"Maximilian," called D'Avigny, opening the door, "tell Valentine to come in."
"Whom did you just call?" asked Villefort, when D'Avigny had closed the door again.
"Maximilian Morrel, Valentine's betrothed, the son of the shipping merchant Morrel, of Marseilles."
"Morrel—Marseilles—Edmond Dantes," murmured Villefort. "Ah, there is justice in Heaven!"
The door was now opened, and Valentine entered. She strode to Villefort's bed and sank on her knees beside it.
"Oh, father," she sobbed, embracing him tenderly. "Thank God, I see you again!"
Villefort gazed at Valentine as if she were a spectre; but tears fell on the young girl's cheeks, and his lean hands were crossed as if in prayer.
"Father, dearly beloved father!" stammered Valentine, weepingly, "why do you not speak? Have you no word of welcome for your Valentine?"
"Monsieur de Flambois, do you still doubt?" asked d'Avigny, softly.
"Yes, not your statement, but my reason," said the district-attorney, wiping the tears from his eyes.