CHAPTER 225: THE POISONER’S GAME: II

"That’s true," Madame Danglars agreed with startling simplicity. "If the Morcerfs hadn’t hesitated, my daughter would have married Albert. The general was counting on it, he even tried to pressure Monsieur Danglars. We had a narrow escape."

"But," Valentine ventured timidly, "does the father’s shame really transfer to the son? Albert seems completely innocent of the treason his father committed."

"Excuse me," Eugénie said coldly, "but Albert claims and deserves his share of the blame. After challenging Monte Cristo at the opera yesterday, he apparently apologized this morning."

"Impossible!" Madame de Villefort gasped.

"It’s true, my dear," Madame Danglars confirmed. "I heard it from Monsieur Debray, who witnessed the whole thing."

Valentine knew the truth too, but remained silent. A single thought had struck her, Morrel was waiting in Grandfather’s room.

Lost in contemplation, Valentine stopped following the conversation entirely. She couldn’t have repeated a word of what had been said in the last few minutes. Suddenly, Madame Danglars’ hand pressed against her arm, jolting her back to awareness.

"What is it?" Valentine asked, startled as if shocked by electricity.

"My dear Valentine," the baroness said with concern, "you’re clearly not well."

Valentine pressed her hand to her burning forehead. "I’m fine..."

"Look at yourself in that mirror. You’ve turned pale, then flushed, three or four times in the last minute."

"You’re really pale!" Eugénie added.

"Don’t worry. I’ve been like this for days." Despite her innocence, Valentine recognized an opportunity to escape. Madame de Villefort came to her aid.

"Go rest, Valentine," she said gently. "You’re obviously suffering, and these ladies will understand. Drink some pure water, it will help."

Valentine kissed Eugénie, nodded to Madame Danglars, who was already preparing to leave, and hurried out.

"That poor child," Madame de Villefort said after Valentine left. "She worries me. I wouldn’t be surprised if she had some serious illness."

Valentine rushed through Edward’s room in a strange, excited state she didn’t quite understand, barely noticing the child’s mischief. She crossed her own room and reached the small staircase.

Three steps from the bottom, already hearing Morrel’s voice, a cloud suddenly passed over her vision. Her foot went rigid, missing the step. Her hands couldn’t grip the railing. She fell against the wall, lost her balance completely, and tumbled to the floor.

Morrel rushed to the door, threw it open, and found Valentine crumpled at the bottom of the stairs. Moving like lightning, he scooped her into his arms and placed her in a chair.

Valentine’s eyes fluttered open.

"How clumsy of me," she said with feverish energy. "I forgot there were three more steps before the landing."

"Are you hurt?" Morrel asked anxiously. "What can I do, Valentine?"

Valentine glanced around, seeing the terror in her grandfather’s eyes.

"Don’t worry, dear Grandfather," she said, attempting a smile. "It’s nothing. Just a dizzy spell."

"Another dizzy spell," Morrel said, gripping his hands together. "Please, Valentine, take this seriously."

"But no," Valentine insisted. "I told you, it’s already passed. Now let me tell you the news, Eugénie’s getting married in a week! There’s going to be a grand engagement party in three days. We’re all invited: Father, Madame de Villefort, and me. At least, that’s what I understood."

"When will it be our turn?" Morrel asked intensely. "Valentine, you have so much influence over your grandfather. Make him answer, when? Soon?"

"And you," Valentine replied, "expect me to push Grandfather’s memory and speed up his decision-making?"

"Yes!" Morrel cried. "Please, hurry. As long as you’re not mine, Valentine, I’ll always fear losing you."

"Oh," Valentine said with a convulsive movement, "you’re too timid for an officer, Maximilian. For a soldier who supposedly never knows fear. Ha... ha... ha!"

Her laugh came out forced and melancholy. Her arms went rigid and twisted. Her head fell back against the chair. She went completely still.

The scream of terror that should have burst from Noirtier’s lips seemed trapped, visible only in his eyes.

Morrel understood instantly, they needed help. He rang the bell violently.

The housemaid from Valentine’s room and the servant who’d replaced Barrois rushed in simultaneously. Valentine looked so pale, so cold, so lifeless that without waiting for explanation, they were seized by the same dread that permeated the entire house. They ran into the hallway, crying for help.

Madame Danglars and Eugénie were just leaving. They heard the commotion.

"I told you so!" Madame de Villefort exclaimed. "Poor child!"

At that moment, Monsieur de Villefort’s voice called from his study, "What’s happening?"

Morrel glanced at Noirtier, who had regained his composure. A single look indicated the closet where Morrel had once hidden under similar circumstances. He barely had time to grab his hat and throw himself breathlessly inside before the prosecutor’s footsteps echoed in the hallway.

Villefort burst into the room, ran to Valentine, and gathered her in his arms.

"A doctor! Get Doctor d’Avrigny!" he shouted. "No, I’ll go myself!"

He flew from the room. Morrel simultaneously darted out the other door, struck to his core by a terrifying memory, the conversation he’d overheard between the doctor and Villefort the night Madame de Saint-Méran died. These symptoms, though less severe, matched those that preceded Barrois’ death.

Monte Cristo’s words from just two hours ago echoed in his mind: "Whatever you need, Morrel, come to me. I have great power."

Faster than thought itself, Morrel raced down the street toward the Count’s estate.

Meanwhile, Villefort arrived at Doctor d’Avrigny’s house in a hired cab. He rang the bell so violently the porter jumped in alarm. Villefort didn’t bother with explanations, simply ran upstairs.

The porter recognized him and let him pass, calling after him: "In his study, Monsieur Prosecutor! In his study!"

Villefort pushed, no, forced the door open.

"Ah," the doctor said. "Is it you?"

"Yes," Villefort said, slamming the door behind him. "I’ve come to ask if we’re alone. Doctor, my house is cursed!"

"What?" d’Avrigny asked with apparent calm, though deep emotion flickered in his eyes. "You have another sick person?"

"Yes, doctor!" Villefort cried, clutching his hair. "Yes!"

D’Avrigny’s look said clearly: I warned you this would happen.

He spoke slowly and deliberately, "Who is dying in your house now? What new victim will accuse you of weakness before God?"

A mournful sob burst from Villefort’s chest. He grabbed the doctor’s arm.

"Valentine," he whispered. "It’s Valentine’s turn."

"Your daughter!" d’Avrigny cried, genuine grief and surprise in his voice.

"You see? You were wrong about me," Villefort said bitterly. "Come see her. At her bedside, beg her forgiveness for suspecting her."

"Every time you’ve called me," the doctor replied, "it’s been too late. But I’ll come. Let’s hurry, sir. With the enemy you’re dealing with, there’s no time to waste."

"This time, doctor, you won’t accuse me of weakness. This time I’ll identify the murderer and hunt them down."

"Let’s try to save the victim before thinking about revenge," d’Avrigny said. "Come."

The same cab that brought Villefort carried them back at full speed. At that exact moment, Morrel was pounding on Monte Cristo’s door.

The Count was in his study, reading with visible anger something Bertuccio had rushed to bring him. Hearing that Morrel, who’d left only two hours ago, had returned, the Count’s head snapped up. He rose and rushed to meet him.

"What’s wrong, Maximilian?" he asked. "You’re pale, and there’s sweat on your forehead."

Morrel collapsed into a chair.

"Yes," he gasped. "I came quickly. I needed to talk to you."

"Is your family well?" the Count asked with such genuine, affectionate concern that no one could doubt his sincerity.

"Thank you, Count. Yes, everyone’s fine."

"Good. But you have something to tell me?" The Count’s anxiety increased.

"Yes," Morrel said. "I just left a house where death has entered. I came straight here."

"Are you coming from Monsieur de Morcerf’s house?" Monte Cristo asked.

"No. Did someone die there?"

"The general just shot himself in the head," Monte Cristo replied with disturbing coolness.