“I only wish to be alone. You will excuse me, will you not? A priest can understand a father’s grief.”
And M. de Villefort, giving the key to d’Avrigny, again bade farewell to the strange doctor, and retired to his study, where he began to work. For some temperaments work is a remedy for all afflictions.
As the doctors entered the street, they saw a man in a cassock standing on the threshold of the next door.
“This is the abbé of whom I spoke,” said the doctor to d’Avrigny. D’Avrigny accosted the priest.
“Sir,” he said, “are you disposed to confer a great obligation on an unhappy father who has just lost his daughter? I mean M. de Villefort, the king’s attorney.”
“Ah,” said the priest, in a marked Italian accent; “yes, I have heard that death is in that house.”
“Then I need not tell you what kind of service he requires of you.”
“I was about to offer myself, sir,” said the priest; “it is our mission to forestall our duties.”
“It is a young girl.”
“I know it, sir; the servants who fled from the house informed me. I also know that her name is Valentine, and I have already prayed for her.”
“Thank you, sir,” said d’Avrigny; “since you have commenced your sacred office, deign to continue it. Come and watch by the dead, and all the wretched family will be grateful to you.”
“I am going, sir; and I do not hesitate to say that no prayers will be more fervent than mine.”