CHAPTER 224: THE POISONER’S GAME: I

Morrel walked slowly through the streets of Paris, his mind churning with thoughts he desperately needed to sort through alone. He’d just left the Count of Monte Cristo’s estate, and though he had plenty of time to reach his destination, as the Villefort mansion was only a short walk away, he deliberately slowed his pace.

He knew Valentine’s schedule by heart. Right now, she’d be feeding her grandfather his breakfast, a sacred routine no one dared interrupt. Noirtier and Valentine had granted him permission to visit twice a week, and today was one of those precious days.

When he arrived, Valentine was waiting for him, but something was wrong. Her usual composure had cracked. She grabbed his hand with trembling fingers and practically dragged him to her grandfather’s room. Her anxiety bordered on panic.

The reason was obvious, news of Morcerf’s incident at the opera had spread like wildfire through high society. Everyone at the Villefort household knew a duel was inevitable. Valentine, with the sharp intuition women possessed, had guessed that Morrel would serve as Monte Cristo’s second. Knowing Morrel’s legendary courage and his fierce loyalty to the Count, she feared he wouldn’t simply stand by and watch.

The moment Morrel entered, Valentine bombarded him with questions. He could see the relief flooding her eyes when he explained that the affair had ended peacefully, far better than anyone expected.

"Now," Valentine said, gesturing for Morrel to sit beside her grandfather while she settled on a footstool, "let’s talk about us. You know Grandfather was thinking about moving out of this house, finding a place away from Father’s residence?"

"Yes," Maximilian said, nodding eagerly. "I remember. I thought it was an excellent idea."

"Well, you can approve again. He’s reconsidering it."

"That’s wonderful!" Morrel’s face lit up.

Valentine leaned forward conspiratorially. "And do you know why Grandfather wants to leave?"

Noirtier shot Valentine a look, clearly wanting her to stop, but she was too focused on Morrel to notice.

"Whatever Monsieur Noirtier’s reason," Morrel replied diplomatically, "I’m sure it’s a good one."

"It’s perfect, actually," Valentine said with a slight smile. "He claims the air in this neighborhood isn’t good for my health."

"Really?" Morrel studied her face more carefully. "Now that you mention it, you haven’t looked well these past two weeks."

"I haven’t felt well," Valentine admitted. "But Grandfather’s become my personal physician now, and I trust him completely. He knows everything."

Morrel’s voice grew urgent. "Are you actually sick?"

"I wouldn’t call it sick, exactly. It’s more like... general discomfort. My appetite’s gone, and my stomach feels like it’s fighting against something it can’t quite accept."

Noirtier’s eyes tracked every word his granddaughter spoke.

"What’s the treatment?" Morrel asked.

"Something simple," Valentine replied. "Every morning, I take a spoonful of Grandfather’s medicine. Well, I started with one spoonful. Now I’m up to four. Grandfather says it’s a cure-all." She smiled, but Morrel could see the strain behind it.

Maximilian studied her silently, his devotion evident in every glance. She was beautiful, but her natural paleness had intensified. Her eyes burned brighter than usual, and her hands, normally pale as mother-of-pearl, now resembled yellowing wax.

His gaze shifted to Noirtier. The old man watched his granddaughter with an intensity that seemed almost prophetic, tracking the subtle signs of her suffering that everyone else missed. Only a grandfather and a lover could notice such things.

"Wait," Morrel said slowly. "This medicine you’re taking four spoonfuls of, isn’t that prepared specifically for Monsieur Noirtier?"

"I know it’s bitter," Valentine said with a grimace. "So bitter that everything I drink afterward tastes the same way."

Noirtier’s questioning gaze locked on her.

"Yes, Grandfather, it’s true. Just before I came down here, I drank some sugar water. I only finished half the glass because it tasted so bitter."

Noirtier went pale. He made urgent gestures indicating he needed to communicate.

