THE NIGHT-LIGHT continued to burn on the chimney-piece, exhausting the last drops of oil which floated on the surface of the water. The globe of the lamp appeared of a reddish hue, and the flame, brightening before it expired, threw out the last flickerings which in an inanimate object have been so often compared with the convulsions of a human creature in its final agonies. A dull and dismal light was shed over the bedclothes and curtains surrounding the young girl. All noise in the streets had ceased, and the silence was frightful. It was then that the door of Edward's room opened, and a head we have before noticed appeared in the glass opposite; it was Madame de Villefort, who came to witness the effects of the drink she had prepared. She stopped in the doorway, listened for a moment to the flickering of the lamp, the only sound in that deserted room, and then advanced to the table to see if Valentine's glass were empty. It was still about a quarter full, as we before stated. Madame de Villefort emptied the contents into the ashes, which she disturbed that they might the more readily absorb the liquid; then she carefully rinsed the glass, and wiping it with her handkerchief replaced it on the table.
If any one could have looked into the room just then he would have noticed the hesitation with which Madame de Villefort approached the bed and looked fixedly on Valentine. The dim light, the profound silence, and the gloomy thoughts inspired by the hour, and still more by her own conscience, all combined to produce a sensation of fear; the poisoner was terrified at the contemplation of her own work. At length she rallied, drew aside the curtain, and leaning over the pillow gazed intently on Valentine. The young girl no longer breathed, no breath issued through the half-closed teeth; the white lips no longer quivered--the eyes were suffused with a bluish vapor, and the long black lashes rested on a cheek white as wax. Madame de Villefort gazed upon the face so expressive even in its stillness; then she ventured to raise the coverlet and press her hand upon the young girl's heart. It was cold and motionless. She only felt the pulsation in her own fingers, and withdrew her hand with a shudder. One arm was hanging out of the bed; from shoulder to elbow it was moulded after the arms of Germain Pillon's "Graces,"* but the fore-arm seemed to be slightly distorted by convulsion, and the hand, so delicately formed, was resting with stiff outstretched fingers on the framework of the bed. The nails, too, were turning blue.
* Germain Pillon was a famous French sculptor (1535-1598). His best known work is "The Three Graces," now in the Louvre.
Madame de Villefort had no longer any doubt; all was over--she had consummated the last terrible work she had to accomplish. There was no more to do in the room, so the poisoner retired stealthily, as though fearing to hear the sound of her own footsteps; but as she withdrew she still held aside the curtain, absorbed in the irresistible attraction always exerted by the picture of death, so long as it is merely mysterious and does not excite disgust. Just then the lamp again flickered; the noise startled Madame de Villefort, who shuddered and dropped the curtain. Immediately afterwards the light expired, and the room was plunged in frightful obscurity, while the clock at that minute struck half-past four. Overpowered with agitation, the poisoner succeeded in groping her way to the door, and reached her room in an agony of fear.
The darkness lasted two hours longer; then by degrees a cold light crept through the Venetian blinds, until at length it revealed the objects in the room. About this time the nurse's cough was heard on the stairs and the woman entered the room with a cup in her hand. To the tender eye of a father or a lover, the first glance would have sufficed to reveal Valentine's condition; but to this hireling, Valentine only appeared to sleep. "Good," she exclaimed, approaching the table, "she has taken part of her draught; the glass is three-quarters empty."
Then she went to the fireplace and lit the fire, and although she had just left her bed, she could not resist the temptation offered by Valentine's sleep, so she threw herself into an arm-chair to snatch a little more rest. The clock striking eight awoke her. Astonished at the prolonged slumber of the patient, and frightened to see that the arm was still hanging out of the bed, she advanced towards Valentine, and for the first time noticed the white lips. She tried to replace the arm, but it moved with a frightful rigidity which could not deceive a sick-nurse. She screamed aloud; then running to the door exclaimed,--"Help, help!"
"What is the matter?" asked M. d'Avrigny, at the foot of the stairs, it being the hour he usually visited her.
