The morning arrived gray and overcast. Overnight, the undertakers had done their grim work, wrapping Valentine's body in an expensive burial shroud, the kind of luxury that followed the wealthy even into death. The girl had purchased the fine fabric just two weeks earlier, never knowing what it would be used for.
Two hired men had moved old Noirtier from his granddaughter's room back to his own chamber the previous evening. Surprisingly, he hadn't resisted being separated from Valentine's body, everyone had expected him to fight it.
Father Busoni kept vigil through the night, slipping away at dawn without waking anyone. Dr. d'Avrigny returned around eight in the morning, crossing paths with Villefort in the hallway. Together, they went to check on the elderly man.
They found Noirtier in his large armchair, the one he used as a bed, sleeping peacefully. His face looked almost serene, perhaps even slightly smiling. Both men froze in the doorway, stunned.
