Respawned as The Count of Glow-Up-Chapter 243: Lingering Poison: III

As if nature finally took pity on his vigorous frame, nearly bursting with suppressed emotion, Morrel’s words choked in his throat. His chest heaved. The tears he’d held back so long finally burst forth. He collapsed weeping beside the bed.

Then d’Avrigny spoke.

"And I," he said quietly, "I join with Monsieur Morrel in demanding justice for this crime. My blood boils at the thought that my cowardly silence encouraged a murderer."

"Merciful heavens," Villefort murmured.

Morrel raised his head, reading the old man’s eyes, which gleamed with unnatural light. 𝚏𝗿𝗲𝐞𝚠𝕖𝐛𝗻𝗼𝐯𝕖𝚕.𝚌𝗼𝗺

"Wait," he said. "Monsieur Noirtier wants to speak."

"Yes," Noirtier indicated, his expression made more terrible by all his faculties being concentrated in that glance.

"Do you know the assassin?" Morrel asked.

"Yes."

"Will you tell us?" the young man exclaimed. "Listen, Doctor d’Avrigny!"

Noirtier looked at Morrel with one of those melancholy smiles that had so often made Valentine happy, fixing his attention. Then, having riveted his companion’s eyes to his own, he glanced toward the door.

"You want me to leave?" Morrel asked sadly.

"Yes."

"Have pity on me, sir!"

The old man’s eyes remained fixed on the door.

"May I at least return?"

"Yes."

"Must I leave alone?"

"No."

"Who should I take? The prosecutor?"

"No."

"The doctor?"

"Yes."

"You wish to remain alone with Monsieur de Villefort?"

"Yes."

"But can he understand you?"

"Yes."

"Oh," Villefort said, inexpressibly relieved that the investigation would be conducted by him alone, "rest assured, I can understand my father."

D’Avrigny took the young man’s arm and led him from the room.

A silence deeper than death filled the house.

After fifteen minutes, faltering footsteps approached. Villefort appeared at the door where d’Avrigny and Morrel had been waiting, one absorbed in thought, the other in grief.

"You can come," he said, leading them back to Noirtier.

Morrel studied Villefort carefully. His face was ashen. Large drops of sweat rolled down his cheeks. In his fingers, he held the fragments of a quill pen he’d torn to pieces.

"Gentlemen," he said hoarsely, "give me your word of honor that this horrible secret will remain buried among ourselves."

Both men drew back.

"I beg you-" Villefort continued.

"But," Morrel protested, "the culprit, the murderer, the assassin-"

"Don’t worry, sir. Justice will be served," Villefort said. "My father has revealed the culprit’s name. My father thirsts for revenge as much as you do, yet even he asks you, as I do, to keep this secret. Isn’t that right, Father?"

"Yes," Noirtier replied resolutely.

Morrel let out an exclamation of horror and surprise.

"Sir," Villefort said, gripping Morrel’s arm, "if my father, that inflexible man, makes this request, it’s because he knows Valentine will be terribly avenged. Right, Father?"

The old man made an affirmative sign.

Villefort continued, "He knows me. I’ve given him my word. Rest assured, gentlemen, that within three days, less time than justice would take, I will have such revenge for my child’s murder that it will make the boldest heart tremble."

As he spoke, he ground his teeth and grasped his father’s paralyzed hand.

"Will this promise be fulfilled, Monsieur Noirtier?" Morrel asked, while d’Avrigny looked on questioningly.

"Yes," Noirtier replied with an expression of sinister joy.

"Then swear," Villefort said, joining Morrel and d’Avrigny’s hands. "Swear you will spare my house’s honor and leave me to avenge my child."

D’Avrigny turned and uttered a feeble "Yes."

But Morrel pulled his hand free, rushed to the bed, pressed his lips to Valentine’s cold ones, and left with a long, deep groan of despair and anguish.

As mentioned earlier, all the servants had fled. Villefort was forced to ask Doctor d’Avrigny to handle all the arrangements following a death in a large household, especially a death under such suspicious circumstances.

It was terrible to witness Noirtier’s silent agony, his mute despair as tears rolled silently down his cheeks.

Villefort retreated to his study. D’Avrigny left to summon the official medical examiner, the doctor whose job was to examine bodies after death, specifically called "the doctor of the dead."

Noirtier refused to leave his granddaughter’s side.

Fifteen minutes later, d’Avrigny returned with his colleague. They found the outer gate closed and not a single servant in the house. Villefort himself had to let them in, but he stopped on the landing. He didn’t have the courage to enter that death chamber again.

The two doctors entered alone.

Noirtier sat near the bed, pale, motionless and silent as the corpse itself.

The district doctor approached with the indifference of someone who spent half his time among the dead. He lifted the sheet covering Valentine’s face and barely opened her lips.

"Alas," d’Avrigny said, "she truly is dead, poor child."

"Yes," the other doctor answered simply, dropping the sheet.

Noirtier made a hoarse, rattling sound. His eyes sparkled, the good doctor understood he wanted to see his granddaughter.

He approached the bed. While his companion dipped the fingers that had touched the corpse’s lips in chloride of lime, he uncovered that calm, pale face that looked like a sleeping angel.

A tear in the old man’s eye expressed his gratitude.

The examiner placed his permit on the corner of the table. Having fulfilled his duty, d’Avrigny escorted him out.

Villefort met them at his study door. After briefly thanking the district doctor, he turned to d’Avrigny.

"And now, the priest."

"Is there a particular priest you want to pray with Valentine?" d’Avrigny asked.

"No. Just get the nearest one."

"The nearest," the district doctor said, "is a good Italian priest who lives next door. Should I call on him as I pass?"

"D’Avrigny," Villefort said, "please, I beg you, accompany this gentleman. Here’s the door key, you can come and go as you please. Bring the priest back and introduce him to my daughter’s room."

"Do you wish to see him?"

"I only wish to be alone. You understand, don’t you? A priest can understand a father’s grief."

Villefort handed the key to d’Avrigny, said farewell to the examiner again, and retired to his study to work. For some people, work was the only remedy for suffering.

As the doctors stepped outside, they saw a man in clerical robes standing at the threshold of the next house.

"This is the priest I mentioned," the district doctor told d’Avrigny.

D’Avrigny approached him. "Sir, are you willing to help an unhappy father who has just lost his daughter? I mean Monsieur de Villefort, the royal prosecutor."

"Ah," the priest said in a marked Italian accent, "yes, I heard that death has visited that house."

"Then I needn’t explain what service he requires."

"I was about to offer myself," the priest said. "It is our mission to anticipate our duties."

"It’s a young girl."

"I know, sir. The servants who fled the house informed me. I also know her name is Valentine, and I have already prayed for her."

"Thank you, sir," d’Avrigny said. "Since you’ve begun your sacred duty, please continue. Come watch over the dead, and the whole wretched family will be grateful."

"I’m coming, sir. I can say with certainty that no prayers will be more fervent than mine."

D’Avrigny took the priest’s hand. Without encountering Villefort, who was absorbed in his study, they reached Valentine’s room, which the next night would be occupied by the undertakers.

Upon entering, Noirtier’s eyes met the priest’s. The old man must have read some particular expression in them, because he remained in the room.

D’Avrigny asked the priest to attend to the living as well as the dead. The priest promised to devote his prayers to Valentine and his attention to Noirtier.

Clearly wanting to avoid disturbance while fulfilling his sacred mission, the priest rose as soon as d’Avrigny left. He not only bolted the door the doctor had used but also the one leading to Madame de Villefort’s room.