"What is it?" asked Villefort, rushing from his room. "Doctor, do you hear them call for help?"
"Yes, yes; let us hasten up; it was in Valentine's room." But before the doctor and the father could reach the room, the servants who were on the same floor had entered, and seeing Valentine pale and motionless on her bed, they lifted up their hands towards heaven and stood transfixed, as though struck by lightening. "Call Madame de Villefort!--wake Madame de Villefort!" cried the procureur from the door of his chamber, which apparently he scarcely dared to leave. But instead of obeying him, the servants stood watching M. d'Avrigny, who ran to Valentine, and raised her in his arms. "What?--this one, too?" he exclaimed. "Oh, where will be the end?" Villefort rushed into the room. "What are you saying, doctor?" he exclaimed, raising his hands to heaven.
"I say that Valentine is dead!" replied d'Avrigny, in a voice terrible in its solemn calm.
M. de Villefort staggered and buried his head in the bed. On the exclamation of the doctor and the cry of the father, the servants all fled with muttered imprecations; they were heard running down the stairs and through the long passages, then there was a rush in the court, afterwards all was still; they had, one and all, deserted the accursed house. Just then, Madame de Villefort, in the act of slipping on her dressing-gown, threw aside the drapery and for a moment stood motionless, as though interrogating the occupants of the room, while she endeavored to call up some rebellious tears. On a sudden she stepped, or rather bounded, with outstretched arms, towards the table. She saw d'Avrigny curiously examining the glass, which she felt certain of having emptied during the night. It was now a third full, just as it was when she threw the contents into the ashes. The spectre of Valentine rising before the poisoner would have alarmed her less. It was, indeed, the same color as the draught she had poured into the glass, and which Valentine had drank; it was indeed the poison, which could not deceive M. d'Avrigny, which he now examined so closely; it was doubtless a miracle from heaven, that, notwithstanding her precautions, there should be some trace, some proof remaining to reveal the crime. While Madame de Villefort remained rooted to the spot like a statue of terror, and Villefort, with his head hidden in the bedclothes, saw nothing around him, d'Avrigny approached the window, that he might the better examine the contents of the glass, and dipping the tip of his finger in, tasted it. "Ah," he exclaimed, "it is no longer brucine that is used; let me see what it is!"
Then he ran to one of the cupboards in Valentine's room, which had been transformed into a medicine closet, and taking from its silver case a small bottle of nitric acid, dropped a little of it into the liquor, which immediately changed to a blood-red color. "Ah," exclaimed d'Avrigny, in a voice in which the horror of a judge unveiling the truth was mingled with the delight of a student making a discovery. Madame de Villefort was overpowered, her eyes first flashed and then swam, she staggered towards the door and disappeared. Directly afterwards the distant sound of a heavy weight falling on the ground was heard, but no one paid any attention to it; the nurse was engaged in watching the chemical analysis, and Villefort was still absorbed in grief. M. d'Avrigny alone had followed Madame de Villefort with his eyes, and watched her hurried retreat. He lifted up the drapery over the entrance to Edward's room, and his eye reaching as far as Madame de Villefort's apartment, he beheld her extended lifeless on the floor. "Go to the assistance of Madame de Villefort," he said to the nurse. "Madame de Villefort is ill."
"But Mademoiselle de Villefort "--stammered the nurse.
"Mademoiselle de Villefort no longer requires help," said d'Avrigny, "since she is dead."
"Dead,--dead!" groaned forth Villefort, in a paroxysm of grief, which was the more terrible from the novelty of the sensation in the iron heart of that man.
"Dead!" repeated a third voice. "Who said Valentine was dead?"
The two men turned round, and saw Morrel standing at the door, pale and terror-stricken. This is what had happened. At the usual time, Morrel had presented himself at the little door leading to Noirtier's room. Contrary to custom, the door was open, and having no occasion to ring he entered. He waited for a moment in the hall and called for a servant to conduct him to M. Noirtier; but no one answered, the servants having, as we know, deserted the house. Morrel had no particular reason for uneasiness; Monte Cristo had promised him that Valentine should live, and so far he had always fulfilled his word. Every night the count had given him news, which was the next morning confirmed by Noirtier. Still this extraordinary silence appeared strange to him, and he called a second and third time; still no answer. Then he determined to go up. Noirtier's room was opened, like all the rest. The first thing he saw was the old man sitting in his arm-chair in his usual place, but his eyes expressed alarm, which was confirmed by the pallor which overspread his features.
"How are you, sir?" asked Morrel, with a sickness of heart.
"Well," answered the old man, by closing his eyes; but his appearance manifested increasing uneasiness.
"You are thoughtful, sir," continued Morrel; "you want something; shall I call one of the servants?"
"Yes," replied Noirtier.
Morrel pulled the bell, but though he nearly broke the cord no one answered. He turned towards Noirtier; the pallor and anguish expressed on his countenance momentarily increased.
"Oh," exclaimed Morrel, "why do they not come? Is any one ill in the house?" The eyes of Noirtier seemed as though they would start from their sockets. "What is the matter? You alarm me. Valentine? Valentine?"