Valentine rose to fetch the dictionary they used to translate his thoughts, but something was wrong. The blood was rushing to her head, her cheeks flushing red.

"Oh!" she cried, her cheerfulness forced. "This is strange, I can’t see properly! Is the sun in my eyes?" She leaned against the window for support.

"The sun’s not even shining," Morrel said, alarm creeping into his voice. Noirtier’s expression terrified him more than Valentine’s symptoms. He rushed to her side.

Valentine managed a weak smile. "Don’t worry," she told her grandfather. "Stay calm, Maximilian. It’s nothing. It’s already passing. Wait, do I hear a carriage in the courtyard?"

She opened Noirtier’s door, hurried to a hallway window, then rushed back.

"Yes," she confirmed. "It’s Madame Danglars and her daughter coming to visit. I have to go, they’ll send someone looking for me otherwise. Goodbye! Or rather, see you soon. Stay with Grandfather, Maximilian. I promise I won’t let them stay long."

Morrel watched her climb the small staircase leading to both Madame de Villefort’s apartments and her own room. The moment she disappeared, Noirtier frantically signaled for the dictionary.

Morrel had learned to interpret the old man’s communications, guided by Valentine’s patient teaching. Still, it took ten agonizing minutes to decode Noirtier’s message: "Fetch the glass of water and the pitcher from Valentine’s room."

Morrel immediately rang for the servant who’d replaced the late Barrois. Following Noirtier’s instructions, he gave the order.

The servant returned quickly, with empty hands and a confused expression.

"The pitcher and glass are completely empty," he reported.

Noirtier gestured urgently for more communication.

It took another five minutes to translate: "Why are they empty? Valentine said she only drank half the glass."

"I don’t know," the servant said, "but the housemaid is in Mademoiselle Valentine’s room right now. Maybe she emptied them?"

"Ask her," Morrel commanded, reading Noirtier’s intent in his eyes.

The servant left and returned almost immediately.

"Mademoiselle Valentine passed through her room on the way to Madame de Villefort’s," he explained. "She was thirsty, so she drank what remained in the glass. As for the pitcher, young Master Edward emptied it to make a pond for his toy ducks."

Noirtier’s eyes rolled toward heaven like a gambler watching his final, desperate bet. From that moment, his gaze fixed on the door and didn’t waver.

Meanwhile, in Madame de Villefort’s drawing room, the atmosphere was stiff with formality. Madame Danglars and her daughter Eugénie had been ushered in for what was clearly going to be an important announcement.

Valentine entered just as the formalities began.

"My dear friend," the baroness said as the young women shook hands, "Eugénie and I are here to be the first to announce my daughter’s upcoming marriage to Prince Cavalcanti."

The Danglars family insisted on the "prince" title, it sounded better than "count" for a wealthy banking family trying to climb the social ladder.

"Please accept my sincere congratulations," Madame de Villefort replied smoothly. "Prince Cavalcanti seems like a young man of exceptional quality."

"Between friends, I can be honest," the baroness said with a knowing smile. "The prince still has that foreign manner that lets French people immediately recognize Italian or German nobility. But he shows great kindness and sharp intelligence. And as for his fortune, Monsieur Danglars assures me it’s ’majestic.’ That’s his exact word."

"And," Eugénie added dryly while flipping through Madame de Villefort’s album, "you should mention that you’ve taken quite a fancy to the young man."

Madame de Villefort turned to Eugénie. "And do you share that fancy?"

"Me?" Eugénie replied with brutal honesty. "Not even slightly, madame. I never wanted to limit myself to domestic duties or any man’s whims. I wanted to be an artist, free in my heart, my person, and my thoughts."

She spoke with such fierce conviction that Valentine blushed. The timid girl couldn’t comprehend such a bold, unfeminine nature.

"Regardless," Eugénie continued, "since I’m being forced to marry whether I like it or not, I should thank Providence for releasing me from my engagement to Albert de Morcerf. Otherwise, I’d be marrying a dishonored man today."