“Then, doubtless, dear M. Noirtier, you intend leaving your fortune to your grandson, Edward de Villefort?”
The winking of the eyes which answered this speech was most decided and terrible, and expressed a feeling almost amounting to hatred.
“No?” said the notary; “then, perhaps, it is to your son, M. de Villefort?”
“No.”
The two notaries looked at each other in mute astonishment and inquiry as to what were the real intentions of the testator. Villefort and his wife both grew red, one from shame, the other from anger.
“What have we all done, then, dear grandpapa?” said Valentine; “you no longer seem to love any of us?”
The old man’s eyes passed rapidly from Villefort and his wife, and rested on Valentine with a look of unutterable fondness.
“Well,” said she; “if you love me, grandpapa, try and bring that love to bear upon your actions at this present moment. You know me well enough to be quite sure that I have never thought of your fortune; besides, they say I am already rich in right of my mother—too rich, even. Explain yourself, then.”
Noirtier fixed his intelligent eyes on Valentine’s hand.
“My hand?” said she.
“Yes.”
“Her hand!” exclaimed everyone.