CHAPTER CII
VALENTINE
HE night-light continued to burn on the chimney-piece of Valentine, exhausting the last drops of oil which floated on the surface of the water. Already the globe of the lamp appeared of a reddish hue; already the flame, brightening before it expired, threw out those last flickerings which in an inanimate object have been so often compared with the last convulsions in a human frame; a dull and dismal light was shed over the bed-clothes and curtains surrounding the young girl. All noise in the streets had ceased, and the silence of the house was frightful.
It was then that the door of Edward's room opened, and a head we have before noticed appeared in the glass opposite; it was Madame de Villefort, who came to witness the effects of the draught. She stopped in the doorway, listened for a moment to the flickering of the lamp, the only sound in that deserted room, and then advanced to the table, to see if Valentine's glass was empty. It was still about a quarter full, as we before stated. Madame de Villefort emptied the contents into the ashes, which she disturbed, that they might the more readily absorb the liquid; then she carefully rinsed the glass, and, wiping it with her handkerchief, replaced it on the table.
If any one could have looked into the room just then he would have noticed the hesitation with which Madame de Villefort approached the bed, and looked fixedly on Valentine. The dim light, the profound silence, the terrible poetry of the night, blended with the awful poetry of her conscience; the poisoner was terrified at her work.
At length she rallied, drew aside the curtain, and leaning over the pillow, gazed intently on Valentine. The young girl no longer breathed, no breath issued through the half-closed teeth; the white lips no longer quivered; the eyes, bathed in a bluish vapor, which seemed to have
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