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The Count of Monte Cristo


by Alexandre Dumas [Pere]


Chapter 1
Marseilles -- The Arrival.


On the 24th of February1810the look-out at Notre-Dame de
la Garde signalled the three-masterthe Pharaon from
SmyrnaTriesteand Naples.


As usuala pilot put off immediatelyand rounding the
Chateau d'Ifgot on board the vessel between Cape Morgion
and Rion island.


Immediatelyand according to customthe ramparts of Fort
Saint-Jean were covered with spectators; it is always an
event at Marseilles for a ship to come into portespecially
when this shiplike the Pharaonhas been builtrigged
and laden at the old Phocee docksand belongs to an owner
of the city.


The ship drew on and had safely passed the straitwhich
some volcanic shock has made between the Calasareigne and
Jaros islands; had doubled Pomegueand approached the
harbor under topsailsjiband spankerbut so slowly and
sedately that the idlerswith that instinct which is the
forerunner of evilasked one another what misfortune could
have happened on board. Howeverthose experienced in
navigation saw plainly that if any accident had occurredit
was not to the vessel herselffor she bore down with all
the evidence of being skilfully handledthe anchor
a-cockbillthe jib-boom guys already eased offand
standing by the side of the pilotwho was steering the
Pharaon towards the narrow entrance of the inner portwas a
young manwhowith activity and vigilant eyewatched
every motion of the shipand repeated each direction of the
pilot.


The vague disquietude which prevailed among the spectators
had so much affected one of the crowd that he did not await
the arrival of the vessel in harborbut jumping into a
small skiffdesired to be pulled alongside the Pharaon
which he reached as she rounded into La Reserve basin.


When the young man on board saw this person approachhe
left his station by the pilotandhat in handleaned over
the ship's bulwarks.


He was a finetallslim young fellow of eighteen or
twentywith black eyesand hair as dark as a raven's wing;
and his whole appearance bespoke that calmness and
resolution peculiar to men accustomed from their cradle to
contend with danger.


Ah, is it you, Dantes?cried the man in the skiff. "What's
the matter? and why have you such an air of sadness aboard?"



A great misfortune, M. Morrel,replied the young man-"
a great misfortunefor me especially! Off Civita Vecchia
we lost our brave Captain Leclere."

And the cargo?inquired the ownereagerly.

Is all safe, M. Morrel; and I think you will be satisfied
on that head. But poor Captain Leclere --

What happened to him?asked the ownerwith an air of
considerable resignation. "What happened to the worthy
captain?"

He died.

Fell into the sea?

No, sir, he died of brain-fever in dreadful agony.Then
turning to the crewhe saidBear a hand there, to take in
sail!

All hands obeyedand at once the eight or ten seamen who
composed the crewsprang to their respective stations at
the spanker brails and outhaultopsail sheets and halyards
the jib downhauland the topsail clewlines and buntlines.
The young sailor gave a look to see that his orders were
promptly and accurately obeyedand then turned again to the
owner.

And how did this misfortune occur?inquired the latter
resuming the interrupted conversation.

Alas, sir, in the most unexpected manner. After a long talk
with the harbor-master, Captain Leclere left Naples greatly
disturbed in mind. In twenty-four hours he was attacked by a
fever, and died three days afterwards. We performed the
usual burial service, and he is at his rest, sewn up in his
hammock with a thirty-six pound shot at his head and his
heels, off El Giglio island. We bring to his widow his sword
and cross of honor. It was worth while, truly,added the
young man with a melancholy smileto make war against the
English for ten years, and to die in his bed at last, like
everybody else.

Why, you see, Edmond,replied the ownerwho appeared more
comforted at every momentwe are all mortal, and the old
must make way for the young. If not, why, there would be no
promotion; and since you assure me that the cargo --

Is all safe and sound, M. Morrel, take my word for it; and
I advise you not to take 25,000 francs for the profits of
the voyage.

Thenas they were just passing the Round Towerthe young
man shouted: "Stand by there to lower the topsails and jib;
brail up the spanker!"

The order was executed as promptly as it would have been on
board a man-of-war.

Let go -- and clue up!At this last command all the sails
were loweredand the vessel moved almost imperceptibly
onwards.


Now, if you will come on board, M. Morrel,said Dantes
observing the owner's impatiencehere is your supercargo,

M. Danglars, coming out of his cabin, who will furnish you
with every particular. As for me, I must look after the
anchoring, and dress the ship in mourning.
The owner did not wait for a second invitation. He seized a
rope which Dantes flung to himand with an activity that
would have done credit to a sailorclimbed up the side of
the shipwhile the young mangoing to his taskleft the
conversation to Danglarswho now came towards the owner. He
was a man of twenty-five or twenty-six years of ageof
unprepossessing countenanceobsequious to his superiors
insolent to his subordinates; and thisin addition to his
position as responsible agent on boardwhich is always
obnoxious to the sailorsmade him as much disliked by the
crew as Edmond Dantes was beloved by them.

Well, M. Morrel,said Danglarsyou have heard of the
misfortune that has befallen us?

Yes -- yes: poor Captain Leclere! He was a brave and an
honest man.

And a first-rate seaman, one who had seen long and
honorable service, as became a man charged with the
interests of a house so important as that of Morrel & Son,
replied Danglars.

But,replied the ownerglancing after Danteswho was
watching the anchoring of his vesselit seems to me that a
sailor needs not be so old as you say, Danglars, to
understand his business, for our friend Edmond seems to
understand it thoroughly, and not to require instruction
from any one.

Yes,said Danglarsdarting at Edmond a look gleaming with
hate. "Yeshe is youngand youth is invariably
self-confident. Scarcely was the captain's breath out of his
body when he assumed the command without consulting any one
and he caused us to lose a day and a half at the Island of
Elbainstead of making for Marseilles direct."

As to taking command of the vessel,replied Morrelthat
was his duty as captain's mate; as to losing a day and a
half off the Island of Elba, he was wrong, unless the vessel
needed repairs.

The vessel was in as good condition as I am, and as, I hope
you are, M. Morrel, and this day and a half was lost from
pure whim, for the pleasure of going ashore, and nothing
else.

Dantes,said the shipownerturning towards the young man
come this way!

In a moment, sir,answered Dantesand I'm with you.
Then calling to the crewhe said -- "Let go!"

The anchor was instantly droppedand the chain ran rattling
through the port-hole. Dantes continued at his post in spite
of the presence of the pilotuntil this manoeuvre was
completedand then he addedHalf-mast the colors, and


square the yards!

You see,said Danglarshe fancies himself captain
already, upon my word.

And so, in fact, he is,said the owner.

Except your signature and your partner's, M. Morrel.

And why should he not have this?asked the owner; "he is
youngit is truebut he seems to me a thorough seamanand
of full experience."

A cloud passed over Danglars' brow. "Your pardonM.
Morrel said Dantes, approaching, the vessel now rides at
anchorand I am at your service. You hailed meI think?"

Danglars retreated a step or two. "I wished to inquire why
you stopped at the Island of Elba?"

I do not know, sir; it was to fulfil the last instructions
of Captain Leclere, who, when dying, gave me a packet for
Marshal Bertrand.

Then did you see him, Edmond?

Who?

The marshal.

Yes.

Morrel looked around himand thendrawing Dantes on one
sidehe said suddenly -- "And how is the emperor?"

Very well, as far as I could judge from the sight of him.

You saw the emperor, then?

He entered the marshal's apartment while I was there.

And you spoke to him?

Why, it was he who spoke to me, sir,said Danteswith a
smile.

And what did he say to you?

Asked me questions about the vessel, the time she left
Marseilles, the course she had taken, and what was her
cargo. I believe, if she had not been laden, and I had been
her master, he would have bought her. But I told him I was
only mate, and that she belonged to the firm of Morrel &
Son. `Ah, yes,' he said, `I know them. The Morrels have been
shipowners from father to son; and there was a Morrel who
served in the same regiment with me when I was in garrison
at Valence.'

Pardieu, and that is true!cried the ownergreatly
delighted. "And that was Policar Morrelmy unclewho was
afterwards a captain. Dantesyou must tell my uncle that
the emperor remembered himand you will see it will bring
tears into the old soldier's eyes. Comecome continued
he, patting Edmond's shoulder kindly, you did very right


Dantesto follow Captain Leclere's instructionsand touch
at Elbaalthough if it were known that you had conveyed a
packet to the marshaland had conversed with the emperor
it might bring you into trouble."

How could that bring me into trouble, sir?asked Dantes;
for I did not even know of what I was the bearer; and the
emperor merely made such inquiries as he would of the first
comer. But, pardon me, here are the health officers and the
customs inspectors coming alongside.And the young man went
to the gangway. As he departedDanglars approachedand
said-


Well, it appears that he has given you satisfactory reasons
for his landing at Porto-Ferrajo?

Yes, most satisfactory, my dear Danglars.

Well, so much the better,said the supercargo; "for it is
not pleasant to think that a comrade has not done his duty."

Dantes has done his,replied the ownerand that is not
saying much. It was Captain Leclere who gave orders for this
delay.

Talking of Captain Leclere, has not Dantes given you a
letter from him?

To me? -- no -- was there one?

I believe that, besides the packet, Captain Leclere
confided a letter to his care.

Of what packet are you speaking, Danglars?

Why, that which Dantes left at Porto-Ferrajo.

How do you know he had a packet to leave at Porto-Ferrajo?

Danglars turned very red.

I was passing close to the door of the captain's cabin,
which was half open, and I saw him give the packet and
letter to Dantes.

He did not speak to me of it,replied the shipowner; "but
if there be any letter he will give it to me."

Danglars reflected for a moment. "ThenM. MorrelI beg of
you said he, not to say a word to Dantes on the subject.
I may have been mistaken."

At this moment the young man returned; Danglars withdrew.

Well, my dear Dantes, are you now free?inquired the
owner.

Yes, sir.

You have not been long detained.

No. I gave the custom-house officers a copy of our bill of
lading; and as to the other papers, they sent a man off with
the pilot, to whom I gave them.


Then you have nothing more to do here?

No -- everything is all right now.

Then you can come and dine with me?

I really must ask you to excuse me, M. Morrel. My first
visit is due to my father, though I am not the less grateful
for the honor you have done me.

Right, Dantes, quite right. I always knew you were a good
son.

And,inquired Danteswith some hesitationdo you know
how my father is?

Well, I believe, my dear Edmond, though I have not seen him
lately.

Yes, he likes to keep himself shut up in his little room.

That proves, at least, that he has wanted for nothing
during your absence.

Dantes smiled. "My father is proudsirand if he had not a
meal leftI doubt if he would have asked anything from
anyoneexcept from Heaven."

Well, then, after this first visit has been made we shall
count on you.

I must again excuse myself, M. Morrel, for after this first
visit has been paid I have another which I am most anxious
to pay.

True, Dantes, I forgot that there was at the Catalans some
one who expects you no less impatiently than your father -the
lovely Mercedes.

Dantes blushed.

Ah, ha,said the shipownerI am not in the least
surprised, for she has been to me three times, inquiring if
there were any news of the Pharaon. Peste, Edmond, you have
a very handsome mistress!

She is not my mistress,replied the young sailorgravely;
she is my betrothed.

Sometimes one and the same thing,said Morrelwith a
smile.

Not with us, sir,replied Dantes.

Well, well, my dear Edmond,continued the ownerdon't
let me detain you. You have managed my affairs so well that
I ought to allow you all the time you require for your own.
Do you want any money?

No, sir; I have all my pay to take -- nearly three months'
wages.

You are a careful fellow, Edmond.


Say I have a poor father, sir.

Yes, yes, I know how good a son you are, so now hasten away
to see your father. I have a son too, and I should be very
wroth with those who detained him from me after a three
months' voyage.

Then I have your leave, sir?

Yes, if you have nothing more to say to me.

Nothing.

Captain Leclere did not, before he died, give you a letter
for me?

He was unable to write, sir. But that reminds me that I
must ask your leave of absence for some days.

To get married?

Yes, first, and then to go to Paris.

Very good; have what time you require, Dantes. It will take
quite six weeks to unload the cargo, and we cannot get you
ready for sea until three months after that; only be back
again in three months, for the Pharaon,added the owner
patting the young sailor on the backcannot sail without
her captain.

Without her captain!cried Danteshis eyes sparkling with
animation; "pray mind what you sayfor you are touching on
the most secret wishes of my heart. Is it really your
intention to make me captain of the Pharaon?"

If I were sole owner we'd shake hands on it now, my dear
Dantes, and call it settled; but I have a partner, and you
know the Italian proverb -- Chi ha compagno ha padrone -`
He who has a partner has a master.' But the thing is at
least half done, as you have one out of two votes. Rely on
me to procure you the other; I will do my best.

Ah, M. Morrel,exclaimed the young seamanwith tears in
his eyesand grasping the owner's handM. Morrel, I thank
you in the name of my father and of Mercedes.

That's all right, Edmond. There's a providence that watches
over the deserving. Go to your father: go and see Mercedes,
and afterwards come to me.

Shall I row you ashore?

No, thank you; I shall remain and look over the accounts
with Danglars. Have you been satisfied with him this
voyage?

That is according to the sense you attach to the question,
sir. Do you mean is he a good comrade? No, for I think he
never liked me since the day when I was silly enough, after
a little quarrel we had, to propose to him to stop for ten
minutes at the island of Monte Cristo to settle the dispute
-- a proposition which I was wrong to suggest, and he quite
right to refuse. If you mean as responsible agent when you


ask me the question, I believe there is nothing to say
against him, and that you will be content with the way in
which he has performed his duty.

But tell me, Dantes, if you had command of the Pharaon
should you be glad to see Danglars remain?

Captain or mate, M. Morrel, I shall always have the
greatest respect for those who possess the owners'
confidence.

That's right, that's right, Dantes! I see you are a
thoroughly good fellow, and will detain you no longer. Go,
for I see how impatient you are.

Then I have leave?

Go, I tell you.

May I have the use of your skiff?

Certainly.

Then, for the present, M. Morrel, farewell, and a thousand
thanks!

I hope soon to see you again, my dear Edmond. Good luck to
you.

The young sailor jumped into the skiffand sat down in the
stern sheetswith the order that he be put ashore at La
Canebiere. The two oarsmen bent to their workand the
little boat glided away as rapidly as possible in the midst
of the thousand vessels which choke up the narrow way which
leads between the two rows of ships from the mouth of the
harbor to the Quai d'Orleans.

The shipownersmilingfollowed him with his eyes until he
saw him spring out on the quay and disappear in the midst of
the throngwhich from five o'clock in the morning until
nine o'clock at nightswarms in the famous street of La
Canebiere-- a street of which the modern Phocaeans are so
proud that they say with all the gravity in the worldand
with that accent which gives so much character to what is
saidIf Paris had La Canebiere, Paris would be a second
Marseilles.On turning round the owner saw Danglars behind
himapparently awaiting ordersbut in reality also
watching the young sailor-- but there was a great
difference in the expression of the two men who thus
followed the movements of Edmond Dantes.

Chapter 2
Father and Son.

We will leave Danglars struggling with the demon of hatred
and endeavoring to insinuate in the ear of the shipowner
some evil suspicions against his comradeand follow Dantes
whoafter having traversed La Canebieretook the Rue de
Noaillesand entering a small houseon the left of the
Allees de Meillanrapidly ascended four flights of a dark
staircaseholding the baluster with one handwhile with
the other he repressed the beatings of his heartand paused


before a half-open doorfrom which he could see the whole
of a small room.

This room was occupied by Dantes' father. The news of the
arrival of the Pharaon had not yet reached the old manwho
mounted on a chairwas amusing himself by training with
trembling hand the nasturtiums and sprays of clematis that
clambered over the trellis at his window. Suddenlyhe felt
an arm thrown around his bodyand a well-known voice behind
him exclaimedFather -- dear father!

The old man uttered a cryand turned round; thenseeing
his sonhe fell into his armspale and trembling.

What ails you, my dearest father? Are you ill?inquired
the young manmuch alarmed.

No, no, my dear Edmond -- my boy -- my son! -- no; but I
did not expect you; and joy, the surprise of seeing you so
suddenly -- Ah, I feel as if I were going to die.

Come, come, cheer up, my dear father! 'Tis I -- really I!
They say joy never hurts, and so I came to you without any
warning. Come now, do smile, instead of looking at me so
solemnly. Here I am back again, and we are going to be
happy.

Yes, yes, my boy, so we will -- so we will,replied the
old man; "but how shall we be happy? Shall you never leave
me again? Cometell me all the good fortune that has
befallen you."

God forgive me,said the young manfor rejoicing at
happiness derived from the misery of others, but, Heaven
knows, I did not seek this good fortune; it has happened,
and I really cannot pretend to lament it. The good Captain
Leclere is dead, father, and it is probable that, with the
aid of M. Morrel, I shall have his place. Do you understand,
father? Only imagine me a captain at twenty, with a hundred
louis pay, and a share in the profits! Is this not more than
a poor sailor like me could have hoped for?

Yes, my dear boy,replied the old manit is very
fortunate.

Well, then, with the first money I touch, I mean you to
have a small house, with a garden in which to plant
clematis, nasturtiums, and honeysuckle. But what ails you,
father? Are you not well?

'Tis nothing, nothing; it will soon pass away-- and as he
said so the old man's strength failed himand he fell
backwards.

Come, come,said the young mana glass of wine, father,
will revive you. Where do you keep your wine?

No, no; thanks. You need not look for it; I do not want
it,said the old man.

Yes, yes, father, tell me where it is,and he opened two
or three cupboards.

It is no use,said the old manthere is no wine.


What, no wine?said Dantesturning paleand looking
alternately at the hollow cheeks of the old man and the
empty cupboards. "Whatno wine? Have you wanted money
father?"

I want nothing now that I have you,said the old man.

Yet,stammered Danteswiping the perspiration from his
brow-- "yet I gave you two hundred francs when I left
three months ago."

Yes, yes, Edmond, that is true, but you forgot at that time
a little debt to our neighbor, Caderousse. He reminded me of
it, telling me if I did not pay for you, he would be paid by

M. Morrel; and so, you see, lest he might do you an injury
Well?

Why, I paid him.

But,cried Dantesit was a hundred and forty francs I
owed Caderousse.

Yes,stammered the old man.

And you paid him out of the two hundred francs I left you?

The old man nodded.

So that you have lived for three months on sixty francs,
muttered Edmond.

You know how little I require,said the old man.

Heaven pardon me,cried Edmondfalling on his knees
before his father.

What are you doing?

You have wounded me to the heart.

Never mind it, for I see you once more,said the old man;
and now it's all over -- everything is all right again.

Yes, here I am,said the young manwith a promising
future and a little money. Here, father, here!he said
take this -- take it, and send for something immediately.
And he emptied his pockets on the tablethe contents
consisting of a dozen gold piecesfive or six five-franc
piecesand some smaller coin. The countenance of old Dantes
brightened.

Whom does this belong to?he inquired.

To me, to you, to us! Take it; buy some provisions; be
happy, and to-morrow we shall have more.

Gently, gently,said the old manwith a smile; "and by
your leave I will use your purse moderatelyfor they would
sayif they saw me buy too many things at a timethat I
had been obliged to await your returnin order to be able
to purchase them."


Do as you please; but, first of all, pray have a servant,
father. I will not have you left alone so long. I have some
smuggled coffee and most capital tobacco, in a small chest
in the hold, which you shall have to-morrow. But, hush, here
comes somebody.

'Tis Caderousse, who has heard of your arrival, and no
doubt comes to congratulate you on your fortunate return.

Ah, lips that say one thing, while the heart thinks
another,murmured Edmond. "Butnever mindhe is a
neighbor who has done us a service on a timeso he's
welcome."

As Edmond pausedthe black and bearded head of Caderousse
appeared at the door. He was a man of twenty-five or six
and held a piece of clothwhichbeing a tailorhe was
about to make into a coat-lining.

What, is it you, Edmond, back again?said hewith a broad
Marseillaise accentand a grin that displayed his
ivory-white teeth.

Yes, as you see, neighbor Caderousse; and ready to be
agreeable to you in any and every way,replied Dantesbut
ill-concealing his coldness under this cloak of civility.

Thanks -- thanks; but, fortunately, I do not want for
anything; and it chances that at times there are others who
have need of me.Dantes made a gesture. "I do not allude to
youmy boy. No! -- no! I lent you moneyand you returned
it; that's like good neighborsand we are quits."

We are never quits with those who oblige us,was Dantes'
reply; "for when we do not owe them moneywe owe them
gratitude."

What's the use of mentioning that? What is done is done.
Let us talk of your happy return, my boy. I had gone on the
quay to match a piece of mulberry cloth, when I met friend
Danglars. `You at Marseilles?' -- `Yes,' says he.

`I thought you were at Smyrna.' -- `I was; but am now back
again.'

`And where is the dear boy, our little Edmond?'

`Whywith his fatherno doubt' replied Danglars. And so
I came added Caderousse, as fast as I could to have the
pleasure of shaking hands with a friend."

Worthy Caderousse!said the old manhe is so much
attached to us.

Yes, to be sure I am. I love and esteem you, because honest
folks are so rare. But it seems you have come back rich, my
boy,continued the tailorlooking askance at the handful
of gold and silver which Dantes had thrown on the table.

The young man remarked the greedy glance which shone in the
dark eyes of his neighbor. "Eh he said, negligently. this
money is not mine. I was expressing to my father my fears
that he had wanted many things in my absenceand to


convince me he emptied his purse on the table. Comefather"
added Dantesput this money back in your box -- unless
neighbor Caderousse wants anything, and in that case it is
at his service.

No, my boy, no,said Caderousse. "I am not in any want
thank Godmy living is suited to my means. Keep your money
-- keep itI say; -- one never has too much; -- butat the
same timemy boyI am as much obliged by your offer as if
I took advantage of it."

It was offered with good will,said Dantes.

No doubt, my boy; no doubt. Well, you stand well with M.
Morrel I hear, -- you insinuating dog, you!

M. Morrel has always been exceedingly kind to me,replied
Dantes.

Then you were wrong to refuse to dine with him.

What, did you refuse to dine with him?said old Dantes;
and did he invite you to dine?

Yes, my dear father,replied Edmondsmiling at his
father's astonishment at the excessive honor paid to his
son.

And why did you refuse, my son?inquired the old man.

That I might the sooner see you again, my dear father,
replied the young man. "I was most anxious to see you."

But it must have vexed M. Morrel, good, worthy man,said
Caderousse. "And when you are looking forward to be captain
it was wrong to annoy the owner."

But I explained to him the cause of my refusal,replied
Dantesand I hope he fully understood it.

Yes, but to be captain one must do a little flattery to
one's patrons.

I hope to be captain without that,said Dantes.

So much the better -- so much the better! Nothing will give
greater pleasure to all your old friends; and I know one
down there behind the Saint Nicolas citadel who will not be
sorry to hear it.

Mercedes?said the old man.

Yes, my dear father, and with your permission, now I have
seen you, and know you are well and have all you require, I
will ask your consent to go and pay a visit to the
Catalans.

Go, my dear boy,said old Dantes: "and heaven bless you in
your wifeas it has blessed me in my son!"

His wife!said Caderousse; "whyhow fast you go on
father Dantes; she is not his wife yetas it seems to me."

So, but according to all probability she soon will be,


replied Edmond.

Yes -- yes,said Caderousse; "but you were right to return
as soon as possiblemy boy."

And why?

Because Mercedes is a very fine girl, and fine girls never
lack followers; she particularly has them by dozens.

