The night-light continued to burn on the chimney-piece,exhausting the last drops of oil which floated on thesurface of the water. The globe of the lamp appeared of areddish hue, and the flame, brightening before it expired,threw out the last flickerings which in an inanimate objecthave been so often compared with the convulsions of a humancreature in its final agonies. A dull and dismal light wasshed over the bedclothes and curtains surrounding the younggirl. All noise in the streets had ceased, and the silencewas frightful. It was then that the door of Edward's roomopened, and a head we have before noticed appeared in theglass opposite; it was Madame de Villefort, who came towitness the effects of the drink she had prepared. Shestopped in the doorway, listened for a moment to theflickering of the lamp, the only sound in that desertedroom, and then advanced to the table to see if Valentine'sglass were empty. It was still about a quarter full, as webefore stated. Madame de Villefort emptied the contents intothe ashes, which she disturbed that they might the morereadily absorb the liquid; then she carefully rinsed theglass, and wiping it with her handkerchief replaced it onthe table.

If any one could have looked into the room just then hewould have noticed the hesitation with which Madame deVillefort approached the bed and looked fixedly onValentine. The dim light, the profound silence, and thegloomy thoughts inspired by the hour, and still more by herown conscience, all combined to produce a sensation of fear;the poisoner was terrified at the contemplation of her ownwork. At length she rallied, drew aside the curtain, andleaning over the pillow gazed intently on Valentine. Theyoung girl no longer breathed, no breath issued through thehalf-closed teeth; the white lips no longer quivered - theeyes were suffused with a bluish vapor, and the long blacklashes rested on a cheek white as wax. Madame de Villefortgazed upon the face so expressive even in its stillness;then she ventured to raise the coverlet and press her handupon the young girl's heart. It was cold and motionless. Sheonly felt the pulsation in her own fingers, and withdrew herhand with a shudder. One arm was hanging out of the bed;from shoulder to elbow it was moulded after the arms ofGermain Pillon's "Graces,"* but the fore-arm seemed to beslightly distorted by convulsion, and the hand, sodelicately formed, was resting with stiff outstretchedfingers on the framework of the bed. The nails, too, wereturning blue.

Germain Pillon was a famous French sculptor (1535-1598).His best known work is "The Three Graces," now in theLouvre.

Madame de Villefort had no longer any doubt; all was over - she had consummated the last terrible work she had toaccomplish. There was no more to do in the room, so thepoisoner retired stealthily, as though fearing to hear thesound of her own footsteps; but as she withdrew she stillheld aside the curtain, absorbed in the irresistibleattraction always exerted by the picture of death, so longas it is merely mysterious and does not excite disgust. Justthen the lamp again flickered; the noise startled Madame deVillefort, who shuddered and dropped the curtain.Immediately afterwards the light expired, and the room wasplunged in frightful obscurity, while the clock at thatminute struck half-past four. Overpowered with agitation,the poisoner succeeded in groping her way to the door, andreached her room in an agony of fear.

The darkness lasted two hours longer; then by degrees a coldlight crept through the Venetian blinds, until at length itrevealed the objects in the room. About this time thenurse's cough was heard on the stairs and the woman enteredthe room with a cup in her hand. To the tender eye of afather or a lover, the first glance would have sufficed toreveal 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, andalthough she had just left her bed, she could not resist thetemptation offered by Valentine's sleep, so she threwherself into an arm-chair to snatch a little more rest. Theclock striking eight awoke her. Astonished at the prolongedslumber of the patient, and frightened to see that the armwas still hanging out of the bed, she advanced towardsValentine, and for the first time noticed the white lips.She tried to replace the arm, but it moved with a frightfulrigidity which could not deceive a sick-nurse. She screamedaloud; then running to the door exclaimed, - "Help, help!"

"What is the matter?" asked M. d'Avrigny, at the foot of thestairs, 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, andseeing Valentine pale and motionless on her bed, they liftedup their hands towards heaven and stood transfixed, asthough struck by lightening. "Call Madame de Villefort! - wake Madame de Villefort!" cried the procureur from the doorof 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 bethe end?" Villefort rushed into the room. "What are yousaying, doctor?" he exclaimed, raising his hands to heaven.

"I say that Valentine is dead!" replied d'Avrigny, in avoice terrible in its solemn calm.

