“Those are kind and cheering words. You must hope for us both, Maximilian; that will make me at least partly happy.”
“But why must you leave me so soon?”
“I do not know particulars. I can only tell you that Madame de Villefort sent to request my presence, as she had a communication to make on which a part of my fortune depended. Let them take my fortune, I am already too rich; and, perhaps, when they have taken it, they will leave me in peace and quietness. You would love me as much if I were poor, would you not, Maximilian?”
“Oh, I shall always love you. What should I care for either riches or poverty, if my Valentine was near me, and I felt certain that no one could deprive me of her? But do you not fear that this communication may relate to your marriage?”
“I do not think that is the case.”
“However it may be, Valentine, you must not be alarmed. I assure you that, as long as I live, I shall never love any one else!”
“You think to reassure me when you say that, Maximilian.”
“Pardon me, you are right. I am a brute. But I was going to tell you that I met M. de Morcerf the other day.”
“Well?”
“Monsieur Franz is his friend, you know.”
“What then?”
“Monsieur de Morcerf has received a letter from Franz, announcing his immediate return.” Valentine turned pale, and leaned her hand against the gate. “Ah heavens, if it were that! But no, the communication would not come through Madame de Villefort.”
“Why not?”
“Because — I scarcely know why — but it has appeared as if Madame de Villefort secretly objected to the marriage, although she did not choose openly to oppose it.”
“Is it so? Then I feel as if I could adore Madame de Villefort.”
“Do not be in such a hurry to do that,” said Valentine, with a sad smile.
“If she objects to your marrying M. d’Epinay, she would be all the more likely to listen to any other proposition.”
“No, Maximilian, it is not suitors to which Madame de Villefort objects, it is marriage itself.”
“Marriage? If she dislikes that so much, why did she ever marry herself?”
“You do not understand me, Maximilian. About a year ago, I talked of retiring to a convent. Madame de Villefort, in spite of all the remarks which she considered it her duty to make, secretly approved of the proposition, my father consented to it at her instigation, and it was only on account of my poor grandfather that I finally abandoned the project. You can form no idea of the expression of that old man’s eye when he looks at me, the only person in the world whom he loves, and, I had almost said, by whom he is beloved in return. When he learned my resolution, I shall never forget the reproachful look which he cast on me, and the tears of utter despair which chased each other down his lifeless cheeks. Ah, Maximilian, I experienced, at that moment, such remorse for my intention, that, throwing myself at his feet, I exclaimed, — ‘Forgive me, pray forgive me, my dear grandfather; they may do what they will with me, I will never leave you.’ When I had ceased speaking, he thankfully raised his eyes to heaven, but without uttering a word. Ah, Maximilian, I may have much to suffer, but I feel as if my grandfather’s look at that moment would more than compensate for all.”
“Dear Valentine, you are a perfect angel, and I am sure I do not know what I — sabring right and left among the Bedouins — can have done to merit your being revealed to me, unless, indeed, heaven took into consideration the fact that the victims of my sword were infidels. But tell me what interest Madame de Villefort can have in your remaining unmarried?”
“Did I not tell you just now that I was rich, Maximilian — too rich? I possess nearly 50,000 livres in right of my mother; my grandfather and my grandmother, the Marquis and Marquise de Saint-Meran, will leave me as much, and M. Noirtier evidently intends making me his heir. My brother Edward, who inherits nothing from his mother, will, therefore, be poor in comparison with me. Now, if I had taken the veil, all this fortune would have descended to my father, and, in reversion, to his son.”