“Barrois,” said Valentine, “my grandfather has told me to open that drawer in the secretaire, but there is a secret spring in it, which you know—will you open it?”
Barrois looked at the old man. “Obey,” said Noirtier’s intelligent eye. Barrois touched a spring, the false bottom came out, and they saw a bundle of papers tied with a black string.
“Is that what you wish for?” said Barrois.
“Yes.”
“Shall I give these papers to M. de Villefort?”
“No.”
“To Mademoiselle Valentine?”
“No.”
“To M. Franz d’Épinay?”
“Yes.”
Franz, astonished, advanced a step. “To me, sir?” said he.
“Yes.”
Franz took them from Barrois and casting a glance at the cover, read:
“‘To be given, after my death, to General Durand, who shall bequeath the packet to his son, with an injunction to preserve it as containing an important document.’
“Well, sir,” asked Franz, “what do you wish me to do with this paper?”
“To preserve it, sealed up as it is, doubtless,” said the procureur.
“No,” replied Noirtier eagerly.
“Do you wish him to read it?” said Valentine.
“Yes,” replied the old man.
“You understand, baron, my grandfather wishes you to read this paper,” said Valentine.
“Then let us sit down,” said Villefort impatiently, “for it will take some time.”
“Sit down,” said the old man. Villefort took a chair, but Valentine remained standing by her father’s side, and Franz before him, holding the mysterious paper in his hand. “Read,” said the old man. Franz untied it, and in the midst of the most profound silence read: