"I tell you to hope. Do you understand?" Monte Cristo's voice rang with authority. "Remember that I've never told a lie and am never wrong. It's noon, Maximilian. Thank heaven you came at midday rather than tonight or tomorrow morning. Listen carefully, Morrel, it's noon. If Valentine isn't dead now, she won't die."

"How is that possible?" Morrel cried. "I left her dying!"

Monte Cristo pressed his hands to his forehead. What was happening in that brain loaded with terrible secrets? What was the angel of light or the angel of darkness saying to that mind, simultaneously implacable and generous? Only God knew.

Monte Cristo raised his head. This time he was calm as a child waking from sleep.

"Maximilian," he said, "go home. I order you not to move, attempt nothing, let no thought show on your face. I'll send you news. Go."

"Count, you overwhelm me with your calmness. Do you have power over death? Are you superhuman? Are you an angel?"

The young man who'd never shrunk from danger now stepped back from Monte Cristo with indescribable terror.

But Monte Cristo looked at him with such melancholy sweetness that tears filled Maximilian's eyes.

"I can do much for you, my friend," the Count replied. "Go. I must be alone."

Morrel, overwhelmed by the extraordinary power Monte Cristo wielded over everything around him, didn't try to resist. He pressed the Count's hand and left.

He paused at the door, seeing Baptistin running down the street.

Meanwhile, Villefort and d'Avrigny had made all possible haste. Valentine hadn't revived from her fainting spell when they arrived. The doctor examined her with extreme care, his interest doubled by his knowledge of the secret.

Villefort watched the doctor's face and lips intently, waiting for the verdict. Noirtier, paler than even the young girl, more desperate than Villefort, also watched with intense, loving attention.

Finally, d'Avrigny spoke slowly: "She's still alive."

"Still?" Villefort cried. "Doctor, what a terrible word!"

"Yes," the physician said. "I repeat it, she's still alive. And I'm astonished by it."

"But is she safe?" the father demanded.

"Yes, because she lives."

At that moment, d'Avrigny's glance met Noirtier's eye. It glittered with such extraordinary joy, so rich and full of meaning, that the physician was struck. He placed the young girl back in her chair, her lips barely visible, they were so pale and white, like her entire face, and remained motionless, studying Noirtier, who seemed to anticipate and approve everything he did.

"Sir," d'Avrigny said to Villefort, "please call Mademoiselle Valentine's maid."

Villefort went himself. D'Avrigny approached Noirtier.

"Do you have something to tell me?" he asked.

The old man blinked his eyes expressively, his only way of showing approval.

"Privately?"

"Yes."

"Then I'll stay with you."

Villefort returned with the maid, followed by Madame de Villefort.

"What's wrong with this dear child?" Madame de Villefort asked tearfully, displaying all the concern of a devoted mother. "She just left me. She complained about feeling unwell, but I didn't think it was serious."

She approached Valentine and took her hand. D'Avrigny continued watching Noirtier. He saw the old man's eyes dilate and become round. His cheeks turned pale and trembled. Sweat formed in drops on his forehead.

"Ah," d'Avrigny said involuntarily, following Noirtier's gaze to where it fixed on Madame de Villefort.

"This poor child would be better in bed," Madame de Villefort repeated. "Come, Fanny, let's get her settled."

D'Avrigny, recognizing this would give him time alone with Noirtier, agreed it was best. But he strictly forbade giving her anything except what he prescribed.

They carried Valentine away. She'd regained consciousness but could barely move or speak, so shaken was she by the attack. She managed one parting look at her grandfather, who seemed to be surrendering his very soul as she left.

D'Avrigny followed, wrote a prescription, and ordered Villefort to personally go to the pharmacy, get the medicine himself, and wait in his daughter's room. Then, repeating his instruction not to give Valentine anything else, he returned to Noirtier, shut the doors carefully, and confirmed no one was listening.

"Do you," he asked, "know anything about this young woman's illness?"

"Yes," the old man indicated.

"We have no time to waste. I'll question you, and you answer." Noirtier signaled his readiness.

"Did you anticipate what happened to your granddaughter?"

"Yes."

D'Avrigny reflected, then moved closer to Noirtier.

"Forgive what I'm about to ask, but we can't overlook anything in this terrible situation. Did you see poor Barrois die?"

Noirtier's eyes turned toward heaven.

"Do you know what killed him?" d'Avrigny asked, placing his hand on Noirtier's shoulder.

"Yes."

"Do you think he died naturally?"

Something like a smile appeared on Noirtier's motionless lips.

"So you believe Barrois was poisoned?"

"Yes."

"Do you think the poison intended for him was meant for someone else?"

"No."

"Do you think the same hand that unintentionally killed Barrois has now attacked Valentine?"

"Yes."

"Will she die too?" d'Avrigny asked, fixing his penetrating gaze on Noirtier. He watched the effect of this question carefully.

"No," Noirtier replied with an air of triumph that would have puzzled the cleverest mind-reader.

"Then you have hope?" d'Avrigny asked, surprised.

"Yes."

"What do you hope for?"

The old man made clear with his eyes that he couldn't answer that question.

"Ah, yes, of course," d'Avrigny murmured. "Do you hope the murderer will be caught?"

"No."

"Then you hope the poison won't affect Valentine?"

"Yes."

"It's not news to you that someone tried to poison her?"

The old man made clear he had no doubt.

"Then how do you believe Valentine will escape?"

Noirtier kept his eyes fixed on the same spot. D'Avrigny followed his gaze and saw he was looking at a bottle containing the mixture Noirtier took every morning.

"Ah!" d'Avrigny said, struck by sudden insight. "Has it occurred to you that-"

Noirtier didn't let him finish.

"Yes."

"To prepare her system to resist poison?"

"Yes."

"By gradually accustoming her to-"

"Yes, yes, yes," Noirtier indicated, delighted to be understood.

"Of course. I told you there was brucine in the mixture I give you."

"Yes."

"And by accustoming her to that poison, you've tried to neutralize the effects of a similar poison?"

Noirtier's joy continued radiating from his eyes.

"And you succeeded!" d'Avrigny exclaimed. "Without that precaution, Valentine would have died before we could help her. The dose was massive, but she's only been shaken by it. This time, at least, Valentine won't die."

Superhuman joy expanded across the old man's face, his eyes raised toward heaven with infinite gratitude.

At that moment, Villefort returned.

"Here, doctor," he said. "This is what you sent me for."

"Was this prepared in your presence?"

"Yes."

"Did you let it out of your sight?"

"No."

D'Avrigny took the bottle, poured some drops into the hollow of his hand, and swallowed them.

"Good," he said. "Let's go to Valentine. I'll give everyone instructions, and you, Monsieur de Villefort, will personally ensure no one deviates from them."

Just as d'Avrigny was returning to Valentine's room with Villefort, an Italian priest with a serious demeanor and calm, firm bearing rented the house next door to the Villefort mansion. No one knew how the previous three tenants had left. About two hours later, rumors spread that the building's foundation was unsafe, but the report didn't prevent the new occupant from moving in with his modest furniture that same day at five o'clock.

The lease was drawn up for three, six, or nine years by the new tenant, who paid six months in advance according to the landlord's rules.

This new tenant was an Italian called Signor Giacomo Busoni.

Workers were immediately summoned. That very night, people passing through the neighborhood saw with surprise that carpenters and masons were working to repair the lower part of the deteriorating house.