“Yes.”
“In favor of some member of your family?”
“No.”
“Do you intend devoting it to charitable purposes, then?” pursued the notary.
“Yes.”
“But,” said the notary, “you are aware that the law does not allow a son to be entirely deprived of his patrimony?”
“Yes.”
“You only intend, then, to dispose of that part of your fortune which the law allows you to subtract from the inheritance of your son?” Noirtier made no answer.
“Do you still wish to dispose of all?”
“Yes.”
“But they will contest the will after your death?”
“No.”
“My father knows me,” replied Villefort; “he is quite sure that his wishes will be held sacred by me; besides, he understands that in my position I cannot plead against the poor.” The eye of Noirtier beamed with triumph.
“What do you decide on, sir?” asked the notary of Villefort.
“Nothing, sir; it is a resolution which my father has taken and I know he never alters his mind. I am quite resigned. These 900,000 francs will go out of the family in order to enrich some hospital; but it is ridiculous thus to yield to the caprices of an old man, and I shall, therefore, act according to my conscience.”
Having said this, Villefort quitted the room with his wife, leaving his father at liberty to do as he pleased. The same day the will was made, the witnesses were brought, it was approved by the old man, sealed in the presence of all and given in charge to M. Deschamps, the family notary.
Chapter 60. The Telegraph
M. and Madame de Villefort found on their return that the Count of Monte Cristo, who had come to visit them in their absence, had been ushered into the drawing-room, and was still awaiting them there. Madame de Villefort, who had not yet sufficiently recovered from her late emotion to allow of her entertaining visitors so immediately, retired to her bedroom, while the procureur, who could better depend upon himself, proceeded at once to the salon.
Although M. de Villefort flattered himself that, to all outward view, he had completely masked the feelings which were passing in his mind, he did not know that the cloud was still lowering on his brow, so much so that the count, whose smile was radiant, immediately noticed his sombre and thoughtful air.
“Ma foi!” said Monte Cristo, after the first compliments were over, “what is the matter with you, M. de Villefort? Have I arrived at the moment when you were drawing up an indictment for a capital crime?”
Villefort tried to smile.
“No, count,” he replied, “I am the only victim in this case. It is I who lose my cause, and it is ill-luck, obstinacy, and folly which have caused it to be decided against me.”
“To what do you refer?” said Monte Cristo with well-feigned interest. “Have you really met with some great misfortune?”
“Oh, no, monsieur,” said Villefort with a bitter smile; “it is only a loss of money which I have sustained—nothing worth mentioning, I assure you.”
“True,” said Monte Cristo, “the loss of a sum of money becomes almost immaterial with a fortune such as you possess, and to one of your philosophic spirit.”
“It is not so much the loss of the money that vexes me,” said Villefort, “though, after all, 900,000 francs are worth regretting; but I am the more annoyed with this fate, chance, or whatever you please to call the power which has destroyed my hopes and my fortune, and may blast the prospects of my child also, as it is all occasioned by an old man relapsed into second childhood.”
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“What do you say?” said the count; “900,000 francs? It is indeed a sum which might be regretted even by a philosopher. And who is the cause of all this annoyance?”
“My father, as I told you.”
“M. Noirtier? But I thought you told me he had become entirely paralyzed, and that all his faculties were completely destroyed?”
“Yes, his bodily faculties, for he can neither move nor speak, nevertheless he thinks, acts, and wills in the manner I have described. I left him about five minutes ago, and he is now occupied in dictating his will to two notaries.”
“But to do this he must have spoken?”
“He has done better than that—he has made himself understood.”
“How was such a thing possible?”
“By the help of his eyes, which are still full of life, and, as you perceive, possess the power of inflicting mortal injury.”
“My dear,” said Madame de Villefort, who had just entered the room, “perhaps you exaggerate the evil.”
“Good-morning, madame,” said the count, bowing.
Madame de Villefort acknowledged the salutation with one of her most gracious smiles.
“What is this that M. de Villefort has been telling me?” demanded Monte Cristo “and what incomprehensible misfortune——”
“Incomprehensible is the word!” interrupted the procureur, shrugging his shoulders. “It is an old man’s caprice!”