His expressive eyes evinced the greatest tenderness.
“To you alone, then, may I confide my sorrows and my hopes?”
The paralytic motioned “Yes.”
Valentine took Maximilian’s hand.
“Look attentively, then, at this gentleman.”
The old man fixed his scrutinizing gaze with slight astonishment on Morrel.
“It is M. Maximilian Morrel,” said she; “the son of that good merchant of Marseilles, whom you doubtless recollect.”
“Yes,” said the old man.
“He brings an irreproachable name, which Maximilian is likely to render glorious, since at thirty years of age he is a captain, an officer of the Legion of Honor.”
The old man signified that he recollected him.
“Well, grandpapa,” said Valentine, kneeling before him, and pointing to Maximilian, “I love him, and will be only his; were I compelled to marry another, I would destroy myself.”
The eyes of the paralytic expressed a multitude of tumultuous thoughts.
“You like M. Maximilian Morrel, do you not, grandpapa?” asked Valentine.
“Yes.”
“And you will protect us, who are your children, against the will of my father?”
Noirtier cast an intelligent glance at Morrel, as if to say, “perhaps I may.”
Maximilian understood him.
“Mademoiselle,” said he, “you have a sacred duty to fulfil in your deceased grandmother’s room, will you allow me the honor of a few minutes’ conversation with M. Noirtier?”
“That is it,” said the old man’s eye. Then he looked anxiously at Valentine.
“Do you fear he will not understand?”
“Yes.”
“Oh, we have so often spoken of you, that he knows exactly how I talk to you.” Then turning to Maximilian, with an adorable smile; although shaded by sorrow,—“He knows everything I know,” said she.
Valentine arose, placed a chair for Morrel, requested Barrois not to admit anyone, and having tenderly embraced her grandfather, and sorrowfully taken leave of Morrel, she went away. To prove to Noirtier that he was in Valentine’s confidence and knew all their secrets, Morrel took the dictionary, a pen, and some paper, and placed them all on a table where there was a light.
“But first,” said Morrel, “allow me, sir, to tell you who I am, how much I love Mademoiselle Valentine, and what are my designs respecting her.”
Noirtier made a sign that he would listen.
It was an imposing sight to witness this old man, apparently a mere useless burden, becoming the sole protector, support, and adviser of the lovers who were both young, beautiful, and strong. His remarkably noble and austere expression struck Morrel, who began his story with trembling. He related the manner in which he had become acquainted with Valentine, and how he had loved her, and that Valentine, in her solitude and her misfortune, had accepted the offer of his devotion. He told him his birth, his position, his fortune, and more than once, when he consulted the look of the paralytic, that look answered, “That is good, proceed.”
“And now,” said Morrel, when he had finished the first part of his recital, “now I have told you of my love and my hopes, may I inform you of my intentions?”
“Yes,” signified the old man.
“This was our resolution; a cabriolet was in waiting at the gate, in which I intended to carry off Valentine to my sister’s house, to marry her, and to wait respectfully M. de Villefort’s pardon.”
“No,” said Noirtier.
“We must not do so?”
“No.”
“You do not sanction our project?”
“No.”
“There is another way,” said Morrel. The old man’s interrogative eye said, “Which?”
“I will go,” continued Maximilian, “I will seek M. Franz d’Épinay—I am happy to be able to mention this in Mademoiselle de Villefort’s absence—and will conduct myself toward him so as to compel him to challenge me.” Noirtier’s look continued to interrogate.
“You wish to know what I will do?”
“Yes.”
“I will find him, as I told you. I will tell him the ties which bind me to Mademoiselle Valentine; if he be a sensible man, he will prove it by renouncing of his own accord the hand of his betrothed, and will secure my friendship, and love until death; if he refuse, either through interest or ridiculous pride, after I have proved to him that he would be forcing my wife from me, that Valentine loves me, and will have no other, I will fight with him, give him every advantage, and I shall kill him, or he will kill me; if I am victorious, he will not marry Valentine, and if I die, I am very sure Valentine will not marry him.”
Noirtier watched, with indescribable pleasure, this noble and sincere countenance, on which every sentiment his tongue uttered was depicted, adding by the expression of his fine features all that coloring adds to a sound and faithful drawing.
