lovers he had
anticipated after the return of Madame de Saint-Meran and the death
of the marquis, that something would occur at M. de Villefort's in
connection with his attachment for Valentine. His presentiments were
realized, as we shall see, and his uneasy forebodings had goaded him
pale and trembling to the gate under the chestnut-trees. Valentine was
ignorant of the cause of this sorrow and anxiety, and as it was not his
accustomed hour for visiting her, she had gone to the spot simply by
accident or perhaps through sympathy. Morrel called her, and she ran
to the gate. "You here at this hour?" said she. "Yes, my poor girl,"
replied Morrel; "I come to bring and to hear bad tidings."

"This is, indeed, a house of mourning," said Valentine; "speak,
Maximilian, although the cup of sorrow seems already full."

"Dear Valentine," said Morrel, endeavoring to conceal his own emotion,
"listen, I entreat you; what I am about to say is very serious. When are
you to be married?"

"I will tell you all," said Valentine; "from you I have nothing
to conceal. This morning the subject was introduced, and my dear
grandmother, on whom I depended as my only support, not only declared
herself favorable to it, but is so anxious for it, that they only await
the arrival of M. d'Epinay, and the following day the contract will
be signed." A deep sigh escaped the young man, who gazed long and
mournfully at her he loved. "Alas," replied he, "it is dreadful thus to
hear my condemnation from your own lips. The sentence is passed, and, in
a few hours, will be executed; it must be so, and I will not endeavor
to prevent it. But, since you say nothing remains but for M. d'Epinay to
arrive that the contract may be signed, and the following day you will
be his, to-morrow you will be engaged to M. d'Epinay, for he came this
morning to Paris." Valentine uttered a cry.

"I was at the house of Monte Cristo an hour since," said Morrel; "we
were speaking, he of the sorrow your family had experienced, and I of
your grief, when a carriage rolled into the court-yard. Never, till
then, had I placed any confidence in presentiments, but now I cannot
help believing them, Valentine. At the sound of that carriage I
shuddered; soon I heard steps on the staircase, which terrified me as
much as the footsteps of the commander did Don Juan. The door at last
opened; Albert de Morcerf entered first, and I began to hope my fears
were vain, when, after him, another young