er 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