Noirtier’s face remained perfectly passive during this long preamble, while, on the contrary, Villefort’s eye was endeavoring to penetrate into the inmost recesses of the old man’s heart.
“This communication,” continued the procureur, in that cold and decisive tone which seemed at once to preclude all discussion, “will, we are sure, meet with your approbation.”
The eye of the invalid still retained that vacancy of expression which prevented his son from obtaining any knowledge of the feelings which were passing in his mind; he listened, nothing more.
“Sir,” resumed Villefort, “we are thinking of marrying Valentine.”
Had the old man’s face been moulded in wax it could not have shown less emotion at this news than was now to be traced there.
“The marriage will take place in less than three months,” said Villefort.
Noirtier’s eye still retained its inanimate expression.
Madame de Villefort now took her part in the conversation and added:
“We thought this news would possess an interest for you, sir, who have always entertained a great affection for Valentine; it therefore only now remains for us to tell you the name of the young man for whom she is destined. It is one of the most desirable connections which could possibly be formed; he possesses fortune, a high rank in society, and every personal qualification likely to render Valentine supremely happy—his name, moreover, cannot be wholly unknown to you. It is M. Franz de Quesnel, Baron d’Épinay.”
While his wife was speaking, Villefort had narrowly watched the old man’s countenance. When Madame de Villefort pronounced the name of Franz, the pupil of M. Noirtier’s eye began to dilate, and his eyelids