M. de Villefort staggered and buried his head in the bed. Onthe exclamation of the doctor and the cry of the father, theservants all fled with muttered imprecations; they wereheard running down the stairs and through the long passages,then there was a rush in the court, afterwards all wasstill; they had, one and all, deserted the accursed house.Just then, Madame de Villefort, in the act of slipping onher dressing-gown, threw aside the drapery and for a momentstood motionless, as though interrogating the occupants ofthe room, while she endeavored to call up some rebellioustears. On a sudden she stepped, or rather bounded, withoutstretched arms, towards the table. She saw d'Avrignycuriously examining the glass, which she felt certain ofhaving 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 wouldhave alarmed her less. It was, indeed, the same color as thedraught she had poured into the glass, and which Valentinehad drank; it was indeed the poison, which could not deceiveM. d'Avrigny, which he now examined so closely; it wasdoubtless a miracle from heaven, that, notwithstanding herprecautions, there should be some trace, some proofremaining to reveal the crime. While Madame de Villefortremained rooted to the spot like a statue of terror, andVillefort, with his head hidden in the bedclothes, sawnothing around him, d'Avrigny approached the window, that hemight the better examine the contents of the glass, anddipping the tip of his finger in, tasted it. "Ah," heexclaimed, "it is no longer brucine that is used; let me seewhat it is!"

Then he ran to one of the cupboards in Valentine's room,which had been transformed into a medicine closet, andtaking from its silver case a small bottle of nitric acid,dropped a little of it into the liquor, which immediatelychanged to a blood-red color. "Ah," exclaimed d'Avrigny, ina voice in which the horror of a judge unveiling the truthwas mingled with the delight of a student making adiscovery. Madame de Villefort was overpowered, her eyesfirst flashed and then swam, she staggered towards the doorand disappeared. Directly afterwards the distant sound of aheavy weight falling on the ground was heard, but no onepaid any attention to it; the nurse was engaged in watchingthe chemical analysis, and Villefort was still absorbed ingrief. M. d'Avrigny alone had followed Madame de Villefortwith his eyes, and watched her hurried retreat. He lifted upthe drapery over the entrance to Edward's room, and his eyereaching as far as Madame de Villefort's apartment, hebeheld her extended lifeless on the floor. "Go to theassistance 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," saidd'Avrigny, "since she is dead."

"Dead, - dead!" groaned forth Villefort, in a paroxysm ofgrief, which was the more terrible from the novelty of thesensation in the iron heart of that man.

"Dead!" repeated a third voice. "Who said Valentine wasdead?"

The two men turned round, and saw Morrel standing at thedoor, pale and terror-stricken. This is what had happened.At the usual time, Morrel had presented himself at thelittle door leading to Noirtier's room. Contrary to custom,the door was open, and having no occasion to ring heentered. He waited for a moment in the hall and called for aservant to conduct him to M. Noirtier; but no one answered,the servants having, as we know, deserted the house. Morrelhad no particular reason for uneasiness; Monte Cristo hadpromised him that Valentine should live, and so far he hadalways fulfilled his word. Every night the count had givenhim 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. Thenhe determined to go up. Noirtier's room was opened, like allthe rest. The first thing he saw was the old man sitting inhis arm-chair in his usual place, but his eyes expressedalarm, which was confirmed by the pallor which overspreadhis features.

"How are you, sir?" asked Morrel, with a sickness of heart.

"Well," answered the old man, by closing his eyes; but hisappearance manifested increasing uneasiness.

"You are thoughtful, sir," continued Morrel; "you wantsomething; shall I call one of the servants?"

"Yes," replied Noirtier.

Morrel pulled the bell, but though he nearly broke the cordno one answered. He turned towards Noirtier; the pallor andanguish expressed on his countenance momentarily increased.

"Oh," exclaimed Morrel, "why do they not come? Is any oneill in the house?" The eyes of Noirtier seemed as thoughthey would start from their sockets. "What is the matter?You alarm me. Valentine? Valentine?"

"Yes, yes," signed Noirtier. Maximilian tried to speak, buthe could articulate nothing; he staggered, and supportedhimself against the wainscot. Then he pointed to the door.

"Yes, yes, yes!" continued the old man. Maximilian rushed upthe little staircase, while Noirtier's eyes seemed to say,- "Quicker, quicker!"

In a minute the young man darted through several rooms, tillat length he reached Valentine's. There was no occasion topush the door, it was wide open. A sob was the only sound heheard. He saw as though in a mist, a black figure kneelingand buried in a confused mass of white drapery. A terriblefear transfixed him. It was then he heard a voice exclaim"Valentine is dead!" and another voice which, like an echorepeated, - "Dead, - dead!"