CHAPTER 155: THE GRANDFATHER’S WILL: II

"When someone makes a will," the notary said, "it’s generally to benefit or exclude specific people."

Yes.

"Do you have a clear understanding of the size of your fortune?"

Yes.

"I’ll name increasingly large sums. Stop me when I reach the amount of your assets."

Yes.

A solemn atmosphere descended. Never had the battle between mind and body been more apparent, if not sublime, then certainly fascinating. They had formed a circle around the invalid. The second notary sat at a table ready to write, while his colleague stood before the testator, conducting the interrogation.

"Your fortune exceeds 300,000 francs, correct?"

Noirtier indicated yes.

"Do you possess 400,000 francs?"

His eye remained motionless. No.

"Five hundred thousand?"

The same stillness.

"600,000... 700,000... 800,000... 900,000?"

Noirtier stopped him at the last figure.

"So you possess 900,000 francs?"

Yes.

"In property and land?"

No.

"In stocks and investments?"

Yes.

"Are these stocks in your possession?"

The look Noirtier gave Barrois indicated something was missing, something Barrois knew where to find. The old servant left and returned shortly with a small lockbox.

"May we open this?" the notary asked.

Noirtier consented. Inside, they found 900,000 francs in bank certificates. The first notary handed each note to his colleague for verification. The total matched exactly what Noirtier had indicated.

"Everything is as he stated. His mind clearly retains full strength and clarity."

Turning back to the paralyzed man, the notary continued, "You possess 900,000 francs in capital, which based on your investments should generate approximately 40,000 in annual income, correct?"

Yes.

"To whom do you wish to leave this fortune?"

"Oh," Madame de Villefort interjected, "there’s hardly any doubt about that. M. Noirtier dearly loves his granddaughter, Valentine. She’s the one who’s nursed and cared for him these past six years. Through her devoted attention, she’s earned his affection, I’d even say his gratitude. It’s only right that she should benefit from her devotion."

Noirtier’s eye clearly showed he saw through the false sincerity of Madame de Villefort’s words.

"So you’re leaving these 900,000 francs to Mademoiselle Valentine de Villefort?" the notary asked, preparing to insert this clause but waiting for Noirtier’s confirmation before the assembled witnesses.

When her name became the subject of discussion, Valentine had stepped back to avoid attention. Her eyes were downcast, tears streaming down her face. The old man looked at her for a moment with profound tenderness, then turned to the notary and deliberately winked. No.

"What?" the notary said, startled. "You don’t intend to make Mademoiselle Valentine your primary heir?"

No.

"You’re certain? You truly mean to declare this is not your intention?"

No, Noirtier repeated firmly.

Valentine’s head snapped up, struck speechless with shock. It wasn’t the disinheritance itself that wounded her, it was her complete inability to understand why her grandfather would do this. But Noirtier looked at her with such affectionate tenderness that she exclaimed, "Oh, Grandpapa! I see now, you’re only taking away your fortune, not your love, which I’ve always treasured."

"Ah, yes, absolutely," his closing eyes confirmed with an expression Valentine couldn’t mistake.

"Thank you, thank you," she whispered.

The old man’s declaration that Valentine wouldn’t inherit had sparked hope in Madame de Villefort. She approached the invalid and said, "Then surely, dear M. Noirtier, you intend to leave your fortune to your grandson, Edward de Villefort?"

The emphatic winking that answered was decisive and terrible, expressing something almost like hatred. No.

"Then perhaps to your son, M. de Villefort?" the notary ventured.

No.

The two notaries exchanged bewildered glances, silently questioning what the testator truly intended. Villefort and his wife both flushed, he with shame, she with anger.

"What have we done, Grandpapa?" Valentine asked softly. "Don’t you love any of us anymore?"

The old man’s eyes moved rapidly from Villefort and his wife, then rested on Valentine with a look of immeasurable fondness.

"Well then," she said, "if you love me, Grandpapa, let that love guide your actions right now. You know me well enough to understand I’ve never cared about your fortune. They say I’m already wealthy through my mother’s inheritance, perhaps too wealthy. Please, explain yourself."

Noirtier fixed his intelligent gaze on Valentine’s hand.

"My hand?" she asked, confused.

Yes.

"Her hand!" everyone echoed.

"Gentlemen, you see this is pointless," Villefort declared. "My father’s mind is clearly impaired."

"Wait!" Valentine cried suddenly. "I understand! It’s my marriage you mean, isn’t it, Grandpapa?"

Yes, yes, yes, the paralytic signaled, his eye showing joyful gratitude that she’d grasped his meaning.

"You’re angry with all of us about this marriage?"

Yes.

"This is absolutely ridiculous," Villefort snapped.

"Excuse me, sir," the notary said calmly, "but M. Noirtier’s meaning is perfectly clear to me. I can easily follow his train of thought."

"You don’t want me to marry Franz d’Epinay?" Valentine asked.

I do not, her grandfather’s eye declared.

"And you’re disinheriting your granddaughter because she’s engaged against your wishes?" the notary clarified.

Yes.

"So without this marriage, she would have been your heir?"

Yes.

A profound silence fell. The two notaries conferred quietly about how to proceed. Valentine gazed at her grandfather with a grateful smile. Villefort bit his lip in frustration, while Madame de Villefort couldn’t suppress an inward joy that, despite her efforts, showed plainly on her face.

"However," Villefort said, breaking the silence, "I’m the best judge of whether this marriage is appropriate. I alone have the right to decide my daughter’s future. I want her to marry Franz d’Epinay, and she will."

Valentine sank into a chair, weeping.

"Sir," the notary addressed Noirtier, "how do you intend to dispose of your fortune if Mademoiselle de Villefort proceeds with marrying M. Franz?"

The old man gave no answer.

"You will dispose of it somehow, won’t you?"

Yes.

"To another family member?"

No.

"To charity then?" the notary pressed.

Yes.

"But you’re aware the law doesn’t allow a son to be completely disinherited?"

Yes.

"So you only intend to dispose of the portion the law allows you to withhold from your son’s inheritance?"

Noirtier made no answer.

"You still wish to dispose of everything?"

Yes.

"But they’ll contest the will after your death."

No.

"My father knows me," Villefort said. "He’s certain I’ll honor his wishes. Besides, in my position, I cannot fight against charity."

Noirtier’s eye gleamed with triumph.

"What do you decide, sir?" the notary asked Villefort.

"Nothing. This is my father’s resolution, and I know he never changes his mind. I’m resigned to it. These 900,000 francs will leave the family to enrich some hospital. But it’s absurd to yield to an old man’s whims, so I’ll act according to my conscience."

With that, Villefort left the room with his wife, leaving his father free to do as he wished.

That same day, the will was drafted and witnessed. The old man approved it, it was sealed in everyone’s presence, and given into the custody of M. Deschamps, the family notary.