The poor girl made no reply, but her lover could clearly hear her sobbing. A rapid change swept through the young man's emotions. "Dearest, dearest Valentine," he exclaimed, "forgive me if I've offended you, and forget my words if they've caused you pain." "No, Maximilian, I'm not offended," she answered. "But don't you see what a poor, helpless creature I am? Almost a stranger and outcast in my father's house, where even he rarely appears. My will has been crushed and my spirit broken since I was ten years old, held under such strict control. Oppressed, humiliated, and persecuted every day, every hour, every minute. No one has cared about or even noticed my suffering, and I've never breathed a word about it to anyone but you. Outwardly, to the world, I appear surrounded by kindness and affection, but the opposite is true. People say, 'Of course, you can't expect a stern man like Mr. Villefort to shower his daughter with tenderness like some fathers do. Though she lost her mother at a young age, she's been blessed to find a second mother in Mrs. Villefort.' But the world is wrong. My father abandons me out of complete indifference, while my stepmother hates me with a hatred made more terrible because she hides it behind a constant smile." "Hate you, sweet Valentine?" the young man exclaimed. "How could anyone do that?" "Alas," replied the weeping girl, "I must admit my stepmother's hatred comes from a natural source, her overwhelming love for her own child, my brother Edward." "But why should that make her hate you?" "I don't know. Though I hate to bring money into our conversation, I'll say this much: her extreme dislike originates there. I fear she envies me the fortune I inherited from my mother, which will more than double when my grandparents die, since I'm their sole heir. My stepmother has nothing of her own and resents me for being so wealthy. Oh, how gladly I'd exchange half this fortune just to share my father's love! God knows, I'd sacrifice all of it for a happy and loving home." "I feel like I'm living in bondage, yet I'm so conscious of my own weakness that I'm afraid to break free, in case I fall completely helpless. Besides, my father isn't someone whose orders can be disobeyed lightly. Protected by his high position and his rock-solid reputation for talent and integrity, no one could oppose him. He's powerful even with the king himself, he could crush you with a word. Dear Maximilian, believe me when I say that if I don't resist my father's commands, it's more for your sake than my own." "But Valentine, why do you insist on expecting the worst? Why imagine such a gloomy future?" "Because I'm judging from the past." "Still, consider that although I may not be what's called an illustrious match for you, I'm not entirely beneath your station. The days when such distinctions were carefully weighed no longer exist in our country. Old aristocratic families have married into newer ones. I belong to this modern class, and my prospects for military advancement are excellent and certain. My fortune, though small, is secure, and my late father's memory is respected in our region as the most honest and honorable merchant in the city. I say our region because you were born not far from Marseilles." "Don't speak of Marseilles, I beg you, Maximilian. That one word brings back my mother, my angel mother, who died too soon for me and everyone who knew her. After watching over her child during her brief time in this world, she now watches over me from heaven, I hope. Oh, if my mother were still alive, there would be nothing to fear, Maximilian. I would tell her I loved you, and she would protect us." Orıginal content can be found at 𝕟𝕠𝕧𝕖𝕝⟡𝕗𝕚𝕣𝕥⟡𝕟𝕖𝕥 "I fear, Valentine," replied the lover, "that if she were alive, I would never have had the happiness of knowing you. You would have been too happy to notice me." "Now you're being unjust, Maximilian," Valentine cried. "But there's one thing I want to know." "What is it?" asked the young man, noticing Valentine's hesitation. "Tell me truly, Maximilian, whether long ago, when our fathers lived in Marseilles, there was ever any bad blood between them?" "Not that I know of," replied the young man, "unless perhaps some ill feeling arose from them being on opposite political sides. Your father, as you know, was a devoted supporter of the royal family, while mine was completely loyal to the emperor. There couldn't have been any other difference between them. But why do you ask?" "I'll tell you," replied the young girl, "because you should know. Well, on the day your appointment as an officer of the Legion of Honor was announced in the newspapers, we were all sitting with my grandfather, Mr. Noirtier. Mr. Danglars was there too, you remember Mr. Danglars, the banker whose horses ran away with my stepmother and little brother and nearly killed them? While everyone else discussed an upcoming society marriage, I was reading