misfortune?’

‘Oh, Monsieur le Comte,’ Villefort said, with icy bitterness, ‘it is not worth mentioning. It is nothing, simply a financial loss.’

‘Agreed,’ said Monte Cristo. ‘A financial loss is a trivial matter to someone who possesses a fortune and a philosophical outlook which are both as broad as yours.’

‘Yes,’ Villefort replied. ‘It is not the money that bothers me – though, when all’s said and done, nine hundred thousand francs may be worth a sigh, or at least a snort of irritation. But I am chiefly vexed by the turn of fate, of chance, of destiny… I don’t know what to call the force behind the blow that has just struck me, destroying my financial expectations and, perhaps, my daughter’s future, because of the whim of a senile old man.’

‘My goodness! What is this?’ the count exclaimed. ‘Did you say nine hundred thousand francs? Even a philosopher might regret the loss of such a sum. Who has brought this upon you?’

‘My father, whom I mentioned to you.’

‘Really? Monsieur Noirtier? But I thought you told me that he was totally paralysed and deprived of all his faculties?’

‘Yes, his physical faculties, for he cannot move or speak; yet, as you see, despite that, he thinks, wills and acts. I left him five minutes ago and at this moment he is dictating his last will to two notaries.’