Morrel was practically floating on air as he raced through the city streets. Mr. Noirtier had summoned him urgently, and he was so excited to find out why that he'd skipped calling a cab entirely, his own legs would get him there faster than any horse could.
Behind him, poor Barrois struggled to keep up. It wasn't a fair race: Morrel was only thirty-one and head-over-heels in love, while Barrois was sixty and dying from the heat and exertion. They were complete opposites in every way, but they shared one thing in common, their devotion to Noirtier, the man who had just sent for Morrel with strict instructions to co imdiately.
When they finally reached the house, Morrel wasn't even breathing hard, love really does give you wings, but Barrois was completely exhausted.
The elderly servant led Morrel through a private entrance and closed the study door behind them. Monts later, the rustle of fabric announced Valentine's arrival. She looked breathtaking in her black mourning dress, and Morrel was so captivated by the sight of her that he almost forgot they were supposed to be having an important conversation. Then the sound of wheels rolling across the floor announced her grandfather's entrance.
Noirtier's eyes radiated warmth and kindness as he acknowledged Morrel's grateful thanks. His recent intervention had saved both Morrel and Valentine from complete despair. Now Morrel looked at him questioningly, wondering what new favor the old man had in store.
Valentine sat at a respectful distance, nervously waiting for her cue to speak. Noirtier fixed his gaze on her.
"Am I to tell him what you told ?" she asked.
Noirtier nodded yes.
"Mr. Morrel," Valentine began, her voice soft as she addressed the young man who was watching her with intense interest, "my grandfather had many things he wanted to tell you. He shared them with three days ago, and now he's asked to repeat them to you. Since he's chosen as his ssenger, I'll be completely faithful to his wishes and won't change a single word."
"I'm listening," Morrel replied eagerly. "Please, go on."
Valentine lowered her eyes, a good sign that made Morrel's heart leap, because he knew only happiness could affect her this way.
"My grandfather intends to leave this house," she explained. "Barrois is already looking for a suitable apartnt for him elsewhere."
"But you, Miss de Villefort, you're essential to Mr. Noirtier's happiness-"
"?" Valentine interrupted. "I won't leave my grandfather. That's already decided between us. My rooms will be right next to his. Now, Mr. de Villefort will either agree to this plan or refuse. If he agrees, I'll leave right away. If he refuses, I'll wait until I co of age in about ten months. Then I'll be free, with my own independent inco, and-"
"And what?" Morrel pressed.
"And with my grandfather's blessing, I'll keep the promise I made to you."
Valentine spoke these last words so quietly that only Morrel's intense focus allowed him to hear them.
"Have I explained everything correctly, Grandpapa?" she asked.
"Yes," the old man's eyes confird.
"Once I'm living under my grandfather's roof, Mr. Morrel can visit with my good and worthy protector present. If we still feel that our planned union will bring us comfort and happiness, then I'll expect Mr. Morrel to co and claim my hand. But I've heard that love grows cold when obstacles are removed and security returns. I hope we'll never experience that!"
"Oh!" Morrel cried, almost ready to drop to his knees before them both. "What did I ever do to deserve such incredible happiness?"
"Until then," Valentine continued in a calm, composed voice, "we'll adapt to circumstances and follow our friends' advice, as long as it doesn't ultimately separate us. In short, and I'm repeating this because it captures everything I want to say, we'll wait."
"And I swear to make all the sacrifices that waiting requires, sir," Morrel said, "not just with resignation, but with genuine cheerfulness."
"Therefore," Valentine added with a playful look at Maximilian, "no more reckless actions or risky plans. You wouldn't want to compromise the woman who, from this day forward, considers herself destined to happily and honorably bear your na, would you?"
Morrel's expression showed complete obedience. Noirtier watched the young lovers with infinite tenderness, while Barrois, who'd remained in the room as soone privileged to know everything, smiled at the couple as he wiped sweat from his bald head.
"You look so hot, my dear Barrois," Valentine observed.
"Ah, I've been running very fast, miss, but I must give Mr. Morrel credit, he ran even faster!"
Noirtier directed their attention to a tray where a nearly-full decanter of lemonade sat with a glass. Only a little had been drunk by Mr. Noirtier himself.
"Co, Barrois," Valentine said, "have so of this lemonade. I can tell you're craving a good drink."
"The truth is, miss," Barrois admitted, "I'm dying of thirst. Since you're kind enough to offer, I won't refuse. I'd be happy to drink to your health!"
"Take so then, and co right back."
Barrois carried away the tray. He'd barely left the room, forgetting to close the door in his hurry, when they saw him tip back his head and drain the entire glass that Valentine had filled.
Valentine and Morrel were saying their goodbyes in Noirtier's presence when the doorbell rang, signaling a visitor. Valentine checked her watch.