the paper to my grandfather. When I came to the paragraph about you, though I'd already read it to myself all morning, since you'd told me about it the night before, I felt so happy yet so nervous about speaking your name aloud in front of so many people that I almost skipped over it. But I was afraid that would create suspicions, so I gathered my courage and read it as firmly and steadily as I could." "Would you believe that the moment my father heard your name, he turned around sharply? I was so convinced everyone must be as affected by your name as I was that I wasn't surprised my father reacted, he even seemed to tremble. I even thought, though it must have been a mistake, that Mr. Danglars trembled too." "'Morrel, Morrel,' my father cried, frowning deeply. 'Wait, surely this can't be one of the Morrel family who lived in Marseilles and caused us so much trouble with their violent loyalty to the emperor around 1815?' 'Yes,' Mr. Danglars replied, 'I believe he's the son of the old shipping merchant.'" "Indeed," answered Maximilian. "And what did your father say then, Valentine?" "Oh, such a dreadful thing that I hardly dare repeat it." "Always tell me everything," said Maximilian with a smile. "'Ah,' my father continued, still frowning, 'their beloved emperor treated these fanatics as they deserved. He called them cannon fodder, which was exactly all they were good for. I'm delighted to see the current government has adopted this healthy principle with full force. If our colonial wars serve no other purpose than to implement such an excellent policy, they're worth the cost, even though maintaining our presence in those uncivilized lands certainly costs our nation dearly.'" "Brutal politics, I must admit," said Maximilian, "but don't take your father's words too seriously, dear. My father wasn't any better with that kind of talk. 'Why,' he used to say, 'doesn't the emperor organize a regiment of lawyers, judges, and legal professionals, sending them into the hottest enemy fire to save better men?' You see, dear, there's not much to choose between either side when it comes to harsh rhetoric. But what did Mr. Danglars say to your father's outburst?" "Oh, he laughed in that peculiar way of his, half malicious, half savage. He got up and left almost immediately. Then, for the first time, I noticed my grandfather's agitation. I must tell you, Maximilian, I'm the only person who can detect emotion in his paralyzed body. I suspected the conversation carried on in his presence, they always say and do whatever they like in front of the dear old man without any regard for his feelings, had made a strong impression on him. Naturally, it must have pained him to hear the emperor he so devotedly loved and served spoken of in such a degrading way." "The name of Mr. Noirtier," Maximilian interjected, "is famous throughout Europe. He was a statesman of high rank, and you may or may not know, Valentine, that he played a leading role in every conspiracy supporting the emperor during the restoration of the monarchy." "Oh, I've often heard whispers of things that seem very strange to me, the father a supporter of the emperor, the son a royalist. What could have caused such a dramatic difference in their politics? But to continue my story: I turned toward my grandfather as if to ask him what was wrong. He looked meaningfully at the newspaper I'd been reading. 'What's the matter, dear grandfather?' I said. 'Are you pleased?' He gave me a sign of agreement. 'With what my father just said?' He signaled no. 'Perhaps you liked what Mr. Danglars said?' Another no. 'Oh, then you were glad to hear that Mr. Morrel', I didn't dare say Maximilian, 'had been made an officer of the Legion of Honor?' He indicated yes. Just think, the poor old man was so pleased to learn that you, a perfect stranger to him, had received this honor! Perhaps it was just a whim, since they say he's declining mentally, but I love him for showing so much interest in you." "How strange," Maximilian murmured. "Your father hates me, while your grandfather, on the contrary." "Hush," Valentine said suddenly. "Someone's coming!" Maximilian leaped in one bound into his clover patch and began pulling up plants ruthlessly, pretending to be weeding. "Miss, miss!" a voice called from behind the trees. "Your stepmother is searching everywhere for you. There's a visitor in the drawing room." "A visitor?" Valentine asked, clearly unsettled. "Who is it?" "Some important person, a prince, I think they said. The Count of Monte Cristo." "I'll come right away," Valentine called back loudly. The name Monte Cristo sent an electric shock through the young man on the other side of the iron gate. Valentine's "I'll come right away" was their usual signal that she had to leave. "Well then," said Maximilian, leaning on his shovel handle, "I'd give anything to know how the Count of Monte Cristo happens to be acquainted with Mr. Villefort."