"Yes, yes," signed Noirtier. Maximilian tried to speak, but he could articulate nothing; he staggered, and supported himself against the wainscot. Then he pointed to the door.
"Yes, yes, yes!" continued the old man. Maximilian rushed up the little staircase, while Noirtier's eyes seemed to say,--"Quicker, quicker!"
壁炉架上的那盏灯依旧点燃着，但已燃尽了那浮在水面上的最后几滴油；灯被映成了淡红色，火焰在熄灭前突然明亮起来，射出最后的摇曳的光；这种光，虽然是没有生命的，却常被人用来比拟人类在临死前那一阵最后的挣扎。一缕昏暗凄惨的光笼罩着那青年姑娘身上的被罩和她周围的帐子。
街上的一切嘈杂声都停止了，四周一片寂静。这时，通向爱德华卧室的房门打开了，在门对面的镜子里，出现了一个我们以前见过的面孔；那是维尔福夫人的面孔，她来观察那药水是否奏效。她站在门口听了一会儿，在那个房间里，现在只剩了灯花的毕剥声，她来到桌前，看瓦朗蒂娜是否已将药水喝下。杯子里还有一些药水。维尔福夫人把它倒在炉灰里，并把炉灰拌了几拌，使它更容易吸收液体；然后她仔细涮干净那只玻璃杯，用手帕抹干它，把它放回到桌子上。
如果有人在那时把目光穿透房间，使人看到维尔福夫人带着犹豫的神色走近床边，眼睛一眨不眨地望着瓦朗蒂娜。惨淡的光线，死一般的寂静，深夜所能引起的一切可怕的东西，而尤其是她自己的良心，这一切交织在一起产生了一种可怕的夜的氛围；她害怕去看她自己的成绩。但她终于鼓起勇气，拉开帐子，俯到枕头上，瞧着瓦朗蒂娜。她已没有了呼吸；那半开半闭的牙齿间已不再有气息通过；那雪白嘴唇已停止了颤动；那一对眼睛似乎浮在浅蓝色的雾气里，又长又黑的头发散在那蜡白的脸颊上。维尔福夫人凝视着这个静止的但依旧动人的面孔；然后她壮起胆子揭开被，把手按在那青年姑娘的胸膛上。胸膛冷冰冰地没有动静。她感觉到的是自己手指上的脉搏，她颤栗地收回她的手。一只手臂垂出在床外，——那样一只美丽的手臂，自肩到至腕似乎都是由一个雕刻家雕刻出来的；但前臂似乎因为痉挛而略微有点变形，而那只精致纤细的手，则伸着僵硬的手指搁在床架上。手指甲已经发青。维尔福夫人不再怀疑——一切都已成为过去；她已经完成了她最后一件可怕的工作。
在房间里已没有别的事情做了，下毒者偷偷地退出去，象是怕听到她自己的脚步声似的；但当她出去的时候，她依旧拉着帐子，死者的形象对她有一种不可抗拒的吸引力。
灯花又毕剥地爆了一下；那个声音把维尔福夫人吓了一跳，她打了一个寒颤，离开帐子。灯熄灭了，整个房间陷入可怕的黑暗里，时钟那时恰巧敲打四点半。下毒者顿时惊惶起来，摸索到门口，满怀着恐惧回到她的房间。可怕的黑暗持续了两个钟头以后；一片淡白的光从百叶窗里爬进来，终于照亮了房间里一切。大约在这个时候，楼梯上响起了护士的咳嗽声，她手里拿着一只杯子走进房来。在一位父亲或一个情人，第一眼就足以决定一切，——瓦朗蒂娜已死；但在护士看来，她只象是睡着了。“好！”她走到桌子前面说，“她已经喝了一部分药水，杯子里已只剩三分之一了。”
她走到壁炉前面生起了火，虽然她刚刚起床，但她想在瓦朗蒂娜睡醒前再打一个瞌睡。时钟敲打八点的声音惊醒了她。她惊奇她的病人竟睡得这样熟，令她吃惊的是她看见那只手臂依旧还垂在床外，她向瓦朗蒂娜走过去，这时才注意到那失血的嘴唇。她想把那只手臂放回到床上，但那只手臂僵硬的，决瞒不过一个护士。她大叫一声，然后奔到门口，喊道：“救命呀！救命呀！”
“你嚷什么？”阿夫里尼先生在楼梯脚下问，这正是他每天来看病的时间。
“怎么啦？”维尔福从他的房间里冲出来问。“医生，你听见她喊救命吗？”
“是的，是的，我听见了，我们赶快上去吧！是在瓦朗蒂娜的房间里。”
医生和那父亲还没有赶到，二楼上的仆人们已跑进瓦朗蒂娜房间，看到瓦朗蒂娜脸色苍白一动不动地躺在床上，他们一齐举手向天，象遭了雷击似地一动不动地愣在那儿。
“去叫维尔福夫人！去喊醒维尔福夫人！”检察官站在房门口喊，似乎不敢进去。但仆人们并没有理会他的命令，全都站在那儿看着阿夫里尼先生，阿夫里尼已跑到瓦朗蒂娜的床边，然后抱起她。“什么！这一个，也！”他低声地说，让她从他的手臂里落了下去。“噢，我的上帝！我的上帝呀！您什么时候才厌倦呢？”
维尔福冲进房间里。“您说什么，医生？”他举手向天大声问道。
“我说瓦朗蒂娜死了！”阿夫里尼用一种庄严的声音回答。
维尔福先生踉跄地摔倒了，把他的头埋在瓦朗蒂娜的床上。听到医生的绝叫和那父亲的哭喊，仆人们喃喃地祈祷着离开了。只听见他们脚步声奔下楼梯，穿过长廊，冲入前庭，他们都已逃离这座受天诅咒的房子。这时，维尔福夫人披着睡衣掀开门帘，在门槛上站了一会儿，象是在问房间里的人究竟发生了什么事，并竭力想流出几滴眼泪。突然，她伸着两臂向那张桌子跳了一步。她看见阿夫里尼正检查那只她确信在晚上已经倒空的杯子。杯子里还有三分之一药水，和她倒在炉灰里的一样多。即使瓦朗蒂娜的灵魂出现在那维尔福夫人的面前，她也不会感到那样害怕。药水的颜色与她倒在杯子里被瓦朗蒂娜喝掉的一模一样；这种毒药瞒不过阿夫里尼先生的眼睛。这一定是上帝创造的奇迹，尽管她非常小心，还是留下了证据来揭穿她的罪行。
维尔福夫人象一尊恐怖女神似的钉在地上，维尔福把头埋在床上，这时阿夫里尼为了更清楚地检查杯子里的东西，走到窗前，用手指尖伸进去蘸了一滴来尝。“啊！”大声说道，“不再是木鳖精了，我来看看杯子里到底是什么！”于是他跑到瓦朗蒂娜房间里一只药橱前面，从一只银盒里取出一小瓶硝酸，滴了几滴到那液体里，液体便立刻变成血红色。“啊！”
阿夫里尼喊道，他的声音里夹杂着喜悦（象一位法官揭破实情时的恐怖和一位学生解决了一个问题时的喜悦。）维尔福夫人再也受不了了；她的眼前最初是火花乱迸，后来变成一片漆黑；她踉踉跄跄地走向门口，然后就不见了。一会儿，门外传来身体跌倒在地板上的声音，但没有人注意它。护士正在注意化学分析，维尔福沉浸在悲哀里。只有阿夫里尼用他的目光跟随着维尔福夫人，注意到她仓皇地退出去。他拉开爱德华房门口的门帘，向维尔福夫人的房间里望，看见她晕倒在地板上。“去帮助维尔福夫人，”他对护士说，“维尔福夫人病了。”
“但维尔福小姐——”护士犹豫地说。
“维尔福小姐不需要帮助了，”阿夫里尼说，“因为她已经死了。”
“死了！死了！”维尔福悲痛地喃喃道，在他那铁石一样的心里，悲痛是一种新奇的感觉，所以他的悲痛比一般人更令人心碎。
“你说她死了吗？”忽然一个声音喊道，“谁说瓦朗蒂娜死了？”
两个人回过头去，看见莫雷尔脸色苍白，神情激动地站在门口。事情是这样的：莫雷尔按照往常的时间来到通诺瓦梯埃先生房间的小门口。与往常不同的是，门是开着的；由于没有拉铃的必要，他就走了进去。他在厅里等了一会儿，想叫一个仆人来带他去见诺瓦梯埃先生；他喊了一声，但没有人回答，因为房子里仆人都逃走了。莫雷尔心里没有特别感到不安的理由，基督山已答应他瓦朗蒂娜不死，而直到目前为止，他始终是履行了他的诺言的。伯爵每天晚上给他消息，那些消息在第二天早晨就被诺瓦梯埃证实。可是，这种出奇的寂静使他感到很奇怪，他第二次第三次再叫人，还是没有人答应。于是他决定上楼去。诺瓦梯埃的房门也象其他的房门那样大开着。他第一眼看见的是那老人照常坐在他的圈椅里；他的眼睛睁得大大的表示着一种内心的恐惧，那种表情从他苍白的脸色上得到了证实。
“您好吗，阁下？”莫雷尔问，心里感到了某种恐惧。
“好！”老人闭上眼睛回答，但他的脸上却显出更大的不安。
“您在想心事，阁下，”莫雷尔又说，“您要什么东西吧，要我去叫一个仆人吗？”
“是的。”诺瓦梯埃回答。
莫雷尔就拉铃，虽然他几乎拉断绳带，却依旧没有人来。
他回过头去看诺瓦梯埃；他脸色苍白，痛苦的表情与时俱增。
“噢！”莫雷尔喊道，“为什么没有人来？这屋子里有人病了吗？”
诺瓦梯埃的眼睛似乎要从眼眶里迸射出来。
“出什么事啦？您吓坏我啦。瓦朗蒂娜，瓦朗蒂娜出事啦？”
“是的，是的，。”诺瓦梯埃表示。
马西米兰想说话，但他什么都没有说出来；他踉跄了一下，靠在壁板上。然后他抬手指一指门口。
“是的，是的，”老人继续表示。马西米兰一步并两步冲上那座小楼梯，而诺瓦梯埃的眼睛似乎在对他喊：“快一点！再快一点！”
一眨眼，年轻人已穿过几个房间，到达瓦朗蒂娜的房门口。门是大开着的。他听到的第一个声音是一声啜泣。他象是透过一层云雾看见一个黑色人影跪在地上，头埋在一大片白色的帐帏里。一阵可怕的恐惧使他站在那儿时，他听见一个声音：“瓦朗蒂娜已经死了！而另一个声音象回声似的重复着：“死了！死了！”