"It's past noon, and today is Saturday," she said. "I bet it's the doctor, Grandpapa."
Noirtier's look confird her guess.
"He'll co in here, and Mr. Morrel should leave. Don't you think so, Grandpapa?"
"Yes," the old man indicated.
"Barrois!" Valentine called. "Barrois!"
"Coming, miss!" he replied.
"Barrois will show you out," Valentine told Morrel. "And rember one thing, Mr. Officer, my grandfather commands you not to take any rash or foolish steps that might compromise our happiness."
"I promised to wait," Morrel replied, "and I will."
At that mont, Barrois entered.
"Who rang?" Valentine asked.
"Doctor d'Avrigny," Barrois said, swaying like he might collapse.
"What's wrong, Barrois?" Valentine asked in alarm.
The old man didn't answer. He just stared at his master with wild, bulging eyes while his cramped hand clutched at a piece of furniture to keep himself upright.
"He's going to fall!" Morrel shouted.
The tremors attacking Barrois intensified. His facial features twisted grotesquely, and his convulsing muscles signaled the onset of a severe nervous disorder. Noirtier, watching Barrois in this pitiful state, showed every emotion of sorrow and sympathy that a human heart can feel.
Barrois stumbled a few steps toward his master.
"Sir," he gasped, "tell what's happening to . I'm in agony, I can't see! It feels like a thousand burning needles are piercing my brain. Don't touch , please don't!"
His haggard eyes looked ready to pop from their sockets. His head fell back, and his legs began to stiffen. Valentine scread in horror. Morrel pulled her into his arms as if to protect her from so invisible danger.
"Mr. d'Avrigny! Mr. d'Avrigny!" she cried in a strangled voice. "Help! Soone help!"
Barrois turned and, with trendous effort, stumbled forward a few more steps before collapsing at Noirtier's feet. Resting his hand on the invalid's knee, he cried out, "My master, my good master!"
At that mont, Mr. de Villefort, drawn by the commotion, appeared in the doorway. Morrel released Valentine and retreated to a distant corner, half-hidden behind a curtain. Pale as death, he stared in terror at the agonized man.
Noirtier burned with desperation at his complete inability to help his old servant, soone he considered more friend than employee. The fearful swelling of veins in his forehead and the tightening of muscles around his eyes revealed the terrible conflict between his active, energetic mind and his paralyzed, helpless body.
Barrois lay full-length on the floor, his features contorted, eyes bloodshot, head thrown back. He beat the floor with his hands while his legs had gone so rigid they looked like they might snap rather than bend. Foam appeared at the corners of his mouth, and he breathed painfully with extre difficulty.
Villefort stood frozen in stunned silence, staring at the scene without saying a word. He hadn't noticed Morrel. After a mont of shocked contemplation, during which his face went pale and his hair seed to stand on end, he sprang toward the door.
"Doctor! Doctor! Co imdiately, please co!"
"Mada! Mada!" Valentine cried, running upstairs to et her stepmother. "Co quick! And bring your slling salts!"
"What's the matter?" Mada de Villefort asked in a harsh, strained tone.
"Oh, just co!"
"But where is the doctor?" Villefort shouted. "Where is he?"
Mada de Villefort descended the stairs slowly and deliberately. In one hand she held a handkerchief she was using to wipe her face; in the other, a bottle of slling salts. Her first glance upon entering was at Noirtier, whose face, aside from the natural emotion such a scene would produce, showed he was in his usual health. Her second glance fell on the dying man. She turned pale, and her eyes quickly moved from the servant to rest on the master.
"In God's na, mada," Villefort demanded, "where is the doctor? He was just with you! This is clearly apoplexy, he could be saved if we could just bleed him!"
"Has he eaten anything recently?" Mada de Villefort asked, evading her husband's question.
"Mada," Valentine replied, "he hasn't even had breakfast. He was running an errand for my grandfather, and when he returned, he had nothing but a glass of lemonade."
"Ah," Mada de Villefort said, "why didn't he have wine instead? Lemonade was very bad for him."
"Grandpapa's bottle of lemonade was right beside him. Poor Barrois was so thirsty he was grateful to drink anything he could find."
Mada de Villefort visibly startled. Noirtier watched her with profound scrutiny.
"He has such a short neck," she murmured.
"Mada," Villefort said forcefully, "I'm asking where Mr. d'Avrigny is! For God's sake, answer !"
"He's with Edward, who isn't feeling well," Mada de Villefort finally replied.
Villefort rushed upstairs to fetch him.
"Take this," Mada de Villefort said, handing her slling salts to Valentine. "They'll need to bleed him, so I'll go. I can't stand the sight of blood." She followed her husband upstairs.
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