Really?answered Edmondwith a smile which had in it
traces of slight uneasiness.

Ah, yes,continued Caderousseand capital offers, too;
but you know, you will be captain, and who could refuse you
then?

Meaning to say,replied Danteswith a smile which but
ill-concealed his troublethat if I were not a captain-


Eh -- eh!said Caderousseshaking his head.

Come, come,said the sailorI have a better opinion than
you of women in general, and of Mercedes in particular; and
I am certain that, captain or not, she will remain ever
faithful to me.

So much the better -- so much the better,said Caderousse.
When one is going to be married, there is nothing like
implicit confidence; but never mind that, my boy, -- go and
announce your arrival, and let her know all your hopes and
prospects.

I will go directly,was Edmond's reply; andembracing his
fatherand nodding to Caderoussehe left the apartment.

Caderousse lingered for a momentthen taking leave of old
Danteshe went downstairs to rejoin Danglarswho awaited
him at the corner of the Rue Senac.

Well,said Danglarsdid you see him?

I have just left him,answered Caderousse.

Did he allude to his hope of being captain?

He spoke of it as a thing already decided.

Indeed!said Danglarshe is in too much hurry, it
appears to me.

Why, it seems M. Morrel has promised him the thing.

So that he is quite elated about it?

Why, yes, he is actually insolent over the matter -- has
already offered me his patronage, as if he were a grand
personage, and proffered me a loan of money, as though he
were a banker.

Which you refused?

Most assuredly; although I might easily have accepted it,
for it was I who put into his hands the first silver he ever


earned; but now M. Dantes has no longer any occasion for
assistance -- he is about to become a captain.

Pooh!said Danglarshe is not one yet.

Ma foi, it will be as well if he is not,answered
Caderousse; "for if he should bethere will be really no
speaking to him."

If we choose,replied Danglarshe will remain what he
is; and perhaps become even less than he is.

What do you mean?

Nothing -- I was speaking to myself. And is he still in
love with the Catalane?

Over head and ears; but, unless I am much mistaken, there
will be a storm in that quarter.

Explain yourself.

Why should I?

It is more important than you think, perhaps. You do not
like Dantes?

I never like upstarts.

Then tell me all you know about the Catalane.

I know nothing for certain; only I have seen things which
induce me to believe, as I told you, that the future captain
will find some annoyance in the vicinity of the Vieilles
Infirmeries.

What have you seen? -- come, tell me!

Well, every time I have seen Mercedes come into the city
she has been accompanied by a tall, strapping, black-eyed
Catalan, with a red complexion, brown skin, and fierce air,
whom she calls cousin.

Really; and you think this cousin pays her attentions?

I only suppose so. What else can a strapping chap of
twenty-one mean with a fine wench of seventeen?

And you say that Dantes has gone to the Catalans?

He went before I came down.

Let us go the same way; we will stop at La Reserve, and we
can drink a glass of La Malgue, whilst we wait for news.

Come along,said Caderousse; "but you pay the score."

Of course,replied Danglars; and going quickly to the
designated placethey called for a bottle of wineand two
glasses.

Pere Pamphile had seen Dantes pass not ten minutes before;
and assured that he was at the Catalansthey sat down under
the budding foliage of the planes and sycamoresin the


branches of which the birds were singing their welcome to
one of the first days of spring.

Chapter 3
The Catalans.

Beyond a bareweather-worn wallabout a hundred paces from
the spot where the two friends sat looking and listening as
they drank their winewas the village of the Catalans. Long
ago this mysterious colony quitted Spainand settled on the
tongue of land on which it is to this day. Whence it came no
one knewand it spoke an unknown tongue. One of its chiefs
who understood Provencalbegged the commune of Marseilles
to give them this bare and barren promontorywherelike
the sailors of oldthey had run their boats ashore. The
request was granted; and three months afterwardsaround the
twelve or fifteen small vessels which had brought these
gypsies of the seaa small village sprang up. This village
constructed in a singular and picturesque mannerhalf
Moorishhalf Spanishstill remainsand is inhabited by
descendants of the first comerswho speak the language of
their fathers. For three or four centuries they have
remained upon this small promontoryon which they had
settled like a flight of seabirdswithout mixing with the
Marseillaise populationintermarryingand preserving their
original customs and the costume of their mother-country as
they have preserved its language.

Our readers will follow us along the only street of this
little villageand enter with us one of the houseswhich
is sunburned to the beautiful dead-leaf color peculiar to
the buildings of the countryand within coated with
whitewashlike a Spanish posada. A young and beautiful
girlwith hair as black as jether eyes as velvety as the
gazelle'swas leaning with her back against the wainscot
rubbing in her slender delicately moulded fingers a bunch of
heath blossomsthe flowers of which she was picking off and
strewing on the floor; her armsbare to the elbowbrown
and modelled after those of the Arlesian Venusmoved with a
kind of restless impatienceand she tapped the earth with
her arched and supple footso as to display the pure and
full shape of her well-turned legin its red cottongray
and blue clockedstocking. At three paces from herseated
in a chair which he balanced on two legsleaning his elbow
on an old worm-eaten tablewas a tall young man of twenty
or two-and-twentywho was looking at her with an air in
which vexation and uneasiness were mingled. He questioned
her with his eyesbut the firm and steady gaze of the young
girl controlled his look.

You see, Mercedes,said the young manhere is Easter
come round again; tell me, is this the moment for a
wedding?

I have answered you a hundred times, Fernand, and really
you must be very stupid to ask me again.

Well, repeat it, -- repeat it, I beg of you, that I may at
last believe it! Tell me for the hundredth time that you
refuse my love, which had your mother's sanction. Make me
understand once for all that you are trifling with my
happiness, that my life or death are nothing to you. Ah, to


have dreamed for ten years of being your husband, Mercedes,
and to lose that hope, which was the only stay of my
existence!

At least it was not I who ever encouraged you in that hope,
Fernand,replied Mercedes; "you cannot reproach me with the
slightest coquetry. I have always said to you`I love you
as a brother; but do not ask from me more than sisterly
affectionfor my heart is another's.' Is not this true
Fernand?"

Yes, that is very true, Mercedes,replied the young man
Yes, you have been cruelly frank with me; but do you forget
that it is among the Catalans a sacred law to intermarry?

You mistake, Fernand; it is not a law, but merely a custom,
and, I pray of you, do not cite this custom in your favor.
You are included in the conscription, Fernand, and are only
at liberty on sufferance, liable at any moment to be called
upon to take up arms. Once a soldier, what would you do with
me, a poor orphan, forlorn, without fortune, with nothing
but a half-ruined hut and a few ragged nets, the miserable
inheritance left by my father to my mother, and by my mother
to me? She has been dead a year, and you know, Fernand, I
have subsisted almost entirely on public charity. Sometimes
you pretend I am useful to you, and that is an excuse to
share with me the produce of your fishing, and I accept it,
Fernand, because you are the son of my father's brother,
because we were brought up together, and still more because
it would give you so much pain if I refuse. But I feel very
deeply that this fish which I go and sell, and with the
produce of which I buy the flax I spin, -- I feel very
keenly, Fernand, that this is charity.

And if it were, Mercedes, poor and lone as you are, you
suit me as well as the daughter of the first shipowner or
the richest banker of Marseilles! What do such as we desire
but a good wife and careful housekeeper, and where can I
look for these better than in you?

Fernand,answered Mercedesshaking her heada woman
becomes a bad manager, and who shall say she will remain an
honest woman, when she loves another man better than her
husband? Rest content with my friendship, for I say once
more that is all I can promise, and I will promise no more
than I can bestow.

I understand,replied Fernandyou can endure your own
wretchedness patiently, but you are afraid to share mine.
Well, Mercedes, beloved by you, I would tempt fortune; you
would bring me good luck, and I should become rich. I could
extend my occupation as a fisherman, might get a place as
clerk in a warehouse, and become in time a dealer myself.

You could do no such thing, Fernand; you are a soldier, and
if you remain at the Catalans it is because there is no war;
so remain a fisherman, and contented with my friendship, as
I cannot give you more.

Well, I will do better, Mercedes. I will be a sailor;
instead of the costume of our fathers, which you despise, I
will wear a varnished hat, a striped shirt, and a blue
jacket, with an anchor on the buttons. Would not that dress
please you?


What do you mean?asked Mercedeswith an angry glance-"
what do you mean? I do not understand you?"

I mean, Mercedes, that you are thus harsh and cruel with
me, because you are expecting some one who is thus attired;
but perhaps he whom you await is inconstant, or if he is
not, the sea is so to him.

Fernand,cried MercedesI believed you were
good-hearted, and I was mistaken! Fernand, you are wicked to
call to your aid jealousy and the anger of God! Yes, I will
not deny it, I do await, and I do love him of whom you
speak; and, if he does not return, instead of accusing him
of the inconstancy which you insinuate, I will tell you that
he died loving me and me only.The young girl made a
gesture of rage. "I understand youFernand; you would be
revenged on him because I do not love you; you would cross
your Catalan knife with his dirk. What end would that
answer? To lose you my friendship if he were conqueredand
see that friendship changed into hate if you were victor.
Believe meto seek a quarrel with a man is a bad method of
pleasing the woman who loves that man. NoFernandyou will
not thus give way to evil thoughts. Unable to have me for
your wifeyou will content yourself with having me for your
friend and sister; and besides she added, her eyes
troubled and moistened with tears, waitwaitFernand; you
said just now that the sea was treacherousand he has been
gone four monthsand during these four months there have
been some terrible storms."

Fernand made no replynor did he attempt to check the tears
which flowed down the cheeks of Mercedesalthough for each
of these tears he would have shed his heart's blood; but
these tears flowed for another. He arosepaced a while up
and down the hutand thensuddenly stopping before
Mercedeswith his eyes glowing and his hands clinched-"
SayMercedes he said, once for allis this your final
determination?"

I love Edmond Dantes,the young girl calmly repliedand
none but Edmond shall ever be my husband.

And you will always love him?

As long as I live.

Fernand let fall his head like a defeated manheaved a sigh
that was like a groanand then suddenly looking her full in
the facewith clinched teeth and expanded nostrilssaid
-- "But if he is dead" -


If he is dead, I shall die too.

If he has forgotten you-


Mercedes!called a joyous voice from without-"
Mercedes!"

Ah,exclaimed the young girlblushing with delightand
fairly leaping in excess of loveyou see he has not
forgotten me, for here he is!And rushing towards the door
she opened itsayingHere, Edmond, here I am!


Fernandpale and tremblingdrew backlike a traveller at
the sight of a serpentand fell into a chair beside him.
Edmond and Mercedes were clasped in each other's arms. The
burning Marseilles sunwhich shot into the room through the
open doorcovered them with a flood of light. At first they
saw nothing around them. Their intense happiness isolated
them from all the rest of the worldand they only spoke in
broken wordswhich are the tokens of a joy so extreme that
they seem rather the expression of sorrow. Suddenly Edmond
saw the gloomypaleand threatening countenance of
Fernandas it was defined in the shadow. By a movement for
which he could scarcely account to himselfthe young
Catalan placed his hand on the knife at his belt.

Ah, your pardon,said Dantesfrowning in his turn; "I did
not perceive that there were three of us." Thenturning to
Mercedeshe inquiredWho is this gentleman?

One who will be your best friend, Dantes, for he is my
friend, my cousin, my brother; it is Fernand -- the man
whom, after you, Edmond, I love the best in the world. Do
you not remember him?

Yes!said Dantesand without relinquishing Mercedes hand
clasped in one of his ownhe extended the other to the
Catalan with a cordial air. But Fernandinstead of
responding to this amiable gestureremained mute and
trembling. Edmond then cast his eyes scrutinizingly at the
agitated and embarrassed Mercedesand then again on the
gloomy and menacing Fernand. This look told him alland his
anger waxed hot.

I did not know, when I came with such haste to you, that I
was to meet an enemy here.

An enemy!cried Mercedeswith an angry look at her
cousin. "An enemy in my housedo you sayEdmond! If I
believed thatI would place my arm under yours and go with
you to Marseillesleaving the house to return to it no
more."

Fernand's eye darted lightning. "And should any misfortune
occur to youdear Edmond she continued with the same
calmness which proved to Fernand that the young girl had
read the very innermost depths of his sinister thought, if
misfortune should occur to youI would ascend the highest
point of the Cape de Morgion and cast myself headlong from
it."

Fernand became deadly pale. "But you are deceivedEdmond
she continued. You have no enemy here -- there is no one
but Fernandmy brotherwho will grasp your hand as a
devoted friend."

And at these words the young girl fixed her imperious look
on the Catalanwhoas if fascinated by itcame slowly
towards Edmondand offered him his hand. His hatredlike a
powerless though furious wavewas broken against the strong
ascendancy which Mercedes exercised over him. Scarcely
howeverhad he touched Edmond's hand than he felt he had
done all he could doand rushed hastily out of the house.

Oh,he exclaimedrunning furiously and tearing his hair
-- "Ohwho will deliver me from this man? Wretched -



wretched that I am!"

Hallo, Catalan! Hallo, Fernand! where are you running to?
exclaimed a voice.

The young man stopped suddenlylooked around himand
perceived Caderousse sitting at table with Danglarsunder
an arbor.

Wellsaid Caderoussewhy don't you come? Are you really
in such a hurry that you have no time to pass the time of
day with your friends?

Particularly when they have still a full bottle before
them,added Danglars. Fernand looked at them both with a
stupefied airbut did not say a word.

He seems besotted,said Danglarspushing Caderousse with
his knee. "Are we mistakenand is Dantes triumphant in
spite of all we have believed?"

Why, we must inquire into that,was Caderousse's reply;
and turning towards the young mansaidWell, Catalan,
can't you make up your mind?

Fernand wiped away the perspiration steaming from his brow
and slowly entered the arborwhose shade seemed to restore
somewhat of calmness to his sensesand whose coolness
somewhat of refreshment to his exhausted body.

Good-day,said he. "You called medidn't you?" And he
fellrather than sat downon one of the seats which
surrounded the table.

I called you because you were running like a madman, and I
was afraid you would throw yourself into the sea,said
Caderousselaughing. "Whywhen a man has friendsthey are
not only to offer him a glass of winebutmoreoverto
prevent his swallowing three or four pints of water
unnecessarily!"

Fernand gave a groanwhich resembled a soband dropped his
head into his handshis elbows leaning on the table.

Well, Fernand, I must say,said Caderoussebeginning the
conversationwith that brutality of the common people in
which curiosity destroys all diplomacyyou look uncommonly
like a rejected lover;and he burst into a hoarse laugh.

Bah!said Danglarsa lad of his make was not born to be
unhappy in love. You are laughing at him, Caderousse.

No,he repliedonly hark how he sighs! Come, come,
Fernand,said Caderoussehold up your head, and answer
us. It's not polite not to reply to friends who ask news of
your health.

My health is well enough,said Fernandclinching his
hands without raising his head.

Ah, you see, Danglars,said Caderoussewinking at his
friendthis is how it is; Fernand, whom you see here, is a
good and brave Catalan, one of the best fishermen in
Marseilles, and he is in love with a very fine girl, named


Mercedes; but it appears, unfortunately, that the fine girl
is in love with the mate of the Pharaon; and as the Pharaon
arrived to-day -- why, you understand!

No; I do not understand,said Danglars.

Poor Fernand has been dismissed,continued Caderousse.

Well, and what then?said Fernandlifting up his head
and looking at Caderousse like a man who looks for some one
on whom to vent his anger; "Mercedes is not accountable to
any personis she? Is she not free to love whomsoever she
will?"

Oh, if you take it in that sense,said Caderousseit is
another thing. But I thought you were a Catalan, and they
told me the Catalans were not men to allow themselves to be
supplanted by a rival. It was even told me that Fernand,
especially, was terrible in his vengeance.

Fernand smiled piteously. "A lover is never terrible he
said.

Poor fellow!" remarked Danglarsaffecting to pity the
young man from the bottom of his heart. "Whyyou seehe
did not expect to see Dantes return so suddenly -- he
thought he was deadperhaps; or perchance faithless! These
things always come on us more severely when they come
suddenly."

Ah, ma foi, under any circumstances,said Caderoussewho
drank as he spokeand on whom the fumes of the wine began
to take effect-- "under any circumstances Fernand is not
the only person put out by the fortunate arrival of Dantes;
is heDanglars?"

No, you are right -- and I should say that would bring him
ill-luck.

Well, never mind,answered Caderoussepouring out a glass
of wine for Fernandand filling his own for the eighth or
ninth timewhile Danglars had merely sipped his. "Never
mind -- in the meantime he marries Mercedes -- the lovely
Mercedes -- at least he returns to do that."

During this time Danglars fixed his piercing glance on the
young manon whose heart Caderousse's words fell like
molten lead.

And when is the wedding to be?he asked.

Oh, it is not yet fixed!murmured Fernand.

No, but it will be,said Caderousseas surely as Dantes
will be captain of the Pharaon -- eh, Danglars?

Danglars shuddered at this unexpected attackand turned to
Caderoussewhose countenance he scrutinizedto try and
detect whether the blow was premeditated; but he read
nothing but envy in a countenance already rendered brutal
and stupid by drunkenness.

Well,said hefilling the glasseslet us drink to
Captain Edmond Dantes, husband of the beautiful Catalane!


Caderousse raised his glass to his mouth with unsteady hand
and swallowed the contents at a gulp. Fernand dashed his on
the ground.

Eh, eh, eh!stammered Caderousse. "What do I see down
there by the wallin the direction of the Catalans? Look
Fernandyour eyes are better than mine. I believe I see
double. You know wine is a deceiver; but I should say it was
two lovers walking side by sideand hand in hand. Heaven
forgive methey do not know that we can see themand they
are actually embracing!"

Danglars did not lose one pang that Fernand endured.

Do you know them, Fernand?he said.

Yes,was the replyin a low voice. "It is Edmond and
Mercedes!"

Ah, see there, now!said Caderousse; "and I did not
recognize them! HalloDantes! hellolovely damsel! Come
this wayand let us know when the wedding is to befor
Fernand here is so obstinate he will not tell us."

Hold your tongue, will you?said Danglarspretending to
restrain Caderoussewhowith the tenacity of drunkards
leaned out of the arbor. "Try to stand uprightand let the
lovers make love without interruption. Seelook at Fernand
and follow his example; he is well-behaved!"

Fernandprobably excited beyond bearingpricked by
Danglarsas the bull is by the bandilleroswas about to
rush out; for he had risen from his seatand seemed to be
collecting himself to dash headlong upon his rivalwhen
Mercedessmiling and gracefullifted up her lovely head
and looked at them with her clear and bright eyes. At this
Fernand recollected her threat of dying if Edmond diedand
dropped again heavily on his seat. Danglars looked at the
two menone after the otherthe one brutalized by liquor
the other overwhelmed with love.

I shall get nothing from these fools,he muttered; "and I
am very much afraid of being here between a drunkard and a
coward. Here's an envious fellow making himself boozy on
wine when he ought to be nursing his wrathand here is a
fool who sees the woman he loves stolen from under his nose
and takes on like a big baby. Yet this Catalan has eyes that
glisten like those of the vengeful SpaniardsSiciliansand
Calabriansand the other has fists big enough to crush an
ox at one blow. UnquestionablyEdmond's star is in the
ascendantand he will marry the splendid girl -- he will be
captaintooand laugh at us allunless" -- a sinister
smile passed over Danglars' lips -- "unless I take a hand in
the affair he added.

Hallo!" continued Caderoussehalf-risingand with his
fist on the tablehallo, Edmond! do you not see your
friends, or are you too proud to speak to them?

No, my dear fellow!replied DantesI am not proud, but I
am happy, and happiness blinds, I think, more than pride.

Ah, very well, that's an explanation!said Caderousse.


How do you do, Madame Dantes?

Mercedes courtesied gravelyand said -- "That is not my
nameand in my country it bodes ill fortunethey sayto
call a young girl by the name of her betrothed before he
becomes her husband. So call me Mercedesif you please."

We must excuse our worthy neighbor, Caderousse,said
Danteshe is so easily mistaken.

So, then, the wedding is to take place immediately, M.
Dantes,said Danglarsbowing to the young couple.

As soon as possible, M. Danglars; to-day all preliminaries
will be arranged at my father's, and to-morrow, or next day
at latest, the wedding festival here at La Reserve. My
friends will be there, I hope; that is to say, you are
invited, M. Danglars, and you, Caderousse.

And Fernand,said Caderousse with a chuckle; "Fernand
toois invited!"

My wife's brother is my brother,said Edmond; "and we
Mercedes and Ishould be very sorry if he were absent at
such a time."

Fernand opened his mouth to replybut his voice died on his
lipsand he could not utter a word.

To-day the preliminaries, to-morrow or next day the
ceremony! You are in a hurry, captain!

Danglars,said EdmondsmilingI will say to you as
Mercedes said just now to Caderousse, `Do not give me a
title which does not belong to me'; that may bring me bad
luck.

Your pardon,replied DanglarsI merely said you seemed
in a hurry, and we have lots of time; the Pharaon cannot be
under weigh again in less than three months.

We are always in a hurry to be happy, M. Danglars; for when
we have suffered a long time, we have great difficulty in
believing in good fortune. But it is not selfishness alone
that makes me thus in haste; I must go to Paris.

Ah, really? -- to Paris! and will it be the first time you
have ever been there, Dantes?

Yes.

Have you business there?

Not of my own; the last commission of poor Captain Leclere;
you know to what I allude, Danglars -- it is sacred.
Besides, I shall only take the time to go and return.

Yes, yes, I understand,said Danglarsand then in a low
tonehe addedTo Paris, no doubt to deliver the letter
which the grand marshal gave him. Ah, this letter gives me
an idea -- a capital idea! Ah; Dantes, my friend, you are
not yet registered number one on board the good ship
Pharaon;then turning towards Edmondwho was walking away
A pleasant journey,he cried.


Thank you,said Edmond with a friendly nodand the two
lovers continued on their wayas calm and joyous as if they
were the very elect of heaven.

Chapter 4
Conspiracy.

Danglars followed Edmond and Mercedes with his eyes until
the two lovers disappeared behind one of the angles of Fort
Saint Nicolasthen turning roundhe perceived Fernandwho
had fallenpale and tremblinginto his chairwhile
Caderousse stammered out the words of a drinking-song.

Well, my dear sir,said Danglars to Fernandhere is a
marriage which does not appear to make everybody happy.

It drives me to despair,said Fernand.

Do you, then, love Mercedes?

I adore her!

For long?

As long as I have known her -- always.

And you sit there, tearing your hair, instead of seeking to
remedy your condition; I did not think that was the way of
your people.

What would you have me do?said Fernand.

How do I know? Is it my affair? I am not in love with
Mademoiselle Mercedes; but for you -- in the words of the
gospel, seek, and you shall find.

I have found already.

What?

I would stab the man, but the woman told me that if any
misfortune happened to her betrothed, she would kill
herself.

Pooh! Women say those things, but never do them.

You do not know Mercedes; what she threatens she will do.

Idiot!muttered Danglars; "whether she kill herself or
notwhat matterprovided Dantes is not captain?"

Before Mercedes should die,replied Fernandwith the
accents of unshaken resolutionI would die myself!

That's what I call love!said Caderousse with a voice more
tipsy than ever. "That's loveor I don't know what love
is."

Come,said Danglarsyou appear to me a good sort of
fellow, and hang me, I should like to help you, but-



Yes,said Caderoussebut how?

My dear fellow,replied Danglarsyou are three parts
drunk; finish the bottle, and you will be completely so.
Drink then, and do not meddle with what we are discussing,
for that requires all one's wit and cool judgment.

I -- drunk!said Caderousse; "well that's a good one! I
could drink four more such bottles; they are no bigger than
cologne flasks. Pere Pamphilemore wine!" and Caderousse
rattled his glass upon the table.

You were saving, sir-- said Fernandawaiting with great
anxiety the end of this interrupted remark.

What was I saying? I forget. This drunken Caderousse has
made me lose the thread of my sentence.

Drunk, if you like; so much the worse for those who fear
wine, for it is because they have bad thoughts which they
are afraid the liquor will extract from their hearts;and
Caderousse began to sing the two last lines of a song very
popular at the time-


`Tous les mechants sont beuveurs d'eau;
C'est bien prouve par le deluge.'*

* "The wicked are great drinkers of water
As the flood proved once for all."
You said, sir, you would like to help me, but-


Yes; but I added, to help you it would be sufficient that
Dantes did not marry her you love; and the marriage may
easily be thwarted, methinks, and yet Dantes need not die.

Death alone can separate them,remarked Fernand.

You talk like a noodle, my friend,said Caderousse; "and
here is Danglarswho is a wide-awakecleverdeep fellow
who will prove to you that you are wrong. Prove it
Danglars. I have answered for you. Say there is no need why
Dantes should die; it wouldindeedbe a pity he should.
Dantes is a good fellow; I like Dantes. Dantesyour
health."

Fernand rose impatiently. "Let him run on said Danglars,
restraining the young man; drunk as he ishe is not much
out in what he says. Absence severs as well as deathand if
the walls of a prison were between Edmond and Mercedes they
would be as effectually separated as if he lay under a
tombstone."

Yes; but one gets out of prison,said Caderoussewho
with what sense was left himlistened eagerly to the
conversationand when one gets out and one's name is
Edmond Dantes, one seeks revenge-


What matters that?muttered Fernand.

And why, I should like to know,persisted Caderousse
should they put Dantes in prison? he has not robbed or
killed or murdered.


Hold your tongue!said Danglars.

I won't hold my tongue!replied Caderousse; "I say I want
to know why they should put Dantes in prison; I like Dantes;
Dantesyour health!" and he swallowed another glass of
wine.

Danglars saw in the muddled look of the tailor the progress
of his intoxicationand turning towards Fernandsaid
Well, you understand there is no need to kill him.

Certainly not, if, as you said just now, you have the means
of having Dantes arrested. Have you that means?

It is to be found for the searching. But why should I
meddle in the matter? it is no affair of mine.;

I know not why you meddle,said Fernandseizing his arm;
but this I know, you have some motive of personal hatred
against Dantes, for he who himself hates is never mistaken
in the sentiments of others.

I! -- motives of hatred against Dantes? None, on my word! I
saw you were unhappy, and your unhappiness interested me;
that's all; but since you believe I act for my own account,
adieu, my dear friend, get out of the affair as best you
may;and Danglars rose as if he meant to depart.

No, no,said Fernandrestraining himstay! It is of
very little consequence to me at the end of the matter
whether you have any angry feeling or not against Dantes. I
hate him! I confess it openly. Do you find the means, I will
execute it, provided it is not to kill the man, for Mercedes
has declared she will kill herself if Dantes is killed.

Caderoussewho had let his head drop on the tablenow
raised itand looking at Fernand with his dull and fishy
eyeshe said-- "Kill Dantes! who talks of killing Dantes?
I won't have him killed -- I won't! He's my friendand this
morning offered to share his money with meas I shared mine
with him. I won't have Dantes killed -- I won't!"

And who has said a word about killing him, muddlehead?
replied Danglars. "We were merely joking; drink to his
health he added, filling Caderousse's glass, and do not
interfere with us."

Yes, yes, Dantes' good health!said Caderousseemptying
his glasshere's to his health! his health -- hurrah!

But the means -- the means?said Fernand.

Have you not hit upon any?asked Danglars.

No! -- you undertook to do so.

True,replied Danglars; "the French have the superiority
over the Spaniardsthat the Spaniards ruminatewhile the
French invent."

Do you invent, then,said Fernand impatiently.

Waiter,said Danglarspen, ink, and paper.


Pen, ink, and paper,muttered Fernand.

Yes; I am a supercargo; pen, ink, and paper are my tools,
and without my tools I am fit for nothing.

Pen, ink, and paper, then,called Fernand loudly.

There's what you want on that table,said the waiter.

Bring them here.The waiter did as he was desired.

When one thinks,said Caderousseletting his hand drop on
the paperthere is here wherewithal to kill a man more
sure than if we waited at the corner of a wood to
assassinate him! I have always had more dread of a pen, a
bottle of ink, and a sheet of paper, than of a sword or
pistol.

The fellow is not so drunk as he appears to be,said
Danglars. "Give him some more wineFernand." Fernand filled
Caderousse's glasswholike the confirmed toper he was
lifted his hand from the paper and seized the glass.

The Catalan watched him until Caderoussealmost overcome by
this fresh assault on his sensesrestedor rather dropped
his glass upon the table.

Well!resumed the Catalanas he saw the final glimmer of
Caderousse's reason vanishing before the last glass of wine.

Well, then, I should say, for instance,resumed Danglars
that if after a voyage such as Dantes has just made, in
which he touched at the Island of Elba, some one were to
denounce him to the king's procureur as a Bonapartist agent

I will denounce him!exclaimed the young man hastily.

Yes, but they will make you then sign your declaration, and
confront you with him you have denounced; I will supply you
with the means of supporting your accusation, for I know the
fact well. But Dantes cannot remain forever in prison, and
one day or other he will leave it, and the day when he comes
out, woe betide him who was the cause of his incarceration!

Oh, I should wish nothing better than that he would come
and seek a quarrel with me.

Yes, and Mercedes! Mercedes, who will detest you if you
have only the misfortune to scratch the skin of her dearly
beloved Edmond!

True!said Fernand.

No, no,continued Danglars; "if we resolve on such a step
it would be much better to takeas I now dothis pendip
it into this inkand write with the left hand (that the
writing may not be recognized) the denunciation we propose."
And Danglarsuniting practice with theorywrote with his
left handand in a writing reversed from his usual style
and totally unlike itthe following lineswhich he handed
to Fernandand which Fernand read in an undertone: -


The honorable, the king's attorney, is informed by a friend


of the throne and religion, that one Edmond Dantes, mate of
the ship Pharaon, arrived this morning from Smyrna, after
having touched at Naples and Porto-Ferrajo, has been
intrusted by Murat with a letter for the usurper, and by the
usurper with a letter for the Bonapartist committee in
Paris. Proof of this crime will be found on arresting him,
for the letter will be found upon him, or at his father's,
or in his cabin on board the Pharaon.

Very good,resumed Danglars; "now your revenge looks like
common-sensefor in no way can it revert to yourselfand
the matter will thus work its own way; there is nothing to
do now but fold the letter as I am doingand write upon it
`To the king's attorney' and that's all settled." And
Danglars wrote the address as he spoke.

Yes, and that's all settled!exclaimed Caderoussewhoby
a last effort of intellecthad followed the reading of the
letterand instinctively comprehended all the misery which
such a denunciation must entail. "Yesand that's all
settled; only it will be an infamous shame;" and he
stretched out his hand to reach the letter.

Yes,said Danglarstaking it from beyond his reach; "and
as what I say and do is merely in jestand Iamongst the
first and foremostshould be sorry if anything happened to
Dantes -- the worthy Dantes -- look here!" And taking the
letterhe squeezed it up in his hands and threw it into a
corner of the arbor.

All right!said Caderousse. "Dantes is my friendand I
won't have him ill-used."

And who thinks of using him ill? Certainly neither I nor
Fernand,said Danglarsrising and looking at the young
manwho still remained seatedbut whose eye was fixed on
the denunciatory sheet of paper flung into the corner.

In this case,replied Caderousselet's have some more
wine. I wish to drink to the health of Edmond and the lovely
Mercedes.

You have had too much already, drunkard,said Danglars;
and if you continue, you will be compelled to sleep here,
because unable to stand on your legs.

I?said Caderousserising with all the offended dignity
of a drunken manI can't keep on my legs? Why, I'll wager
I can go up into the belfry of the Accoules, and without
staggering, too!

Done!said DanglarsI'll take your bet; but to-morrow -to-
day it is time to return. Give me your arm, and let us
go.

Very well, let us go,said Caderousse; "but I don't want
your arm at all. ComeFernandwon't you return to
Marseilles with us?"

No,said Fernand; "I shall return to the Catalans."

You're wrong. Come with us to Marseilles -- come along.

I will not.


What do you mean? you will not? Well, just as you like, my
prince; there's liberty for all the world. Come along,
Danglars, and let the young gentleman return to the Catalans
if he chooses.


Danglars took advantage of Caderousse's temper at the
momentto take him off towards Marseilles by the Porte
Saint-Victorstaggering as he went.


When they had advanced about twenty yardsDanglars looked
back and saw Fernand stooppick up the crumpled paperand
putting it into his pocket then rush out of the arbor
towards Pillon.


Well,said Caderoussewhy, what a lie he told! He said
he was going to the Catalans, and he is going to the city.
Hallo, Fernand!


Oh, you don't see straight,said Danglars; "he's gone
right enough."


Well,said CaderousseI should have said not -- how
treacherous wine is!


Come, come,said Danglars to himselfnow the thing is at
work and it will effect its purpose unassisted.


Chapter 5
The Marriage-Feast.


The morning's sun rose clear and resplendenttouching the
foamy waves into a network of ruby-tinted light.


The feast had been made ready on the second floor at La
Reservewith whose arbor the reader is already familiar.
The apartment destined for the purpose was spacious and
lighted by a number of windowsover each of which was
written in golden letters for some inexplicable reason the
name of one of the principal cities of France; beneath these
windows a wooden balcony extended the entire length of the
house. And although the entertainment was fixed for twelve
o'clockan hour previous to that time the balcony was
filled with impatient and expectant guestsconsisting of
the favored part of the crew of the Pharaonand other
personal friends of the bride-groomthe whole of whom had
arrayed themselves in their choicest costumesin order to
do greater honor to the occasion.


Various rumors were afloat to the effect that the owners of
the Pharaon had promised to attend the nuptial feast; but
all seemed unanimous in doubting that an act of such rare
and exceeding condescension could possibly be intended.


Danglarshoweverwho now made his appearanceaccompanied
by Caderousseeffectually confirmed the reportstating
that he had recently conversed with M. Morrelwho had
himself assured him of his intention to dine at La Reserve.


In facta moment later M. Morrel appeared and was saluted
with an enthusiastic burst of applause from the crew of the
Pharaonwho hailed the visit of the shipowner as a sure



indication that the man whose wedding feast he thus
delighted to honor would ere long be first in command of the
ship; and as Dantes was universally beloved on board his
vesselthe sailors put no restraint on their tumultuous joy
at finding that the opinion and choice of their superiors so
exactly coincided with their own.

With the entrance of M. MorrelDanglars and Caderousse were
despatched in search of the bride-groom to convey to him the
intelligence of the arrival of the important personage whose
coming had created such a lively sensationand to beseech
him to make haste.

Danglars and Caderousse set off upon their errand at full
speed; but ere they had gone many steps they perceived a
group advancing towards themcomposed of the betrothed
paira party of young girls in attendance on the brideby
whose side walked Dantes' father; the whole brought up by
Fernandwhose lips wore their usual sinister smile.

Neither Mercedes nor Edmond observed the strange expression
of his countenance; they were so happy that they were
conscious only of the sunshine and the presence of each
other.

Having acquitted themselves of their errandand exchanged a
hearty shake of the hand with EdmondDanglars and
Caderousse took their places beside Fernand and old Dantes
-- the latter of whom attracted universal notice. The old
man was attired in a suit of glistening watered silk
trimmed with steel buttonsbeautifully cut and polished.
His thin but wiry legs were arrayed in a pair of richly
embroidered clocked stockingsevidently of English
manufacturewhile from his three-cornered hat depended a
long streaming knot of white and blue ribbons. Thus he came
alongsupporting himself on a curiously carved stickhis
aged countenance lit up with happinesslooking for all the
world like one of the aged dandies of 1796parading the
newly opened gardens of the Tuileries and Luxembourg. Beside
him glided Caderoussewhose desire to partake of the good
things provided for the wedding-party had induced him to
become reconciled to the Dantesfather and sonalthough
there still lingered in his mind a faint and unperfect
recollection of the events of the preceding night; just as
the brain retains on waking in the morning the dim and misty
outline of a dream.

As Danglars approached the disappointed loverhe cast on
him a look of deep meaningwhile Fernandas he slowly
paced behind the happy pairwho seemedin their own
unmixed contentto have entirely forgotten that such a
being as himself existedwas pale and abstracted;
occasionallyhowevera deep flush would overspread his
countenanceand a nervous contraction distort his features
whilewith an agitated and restless gazehe would glance
in the direction of Marseilleslike one who either
anticipated or foresaw some great and important event.

Dantes himself was simplybut becominglyclad in the dress
peculiar to the merchant service -- a costume somewhat
between a military and a civil garb; and with his fine
countenanceradiant with joy and happinessa more perfect
specimen of manly beauty could scarcely be imagined.


Lovely as the Greek girls of Cyprus or ChiosMercedes
boasted the same bright flashing eyes of jetand ripe
roundcoral lips. She moved with the lightfree step of an
Arlesienne or an Andalusian. One more practiced in the arts
of great cities would have hid her blushes beneath a veil
orat leasthave cast down her thickly fringed lashesso
as to have concealed the liquid lustre of her animated eyes;
buton the contrarythe delighted girl looked around her
with a smile that seemed to say: "If you are my friends
rejoice with mefor I am very happy."

As soon as the bridal party came in sight of La ReserveM.
Morrel descended and came forth to meet itfollowed by the
soldiers and sailors there assembledto whom he had
repeated the promise already giventhat Dantes should be
the successor to the late Captain Leclere. Edmondat the
approach of his patronrespectfully placed the arm of his
affianced bride within that of M. Morrelwhoforthwith
conducting her up the flight of wooden steps leading to the
chamber in which the feast was preparedwas gayly followed
by the guestsbeneath whose heavy tread the slight
structure creaked and groaned for the space of several
minutes.

Father,said Mercedesstopping when she had reached the
centre of the tablesit, I pray you, on my right hand; on
my left I will place him who has ever been as a brother to
me,pointing with a soft and gentle smile to Fernand; but
her words and look seemed to inflict the direst torture on
himfor his lips became ghastly paleand even beneath the
dark hue of his complexion the blood might be seen
retreating as though some sudden pang drove it back to the
heart.

During this timeDantesat the opposite side of the table
had been occupied in similarly placing his most honored
guests. M. Morrel was seated at his right handDanglars at
his left; whileat a sign from Edmondthe rest of the
company ranged themselves as they found it most agreeable.

Then they began to pass around the duskypiquantArlesian
sausagesand lobsters in their dazzling red cuirasses
prawns of large size and brilliant colorthe echinus with
its prickly outside and dainty morsel withinthe clovis
esteemed by the epicures of the South as more than rivalling
the exquisite flavor of the oyster-- all the delicacies
in factthat are cast up by the wash of waters on the sandy
beachand styled by the grateful fishermen "fruits of the
sea."

A pretty silence truly!said the old father of the
bride-groomas he carried to his lips a glass of wine of
the hue and brightness of the topazand which had just been
placed before Mercedes herself. "Nowwould anybody think
that this room contained a happymerry partywho desire
nothing better than to laugh and dance the hours away?"

Ah,sighed Caderoussea man cannot always feel happy
because he is about to be married.

The truth is,replied Dantesthat I am too happy for
noisy mirth; if that is what you meant by your observation,
my worthy friend, you are right; joy takes a strange effect
at times, it seems to oppress us almost the same as sorrow.


Danglars looked towards Fernandwhose excitable nature
received and betrayed each fresh impression.

Why, what ails you?asked he of Edmond. "Do you fear any
approaching evil? I should say that you were the happiest
man alive at this instant."

And that is the very thing that alarms me,returned
Dantes. "Man does not appear to me to be intended to enjoy
felicity so unmixed; happiness is like the enchanted palaces
we read of in our childhoodwhere fiercefiery dragons
defend the entrance and approach; and monsters of all shapes
and kindsrequiring to be overcome ere victory is ours. I
own that I am lost in wonder to find myself promoted to an
honor of which I feel myself unworthy -- that of being the
husband of Mercedes."

Nay, nay!cried Caderoussesmilingyou have not
attained that honor yet. Mercedes is not yet your wife. Just
assume the tone and manner of a husband, and see how she
will remind you that your hour is not yet come!

The bride blushedwhile Fernandrestless and uneasy
seemed to start at every fresh soundand from time to time
wiped away the large drops of perspiration that gathered on
his brow.

Well, never mind that, neighbor Caderousse; it is not worth
while to contradict me for such a trifle as that. 'Tis true
that Mercedes is not actually my wife; but,added he
drawing out his watchin an hour and a half she will be.

A general exclamation of surprise ran round the tablewith
the exception of the elder Danteswhose laugh displayed the
still perfect beauty of his large white teeth. Mercedes
looked pleased and gratifiedwhile Fernand grasped the
handle of his knife with a convulsive clutch.

In an hour?inquired Danglarsturning pale. "How is that
my friend?"

Why, thus it is,replied Dantes. "Thanks to the influence
of M. Morrelto whomnext to my fatherI owe every
blessing I enjoyevery difficulty his been removed. We have
purchased permission to waive the usual delay; and at
half-past two o'clock the mayor of Marseilles will be
waiting for us at the city hall. Nowas a quarter-past one
has already struckI do not consider I have asserted too
much in sayingthatin another hour and thirty minutes
Mercedes will have become Madame Dantes."

Fernand closed his eyesa burning sensation passed across
his browand he was compelled to support himself by the
table to prevent his falling from his chair; but in spite of
all his effortshe could not refrain from uttering a deep
groanwhichhoweverwas lost amid the noisy felicitations
of the company.

Upon my word,cried the old manyou make short work of
this kind of affair. Arrived here only yesterday morning,
and married to-day at three o'clock! Commend me to a sailor
for going the quick way to work!


But,asked Danglarsin a timid tonehow did you manage
about the other formalities -- the contract -- the
settlement?

The contract,answered Danteslaughinglyit didn't take
long to fix that. Mercedes has no fortune; I have none to
settle on her. So, you see, our papers were quickly written
out, and certainly do not come very expensive.This joke
elicited a fresh burst of applause.

So that what we presumed to be merely the betrothal feast
turns out to be the actual wedding dinner!said Danglars.

No, no,answered Dantes; "don't imagine I am going to put
you off in that shabby manner. To-morrow morning I start for
Paris; four days to goand the same to returnwith one day
to discharge the commission intrusted to meis all the time
I shall be absent. I shall be back here by the first of
Marchand on the second I give my real marriage feast."

This prospect of fresh festivity redoubled the hilarity of
the guests to such a degreethat the elder Danteswhoat
the commencement of the repasthad commented upon the
silence that prevailednow found it difficultamid the
general din of voicesto obtain a moment's tranquillity in
which to drink to the health and prosperity of the bride and
bride-groom.

Dantesperceiving the affectionate eagerness of his father
responded by a look of grateful pleasure; while Mercedes
glanced at the clock and made an expressive gesture to
Edmond.

Around the table reigned that noisy hilarity which usually
prevails at such a time among people sufficiently free from
the demands of social position not to feel the trammels of
etiquette. Such as at the commencement of the repast had not
been able to seat themselves according to their inclination
rose unceremoniouslyand sought out more agreeable
companions. Everybody talked at oncewithout waiting for a
reply and each one seemed to be contented with expressing
his or her own thoughts.

Fernand's paleness appeared to have communicated itself to
Danglars. As for Fernand himselfhe seemed to be enduring
the tortures of the damned; unable to resthe was among the
first to quit the tableandas though seeking to avoid the
hilarious mirth that rose in such deafening soundshe
continuedin utter silenceto pace the farther end of the
salon.

Caderousse approached him just as Danglarswhom Fernand
seemed most anxious to avoidhad joined him in a corner of
the room.

Upon my word,said Caderoussefrom whose mind the
friendly treatment of Dantesunited with the effect of the
excellent wine he had partaken ofhad effaced every feeling
of envy or jealousy at Dantes' good fortune-- "upon my
wordDantes is a downright good fellowand when I see him
sitting there beside his pretty wife that is so soon to be.
I cannot help thinking it would have been a great pity to
have served him that trick you were planning yesterday."


Oh, there was no harm meant,answered Danglars; "at first
I certainly did feel somewhat uneasy as to what Fernand
might be tempted to do; but when I saw how completely he had
mastered his feelingseven so far as to become one of his
rival's attendantsI knew there was no further cause for
apprehension." Caderousse looked full at Fernand -- he was
ghastly pale.

Certainly,continued Danglarsthe sacrifice was no
trifling one, when the beauty of the bride is concerned.
Upon my soul, that future captain of mine is a lucky dog!
Gad, I only wish he would let me take his place.

Shall we not set forth?asked the sweetsilvery voice of
Mercedes; "two o'clock has just struckand you know we are
expected in a quarter of an hour."

To be sure! -- to be sure!cried Danteseagerly quitting
the table; "let us go directly!"

His words were re-echoed by the whole partywith vociferous
cheers.

At this moment Danglarswho had been incessantly observing
every change in Fernand's look and mannersaw him stagger
and fall backwith an almost convulsive spasmagainst a
seat placed near one of the open windows. At the same
instant his ear caught a sort of indistinct sound on the
stairsfollowed by the measured tread of soldierywith the
clanking of swords and military accoutrements; then came a
hum and buzz as of many voicesso as to deaden even the
noisy mirth of the bridal partyamong whom a vague feeling
of curiosity and apprehension quelled every disposition to
talkand almost instantaneously the most deathlike
stillness prevailed.

The sounds drew nearer. Three blows were struck upon the
panel of the door. The company looked at each other in
consternation.

I demand admittance,said a loud voice outside the room
in the name of the law!As no attempt was made to prevent
itthe door was openedand a magistratewearing his
official scarfpresented himselffollowed by four soldiers
and a corporal. Uneasiness now yielded to the most extreme
dread on the part of those present.

May I venture to inquire the reason of this unexpected
visit?said M. Morreladdressing the magistratewhom he
evidently knew; "there is doubtless some mistake easily
explained."

If it be so,replied the magistraterely upon every
reparation being made; meanwhile, I am the bearer of an
order of arrest, and although I most reluctantly perform the
task assigned me, it must, nevertheless, be fulfilled. Who
among the persons here assembled answers to the name of
Edmond Dantes?Every eye was turned towards the young man
whospite of the agitation he could not but feeladvanced
with dignityand saidin a firm voiceI am he; what is
your pleasure with me?

Edmond Dantes,replied the magistrateI arrest you in
the name of the law!


Me!repeated Edmondslightly changing colorand
wherefore, I pray?

I cannot inform you, but you will be duly acquainted with
the reasons that have rendered such a step necessary at the
preliminary examination.

M. Morrel felt that further resistance or remonstrance was
useless. He saw before him an officer delegated to enforce
the lawand perfectly well knew that it would be as
unavailing to seek pity from a magistrate decked with his
official scarfas to address a petition to some cold marble
effigy. Old Danteshoweversprang forward. There are
situations which the heart of a father or a mother cannot be
made to understand. He prayed and supplicated in terms so
movingthat even the officer was touchedandalthough
firm in his dutyhe kindly saidMy worthy friend, let me
beg of you to calm your apprehensions. Your son has probably
neglected some prescribed form or attention in registering
his cargo, and it is more than probable he will be set at
liberty directly he has given the information required,
whether touching the health of his crew, or the value of his
freight.
What is the meaning of all this?inquired Caderousse
frowninglyof Danglarswho had assumed an air of utter
surprise.

How can I tell you?replied he; "I amlike yourself
utterly bewildered at all that is going onand cannot in
the least make out what it is about." Caderousse then looked
around for Fernandbut he had disappeared.

The scene of the previous night now came back to his mind
with startling clearness. The painful catastrophe he had
just witnessed appeared effectually to have rent away the
veil which the intoxication of the evening before had raised
between himself and his memory.

So, so,said hein a hoarse and choking voiceto
Danglarsthis, then, I suppose, is a part of the trick you
were concerting yesterday? All I can say is, that if it be
so, 'tis an ill turn, and well deserves to bring double evil
on those who have projected it.

Nonsense,returned DanglarsI tell you again I have
nothing whatever to do with it; besides, you know very well
that I tore the paper to pieces.

No, you did not!answered Caderousseyou merely threw it
by -- I saw it lying in a corner.

Hold your tongue, you fool! -- what should you know about
it? -- why, you were drunk!

Where is Fernand?inquired Caderousse.

How do I know?replied Danglars; "goneas every prudent
man ought to beto look after his own affairsmost likely.
Never mind where he islet you and I go and see what is to
be done for our poor friends."

During this conversationDantesafter having exchanged a


cheerful shake of the hand with all his sympathizing
friendshad surrendered himself to the officer sent to
arrest himmerely sayingMake yourselves quite easy, my
good fellows, there is some little mistake to clear up,
that's all, depend upon it; and very likely I may not have
to go so far as the prison to effect that.

Oh, to be sure!responded Danglarswho had now approached
the groupnothing more than a mistake, I feel quite
certain.

Dantes descended the staircasepreceded by the magistrate
and followed by the soldiers. A carriage awaited him at the
door; he got infollowed by two soldiers and the
magistrateand the vehicle drove off towards Marseilles.

Adieu, adieu, dearest Edmond!cried Mercedesstretching
out her arms to him from the balcony.

The prisoner heard the crywhich sounded like the sob of a
broken heartand leaning from the coach he called out
Good-by, Mercedes -- we shall soon meet again!Then the
vehicle disappeared round one of the turnings of Fort Saint
Nicholas.

Wait for me here, all of you!cried M. Morrel; "I will
take the first conveyance I findand hurry to Marseilles
whence I will bring you word how all is going on."

That's right!exclaimed a multitude of voicesgo, and
return as quickly as you can!

This second departure was followed by a long and fearful
state of terrified silence on the part of those who were
left behind. The old father and Mercedes remained for some
time aparteach absorbed in grief; but at length the two
poor victims of the same blow raised their eyesand with a
simultaneous burst of feeling rushed into each other's arms.

Meanwhile Fernand made his appearancepoured out for
himself a glass of water with a trembling hand; then hastily
swallowing itwent to sit down at the first vacant place
and this wasby mere chanceplaced next to the seat on
which poor Mercedes had fallen half faintingwhen released
from the warm and affectionate embrace of old Dantes.
Instinctively Fernand drew back his chair.

He is the cause of all this misery -- I am quite sure of
it,whispered Caderoussewho had never taken his eyes off
Fernandto Danglars.

I don't think so,answered the other; he's too stupid to
imagine such a scheme. I only hope the mischief will fall
upon the head of whoever wrought it."

You don't mention those who aided and abetted the deed,
said Caderousse.

Surely,answered Danglarsone cannot be held responsible
for every chance arrow shot into the air.

You can, indeed, when the arrow lights point downward on
somebody's head.


Meantime the subject of the arrest was being canvassed in
every different form.

What think you, Danglars,said one of the partyturning
towards himof this event?

Why,replied heI think it just possible Dantes may have
been detected with some trifling article on board ship
considered here as contraband.

But how could he have done so without your knowledge,
Danglars, since you are the ship's supercargo?

Why, as for that, I could only know what I was told
respecting the merchandise with which the vessel was laden.
I know she was loaded with cotton, and that she took in her
freight at Alexandria from Pastret's warehouse, and at
Smyrna from Pascal's; that is all I was obliged to know, and
I beg I may not be asked for any further particulars.

Now I recollect,said the afflicted old father; "my poor
boy told me yesterday he had got a small case of coffeeand
another of tobacco for me!"

There, you see,exclaimed Danglars. "Now the mischief is
out; depend upon it the custom-house people went rummaging
about the ship in our absenceand discovered poor Dantes'
hidden treasures."

Mercedeshoweverpaid no heed to this explanation of her
lover's arrest. Her griefwhich she had hitherto tried to
restrainnow burst out in a violent fit of hysterical
sobbing.

Come, come,said the old manbe comforted, my poor
child; there is still hope!

Hope!repeated Danglars.

Hope!faintly murmured Fernandbut the word seemed to die
away on his pale agitated lipsand a convulsive spasm
passed over his countenance.

Good news! good news!shouted forth one of the party
stationed in the balcony on the lookout. "Here comes M.
Morrel back. No doubtnowwe shall hear that our friend is
released!"

Mercedes and the old man rushed to meet the shipowner and
greeted him at the door. He was very pale.

What news?exclaimed a general burst of voices.

Alas, my friends,replied M. Morrelwith a mournful shake
of his headthe thing has assumed a more serious aspect
than I expected.

Oh, indeed -- indeed, sir, he is innocent!sobbed forth
Mercedes.

That I believe!answered M. Morrel; "but still he is
charged" -


With what?inquired the elder Dantes.


With being an agent of the Bonapartist faction!Many of
our readers may be able to recollect how formidable such an
accusation became in the period at which our story is dated.

A despairing cry escaped the pale lips of Mercedes; the old
man sank into a chair.

Ah, Danglars!whispered Caderousseyou have deceived me
-- the trick you spoke of last night has been played; but I
cannot suffer a poor old man or an innocent girl to die of
grief through your fault. I am determined to tell them all
about it.

Be silent, you simpleton!cried Danglarsgrasping him by
the armor I will not answer even for your own safety. Who
can tell whether Dantes be innocent or guilty? The vessel
did touch at Elba, where he quitted it, and passed a whole
day in the island. Now, should any letters or other
documents of a compromising character be found upon him,
will it not be taken for granted that all who uphold him are
his accomplices?

With the rapid instinct of selfishnessCaderousse readily
perceived the solidity of this mode of reasoning; he gazed
doubtfullywistfullyon Danglarsand then caution
supplanted generosity.

Suppose we wait a while, and see what comes of it,said
hecasting a bewildered look on his companion.

To be sure!answered Danglars. "Let us waitby all means.
If he be innocentof course he will be set at liberty; if
guiltywhyit is no use involving ourselves in a
conspiracy."

Let us go, then. I cannot stay here any longer.

With all my heart!replied Danglarspleased to find the
other so tractable. "Let us take ourselves out of the way
and leave things for the present to take their course."

After their departureFernandwho had now again become the
friend and protector of Mercedesled the girl to her home
while the friends of Dantes conducted the now half-fainting
man back to his abode.

The rumor of Edmond arrest as a Bonapartist agent was not
slow in circulating throughout the city.

Could you ever have credited such a thing, my dear
Danglars?asked M. Morrelason his return to the port
for the purpose of gleaning fresh tidings of Dantesfrom M.
de Villefortthe assistant procureurhe overtook his
supercargo and Caderousse. "Could you have believed such a
thing possible?"

Why, you know I told you,replied Danglarsthat I
considered the circumstance of his having anchored at the
Island of Elba as a very suspicious circumstance.

And did you mention these suspicions to any person beside
myself?


Certainly not!returned Danglars. Then added in a low
whisperYou understand that, on account of your uncle, M.
Policar Morrel, who served under the other government, and
who does not altogether conceal what he thinks on the
subject, you are strongly suspected of regretting the
abdication of Napoleon. I should have feared to injure both
Edmond and yourself, had I divulged my own apprehensions to
a soul. I am too well aware that though a subordinate, like
myself, is bound to acquaint the shipowner with everything
that occurs, there are many things he ought most carefully
to conceal from all else.

'Tis well, Danglars -- 'tis well!replied M. Morrel. "You
are a worthy fellow; and I had already thought of your
interests in the event of poor Edmond having become captain
of the Pharaon."

Is it possible you were so kind?

Yes, indeed; I had previously inquired of Dantes what was
his opinion of you, and if he should have any reluctance to
continue you in your post, for somehow I have perceived a
sort of coolness between you.

And what was his reply?

That he certainly did think he had given you offence in an
affair which he merely referred to without entering into
particulars, but that whoever possessed the good opinion and
confidence of the ship's owner would have his preference
also.

The hypocrite!murmured Danglars.

Poor Dantes!said Caderousse. "No one can deny his being a
noble-hearted young fellow."

But meanwhile,continued M. Morrelhere is the Pharaon
without a captain.

Oh,replied Danglarssince we cannot leave this port for
the next three months, let us hope that ere the expiration
of that period Dantes will be set at liberty.

No doubt; but in the meantime?

I am entirely at your service, M. Morrel,answered
Danglars. "You know that I am as capable of managing a ship
as the most experienced captain in the service; and it will
be so far advantageous to you to accept my servicesthat
upon Edmond's release from prison no further change will be
requisite on board the Pharaon than for Dantes and myself
each to resume our respective posts."

Thanks, Danglars -- that will smooth over all difficulties.
I fully authorize you at once to assume the command of the
Pharaon, and look carefully to the unloading of her freight.
Private misfortunes must never be allowed to interfere with
business.

Be easy on that score, M. Morrel; but do you think we shall
be permitted to see our poor Edmond?

I will let you know that directly I have seen M. de


Villefort, whom I shall endeavor to interest in Edmond's
favor. I am aware he is a furious royalist; but, in spite of
that, and of his being king's attorney, he is a man like
ourselves, and I fancy not a bad sort of one.

Perhaps not,replied Danglars; "but I hear that he is
ambitionsand that's rather against him."

Well, well,returned M. Morrelwe shall see. But now
hasten on board, I will join you there ere long.So saying
the worthy shipowner quitted the two alliesand proceeded
in the direction of the Palais de Justice.

You see,said Danglarsaddressing Caderoussethe turn
things have taken. Do you still feel any desire to stand up
in his defence?

Not the slightest, but yet it seems to me a shocking thing
that a mere joke should lead to such consequences.

But who perpetrated that joke, let me ask? neither you nor
myself, but Fernand; you knew very well that I threw the
paper into a corner of the room -- indeed, I fancied I had
destroyed it.

Oh, no,replied Caderoussethat I can answer for, you
did not. I only wish I could see it now as plainly as I saw
it lying all crushed and crumpled in a corner of the arbor.

Well, then, if you did, depend upon it, Fernand picked it
up, and either copied it or caused it to be copied; perhaps,
even, he did not take the trouble of recopying it. And now I
think of it, by Heavens, he may have sent the letter itself!
Fortunately, for me, the handwriting was disguised.

Then you were aware of Dantes being engaged in a
conspiracy?

Not I. As I before said, I thought the whole thing was a
joke, nothing more. It seems, however, that I have
unconsciously stumbled upon the truth.

Still,argued CaderousseI would give a great deal if
nothing of the kind had happened; or, at least, that I had
had no hand in it. You will see, Danglars, that it will turn
out an unlucky job for both of us.

Nonsense! If any harm come of it, it should fall on the
guilty person; and that, you know, is Fernand. How can we be
implicated in any way? All we have got to do is, to keep our
own counsel, and remain perfectly quiet, not breathing a
word to any living soul; and you will see that the storm
will pass away without in the least affecting us.

Amen!responded Caderoussewaving his hand in token of
adieu to Danglarsand bending his steps towards the Allees
de Meillanmoving his head to and froand muttering as he
wentafter the manner of one whose mind was overcharged
with one absorbing idea.

So far, then,said Danglarsmentallyall has gone as I
would have it. I am, temporarily, commander of the Pharaon,
with the certainty of being permanently so, if that fool of
a Caderousse can be persuaded to hold his tongue. My only


fear is the chance of Dantes being released. But, there, he
is in the hands of Justice; and,added he with a smile
she will take her own.So sayinghe leaped into a boat
desiring to be rowed on board the Pharaonwhere M. Morrel
had agreed to meet him.


Chapter 6
The Deputy Procureur du Roi.


In one of the aristocratic mansions built by Puget in the
Rue du Grand Cours opposite the Medusa fountaina second
marriage feast was being celebratedalmost at the same hour
with the nuptial repast given by Dantes. In this case
howeveralthough the occasion of the entertainment was
similarthe company was strikingly dissimilar. Instead of a
rude mixture of sailorssoldiersand those belonging to
the humblest grade of lifethe present assembly was
composed of the very flower of Marseilles society--
magistrates who had resigned their office during the
usurper's reign; officers who had deserted from the imperial
army and joined forces with Conde; and younger members of
familiesbrought up to hate and execrate the man whom five
years of exile would convert into a martyrand fifteen of
restoration elevate to the rank of a god.


The guests were still at tableand the heated and energetic
conversation that prevailed betrayed the violent and
vindictive passions that then agitated each dweller of the
Southwhere unhappilyfor five centuries religious strife
had long given increased bitterness to the violence of party
feeling.


The emperornow king of the petty Island of Elbaafter
having held sovereign sway over one-half of the world
counting as his subjects a small population of five or six
thousand souls-- after having been accustomed to hear the
Vive Napoleonsof a hundred and twenty millions of human
beingsuttered in ten different languages-- was looked
upon here as a ruined manseparated forever from any fresh
connection with France or claim to her throne.


The magistrates freely discussed their political views; the
military part of the company talked unreservedly of Moscow
and Leipsicwhile the women commented on the divorce of
Josephine. It was not over the downfall of the manbut over
the defeat of the Napoleonic ideathat they rejoicedand
in this they foresaw for themselves the bright and cheering
prospect of a revivified political existence.


An old mandecorated with the cross of Saint Louisnow
rose and proposed the health of King Louis XVIII. It was the
Marquis de Saint-Meran. This toastrecalling at once the
patient exile of Hartwell and the peace-loving King of
Franceexcited universal enthusiasm; glasses were elevated
in the air a l'Anglaisand the ladiessnatching their
bouquets from their fair bosomsstrewed the table with
their floral treasures. In a wordan almost poetical fervor
prevailed.


Ah,said the Marquise de Saint-Merana woman with a
sternforbidding eyethough still noble and distinguished
in appearancedespite her fifty years -- "ahthese



revolutionistswho have driven us from those very
possessions they afterwards purchased for a mere trifle
during the Reign of Terrorwould be compelled to ownwere
they herethat all true devotion was on our sidesince we
were content to follow the fortunes of a falling monarch
while theyon the contrarymade their fortune by
worshipping the rising sun; yesyesthey could not help
admitting that the kingfor whom we sacrificed rank
wealthand station was truly our `Louis the well-beloved'
while their wretched usurper his beenand ever will beto
them their evil geniustheir `Napoleon the accursed.' Am I
not rightVillefort?"

I beg your pardon, madame. I really must pray you to excuse
me, but -- in truth -- I was not attending to the
conversation.

Marquise, marquise!interposed the old nobleman who had
proposed the toastlet the young people alone; let me tell
you, on one's wedding day there are more agreeable subjects
of conversation than dry politics.

Never mind, dearest mother,said a young and lovely girl
with a profusion of light brown hairand eyes that seemed
to float in liquid crystal'tis all my fault for seizing
upon M. de Villefort, so as to prevent his listening to what
you said. But there -- now take him -- he is your own for as
long as you like. M. Villefort, I beg to remind you my
mother speaks to you.

If the marquise will deign to repeat the words I but
imperfectly caught, I shall be delighted to answer,said M.
de Villefort.

Never mind, Renee,replied the marquisewith a look of
tenderness that seemed out of keeping with her harsh dry
features; buthowever all other feelings may be withered in
a woman's naturethere is always one bright smiling spot in
the desert of her heartand that is the shrine of maternal
love. "I forgive you. What I was sayingVillefortwas
that the Bonapartists had not our sincerityenthusiasmor
devotion."

They had, however, what supplied the place of those fine
qualities,replied the young manand that was fanaticism.
Napoleon is the Mahomet of the West, and is worshipped by
his commonplace but ambitions followers, not only as a
leader and lawgiver, but also as the personification of
equality.

He!cried the marquise: "Napoleon the type of equality!
For mercy's sakethenwhat would you call Robespierre?
Comecomedo not strip the latter of his just rights to
bestow them on the Corsicanwhoto my mindhas usurped
quite enough."

Nay, madame; I would place each of these heroes on his
right pedestal -- that of Robespierre on his scaffold in the
Place Louis Quinze; that of Napoleon on the column of the
Place Vendome. The only difference consists in the opposite
character of the equality advocated by these two men; one is
the equality that elevates, the other is the equality that
degrades; one brings a king within reach of the guillotine,
the other elevates the people to a level with the throne.


Observe,said VillefortsmilingI do not mean to deny
that both these men were revolutionary scoundrels, and that
the 9th Thermidor and the 4th of April, in the year 1814,
were lucky days for France, worthy of being gratefully
remembered by every friend to monarchy and civil order; and
that explains how it comes to pass that, fallen, as I trust
he is forever, Napoleon has still retained a train of
parasitical satellites. Still, marquise, it has been so with
other usurpers -- Cromwell, for instance, who was not half
so bad as Napoleon, had his partisans and advocates.

Do you know, Villefort, that you are talking in a most
dreadfully revolutionary strain? But I excuse it, it is
impossible to expect the son of a Girondin to be free from a
small spice of the old leaven.A deep crimson suffused the
countenance of Villefort.

'Tis true, madame,answered hethat my father was a
Girondin, but he was not among the number of those who voted
for the king's death; he was an equal sufferer with yourself
during the Reign of Terror, and had well-nigh lost his head
on the same scaffold on which your father perished.

True,replied the marquisewithout wincing in the
slightest degree at the tragic remembrance thus called up;
but bear in mind, if you please, that our respective
parents underwent persecution and proscription from
diametrically opposite principles; in proof of which I may
remark, that while my family remained among the stanchest
adherents of the exiled princes, your father lost no time in
joining the new government; and that while the Citizen
Noirtier was a Girondin, the Count Noirtier became a
senator.

Dear mother,interposed Reneeyou know very well it was
agreed that all these disagreeable reminiscences should
forever be laid aside.

Suffer me, also, madame,replied Villefortto add my
earnest request to Mademoiselle de Saint-Meran's, that you
will kindly allow the veil of oblivion to cover and conceal
the past. What avails recrimination over matters wholly past
recall? For my own part, I have laid aside even the name of
my father, and altogether disown his political principles.
He was -- nay, probably may still be -- a Bonapartist, and
is called Noirtier; I, on the contrary, am a stanch
royalist, and style myself de Villefort. Let what may remain
of revolutionary sap exhaust itself and die away with the
old trunk, and condescend only to regard the young shoot
which has started up at a distance from the parent tree,
without having the power, any more than the wish, to
separate entirely from the stock from which it sprung.

Bravo, Villefort!cried the marquis; "excellently well
said! ComenowI have hopes of obtaining what I have been
for years endeavoring to persuade the marquise to promise;
namelya perfect amnesty and forgetfulness of the past."

With all my heart,replied the marquise; "let the past be
forever forgotten. I promise you it affords me as little
pleasure to revive it as it does you. All I ask isthat
Villefort will be firm and inflexible for the future in his
political principles. RememberalsoVillefortthat we
have pledged ourselves to his majesty for your fealty and


strict loyaltyand that at our recommendation the king
consented to forget the pastas I do" (and here she
extended to him her hand) -- "as I now do at your entreaty.
But bear in mindthat should there fall in your way any one
guilty of conspiring against the governmentyou will be so
much the more bound to visit the offence with rigorous
punishmentas it is known you belong to a suspected
family."

Alas, madame,returned Villefortmy profession, as well
as the times in which we live, compels me to be severe. I
have already successfully conducted several public
prosecutions, and brought the offenders to merited
punishment. But we have not done with the thing yet.

Do you, indeed, think so?inquired the marquise.

I am, at least, fearful of it. Napoleon, in the Island of
Elba, is too near France, and his proximity keeps up the
hopes of his partisans. Marseilles is filled with half-pay
officers, who are daily, under one frivolous pretext or
other, getting up quarrels with the royalists; from hence
arise continual and fatal duels among the higher classes of
persons, and assassinations in the lower.

You have heard, perhaps,said the Comte de Salvieuxone
of M. de Saint-Meran's oldest friendsand chamberlain to
the Comte d'Artoisthat the Holy Alliance purpose removing
him from thence?

Yes; they were talking about it when we left Paris,said

M. de Saint-Meran; "and where is it decided to transfer
him?"
To Saint Helena.

For heaven's sake, where is that?asked the marquise.

An island situated on the other side of the equator, at
least two thousand leagues from here,replied the count.

So much the better. As Villefort observes, it is a great
act of folly to have left such a man between Corsica, where
he was born, and Naples, of which his brother-in-law is
king, and face to face with Italy, the sovereignty of which
he coveted for his son.

Unfortunately,said Villefortthere are the treaties of
1814, and we cannot molest Napoleon without breaking those
compacts.

Oh, well, we shall find some way out of it,responded M.
de Salvieux. "There wasn't any trouble over treaties when it
was a question of shooting the poor Duc d'Enghien."

Well,said the marquiseit seems probable that, by the
aid of the Holy Alliance, we shall be rid of Napoleon; and
we must trust to the vigilance of M. de Villefort to purify
Marseilles of his partisans. The king is either a king or no
king; if he be acknowledged as sovereign of France, he
should be upheld in peace and tranquillity; and this can
best be effected by employing the most inflexible agents to
put down every attempt at conspiracy -- 'tis the best and
surest means of preventing mischief.


Unfortunately, madame,answered Villefortthe strong arm
of the law is not called upon to interfere until the evil
has taken place.

Then all he has got to do is to endeavor to repair it.

Nay, madame, the law is frequently powerless to effect
this; all it can do is to avenge the wrong done.

Oh, M. de Villefort,cried a beautiful young creature
daughter to the Comte de Salvieuxand the cherished friend
of Mademoiselle de Saint-Merando try and get up some
famous trial while we are at Marseilles. I never was in a
law-court; I am told it is so very amusing!

Amusing, certainly,replied the young maninasmuch as,
instead of shedding tears as at the fictitious tale of woe
produced at a theatre, you behold in a law-court a case of
real and genuine distress -- a drama of life. The prisoner
whom you there see pale, agitated, and alarmed, instead of
-- as is the case when a curtain falls on a tragedy -- going
home to sup peacefully with his family, and then retiring to
rest, that he may recommence his mimic woes on the morrow,
-- is removed from your sight merely to be reconducted to
his prison and delivered up to the executioner. I leave you
to judge how far your nerves are calculated to bear you
through such a scene. Of this, however, be assured, that
should any favorable opportunity present itself, I will not
fail to offer you the choice of being present.

For shame, M. de Villefort!said Reneebecoming quite
pale; "don't you see how you are frightening us? -- and yet
you laugh."

What would you have? 'Tis like a duel. I have already
recorded sentence of death, five or six times, against the
movers of political conspiracies, and who can say how many
daggers may be ready sharpened, and only waiting a favorable
opportunity to be buried in my heart?

Gracious heavens, M. de Villefort,said Reneebecoming
more and more terrified; "you surely are not in earnest."

Indeed I am,replied the young magistrate with a smile;
and in the interesting trial that young lady is anxious to
witness, the case would only be still more aggravated.
Suppose, for instance, the prisoner, as is more than
probable, to have served under Napoleon -- well, can you
expect for an instant, that one accustomed, at the word of
his commander, to rush fearlessly on the very bayonets of
his foe, will scruple more to drive a stiletto into the
heart of one he knows to be his personal enemy, than to
slaughter his fellow-creatures, merely because bidden to do
so by one he is bound to obey? Besides, one requires the
excitement of being hateful in the eyes of the accused, in
order to lash one's self into a state of sufficient
vehemence and power. I would not choose to see the man
against whom I pleaded smile, as though in mockery of my
words. No; my pride is to see the accused pale, agitated,
and as though beaten out of all composure by the fire of my
eloquence.Renee uttered a smothered exclamation.

Bravo!cried one of the guests; "that is what I call


talking to some purpose."

Just the person we require at a time like the present,
said a second.

What a splendid business that last case of yours was, my
dear Villefort!remarked a third; "I mean the trial of the
man for murdering his father. Upon my wordyou killed him
ere the executioner had laid his hand upon him."

Oh, as for parricides, and such dreadful people as that,
interposed Reneeit matters very little what is done to
them; but as regards poor unfortunate creatures whose only
crime consists in having mixed themselves up in political
intrigues-


Why, that is the very worst offence they could possibly
commit; for, don't you see, Renee, the king is the father of
his people, and he who shall plot or contrive aught against
the life and safety of the parent of thirty-two millions of
souls, is a parricide upon a fearfully great scale?

I don't know anything about that,replied Renee; "butM.
de Villefortyou have promised me -- have you not? -always
to show mercy to those I plead for."

Make yourself quite easy on that point,answered
Villefortwith one of his sweetest smiles; "you and I will
always consult upon our verdicts."

My love,said the marquiseattend to your doves, your
lap-dogs, and embroidery, but do not meddle with what you do
not understand. Nowadays the military profession is in
abeyance and the magisterial robe is the badge of honor.
There is a wise Latin proverb that is very much in point.

Cedant arma togae,said Villefort with a bow.

I cannot speak Latin,responded the marquise.

Well,said ReneeI cannot help regretting you had not
chosen some other profession than your own -- a physician,
for instance. Do you know I always felt a shudder at the
idea of even a destroying angel?

Dear, good Renee,whispered Villefortas he gazed with
unutterable tenderness on the lovely speaker.

Let us hope, my child,cried the marquisthat M. de
Villefort may prove the moral and political physician of
this province; if so, he will have achieved a noble work.

And one which will go far to efface the recollection of his
father's conduct,added the incorrigible marquise.

Madame,replied Villefortwith a mournful smileI have
already had the honor to observe that my father has -- at
least, I hope so -- abjured his past errors, and that he is,
at the present moment, a firm and zealous friend to religion
and order -- a better royalist, possibly, than his son; for
he has to atone for past dereliction, while I have no other
impulse than warm, decided preference and conviction.
Having made this well-turned speechVillefort looked
carefully around to mark the effect of his oratorymuch as


he would have done had he been addressing the bench in open
court.

Do you know, my dear Villefort,cried the Comte de
Salvieuxthat is exactly what I myself said the other day
at the Tuileries, when questioned by his majesty's principal
chamberlain touching the singularity of an alliance between
the son of a Girondin and the daughter of an officer of the
Duc de Conde; and I assure you he seemed fully to comprehend
that this mode of reconciling political differences was
based upon sound and excellent principles. Then the king,
who, without our suspecting it, had overheard our
conversation, interrupted us by saying, `Villefort' -observe
that the king did not pronounce the word Noirtier,
but, on the contrary, placed considerable emphasis on that
of Villefort -- `Villefort,' said his majesty, `is a young
man of great judgment and discretion, who will be sure to
make a figure in his profession; I like him much, and it
gave me great pleasure to hear that he was about to become
the son-in-law of the Marquis and Marquise de Saint-Meran. I
should myself have recommended the match, had not the noble
marquis anticipated my wishes by requesting my consent to
it.'

Is it possible the king could have condescended so far as
to express himself so favorably of me?asked the enraptured
Villefort.

I give you his very words; and if the marquis chooses to be
candid, he will confess that they perfectly agree with what
his majesty said to him, when he went six months ago to
consult him upon the subject of your espousing his
daughter.

That is true,answered the marquis.

How much do I owe this gracious prince! What is there I
would not do to evince my earnest gratitude!

That is right,cried the marquise. "I love to see you
thus. Nowthenwere a conspirator to fall into your hands
he would be most welcome."

For my part, dear mother.interposed ReneeI trust your
wishes will not prosper, and that Providence will only
permit petty offenders, poor debtors, and miserable cheats
to fall into M. de Villefort's hands, -- then I shall be
contented.

Just the same as though you prayed that a physician might
only be called upon to prescribe for headaches, measles, and
the stings of wasps, or any other slight affection of the
epidermis. If you wish to see me the king's attorney, you
must desire for me some of those violent and dangerous
diseases from the cure of which so much honor redounds to
the physician.

At this momentand as though the utterance of Villefort's
wish had sufficed to effect its accomplishmenta servant
entered the roomand whispered a few words in his ear.
Villefort immediately rose from table and quitted the room
upon the plea of urgent business; he soonhowever
returnedhis whole face beaming with delight. Renee
regarded him with fond affection; and certainly his handsome


featureslit up as they then were with more than usual fire
and animationseemed formed to excite the innocent
admiration with which she gazed on her graceful and
intelligent lover.

You were wishing just now,said Villefortaddressing her
that I were a doctor instead of a lawyer. Well, I at least
resemble the disciples of Esculapius in one thing -- that of
not being able to call a day my own, not even that of my
betrothal.

And wherefore were you called away just now?asked
Mademoiselle de Saint-Meranwith an air of deep interest.

For a very serious matter, which bids fair to make work for
the executioner.

How dreadful!exclaimed Reneeturning pale.

Is it possible?burst simultaneously from all who were
near enough to the magistrate to hear his words.

Why, if my information prove correct, a sort of Bonaparte
conspiracy has just been discovered.

Can I believe my ears?cried the marquise.

I will read you the letter containing the accusation, at
least,said Villefort: -


`The king's attorney is informed by a friend to the throne
and the religions institutions of his country, that one
named Edmond Dantes, mate of the ship Pharaon, this day
arrived from Smyrna, after having touched at Naples and
Porto-Ferrajo, has been the bearer of a letter from Murat to
the usurper, and again taken charge of another letter from
the usurper to the Bonapartist club in Paris. Ample
corroboration of this statement may be obtained by arresting
the above-mentioned Edmond Dantes, who either carries the
letter for Paris about with him, or has it at his father's
abode. Should it not be found in the possession of father or
son, then it will assuredly be discovered in the cabin
belonging to the said Dantes on board the Pharaon.'

But,said Reneethis letter, which, after all, is but an
anonymous scrawl, is not even addressed to you, but to the
king's attorney.

True; but that gentleman being absent, his secretary, by
his orders, opened his letters; thinking this one of
importance, he sent for me, but not finding me, took upon
himself to give the necessary orders for arresting the
accused party.

Then the guilty person is absolutely in custody?said the
marquise.

Nay, dear mother, say the accused person. You know we
cannot yet pronounce him guilty.

He is in safe custody,answered Villefort; "and rely upon
itif the letter is foundhe will not be likely to be
trusted abroad againunless he goes forth under the
especial protection of the headsman."


And where is the unfortunate being?asked Renee.

He is at my house.

Come, come, my friend,interrupted the marquisedo not
neglect your duty to linger with us. You are the king's
servant, and must go wherever that service calls you.


O Villefort!cried Reneeclasping her handsand looking
towards her lover with piteous earnestnessbe merciful on
this the day of our betrothal.


The young man passed round to the side of the table where
the fair pleader satand leaning over her chair said
tenderly--


To give you pleasure, my sweet Renee, I promise to show all
the lenity in my power; but if the charges brought against
this Bonapartist hero prove correct, why, then, you really
must give me leave to order his head to be cut off.Renee
shuddered.


Never mind that foolish girl, Villefort,said the
marquise. "She will soon get over these things." So saying
Madame de Saint-Meran extended her dry bony hand to
Villefortwhowhile imprinting a son-in-law's respectful
salute on itlooked at Reneeas much as to sayI must
try and fancy 'tis your dear hand I kiss, as it should have
been.


These are mournful auspices to accompany a betrothal,
sighed poor Renee.


Upon my word, child!exclaimed the angry marquiseyour
folly exceeds all bounds. I should be glad to know what
connection there can possibly be between your sickly
sentimentality and the affairs of the state!


O mother!murmured Renee.


Nay, madame, I pray you pardon this little traitor. I
promise you that to make up for her want of loyalty, I will
be most inflexibly severe;then casting an expressive
glance at his betrothedwhich seemed to sayFear not, for
your dear sake my justice shall be tempered with mercy,and
receiving a sweet and approving smile in returnVillefort
quitted the room.


Chapter 7
The Examination.


No sooner had Villefort left the salonthan he assumed the
grave air of a man who holds the balance of life and death
in his hands. Nowin spite of the mobility of his
countenancethe command of whichlike a finished actorhe
had carefully studied before the glassit was by no means
easy for him to assume an air of judicial severity. Except
the recollection of the line of politics his father had
adoptedand which might interfereunless he acted with the
greatest prudencewith his own careerGerard de Villefort
was as happy as a man could be. Already richhe held a high



official situationthough only twenty-seven. He was about
to marry a young and charming womanwhom he lovednot
passionatelybut reasonablyas became a deputy attorney of
the king; and besides her personal attractionswhich were
very greatMademoiselle de Saint-Meran's family possessed
considerable political influencewhich they wouldof
courseexert in his favor. The dowry of his wife amounted
to fifty thousand crownsand he hadbesidesthe prospect
of seeing her fortune increased to half a million at her
father's death. These considerations naturally gave
Villefort a feeling of such complete felicity that his mind
was fairly dazzled in its contemplation.

At the door he met the commissary of policewho was waiting
for him. The sight of this officer recalled Villefort from
the third heaven to earth; he composed his faceas we have
before describedand saidI have read the letter, sir,
and you have acted rightly in arresting this man; now inform
me what you have discovered concerning him and the
conspiracy.

We know nothing as yet of the conspiracy, monsieur; all the
papers found have been sealed up and placed on your desk.
The prisoner himself is named Edmond Dantes, mate on board
the three-master the Pharaon, trading in cotton with
Alexandria and Smyrna, and belonging to Morrel & Son, of
Marseilles.

Before he entered the merchant service, had he ever served
in the marines?

Oh, no, monsieur, he is very young.

How old?

Nineteen or twenty at the most.

At this momentand as Villefort had arrived at the corner
of the Rue des Conseilsa manwho seemed to have been
waiting for himapproached; it was M. Morrel.

Ah, M. de Villefort,cried heI am delighted to see you.
Some of your people have committed the strangest mistake -they
have just arrested Edmond Dantes, mate of my vessel.

I know it, monsieur,replied Villefortand I am now
going to examine him.

Oh,said Morrelcarried away by his friendshipyou do
not know him, and I do. He is the most estimable, the most
trustworthy creature in the world, and I will venture to
say, there is not a better seaman in all the merchant
service. Oh, M. de Villefort, I beseech your indulgence for
him.

Villefortas we have seenbelonged to the aristocratic
party at MarseillesMorrel to the plebeian; the first was a
royalistthe other suspected of Bonapartism. Villefort
looked disdainfully at Morreland replied-


You are aware, monsieur, that a man may be estimable and
trustworthy in private life, and the best seaman in the
merchant service, and yet be, politically speaking, a great
criminal. Is it not true?


The magistrate laid emphasis on these wordsas if he wished
to apply them to the owner himselfwhile his eyes seemed to
plunge into the heart of one whointerceding for another
had himself need of indulgence. Morrel reddenedfor his own
conscience was not quite clear on politics; besideswhat
Dantes had told him of his interview with the grand-marshal
and what the emperor had said to himembarrassed him. He
repliedhowever-


I entreat you, M. de Villefort, be, as you always are, kind
and equitable, and give him back to us soon.This give us
sounded revolutionary in the deputy's ears.

Ah, ah,murmured heis Dantes then a member of some
Carbonari society, that his protector thus employs the
collective form? He was, if I recollect, arrested in a
tavern, in company with a great many others.Then he added
Monsieur, you may rest assured I shall perform my duty
impartially, and that if he be innocent you shall not have
appealed to me in vain; should he, however, be guilty, in
this present epoch, impunity would furnish a dangerous
example, and I must do my duty.

As he had now arrived at the door of his own housewhich
adjoined the Palais de Justicehe enteredafter having
coldly saluted the shipownerwho stoodas if petrifiedon
the spot where Villefort had left him. The ante-chamber was
full of police agents and gendarmesin the midst of whom
carefully watchedbut calm and smilingstood the prisoner.
Villefort traversed the ante-chambercast a side glance at
Dantesand taking a packet which a gendarme offered him
disappearedsayingBring in the prisoner.

Rapid as had been Villefort's glanceit had served to give
him an idea of the man he was about to interrogate. He had
recognized intelligence in the high foreheadcourage in the
dark eye and bent browand frankness in the thick lips that
showed a set of pearly teeth. Villefort's first impression
was favorable; but he had been so often warned to mistrust
first impulsesthat he applied the maxim to the impression
forgetting the difference between the two words. He stifled
thereforethe feelings of compassion that were rising
composed his featuresand sat downgrim and sombreat his
desk. An instant after Dantes entered. He was palebut calm
and collectedand saluting his judge with easy politeness
looked round for a seatas if he had been in M. Morrel's
salon. It was then that he encountered for the first time
Villefort's look-- that look peculiar to the magistrate
whowhile seeming to read the thoughts of othersbetrays
nothing of his own.

Who and what are you?demanded Villefortturning over a
pile of paperscontaining information relative to the
prisonerthat a police agent had given to him on his entry
and thatalreadyin an hour's timehad swelled to
voluminous proportionsthanks to the corrupt espionage of
which "the accused" is always made the victim.

My name is Edmond Dantes,replied the young man calmly; "I
am mate of the Pharaonbelonging to Messrs. Morrel & Son."

Your age?continued Villefort.


Nineteen,returned Dantes.

What were you doing at the moment you were arrested?

I was at the festival of my marriage, monsieur,said the
young manhis voice slightly tremulousso great was the
contrast between that happy moment and the painful ceremony
he was now undergoing; so great was the contrast between the
sombre aspect of M. de Villefort and the radiant face of
Mercedes.

You were at the festival of your marriage?said the
deputyshuddering in spite of himself.

Yes, monsieur; I am on the point of marrying a young girl I
have been attached to for three years.Villefortimpassive
as he waswas struck with this coincidence; and the
tremulous voice of Dantessurprised in the midst of his
happinessstruck a sympathetic chord in his own bosom -- he
also was on the point of being marriedand he was summoned
from his own happiness to destroy that of another. "This
philosophic reflection thought he, will make a great
sensation at M. de Saint-Meran's;" and he arranged mentally
while Dantes awaited further questionsthe antithesis by
which orators often create a reputation for eloquence. When
this speech was arrangedVillefort turned to Dantes.

Go on, sir,said he.

What would you have me say?

Give all the information in your power.

Tell me on which point you desire information, and I will
tell all I know; only,added hewith a smileI warn you
I know very little.

Have you served under the usurper?

I was about to be mustered into the Royal Marines when he
fell.

It is reported your political opinions are extreme,said
Villefortwho had never heard anything of the kindbut was
not sorry to make this inquiryas if it were an accusation.

My political opinions!replied Dantes. "AlassirI never
had any opinions. I am hardly nineteen; I know nothing; I
have no part to play. If I obtain the situation I desireI
shall owe it to M. Morrel. Thus all my opinions -- I will
not say publicbut private -- are confined to these three
sentiment-- I love my fatherI respect M. Morreland I
adore Mercedes. Thissiris all I can tell youand you
see how uninteresting it is." As Dantes spokeVillefort
gazed at his ingenuous and open countenanceand recollected
the words of Reneewhowithout knowing who the culprit
washad besought his indulgence for him. With the deputy's
knowledge of crime and criminalsevery word the young man
uttered convinced him more and more of his innocence. This
ladfor he was scarcely a man-- simplenaturaleloquent
with that eloquence of the heart never found when sought
for; full of affection for everybodybecause he was happy
and because happiness renders even the wicked good -extended
his affection even to his judgespite of


Villefort's severe look and stern accent. Dantes seemed full
of kindness.

Pardieu,said Villeforthe is a noble fellow. I hope I
shall gain Renee's favor easily by obeying the first command
she ever imposed on me. I shall have at least a pressure of
the hand in public, and a sweet kiss in private.Full of
this ideaVillefort's face became so joyousthat when he
turned to Dantesthe latterwho had watched the change on
his physiognomywas smiling also.

Sir,said Villeforthave you any enemies, at least, that
you know.

I have enemies?replied Dantes; "my position is not
sufficiently elevated for that. As for my dispositionthat
isperhapssomewhat too hasty; but I have striven to
repress it. I have had ten or twelve sailors under meand
if you question themthey will tell you that they love and
respect menot as a fatherfor I am too youngbut as an
elder brother."

But you may have excited jealousy. You are about to become
captain at nineteen -- an elevated post; you are about to
marry a pretty girl, who loves you; and these two pieces of
good fortune may have excited the envy of some one.

You are right; you know men better than I do, and what you
say may possibly be the case, I confess; but if such persons
are among my acquaintances I prefer not to know it, because
then I should be forced to hate them.

You are wrong; you should always strive to see clearly
around you. You seem a worthy young man; I will depart from
the strict line of my duty to aid you in discovering the
author of this accusation. Here is the paper; do you know
the writing?As he spokeVillefort drew the letter from
his pocketand presented it to Dantes. Dantes read it. A
cloud passed over his brow as he said-


No, monsieur, I do not know the writing, and yet it is
tolerably plain. Whoever did it writes well. I am very
fortunate,added helooking gratefully at Villefortto
be examined by such a man as you; for this envious person is
a real enemy.And by the rapid glance that the young man's
eyes shot forthVillefort saw how much energy lay hid
beneath this mildness.

Now,said the deputyanswer me frankly, not as a
prisoner to a judge, but as one man to another who takes an
interest in him, what truth is there in the accusation
contained in this anonymous letter?And Villefort threw
disdainfully on his desk the letter Dantes had just given
back to him.

None at all. I will tell you the real facts. I swear by my
honor as a sailor, by my love for Mercedes, by the life of
my father-


Speak, monsieur,said Villefort. TheninternallyIf
Renee could see me, I hope she would be satisfied, and would
no longer call me a decapitator.

Well, when we quitted Naples, Captain Leclere was attacked


with a brain fever. As we had no doctor on board, and he was
so anxious to arrive at Elba, that he would not touch at any
other port, his disorder rose to such a height, that at the
end of the third day, feeling he was dying, he called me to
him. `My dear Dantes,' said he, `swear to perform what I am
going to tell you, for it is a matter of the deepest
importance.'

`I swearcaptain' replied I.

`Well, as after my death the command devolves on you as
mate, assume the command, and bear up for the Island of
Elba, disembark at Porto-Ferrajo, ask for the grand-marshal,
give him this letter -- perhaps they will give you another
letter, and charge you with a commission. You will
accomplish what I was to have done, and derive all the honor
and profit from it.'

`I will do itcaptain; but perhaps I shall not be admitted
to the grand marshal's presence as easily as you expect?'

`Here is a ring that will obtain audience of him, and
remove every difficulty,' said the captain. At these words
he gave me a ring. It was time -- two hours after he was
delirious; the next day he died.

And what did you do then?

What I ought to have done, and what every one would have
done in my place. Everywhere the last requests of a dying
man are sacred; but with a sailor the last requests of his
superior are commands. I sailed for the Island of Elba,
where I arrived the next day; I ordered everybody to remain
on board, and went on shore alone. As I had expected, I
found some difficulty in obtaining access to the
grand-marshal; but I sent the ring I had received from the
captain to him, and was instantly admitted. He questioned me
concerning Captain Leclere's death; and, as the latter had
told me, gave me a letter to carry on to a person in Paris.
I undertook it because it was what my captain had bade me
do. I landed here, regulated the affairs of the vessel, and
hastened to visit my affianced bride, whom I found more
lovely than ever. Thanks to M. Morrel, all the forms were
got over; in a word I was, as I told you, at my
marriage-feast; and I should have been married in an hour,
and to-morrow I intended to start for Paris, had I not been
arrested on this charge which you as well as I now see to be
unjust.

Ah,said Villefortthis seems to me the truth. If you
have been culpable, it was imprudence, and this imprudence
was in obedience to the orders of your captain. Give up this
letter you have brought from Elba, and pass your word you
will appear should you be required, and go and rejoin your
friends.

I am freethensir?" cried Dantes joyfully.

Yes; but first give me this letter.

You have it already, for it was taken from me with some
others which I see in that packet.

Stop a moment,said the deputyas Dantes took his hat and


gloves. "To whom is it addressed?"

To Monsieur Noirtier, Rue Coq-Heron, Paris.Had a
thunderbolt fallen into the roomVillefort could not have
been more stupefied. He sank into his seatand hastily
turning over the packetdrew forth the fatal letterat
which he glanced with an expression of terror.

M. Noirtier, Rue Coq-Heron, No. 13,murmured hegrowing
still paler.

Yes,said Dantes; "do you know him?"

No,replied Villefort; "a faithful servant of the king
does not know conspirators."

It is a conspiracy, then?asked Danteswho after
believing himself freenow began to feel a tenfold alarm.
I have, however, already told you, sir, I was entirely
ignorant of the contents of the letter.

Yes; but you knew the name of the person to whom it was
addressed,said Villefort.

I was forced to read the address to know to whom to give
it.

Have you shown this letter to any one?asked Villefort
becoming still more pale.

To no one, on my honor.

Everybody is ignorant that you are the bearer of a letter
from the Island of Elba, and addressed to M. Noirtier?

Everybody, except the person who gave it to me.

And that was too much, far too much,murmured Villefort.
Villefort's brow darkened more and morehis white lips and
clinched teeth filled Dantes with apprehension. After
reading the letterVillefort covered his face with his
hands.

Oh,said Dantes timidlywhat is the matter?Villefort
made no answerbut raised his head at the expiration of a
few secondsand again perused the letter.

And you say that you are ignorant of the contents of this
letter?

I give you my word of honor, sir,said Dantes; "but what
is the matter? You are ill -- shall I ring for assistance?
-- shall I call?"

No,said Villefortrising hastily; "stay where you are.
It is for me to give orders hereand not you."

Monsieur,replied Dantes proudlyit was only to summon
assistance for you.

I want none; it was a temporary indisposition. Attend to
yourself; answer me.Dantes waitedexpecting a question
but in vain. Villefort fell back on his chairpassed his
hand over his browmoist with perspirationandfor the


third timeread the letter.

Oh, if he knows the contents of this!murmured heand
that Noirtier is the father of Villefort, I am lost!And he
fixed his eyes upon Edmond as if he would have penetrated
his thoughts.

Oh, it is impossible to doubt it,cried hesuddenly.

In heaven's name!cried the unhappy young manif you
doubt me, question me; I will answer you.Villefort made a
violent effortand in a tone he strove to render firm-


Sir,said heI am no longer able, as I had hoped, to
restore you immediately to liberty; before doing so, I must
consult the trial justice; what my own feeling is you
already know.

Oh, monsieur,cried Dantesyou have been rather a friend
than a judge.

Well, I must detain you some time longer, but I will strive
to make it as short as possible. The principal charge
against you is this letter, and you see-- Villefort
approached the firecast it inand waited until it was
entirely consumed.

You see, I destroy it?

Oh,exclaimed Dantesyou are goodness itself.

Listen,continued Villefort; "you can now have confidence
in me after what I have done."

Oh, command, and I will obey.

Listen; this is not a command, but advice I give you.

Speak, and I will follow your advice.

I shall detain you until this evening in the Palais de
Justice. Should any one else interrogate you, say to him
what you have said to me, but do not breathe a word of this
letter.

I promise.It was Villefort who seemed to entreatand the
prisoner who reassured him.

You see,continued heglancing toward the gratewhere
fragments of burnt paper fluttered in the flamesthe
letter is destroyed; you and I alone know of its existence;
should you, therefore, be questioned, deny all knowledge of
it -- deny it boldly, and you are saved.

Be satisfied; I will deny it.

It was the only letter you had?

It was.

Swear it.

I swear it.


Villefort rang. A police agent entered. Villefort whispered
some words in his earto which the officer replied by a
motion of his head.


Follow him,said Villefort to Dantes. Dantes saluted
Villefort and retired. Hardly had the door closed when
Villefort threw himself half-fainting into a chair.


Alas, alas,murmured heif the procureur himself had
been at Marseilles I should have been ruined. This accursed
letter would have destroyed all my hopes. Oh, my father,
must your past career always interfere with my successes?
Suddenly a light passed over his facea smile played round
his set mouthand his haggard eyes were fixed in thought.


This will do,said heand from this letter, which might
have ruined me, I will make my fortune. Now to the work I
have in hand.And after having assured himself that the
prisoner was gonethe deputy procureur hastened to the
house of his betrothed.


Chapter 8
The Chateau D'If.


The commissary of policeas he traversed the ante-chamber
made a sign to two gendarmeswho placed themselves one on
Dantes' right and the other on his left. A door that
communicated with the Palais de Justice was openedand they
went through a long range of gloomy corridorswhose
appearance might have made even the boldest shudder. The
Palais de Justice communicated with the prison-- a sombre
edificethat from its grated windows looks on the
clock-tower of the Accoules. After numberless windings
Dantes saw a door with an iron wicket. The commissary took
up an iron mallet and knocked thriceevery blow seeming to
Dantes as if struck on his heart. The door openedthe two
gendarmes gently pushed him forwardand the door closed
with a loud sound behind him. The air he inhaled was no
longer purebut thick and mephitic-- he was in prison. He
was conducted to a tolerably neat chamberbut grated and
barredand its appearancethereforedid not greatly alarm
him; besidesthe words of Villefortwho seemed to interest
himself so muchresounded still in his ears like a promise
of freedom. It was four o'clock when Dantes was placed in
this chamber. It wasas we have saidthe 1st of Marchand
the prisoner was soon buried in darkness. The obscurity
augmented the acuteness of his hearing; at the slightest
sound he rose and hastened to the doorconvinced they were
about to liberate himbut the sound died awayand Dantes
sank again into his seat. At lastabout ten o'clockand
just as Dantes began to despairsteps were heard in the
corridora key turned in the lockthe bolts creakedthe
massy oaken door flew openand a flood of light from two
torches pervaded the apartment. By the torchlight Dantes saw
the glittering sabres and carbines of four gendarmes. He had
advanced at firstbut stopped at the sight of this display
of force.


Are you come to fetch me?asked he.


Yes,replied a gendarme.



By the orders of the deputy procureur?

I believe so.The conviction that they came from M. de
Villefort relieved all Dantes' apprehensions; he advanced
calmlyand placed himself in the centre of the escort. A
carriage waited at the doorthe coachman was on the box
and a police officer sat beside him.

Is this carriage for me?said Dantes.

It is for you,replied a gendarme.

Dantes was about to speak; but feeling himself urged
forwardand having neither the power nor the intention to
resisthe mounted the stepsand was in an instant seated
inside between two gendarmes; the two others took their
places oppositeand the carriage rolled heavily over the
stones.

The prisoner glanced at the windows -- they were grated; he
had changed his prison for another that was conveying him he
knew not whither. Through the gratinghoweverDantes saw
they were passing through the Rue Caisserieand by the Rue
Saint-Laurent and the Rue Taramisto the port. Soon he saw
the lights of La Consigne.

The carriage stoppedthe officer descendedapproached the
guardhousea dozen soldiers came out and formed themselves
in order; Dantes saw the reflection of their muskets by the
light of the lamps on the quay.

Can all this force be summoned on my account?thought he.

The officer opened the doorwhich was lockedandwithout
speaking a wordanswered Dantes' question; for he saw
between the ranks of the soldiers a passage formed from the
carriage to the port. The two gendarmes who were opposite to
him descended firstthen he was ordered to alight and the
gendarmes on each side of him followed his example. They
advanced towards a boatwhich a custom-house officer held
by a chainnear the quay.

The soldiers looked at Dantes with an air of stupid
curiosity. In an instant he was placed in the stern-sheets
of the boatbetween the gendarmeswhile the officer
stationed himself at the bow; a shove sent the boat adrift
and four sturdy oarsmen impelled it rapidly towards the
Pilon. At a shout from the boatthe chain that closes the
mouth of the port was lowered and in a second they wereas
Dantes knewin the Frioul and outside the inner harbor.

The prisoner's first feeling was of joy at again breathing
the pure air -- for air is freedom; but he soon sighedfor
he passed before La Reservewhere he had that morning been
so happyand now through the open windows came the laughter
and revelry of a ball. Dantes folded his handsraised his
eyes to heavenand prayed fervently.

The boat continued her voyage. They had passed the Tete de
Mortewere now off the Anse du Pharoand about to double
the battery. This manoeuvre was incomprehensible to Dantes.

Whither are you taking me?asked he.


You will soon know.

But still-


We are forbidden to give you any explanation.Dantes
trained in disciplineknew that nothing would be more
absurd than to question subordinateswho were forbidden to
reply; and so he remained silent.

The most vague and wild thoughts passed through his mind.
The boat they were in could not make a long voyage; there
was no vessel at anchor outside the harbor; he thought
perhapsthey were going to leave him on some distant point.
He was not boundnor had they made any attempt to handcuff
him; this seemed a good augury. Besideshad not the deputy
who had been so kind to himtold him that provided he did
not pronounce the dreaded name of Noirtierhe had nothing
to apprehend? Had not Villefort in his presence destroyed
the fatal letterthe only proof against him?

He waited silentlystriving to pierce through the darkness.

They had left the Ile Ratonneauwhere the lighthouse stood
on the rightand were now opposite the Point des Catalans.
It seemed to the prisoner that he could distinguish a
feminine form on the beachfor it was there Mercedes dwelt.
How was it that a presentiment did not warn Mercedes that
her lover was within three hundred yards of her?

One light alone was visible; and Dantes saw that it came
from Mercedes' chamber. Mercedes was the only one awake in
the whole settlement. A loud cry could be heard by her. But
pride restrained him and he did not utter it. What would his
guards think if they heard him shout like a madman?

He remained silenthis eyes fixed upon the light; the boat
went onbut the prisoner thought only of Mercedes. An
intervening elevation of land hid the light. Dantes turned
and perceived that they had got out to sea. While he had
been absorbed in thoughtthey had shipped their oars and
hoisted sail; the boat was now moving with the wind.

In spite of his repugnance to address the guardsDantes
turned to the nearest gendarmeand taking his hand-


Comrade,said heI adjure you, as a Christian and a
soldier, to tell me where we are going. I am Captain Dantes,
a loyal Frenchman, thought accused of treason; tell me where
you are conducting me, and I promise you on my honor I will
submit to my fate.

The gendarme looked irresolutely at his companionwho
returned for answer a sign that saidI see no great harm
in telling him now,and the gendarme replied-


You are a native of Marseilles, and a sailor, and yet you
do not know where you are going?

On my honor, I have no idea.

Have you no idea whatever?

None at all.


That is impossible.

I swear to you it is true. Tell me, I entreat.

But my orders.

Your orders do not forbid your telling me what I must know
in ten minutes, in half an hour, or an hour. You see I
cannot escape, even if I intended.

Unless you are blind, or have never been outside the
harbor, you must know.

I do not.

Look round you then.Dantes rose and looked forwardwhen
he saw rise within a hundred yards of him the black and
frowning rock on which stands the Chateau d'If. This gloomy
fortresswhich has for more than three hundred years
furnished food for so many wild legendsseemed to Dantes
like a scaffold to a malefactor.

The Chateau d'If?cried hewhat are we going there for?
The gendarme smiled.

I am not going there to be imprisoned,said Dantes; "it is
only used for political prisoners. I have committed no
crime. Are there any magistrates or judges at the Chateau
d'If?"

There are only,said the gendarmea governor, a
garrison, turnkeys, and good thick walls. Come, come, do not
look so astonished, or you will make me think you are
laughing at me in return for my good nature.Dantes pressed
the gendarme's hand as though he would crush it.

You think, then,said hethat I am taken to the Chateau
d'If to be imprisoned there?

It is probable; but there is no occasion to squeeze so
hard.

Without any inquiry, without any formality?

All the formalities have been gone through; the inquiry is
already made.

And so, in spite of M. de Villefort's promises?

I do not know what M. de Villefort promised you,said the
gendarmebut I know we are taking you to the Chateau d'If.
But what are you doing? Help, comrades, help!

By a rapid movementwhich the gendarme's practiced eye had
perceivedDantes sprang forward to precipitate himself into
the sea; but four vigorous arms seized him as his feet
quitted the bottom of the boat. He fell back cursing with
rage.

Good!said the gendarmeplacing his knee on his chest;
believe soft-spoken gentlemen again! Harkye, my friend, I
have disobeyed my first order, but I will not disobey the
second; and if you move, I will blow your brains out.And
he levelled his carbine at Danteswho felt the muzzle


against his temple.

For a moment the idea of struggling crossed his mindand of
so ending the unexpected evil that had overtaken him. But he
bethought him of M. de Villefort's promise; andbesides
death in a boat from the hand of a gendarme seemed too
terrible. He remained motionlessbut gnashing his teeth and
wringing his hands with fury.

At this moment the boat came to a landing with a violent
shock. One of the sailors leaped on shorea cord creaked as
it ran through a pulleyand Dantes guessed they were at the
end of the voyageand that they were mooring the boat.

His guardstaking him by the arms and coat-collarforced
him to riseand dragged him towards the steps that lead to
the gate of the fortresswhile the police officer carrying
a musket with fixed bayonet followed behind.

Dantes made no resistance; he was like a man in a dream: he
saw soldiers drawn up on the embankment; he knew vaguely
that he was ascending a flight of steps; he was conscious
that he passed through a doorand that the door closed
behind him; but all this indistinctly as through a mist. He
did not even see the oceanthat terrible barrier against
freedomwhich the prisoners look upon with utter despair.

They halted for a minuteduring which he strove to collect
his thoughts. He looked around; he was in a court surrounded
by high walls; he heard the measured tread of sentinelsand
as they passed before the light he saw the barrels of their
muskets shine.

They waited upwards of ten minutes. Certain Dantes could not
escapethe gendarmes released him. They seemed awaiting
orders. The orders came.

Where is the prisoner?said a voice.

Here,replied the gendarmes.

Let him follow me; I will take him to his cell.

Go!said the gendarmesthrusting Dantes forward.

The prisoner followed his guidewho led him into a room
almost under groundwhose bare and reeking walls seemed as
though impregnated with tears; a lamp placed on a stool
illumined the apartment faintlyand showed Dantes the
features of his conductoran under-jailerill-clothedand
of sullen appearance.

Here is your chamber for to-night,said he. "It is late
and the governor is asleep. To-morrowperhapshe may
change you. In the meantime there is breadwaterand fresh
straw; and that is all a prisoner can wish for. Goodnight."
And before Dantes could open his mouth -- before he had
noticed where the jailer placed his bread or the water -before
he had glanced towards the corner where the straw
wasthe jailer disappearedtaking with him the lamp and
closing the doorleaving stamped upon the prisoner's mind
the dim reflection of the dripping walls of his dungeon.

Dantes was alone in darkness and in silence -- cold as the


shadows that he felt breathe on his burning forehead. With
the first dawn of day the jailer returnedwith orders to
leave Dantes where he was. He found the prisoner in the same
positionas if fixed therehis eyes swollen with weeping.
He had passed the night standingand without sleep. The
jailer advanced; Dantes appeared not to perceive him. He
touched him on the shoulder. Edmond started.

Have you not slept?said the jailer.

I do not know,replied Dantes. The jailer stared.

Are you hungry?continued he.

I do not know.

Do you wish for anything?

I wish to see the governor.The jailer shrugged his
shoulders and left the chamber.

Dantes followed him with his eyesand stretched forth his
hands towards the open door; but the door closed. All his
emotion then burst forth; he cast himself on the ground
weeping bitterlyand asking himself what crime he had
committed that he was thus punished.

The day passed thus; he scarcely tasted foodbut walked
round and round the cell like a wild beast in its cage. One
thought in particular tormented him: namelythat during his
journey hither he had sat so stillwhereas he mighta
dozen timeshave plunged into the seaandthanks to his
powers of swimmingfor which he was famoushave gained the
shoreconcealed himself until the arrival of a Genoese or
Spanish vesselescaped to Spain or Italywhere Mercedes
and his father could have joined him. He had no fears as to
how he should live -- good seamen are welcome everywhere. He
spoke Italian like a Tuscanand Spanish like a Castilian;
he would have been freeand happy with Mercedes and his
fatherwhereas he was now confined in the Chateau d'If
that impregnable fortressignorant of the future destiny of
his father and Mercedes; and all this because he had trusted
to Villefort's promise. The thought was maddeningand
Dantes threw himself furiously down on his straw. The next
morning at the same hourthe jailer came again.

Well,said the jailerare you more reasonable to-day?
Dantes made no reply.

Come, cheer up; is there anything that I can do for you?

I wish to see the governor.

I have already told you it was impossible.

Why so?

Because it is against prison rules, and prisoners must not
even ask for it.

What is allowed, then?

Better fare, if you pay for it, books, and leave to walk
about.


I do not want books, I am satisfied with my food, and do
not care to walk about; but I wish to see the governor.

If you worry me by repeating the same thing, I will not
bring you any more to eat.

Well, then,said Edmondif you do not, I shall die of
hunger -- that is all.

The jailer saw by his tone he would be happy to die; and as
every prisoner is worth ten sous a day to his jailerhe
replied in a more subdued tone.

What you ask is impossible; but if you are very well
behaved you will be allowed to walk about, and some day you
will meet the governor, and if he chooses to reply, that is
his affair.

But,asked Danteshow long shall I have to wait?

Ah, a month -- six months -- a year.

It is too long a time. I wish to see him at once.

Ah,said the jailerdo not always brood over what is
impossible, or you will be mad in a fortnight.

You think so?

Yes; we have an instance here; it was by always offering a
million of francs to the governor for his liberty that an
abbe became mad, who was in this chamber before you.

How long has he left it?

Two years.

Was he liberated, then?

No; he was put in a dungeon.

Listen!said Dantes. "I am not an abbeI am not mad;
perhaps I shall bebut at presentunfortunatelyI am not.
I will make you another offer."

What is that?

I do not offer you a million, because I have it not; but I
will give you a hundred crowns if, the first time you go to
Marseilles, you will seek out a young girl named Mercedes,
at the Catalans, and give her two lines from me.

If I took them, and were detected, I should lose my place,
which is worth two thousand francs a year; so that I should
be a great fool to run such a risk for three hundred.

Well,said Dantesmark this; if you refuse at least to
tell Mercedes I am here, I will some day hide myself behind
the door, and when you enter I will dash out your brains
with this stool.

Threats!cried the jailerretreating and putting himself
on the defensive; "you are certainly going mad. The abbe


began like youand in three days you will be like himmad
enough to tie up; butfortunatelythere are dungeons
here." Dantes whirled the stool round his head.


All right, all right,said the jailer; "all rightsince
you will have it so. I will send word to the governor."


Very well,returned Dantesdropping the stool and sitting
on it as if he were in reality mad. The jailer went outand
returned in an instant with a corporal and four soldiers.


By the governor's orders,said heconduct the prisoner
to the tier beneath.


To the dungeon, then,said the corporal.


Yes; we must put the madman with the madmen.The soldiers
seized Danteswho followed passively.


He descended fifteen stepsand the door of a dungeon was
openedand he was thrust in. The door closedand Dantes
advanced with outstretched hands until he touched the wall;
he then sat down in the corner until his eyes became
accustomed to the darkness. The jailer was right; Dantes
wanted but little of being utterly mad.


Chapter 9
The Evening of the Betrothal.


Villefort hadas we have saidhastened back to Madame de
Saint-Meran's in the Place du Grand Coursand on entering
the house found that the guests whom he had left at table
were taking coffee in the salon. Renee waswith all the
rest of the companyanxiously awaiting himand his
entrance was followed by a general exclamation.


Well, Decapitator, Guardian of the State, Royalist, Brutus,
what is the matter?said one. "Speak out."


Are we threatened with a fresh Reign of Terror?asked
another.


Has the Corsican ogre broken loose?cried a third.


Marquise,said Villefortapproaching his future
mother-in-lawI request your pardon for thus leaving you.
Will the marquis honor me by a few moments' private
conversation?


Ah, it is really a serious matter, then?asked the
marquisremarking the cloud on Villefort's brow.


So serious that I must take leave of you for a few days;
so,added heturning to Reneejudge for yourself if it
be not important.


You are going to leave us?cried Reneeunable to hide her
emotion at this unexpected announcement.


Alas,returned VillefortI must!


Where, then, are you going?asked the marquise.



That, madame, is an official secret; but if you have any
commissions for Paris, a friend of mine is going there
to-night, and will with pleasure undertake them.The guests
looked at each other.

You wish to speak to me alone?said the marquis.

Yes, let us go to the library, please.The marquis took
his armand they left the salon.

Well,asked heas soon as they were by themselvestell
me what it is?

An affair of the greatest importance, that demands my
immediate presence in Paris. Now, excuse the indiscretion,
marquis, but have you any landed property?

All my fortune is in the funds; seven or eight hundred
thousand francs.

Then sell out -- sell out, marquis, or you will lose it
all.

But how can I sell out here?

You have it broker, have you not?

Yes.

Then give me a letter to him, and tell him to sell out
without an instant's delay, perhaps even now I shall arrive
too late.

The deuce you say!replied the marquislet us lose no
time, then!

Andsitting downhe wrote a letter to his brokerordering
him to sell out at the market price.

Now, then,said Villefortplacing the letter in his
pocketbookI must have another!

To whom?

To the king.

To the king?

Yes.

I dare not write to his majesty.

I do not ask you to write to his majesty, but ask M. de
Salvieux to do so. I want a letter that will enable me to
reach the king's presence without all the formalities of
demanding an audience; that would occasion a loss of
precious time.

But address yourself to the keeper of the seals; he has the
right of entry at the Tuileries, and can procure you
audience at any hour of the day or night.

Doubtless; but there is no occasion to divide the honors of


my discovery with him. The keeper would leave me in the
background, and take all the glory to himself. I tell you,
marquis, my fortune is made if I only reach the Tuileries
the first, for the king will not forget the service I do
him.

In that case go and get ready. I will call Salvieux and
make him write the letter.

Be as quick as possible, I must be on the road in a quarter
of an hour.

Tell your coachman to stop at the door.

You will present my excuses to the marquise and
Mademoiselle Renee, whom I leave on such a day with great
regret.

You will find them both here, and can make your farewells
in person.

A thousand thanks -- and now for the letter.

The marquis ranga servant entered.

Say to the Comte de Salvieux that I would like to see him.

Now, then, go,said the marquis.

I shall be gone only a few moments.

Villefort hastily quitted the apartmentbut reflecting that
the sight of the deputy procureur running through the
streets would be enough to throw the whole city into
confusionhe resumed his ordinary pace. At his door he
perceived a figure in the shadow that seemed to wait for
him. It was Mercedeswhohearing no news of her loverhad
come unobserved to inquire after him.

As Villefort drew nearshe advanced and stood before him.
Dantes had spoken of Mercedesand Villefort instantly
recognized her. Her beauty and high bearing surprised him
and when she inquired what had become of her loverit
seemed to him that she was the judgeand he the accused.

The young man you speak of,said Villefort abruptlyis a
great criminal. and I can do nothing for him, mademoiselle.
Mercedes burst into tearsandas Villefort strove to pass
heragain addressed him.

But, at least, tell me where he is, that I may know whether
he is alive or dead,said she.

I do not know; he is no longer in my hands,replied
Villefort.

And desirous of putting an end to the interviewhe pushed
by herand closed the dooras if to exclude the pain he
felt. But remorse is not thus banished; like Virgil's
wounded herohe carried the arrow in his woundand
arrived at the salonVillefort uttered a sigh that was
almost a soband sank into a chair.

Then the first pangs of an unending torture seized upon his


heart. The man he sacrificed to his ambitionthat innocent
victim immolated on the altar of his father's faults
appeared to him pale and threateningleading his affianced
bride by the handand bringing with him remorsenot such
as the ancients figuredfurious and terriblebut that slow
and consuming agony whose pangs are intensified from hour to
hour up to the very moment of death. Then he had a moment's
hesitation. He had frequently called for capital punishment
on criminalsand owing to his irresistible eloquence they
had been condemnedand yet the slightest shadow of remorse
had never clouded Villefort's browbecause they were
guilty; at leasthe believed so; but here was an innocent
man whose happiness he had destroyed: in this case he was
not the judgebut the executioner.

As he thus reflectedhe felt the sensation we have
describedand which had hitherto been unknown to himarise
in his bosomand fill him with vague apprehensions. It is
thus that a wounded man trembles instinctively at the
approach of the finger to his wound until it be healedbut
Villefort's was one of those that never closeor if they
doonly close to reopen more agonizing than ever. If at
this moment the sweet voice of Renee had sounded in his ears
pleading for mercyor the fair Mercedes had entered and
saidIn the name of God, I conjure you to restore me my
affianced husband,his cold and trembling hands would have
signed his release; but no voice broke the stillness of the
chamberand the door was opened only by Villefort's valet
who came to tell him that the travelling carriage was in
readiness.

Villefort roseor rather sprangfrom his chairhastily
opened one of the drawers of his deskemptied all the gold
it contained into his pocketstood motionless an instant
his hand pressed to his headmuttered a few inarticulate
soundsand thenperceiving that his servant had placed his
cloak on his shouldershe sprang into the carriage
ordering the postilions to drive to M. de Saint-Meran's. The
hapless Dantes was doomed.

As the marquis had promisedVillefort found the marquise
and Renee in waiting. He started when he saw Reneefor he
fancied she was again about to plead for Dantes. Alasher
emotions were wholly personal: she was thinking only of
Villefort's departure.

She loved Villefortand he left her at the moment he was
about to become her husband. Villefort knew not when he
should returnand Reneefar from pleading for Dantes
hated the man whose crime separated her from her lover.

Meanwhile what of Mercedes? She had met Fernand at the
corner of the Rue de la Loge; she had returned to the
Catalansand had despairingly cast herself on her couch.
Fernandkneeling by her sidetook her handand covered it
with kisses that Mercedes did not even feel. She passed the
night thus. The lamp went out for want of oilbut she paid
no heed to the darknessand dawn camebut she knew not
that it was day. Grief had made her blind to all but one
object -- that was Edmond.

Ah, you are there,said sheat lengthturning towards
Fernand.


I have not quitted you since yesterday,returned Fernand
sorrowfully.

M. Morrel had not readily given up the fight. He had learned
that Dantes had been taken to prisonand he had gone to all
his friendsand the influential persons of the city; but
the report was already in circulation that Dantes was
arrested as a Bonapartist agent; and as the most sanguine
looked upon any attempt of Napoleon to remount the throne as
impossiblehe met with nothing but refusaland had
returned home in despairdeclaring that the matter was
serious and that nothing more could be done.
Caderousse was equally restless and uneasybut instead of
seekinglike M. Morrelto aid Danteshe had shut himself
up with two bottles of black currant brandyin the hope of
drowning reflection. But he did not succeedand became too
intoxicated to fetch any more drinkand yet not so
intoxicated as to forget what had happened. With his elbows
on the table he sat between the two empty bottleswhile
spectres danced in the light of the unsnuffed candle --
spectres such as Hoffmann strews over his punch-drenched
pageslike blackfantastic dust.


Danglars alone was content and joyous -- he had got rid of
an enemy and made his own situation on the Pharaon secure.
Danglars was one of those men born with a pen behind the
earand an inkstand in place of a heart. Everything with
him was multiplication or subtraction. The life of a man was
to him of far less value than a numeralespecially whenby
taking it awayhe could increase the sum total of his own
desires. He went to bed at his usual hourand slept in
peace.


Villefortafter having received M. de Salvieux' letter
embraced Reneekissed the marquise's handand shaken that
of the marquisstarted for Paris along the Aix road.


Old Dantes was dying with anxiety to know what had become of
Edmond. But we know very well what had become of Edmond.


Chapter 10
The King's Closet at the Tuileries.


We will leave Villefort on the road to Paristravelling --
thanks to trebled fees -- with all speedand passing
through two or three apartmentsenter at the Tuileries the
little room with the arched windowso well known as having
been the favorite closet of Napoleon and Louis XVIII.and
now of Louis Philippe.


Thereseated before a walnut table he had brought with him
from Hartwelland to whichfrom one of those fancies not
uncommon to great peoplehe was particularly attachedthe
kingLouis XVIII.was carelessly listening to a man of
fifty or fifty-two years of agewith gray hair
aristocratic bearingand exceedingly gentlemanly attire
and meanwhile making a marginal note in a volume of
Gryphius's rather inaccuratebut much sought-afteredition
of Horace -- a work which was much indebted to the sagacious
observations of the philosophical monarch.



You say, sir-- said the king.

That I am exceedingly disquieted, sire.

Really, have you had a vision of the seven fat kine and the
seven lean kine?

No, sire, for that would only betoken for us seven years of
plenty and seven years of scarcity; and with a king as full
of foresight as your majesty, scarcity is not a thing to be
feared.

Then of what other scourge are you afraid, my dear Blacas?

Sire, I have every reason to believe that a storm is
brewing in the south.

Well, my dear duke,replied Louis XVIII.I think you are
wrongly informed, and know positively that, on the contrary,
it is very fine weather in that direction.Man of ability
as he wasLouis XVIII. liked a pleasant jest.

Sire,continued M. de Blacasif it only be to reassure a
faithful servant, will your majesty send into Languedoc,
Provence, and Dauphine, trusty men, who will bring you back
a faithful report as to the feeling in these three
provinces?

Caninus surdis,replied the kingcontinuing the
annotations in his Horace.

Sire,replied the courtierlaughingin order that he
might seem to comprehend the quotationyour majesty may be
perfectly right in relying on the good feeling of France,
but I fear I am not altogether wrong in dreading some
desperate attempt.

By whom?

By Bonaparte, or, at least, by his adherents.

My dear Blacas,said the kingyou with your alarms
prevent me from working.

And you, sire, prevent me from sleeping with your
security.

Wait, my dear sir, wait a moment; for I have such a
delightful note on the Pastor quum traheret -- wait, and I
will listen to you afterwards.

There was a brief pauseduring which Louis XVIII. wrotein
a hand as small as possibleanother note on the margin of
his Horaceand then looking at the duke with the air of a
man who thinks he has an idea of his ownwhile he is only
commenting upon the idea of anothersaid-


Go on, my dear duke, go on -- I listen.

Sire,said Blacaswho had for a moment the hope of
sacrificing Villefort to his own profitI am compelled to
tell you that these are not mere rumors destitute of
foundation which thus disquiet me; but a serious-minded man,
deserving all my confidence, and charged by me to watch over


the south(the duke hesitated as he pronounced these
words)has arrived by post to tell me that a great peril
threatens the king, and so I hastened to you, sire.

Mala ducis avi domum,continued Louis XVIII.still
annotating.

Does your majesty wish me to drop the subject?

By no means, my dear duke; but just stretch out your hand.

Which?

Whichever you please -- there to the left.

Here, sire?

l tell you to the left, and you are looking to the right; I
mean on my left -- yes, there. You will find yesterday's
report of the minister of police. But here is M. Dandre
himself;and M. Dandreannounced by the
chamberlain-in-waitingentered.

Come in,said Louis XVIII.with repressed smilecome
in, Baron, and tell the duke all you know -- the latest news
of M. de Bonaparte; do not conceal anything, however
serious, -- let us see, the Island of Elba is a volcano, and
we may expect to have issuing thence flaming and bristling
war -- bella, horrida bella.M. Dandre leaned very
respectfully on the back of a chair with his two handsand
said-


Has your majesty perused yesterday's report?

Yes, yes; but tell the duke himself, who cannot find
anything, what the report contains -- give him the
particulars of what the usurper is doing in his islet.

Monsieur,said the baron to the dukeall the servants of
his majesty must approve of the latest intelligence which we
have from the Island of Elba. Bonaparte-- M. Dandre looked
at Louis XVIII.whoemployed in writing a notedid not
even raise his head. "Bonaparte continued the baron, is
mortally weariedand passes whole days in watching his
miners at work at Porto-Longone."

And scratches himself for amusement,added the king.

Scratches himself?inquired the dukewhat does your
majesty mean?

Yes, indeed, my dear duke. Did you forget that this great
man, this hero, this demigod, is attacked with a malady of
the skin which worries him to death, prurigo?

And, moreover, my dear duke,continued the minister of
policewe are almost assured that, in a very short time,
the usurper will be insane.

Insane?

Raving mad; his head becomes weaker. Sometimes he weeps
bitterly, sometimes laughs boisterously, at other time he
passes hours on the seashore, flinging stones in the water


and when the flint makes `duck-and-drake' five or six times,
he appears as delighted as if he had gained another Marengo
or Austerlitz. Now, you must agree that these are
indubitable symptoms of insanity.

Or of wisdom, my dear baron -- or of wisdom,said Louis
XVIII.laughing; "the greatest captains of antiquity amused
themselves by casting pebbles into the ocean -- see
Plutarch's life of Scipio Africanus."

M. de Blacas pondered deeply between the confident monarch
and the truthful minister. Villefortwho did not choose to
reveal the whole secretlest another should reap all the
benefit of the disclosurehad yet communicated enough to
cause him the greatest uneasiness.
Well, well, Dandre,said Louis XVIII.Blacas is not yet
convinced; let us proceed, therefore, to the usurper's
conversion.The minister of police bowed.

The usurper's conversion!murmured the dukelooking at
the king and Dandrewho spoke alternatelylike Virgil's
shepherds. "The usurper converted!"

Decidedly, my dear duke.

In what way converted?

To good principles. Tell him all about it, baron.

Why, this is the way of it,said the ministerwith the
gravest air in the world: "Napoleon lately had a reviewand
as two or three of his old veterans expressed a desire to
return to Francehe gave them their dismissaland exhorted
them to `serve the good king.' These were his own wordsof
that I am certain."

Well, Blacas, what think you of this?inquired the king
triumphantlyand pausing for a moment from the voluminous
scholiast before him.

I say, sire, that the minister of police is greatly
deceived or I am; and as it is impossible it can be the
minister of police as he has the guardianship of the safety
and honor of your majesty, it is probable that I am in
error. However, sire, if I might advise, your majesty will
interrogate the person of whom I spoke to you, and I will
urge your majesty to do him this honor.

Most willingly, duke; under your auspices I will receive
any person you please, but you must not expect me to be too
confiding. Baron, have you any report more recent than this
dated the 20th February. -- this is the 4th of March?

No, sire, but I am hourly expecting one; it may have
arrived since I left my office.

Go thither, and if there be none -- well, well,continued
Louis XVIII.make one; that is the usual way, is it not?
and the king laughed facetiously.

Oh, sire,replied the ministerwe have no occasion to
invent any; every day our desks are loaded with most
circumstantial denunciations, coming from hosts of people


who hope for some return for services which they seek to
render, but cannot; they trust to fortune, and rely upon
some unexpected event in some way to justify their
predictions.

Well, sir, go; said Louis XVIII.and remember that I am
waiting for you.

I will but go and return, sire; I shall be back in ten
minutes.

And I, sire,said M. de Blacaswill go and find my
messenger.

Wait, sir, wait,said Louis XVIII. "ReallyM. de Blacas
I must change your armorial bearings; I will give you an
eagle with outstretched wingsholding in its claws a prey
which tries in vain to escapeand bearing this device --
Tenax."

Sire, I listen,said De Blacasbiting his nails with
impatience.

I wish to consult you on this passage, `Molli fugiens
anhelitu,you know it refers to a stag flying from a wolf.
Are you not a sportsman and a great wolf-hunter? Wellthen
what do you think of the molli anhelitu?"

Admirable, sire; but my messenger is like the stag you
refer to, for he has posted two hundred and twenty leagues
in scarcely three days.

Which is undergoing great fatigue and anxiety, my dear
duke, when we have a telegraph which transmits messages in
three or four hours, and that without getting in the least
out of breath.

Ah, sire, you recompense but badly this poor young man, who
has come so far, and with so much ardor, to give your
majesty useful information. If only for the sake of M. de
Salvieux, who recommends him to me, I entreat your majesty
to receive him graciously.

M. de Salvieux, my brother's chamberlain?

Yes, sire.

He is at Marseilles.

And writes me thence.

Does he speak to you of this conspiracy?

No; but strongly recommends M. de Villefort, and begs me to
present him to your majesty.

M. de Villefort!cried the kingis the messenger's name

M. de Villefort?
Yes, sire.

And he comes from Marseilles?

In person.


Why did you not mention his name at once?replied the
kingbetraying some uneasiness.

Sire, I thought his name was unknown to your majesty.

No, no, Blacas; he is a man of strong and elevated
understanding, ambitious, too, and, pardieu, you know his
father's name!

His father?

Yes, Noirtier.

Noirtier the Girondin? -- Noirtier the senator?

He himself.

And your majesty has employed the son of such a man?

Blacas, my friend, you have but limited comprehension. I
told you Villefort was ambitions, and to attain this
ambition Villefort would sacrifice everything, even his
father.

Then, sire, may I present him?

This instant, duke! Where is he?

Waiting below, in my carriage.

Seek him at once.

I hasten to do so.The duke left the royal presence with
the speed of a young man; his really sincere royalism made
him youthful again. Louis XVIII. remained aloneand turning
his eyes on his half-opened Horacemuttered-


Justum et tenacem propositi virum.

M. de Blacas returned as speedily as he had departedbut in
the ante-chamber he was forced to appeal to the king's
authority. Villefort's dusty garbhis costumewhich was
not of courtly cutexcited the susceptibility of M. de
Brezewho was all astonishment at finding that this young
man had the audacity to enter before the king in such
attire. The dukehoweverovercame all difficulties with a
word -- his majesty's order; andin spite of the
protestations which the master of ceremonies made for the
honor of his office and principlesVillefort was
introduced.
The king was seated in the same place where the duke had
left him. On opening the doorVillefort found himself
facing himand the young magistrate's first impulse was to
pause.

Come in, M. de Villefort,said the kingcome in.
Villefort bowedand advancing a few stepswaited until the
king should interrogate him.

M. de Villefort,said Louis XVIII.the Duc de Blacas
assures me you have some interesting information to
communicate.


Sirethe duke is rightand I believe your majesty will
think it equally important."

In the first place, and before everything else, sir, is the
news as bad in your opinion as I am asked to believe?

Sire, I believe it to be most urgent, but I hope, by the
speed I have used, that it is not irreparable.

Speak as fully as you please, sir,said the kingwho
began to give way to the emotion which had showed itself in
Blacas's face and affected Villefort's voice. "Speaksir
and pray begin at the beginning; I like order in
everything."

Sire,said VillefortI will render a faithful report to
your majesty, but I must entreat your forgiveness if my
anxiety leads to some obscurity in my language.A glance at
the king after this discreet and subtle exordiumassured
Villefort of the benignity of his august auditorand he
went on: -


Sire, I have come as rapidly to Paris as possible, to
inform your majesty that I have discovered, in the exercise
of my duties, not a commonplace and insignificant plot, such
as is every day got up in the lower ranks of the people and
in the army, but an actual conspiracy -- a storm which
menaces no less than your majesty's throne. Sire, the
usurper is arming three ships, he meditates some project,
which, however mad, is yet, perhaps, terrible. At this
moment he will have left Elba, to go whither I know not, but
assuredly to attempt a landing either at Naples, or on the
coast of Tuscany, or perhaps on the shores of France. Your
majesty is well aware that the sovereign of the Island of
Elba has maintained his relations with Italy and France?

I am, sir,said the kingmuch agitated; "and recently we
have had information that the Bonapartist clubs have had
meetings in the Rue Saint-Jacques. But proceedI beg of
you. How did you obtain these details?"

Sire, they are the results of an examination which I have
made of a man of Marseilles, whom I have watched for some
time, and arrested on the day of my departure. This person,
a sailor, of turbulent character, and whom I suspected of
Bonapartism, has been secretly to the Island of Elba. There
he saw the grand-marshal, who charged him with an oral
message to a Bonapartist in Paris, whose name I could not
extract from him; but this mission was to prepare men's
minds for a return (it is the man who says this, sire) -- a
return which will soon occur.

And where is this man?

In prison, sire.

And the matter seems serious to you?

So serious, sire, that when the circumstance surprised me
in the midst of a family festival, on the very day of my
betrothal, I left my bride and friends, postponing
everything, that I might hasten to lay at your majesty's
feet the fears which impressed me, and the assurance of my


devotion.


True,said Louis XVIII.was there not a marriage
engagement between you and Mademoiselle de Saint-Meran?


Daughter of one of your majesty's most faithful servants.


Yes, yes; but let us talk of this plot, M. de Villefort.


Sire, I fear it is more than a plot; I fear it is a
conspiracy.


A conspiracy in these times,said Louis XVIII.smiling
is a thing very easy to meditate, but more difficult to
conduct to an end, inasmuch as, re-established so recently
on the throne of our ancestors, we have our eyes open at
once upon the past, the present, and the future. For the
last ten months my ministers have redoubled their vigilance,
in order to watch the shore of the Mediterranean. If
Bonaparte landed at Naples, the whole coalition would be on
foot before he could even reach Piomoino; if he land in
Tuscany, he will be in an unfriendly territory; if he land
in France, it must be with a handful of men, and the result
of that is easily foretold, execrated as he is by the
population. Take courage, sir; but at the same time rely on
our royal gratitude.


Ah, here is M. Dandre!cried de Blacas. At this instant
the minister of police appeared at the doorpale
tremblingand as if ready to faint. Villefort was about to
retirebut M. de Blacastaking his handrestrained him.


Chapter 11
The Corsican Ogre.


At the sight of this agitation Louis XVIII. pushed from him
violently the table at which he was sitting.


What ails you, baron?he exclaimed. "You appear quite
aghast. Has your uneasiness anything to do with what M. de
Blacas has told meand M. de Villefort has just confirmed?"


M. de Blacas moved suddenly towards the baronbut the
fright of the courtier pleaded for the forbearance of the
statesman; and besidesas matters wereit was much more to
his advantage that the prefect of police should triumph over
him than that he should humiliate the prefect.
Sire-- stammered the baron.

Well, what is it?asked Louis XVIII. The minister of
policegiving way to an impulse of despairwas about to
throw himself at the feet of Louis XVIII.who retreated a
step and frowned.

Will you speak?he said.

Oh, sire, what a dreadful misfortune! I am, indeed, to be
pitied. I can never forgive myself!

Monsieur,said Louis XVIII.I command you to speak.

Well, sire, the usurper left Elba on the 26th February, and


landed on the 1st of March.

And where? In Italy?asked the king eagerly.

In France, sire, -- at a small port, near Antibes, in the
Gulf of Juan.

The usurper landed in France, near Antibes, in the Gulf of
Juan, two hundred and fifty leagues from Paris, on the 1st
of March, and you only acquired this information to-day, the
4th of March! Well, sir, what you tell me is impossible. You
must have received a false report, or you have gone mad.

Alas, sire, it is but too true!Louis made a gesture of
indescribable anger and alarmand then drew himself up as
if this sudden blow had struck him at the same moment in
heart and countenance.

In France!he criedthe usurper in France! Then they did
not watch over this man. Who knows? they were, perhaps, in
league with him.

Oh, sire,exclaimed the Duc de BlacasM. Dandre is not a
man to be accused of treason! Sire, we have all been blind,
and the minister of police has shared the general blindness,
that is all.

But-- said Villefortand then suddenly checking himself
he was silent; then he continuedYour pardon, sire,he
saidbowingmy zeal carried me away. Will your majesty
deign to excuse me?

Speak, sir, speak boldly,replied Louis. "You alone
forewarned us of the evil; now try and aid us with the
remedy."

Sire,said Villefortthe usurper is detested in the
south; and it seems to me that if he ventured into the
south, it would be easy to raise Languedoc and Provence
against him.

Yes, assuredly,replied the minister; "but he is advancing
by Gap and Sisteron."

Advancing -- he is advancing!said Louis XVIII. "Is he
then advancing on Paris?" The minister of police maintained
a silence which was equivalent to a complete avowal.

And Dauphine, sir?inquired the kingof Villefort. "Do
you think it possible to rouse that as well as Provence?"

Sire, I am sorry to tell your majesty a cruel fact; but the
feeling in Dauphine is quite the reverse of that in Provence
or Languedoc. The mountaineers are Bonapartists, sire.

Then,murmured Louishe was well informed. And how many
men had he with him?

I do not know, sire,answered the minister of police.

What, you do not know! Have you neglected to obtain
information on that point? Of course it is of no
consequence,he addedwith a withering smile.


Sire, it was impossible to learn; the despatch simply
stated the fact of the landing and the route taken by the
usurper.

And how did this despatch reach you?inquired the king.
The minister bowed his headand while a deep color
overspread his cheekshe stammered out-


By the telegraph, sire.-- Louis XVIII. advanced a step
and folded his arms over his chest as Napoleon would have
done.

So then,he exclaimedturning pale with angerseven
conjoined and allied armies overthrew that man. A miracle of
heaven replaced me on the throne of my fathers after
five-and-twenty years of exile. I have, during those
five-and-twenty years, spared no pains to understand the
people of France and the interests which were confided to
me; and now, when I see the fruition of my wishes almost
within reach, the power I hold in my hands bursts, and
shatters me to atoms!

Sire, it is fatality!murmured the ministerfeeling that
the pressure of circumstanceshowever light a thing to
destinywas too much for any human strength to endure.

What our enemies say of us is then true. We have learnt
nothing, forgotten nothing! If I were betrayed as he was, I
would console myself; but to be in the midst of persons
elevated by myself to places of honor, who ought to watch
over me more carefully than over themselves, -- for my
fortune is theirs -- before me they were nothing -- after me
they will be nothing, and perish miserably from incapacity
-- ineptitude! Oh, yes, sir, you are right -- it is
fatality!

The minister quailed before this outburst of sarcasm. M. de
Blacas wiped the moisture from his brow. Villefort smiled
within himselffor he felt his increased importance.

To fall,continued King Louiswho at the first glance had
sounded the abyss on which the monarchy hung suspended-"
to falland learn of that fall by telegraph! OhI would
rather mount the scaffold of my brotherLouis XVI.than
thus descend the staircase at the Tuileries driven away by
ridicule. Ridiculesir -- whyyou know not its power in
Franceand yet you ought to know it!"

Sire, sire,murmured the ministerfor pity's-


Approach, M. de Villefort,resumed the kingaddressing
the young manwhomotionless and breathlesswas listening
to a conversation on which depended the destiny of a
kingdom. "Approachand tell monsieur that it is possible to
know beforehand all that he has not known."

Sire, it was really impossible to learn secrets which that
man concealed from all the world.

Really impossible! Yes -- that is a great word, sir.
Unfortunately, there are great words, as there are great
men; I have measured them. Really impossible for a minister
who has an office, agents, spies, and fifteen hundred
thousand francs for secret service money, to know what is


going on at sixty leagues from the coast of France! Well,
then, see, here is a gentleman who had none of these
resources at his disposal -- a gentleman, only a simple
magistrate, who learned more than you with all your police,
and who would have saved my crown, if, like you, he had the
power of directing a telegraph.The look of the minister of
police was turned with concentrated spite on Villefortwho
bent his head in modest triumph.

I do not mean that for you, Blacas,continued Louis
XVIII.; "for if you have discovered nothingat least you
have had the good sense to persevere in your suspicions. Any
other than yourself would have considered the disclosure of

M. de Villefort insignificantor else dictated by venal
ambition These words were an allusion to the sentiments
which the minister of police had uttered with so much
confidence an hour before.
Villefort understood the king's intent. Any other person
would, perhaps, have been overcome by such an intoxicating
draught of praise; but he feared to make for himself a
mortal enemy of the police minister, although he saw that
Dandre was irrevocably lost. In fact, the minister, who, in
the plenitude of his power, had been unable to unearth
Napoleon's secret, might in despair at his own downfall
interrogate Dantes and so lay bare the motives of
Villefort's plot. Realizing this, Villefort came to the
rescue of the crest-fallen minister, instead of aiding to
crush him.

Sire said Villefort, the suddenness of this event must
prove to your majesty that the issue is in the hands of
Providence; what your majesty is pleased to attribute to me
as profound perspicacity is simply owing to chanceand I
have profited by that chancelike a good and devoted
servant -- that's all. Do not attribute to me more than I
deservesirethat your majesty may never have occasion to
recall the first opinion you have been pleased to form of
me." The minister of police thanked the young man by an
eloquent lookand Villefort understood that he had
succeeded in his design; that is to saythat without
forfeiting the gratitude of the kinghe had made a friend
of one on whomin case of necessityhe might rely.

'Tis well,resumed the king. "And nowgentlemen he
continued, turning towards M. de Blacas and the minister of
police, I have no further occasion for youand you may
retire; what now remains to do is in the department of the
minister of war."

Fortunately, sire,said M. de Blacaswe can rely on the
army; your majesty knows how every report confirms their
loyalty and attachment.

Do not mention reports, duke, to me, for I know now what
confidence to place in them. Yet, speaking of reports,
baron, what have you learned with regard to the affair in
the Rue Saint-Jacques?

The affair in the Rue Saint-Jacques!exclaimed Villefort
unable to repress an exclamation. Thensuddenly pausinghe
addedYour pardon, sire, but my devotion to your majesty
has made me forget, not the respect I have, for that is too
deeply engraved in my heart, but the rules of etiquette.


Go on, go on, sir,replied the king; "you have to-day
earned the right to make inquiries here."

Sire,interposed the minister of policeI came a moment
ago to give your majesty fresh information which I had
obtained on this head, when your majesty's attention was
attracted by the terrible event that has occurred in the
gulf, and now these facts will cease to interest your
majesty.

On the contrary, sir, -- on the contrary,said Louis
XVIII.this affair seems to me to have a decided
connection with that which occupies our attention, and the
death of General Quesnel will, perhaps, put us on the direct
track of a great internal conspiracy.At the name of
General QuesnelVillefort trembled.

Everything points to the conclusion, sire,said the
minister of policethat death was not the result of
suicide, as we first believed, but of assassination. General
Quesnel, it appears, had just left a Bonapartist club when
he disappeared. An unknown person had been with him that
morning, and made an appointment with him in the Rue
Saint-Jacques; unfortunately, the general's valet, who was
dressing his hair at the moment when the stranger entered,
heard the street mentioned, but did not catch the number.
As the police minister related this to the kingVillefort
who looked as if his very life hung on the speaker's lips
turned alternately red and pale. The king looked towards
him.

Do you not think with me, M. de Villefort, that General
Quesnel, whom they believed attached to the usurper, but who
was really entirely devoted to me, has perished the victim
of a Bonapartist ambush?

It is probable, sire,replied Villefort. "But is this all
that is known?"

They are on the track of the man who appointed the meeting
with him.

On his track?said Villefort.

Yes, the servant has given his description. He is a man of
from fifty to fifty-two years of age, dark, with black eyes
covered with shaggy eyebrows, and a thick mustache. He was
dressed in a blue frock-coat, buttoned up to the chin, and
wore at his button-hole the rosette of an officer of the
Legion of Honor. Yesterday a person exactly corresponding
with this description was followed, but he was lost sight of
at the corner of the Rue de la Jussienne and the Rue
Coq-Heron.Villefort leaned on the back of an arm-chair
for as the minister of police went on speaking he felt his
legs bend under him; but when he learned that the unknown
had escaped the vigilance of the agent who followed himhe
breathed again.

Continue to seek for this man, sir,said the king to the
minister of police; "for ifas I am all but convinced
General Quesnelwho would have been so useful to us at this
momenthas been murderedhis assassinsBonapartists or
notshall be cruelly punished." It required all Villefort's


coolness not to betray the terror with which this
declaration of the king inspired him.

How strange,continued the kingwith some asperity; "the
police think that they have disposed of the whole matter
when they say`A murder has been committed' and especially
so when they can add`And we are on the track of the guilty
persons.'"

Sire, your majesty will, I trust, be amply satisfied on
this point at least.

We shall see. I will no longer detain you, M. de Villefort,
for you must be fatigued after so long a journey; go and
rest. Of course you stopped at your father's?A feeling of
faintness came over Villefort.

No, sire,he repliedI alighted at the Hotel de Madrid,
in the Rue de Tournon.

But you have seen him?

Sire, I went straight to the Duc de Blacas.

But you will see him, then?

I think not, sire.

Ah, I forgot,said Louissmiling in a manner which proved
that all these questions were not made without a motive; "I
forgot you and M. Noirtier are not on the best terms
possibleand that is another sacrifice made to the royal
causeand for which you should be recompensed."

Sire, the kindness your majesty deigns to evince towards me
is a recompense which so far surpasses my utmost ambition
that I have nothing more to ask for.

Never mind, sir, we will not forget you; make your mind
easy. In the meanwhile(the king here detached the cross of
the Legion of Honor which he usually wore over his blue
coatnear the cross of St. Louisabove the order of
Notre-Dame-du-Mont-Carmel and St. Lazareand gave it to
Villefort) -- "in the meanwhile take this cross."

Sire,said Villefortyour majesty mistakes; this is an
officer's cross.

Ma foi,said Louis XVIII.take it, such as it is, for I
have not the time to procure you another. Blacas, let it be
your care to see that the brevet is made out and sent to M.
de Villefort.Villefort's eyes were filled with tears of
joy and pride; he took the cross and kissed it.

And now,he saidmay I inquire what are the orders with
which your majesty deigns to honor me?

Take what rest you require, and remember that if you are
not able to serve me here in Paris, you may be of the
greatest service to me at Marseilles.

Sire,replied Villefortbowingin an hour I shall have
quitted Paris.


Go, sir,said the king; "and should I forget you (kings'
memories are short)do not be afraid to bring yourself to
my recollection. Baronsend for the minister of war.
Blacasremain."

Ah, sir,said the minister of police to Villefortas they
left the Tuileriesyou entered by luck's door -- your
fortune is made.

Will it be long first?muttered Villefortsaluting the
ministerwhose career was endedand looking about him for
a hackney-coach. One passed at the momentwhich he hailed;
he gave his address to the driverand springing inthrew
himself on the seatand gave loose to dreams of ambition.

Ten minutes afterwards Villefort reached his hotelordered
horses to be ready in two hoursand asked to have his
breakfast brought to him. He was about to begin his repast
when the sound of the bell rang sharp and loud. The valet
opened the doorand Villefort heard some one speak his
name.

Who could know that I was here already?said the young
man. The valet entered.

Well,said Villefortwhat is it? -- Who rang? -- Who
asked for me?

A stranger who will not send in his name.

A stranger who will not send in his name! What can he want
with me?

He wishes to speak to you.

To me?

Yes.

Did he mention my name?

Yes.

What sort of person is he?

Why, sir, a man of about fifty.

Short or tall?

About your own height, sir.

Dark or fair?

Dark, -- very dark; with black eyes, black hair, black
eyebrows.

And how dressed?asked Villefort quickly.

In a blue frock-coat, buttoned up close, decorated with the
Legion of Honor.

It is he!said Villefortturning pale.

Eh, pardieu,said the individual whose description we have


twice givenentering the doorwhat a great deal of
ceremony! Is it the custom in Marseilles for sons to keep
their fathers waiting in their anterooms?

Father!cried Villefortthen I was not deceived; I felt
sure it must be you.

Well, then, if you felt so sure,replied the new-comer
putting his cane in a corner and his hat on a chairallow
me to say, my dear Gerard, that it was not very filial of
you to keep me waiting at the door.

Leave us, Germain,said Villefort. The servant quitted the
apartment with evident signs of astonishment.

Chapter 12
Father and Son.

M. Noirtier -- for it wasindeedhe who entered -- looked
after the servant until the door was closedand then
fearingno doubtthat he might be overheard in the
ante-chamberhe opened the door againnor was the
precaution uselessas appeared from the rapid retreat of
Germainwho proved that he was not exempt from the sin
which ruined our first parents. M. Noirtier then took the
trouble to close and bolt the ante-chamber doorthen that
of the bed-chamberand then extended his hand to Villefort
who had followed all his motions with surprise which he
could not conceal.
Well, now, my dear Gerard,said he to the young manwith
a very significant lookdo you know, you seem as if you
were not very glad to see me?

My dear father,said VillefortI am, on the contrary,
delighted; but I so little expected your visit, that it has
somewhat overcome me.

But, my dear fellow,replied M. Noirtierseating himself
I might say the same thing to you, when you announce to me
your wedding for the 28th of February, and on the 3rd of
March you turn up here in Paris.

And if I have come, my dear father,said Gerarddrawing
closer to M. Noirtierdo not complain, for it is for you
that I came, and my journey will be your salvation.

Ah, indeed!said M. Noirtierstretching himself out at
his ease in the chair. "Reallypray tell me all about it
for it must be interesting."

Father, you have heard speak of a certain Bonapartist club
in the Rue Saint-Jacques?

No. 53; yes, I am vice-president.

Father, your coolness makes me shudder.

Why, my dear boy, when a man has been proscribed by the
mountaineers, has escaped from Paris in a hay-cart, been
hunted over the plains of Bordeaux by Robespierre's
bloodhounds, he becomes accustomed to most things. But go


on, what about the club in the Rue Saint-Jacques?

Why, they induced General Quesnel to go there, and General
Quesnel, who quitted his own house at nine o'clock in the
evening, was found the next day in the Seine.

And who told you this fine story?

The king himself.

Well, then, in return for your story,continued Noirtier
I will tell you another.

My dear father, I think I already know what you are about
to tell me.

Ah, you have heard of the landing of the emperor?

Not so loud, father, I entreat of you -- for your own sake
as well as mine. Yes, I heard this news, and knew it even
before you could; for three days ago I posted from
Marseilles to Paris with all possible speed, half-desperate
at the enforced delay.

Three days ago? You are crazy. Why, three days ago the
emperor had not landed.

No matter, I was aware of his intention.

How did you know about it?

By a letter addressed to you from the Island of Elba.

To me?

To you; and which I discovered in the pocket-book of the
messenger. Had that letter fallen into the hands of another,
you, my dear father, would probably ere this have been
shot.Villefort's father laughed.

Come, come,said hewill the Restoration adopt imperial
methods so promptly? Shot, my dear boy? What an idea! Where
is the letter you speak of? I know you too well to suppose
you would allow such a thing to pass you.

I burnt it, for fear that even a fragment should remain;
for that letter must have led to your condemnation.

And the destruction of your future prospects,replied
Noirtier; "yesI can easily comprehend that. But I have
nothing to fear while I have you to protect me."

I do better than that, sir -- I save you.

You do? Why, really, the thing becomes more and more
dramatic -- explain yourself.

I must refer again to the club in the Rue Saint-Jacques.

It appears that this club is rather a bore to the police.
Why didn't they search more vigilantly? they would have
found-


They have not found; but they are on the track.


Yes, that the usual phrase; I am quite familiar with it.
When the police is at fault, it declares that it is on the
track; and the government patiently awaits the day when it
comes to say, with a sneaking air, that the track is lost.

Yes, but they have found a corpse; the general has been
killed, and in all countries they call that a murder.

A murder do you call it? why, there is nothing to prove
that the general was murdered. People are found every day in
the Seine, having thrown themselves in, or having been
drowned from not knowing how to swim.

Father, you know very well that the general was not a man
to drown himself in despair, and people do not bathe in the
Seine in the month of January. No, no, do not be deceived;
this was murder in every sense of the word.

And who thus designated it?

The king himself.

The king! I thought he was philosopher enough to allow that
there was no murder in politics. In politics, my dear
fellow, you know, as well as I do, there are no men, but
ideas -- no feelings, but interests; in politics we do not
kill a man, we only remove an obstacle, that is all. Would
you like to know how matters have progressed? Well, I will
tell you. It was thought reliance might be placed in General
Quesnel; he was recommended to us from the Island of Elba;
one of us went to him, and invited him to the Rue
Saint-Jacques, where he would find some friends. He came
there, and the plan was unfolded to him for leaving Elba,
the projected landing, etc. When he had heard and
comprehended all to the fullest extent, he replied that he
was a royalist. Then all looked at each other, -- he was
made to take an oath, and did so, but with such an ill grace
that it was really tempting Providence to swear him, and
yet, in spite of that, the general was allowed to depart
free -- perfectly free. Yet he did not return home. What
could that mean? why, my dear fellow, that on leaving us he
lost his way, that's all. A murder? really, Villefort, you
surprise me. You, a deputy procureur, to found an accusation
on such bad premises! Did I ever say to you, when you were
fulfilling your character as a royalist, and cut off the
head of one of my party, `My son, you have committed a
murder?' No, I said, `Very well, sir, you have gained the
victory; to-morrow, perchance, it will be our turn.'

But, father, take care; when our turn comes, our revenge
will be sweeping.

I do not understand you.

You rely on the usurper's return?

We do.

You are mistaken; he will not advance two leagues into the
interior of France without being followed, tracked, and
caught like a wild beast.

My dear fellow, the emperor is at this moment on the way to


Grenoble; on the 10th or 12th he will be at Lyons, and on
the 20th or 25th at Paris.

The people will rise.

Yes, to go and meet him.

He has but a handful of men with him, and armies will be
despatched against him.

Yes, to escort him into the capital. Really, my dear
Gerard, you are but a child; you think yourself well
informed because the telegraph has told you, three days
after the landing, `The usurper has landed at Cannes with
several men. He is pursued.' But where is he? what is he
doing? You do not know at all, and in this way they will
chase him to Paris, without drawing a trigger.

Grenoble and Lyons are faithful cities, and will oppose to
him an impassable barrier.

Grenoble will open her gates to him with enthusiasm -- all
Lyons will hasten to welcome him. Believe me, we are as well
informed as you, and our police are as good as your own.
Would you like a proof of it? well, you wished to conceal
your journey from me, and yet I knew of your arrival half an
hour after you had passed the barrier. You gave your
direction to no one but your postilion, yet I have your
address, and in proof I am here the very instant you are
going to sit at table. Ring, then, if you please, for a
second knife, fork, and plate, and we will dine together.

Indeed!replied Villefortlooking at his father with
astonishmentyou really do seem very well informed.

Eh? the thing is simple enough. You who are in power have
only the means that money produces -- we who are in
expectation, have those which devotion prompts.

Devotion!said Villefortwith a sneer.

Yes, devotion; for that is, I believe, the phrase for
hopeful ambition.

And Villefort's father extended his hand to the bell-rope
to summon the servant whom his son had not called. Villefort
caught his arm.

Wait, my dear father,said the young manone word more.

Say on.

However stupid the royalist police may be, they do know one
terrible thing.

What is that?

The description of the man who, on the morning of the day
when General Quesnel disappeared, presented himself at his
house.

Oh, the admirable police have found that out, have they?
And what may be that description?


Dark complexion; hair, eyebrows, and whiskers, black; blue
frock-coat, buttoned up to the chin; rosette of an officer
of the Legion of Honor in his button-hole; a hat with wide
brim, and a cane.

Ah, ha, that's it, is it?said Noirtier; "and whythen
have they not laid hands on him?"

Because yesterday, or the day before, they lost sight of
him at the corner of the Rue Coq-Heron.

Didn't I say that your police were good for nothing?

Yes; but they may catch him yet.

True,said Noirtierlooking carelessly around himtrue,
if this person were not on his guard, as he is;and he
added with a smileHe will consequently make a few changes
in his personal appearance.At these words he roseand put
off his frock-coat and cravatwent towards a table on which
lay his son's toilet articleslathered his facetook a
razorandwith a firm handcut off the compromising
whiskers. Villefort watched him with alarm not devoid of
admiration.

His whiskers cut offNoirtier gave another turn to his
hair; tookinstead of his black cravata colored
neckerchief which lay at the top of an open portmanteau; put
onin lieu of his blue and high-buttoned frock-coata coat
of Villefort's of dark brownand cut away in front; tried
on before the glass a narrow-brimmed hat of his son'swhich
appeared to fit him perfectlyandleaving his cane in the
corner where he had deposited ithe took up a small bamboo
switchcut the air with it once or twiceand walked about
with that easy swagger which was one of his principal
characteristics.

Well,he saidturning towards his wondering sonwhen
this disguise was completedwell, do you think your police
will recognize me now.

No, father,stammered Villefort; "at leastI hope not."

And now, my dear boy,continued NoirtierI rely on your
prudence to remove all the things which I leave in your
care.

Oh, rely on me,said Villefort.

Yes, yes; and now I believe you are right, and that you
have really saved my life; be assured I will return the
favor hereafter.Villefort shook his head.

You are not convinced yet?

I hope at least, that you may be mistaken.

Shall you see the king again?

Perhaps.

Would you pass in his eyes for a prophet?

Prophets of evil are not in favor at the court, father.


True, but some day they do them justice; and supposing a
second restoration, you would then pass for a great man.


Well, what should I say to the king?


Say this to him: `Sire, you are deceived as to the feeling
in France, as to the opinions of the towns, and the
prejudices of the army; he whom in Paris you call the
Corsican ogre, who at Nevers is styled the usurper, is
already saluted as Bonaparte at Lyons, and emperor at
Grenoble. You think he is tracked, pursued, captured; he is
advancing as rapidly as his own eagles. The soldiers you
believe to be dying with hunger, worn out with fatigue,
ready to desert, gather like atoms of snow about the rolling
ball as it hastens onward. Sire, go, leave France to its
real master, to him who acquired it, not by purchase, but by
right of conquest; go, sire, not that you incur any risk,
for your adversary is powerful enough to show you mercy, but
because it would be humiliating for a grandson of Saint
Louis to owe his life to the man of Arcola, Marengo,
Austerlitz.' Tell him this, Gerard; or, rather, tell him
nothing. Keep your journey a secret; do not boast of what
you have come to Paris to do, or have done; return with all
speed; enter Marseilles at night, and your house by the
back-door, and there remain, quiet, submissive, secret, and,
above all, inoffensive; for this time, I swear to you, we
shall act like powerful men who know their enemies. Go, my
son -- go, my dear Gerard, and by your obedience to my
paternal orders, or, if you prefer it, friendly counsels, we
will keep you in your place. This will be,added Noirtier
with a smileone means by which you may a second time save
me, if the political balance should some day take another
turn, and cast you aloft while hurling me down. Adieu, my
dear Gerard, and at your next journey alight at my door.
Noirtier left the room when he had finishedwith the same
calmness that had characterized him during the whole of this
remarkable and trying conversation. Villefortpale and
agitatedran to the windowput aside the curtainand saw
him passcool and collectedby two or three ill-looking
men at the corner of the streetwho were thereperhapsto
arrest a man with black whiskersand a blue frock-coatand
hat with broad brim.


Villefort stood watchingbreathlessuntil his father had
disappeared at the Rue Bussy. Then he turned to the various
articles he had left behind himput the black cravat and
blue frock-coat at the bottom of the portmanteauthrew the
hat into a dark closetbroke the cane into small bits and
flung it in the fireput on his travelling-capand calling
his valetchecked with a look the thousand questions he was
ready to askpaid his billsprang into his carriagewhich
was readylearned at Lyons that Bonaparte had entered
Grenobleand in the midst of the tumult which prevailed
along the roadat length reached Marseillesa prey to all
the hopes and fears which enter into the heart of man with
ambition and its first successes.


Chapter 13
The Hundred Days.


M. Noirtier was a true prophetand things progressed

rapidlyas he had predicted. Every one knows the history of
the famous return from Elbaa return which was
unprecedented in the pastand will probably remain without
a counterpart in the future.

Louis XVIII. made but a faint attempt to parry this
unexpected blow; the monarchy he had scarcely reconstructed
tottered on its precarious foundationand at a sign from
the emperor the incongruous structure of ancient prejudices
and new ideas fell to the ground. Villeforttherefore
gained nothing save the king's gratitude (which was rather
likely to injure him at the present time) and the cross of
the Legion of Honorwhich he had the prudence not to wear
although M. de Blacas had duly forwarded the brevet.

Napoleon woulddoubtlesshave deprived Villefort of his
office had it not been for Noirtierwho was all powerful at
courtand thus the Girondin of '93 and the Senator of 1806
protected him who so lately had been his protector. All
Villefort's influence barely enabled him to stifle the
secret Dantes had so nearly divulged. The king's procureur
alone was deprived of his officebeing suspected of
royalism.

Howeverscarcely was the imperial power established -- that
isscarcely had the emperor re-entered the Tuileries and
begun to issue orders from the closet into which we have
introduced our readers-- he found on the table there Louis
XVIII.'s half-filled snuff-box-- scarcely had this
occurred when Marseilles beganin spite of the authorities
to rekindle the flames of civil waralways smouldering in
the southand it required but little to excite the populace
to acts of far greater violence than the shouts and insults
with which they assailed the royalists whenever they
ventured abroad.

Owing to this changethe worthy shipowner became at that
moment -- we will not say all powerfulbecause Morrel was a
prudent and rather a timid manso much sothat many of the
most zealous partisans of Bonaparte accused him of
moderation-- but sufficiently influential to make a
demand in favor of Dantes.

Villefort retained his placebut his marriage was put off
until a more favorable opportunity. If the emperor remained
on the throneGerard required a different alliance to aid
his career; if Louis XVIII. returnedthe influence of M. de
Saint-Meranlike his owncould be vastly increasedand
the marriage be still more suitable. The deputy-procureur
wasthereforethe first magistrate of Marseilleswhen one
morning his door openedand M. Morrel was announced.

Any one else would have hastened to receive him; but
Villefort was a man of abilityand he knew this would be a
sign of weakness. He made Morrel wait in the ante-chamber
although he had no one with himfor the simple reason that
the king's procureur always makes every one waitand after
passing a quarter of an hour in reading the papershe
ordered M. Morrel to be admitted.

Morrel expected Villefort would be dejected; he found him as
he had found him six weeks beforecalmfirmand full of
that glacial politenessthat most insurmountable barrier
which separates the well-bred from the vulgar man.


He had entered Villefort's office expecting that the
magistrate would tremble at the sight of him; on the
contraryhe felt a cold shudder all over him when he saw
Villefort sitting there with his elbow on his deskand his
head leaning on his hand. He stopped at the door; Villefort
gazed at him as if he had some difficulty in recognizing
him; thenafter a brief intervalduring which the honest
shipowner turned his hat in his hands-


M. Morrel, I believe?said Villefort.

Yes, sir.

Come nearer,said the magistratewith a patronizing wave
of the handand tell me to what circumstance I owe the
honor of this visit.

Do you not guess, monsieur?asked Morrel.

Not in the least; but if I can serve you in any way I shall
be delighted.

Everything depends on you.

Explain yourself, pray.

Monsieur,said Morrelrecovering his assurance as he
proceededdo you recollect that a few days before the
landing of his majesty the emperor, I came to intercede for
a young man, the mate of my ship, who was accused of being
concerned in correspondence with the Island of Elba? What
was the other day a crime is to-day a title to favor. You
then served Louis XVIII., and you did not show any favor -it
was your duty; to-day you serve Napoleon, and you ought
to protect him -- it is equally your duty; I come,
therefore, to ask what has become of him?

Villefort by a strong effort sought to control himself.
What is his name?said he. "Tell me his name."

Edmond Dantes.

Villefort would probably have rather stood opposite the
muzzle of a pistol at five-and-twenty paces than have heard
this name spoken; but he did not blanch.

Dantes,repeated heEdmond Dantes.

Yes, monsieur.Villefort opened a large registerthen
went to a tablefrom the table turned to his registersand
thenturning to Morrel-


Are you quite sure you are not mistaken, monsieur?said
hein the most natural tone in the world.

Had Morrel been a more quick-sighted manor better versed
in these mattershe would have been surprised at the king's
procureur answering him on such a subjectinstead of
referring him to the governors of the prison or the prefect
of the department. But Morreldisappointed in his
expectations of exciting fearwas conscious only of the
other's condescension. Villefort had calculated rightly.


No,said Morrel; "I am not mistaken. I have known him for
ten yearsthe last four of which he was in my service. Do
not you recollectI came about six weeks ago to plead for
clemencyas I come to-day to plead for justice. You
received me very coldly. Ohthe royalists were very severe
with the Bonapartists in those days."

Monsieur,returned VillefortI was then a royalist,
because I believed the Bourbons not only the heirs to the
throne, but the chosen of the nation. The miraculous return
of Napoleon has conquered me, the legitimate monarch is he
who is loved by his people.

That's right!cried Morrel. "I like to hear you speak
thusand I augur well for Edmond from it."

Wait a moment,said Villefortturning over the leaves of
a register; "I have it -- a sailorwho was about to marry a
young Catalan girl. I recollect now; it was a very serious
charge."

How so?

You know that when he left here he was taken to the Palais
de Justice.

Well?

I made my report to the authorities at Paris, and a week
after he was carried off.

Carried off!said Morrel. "What can they have done with
him?"

Oh, he has been taken to Fenestrelles, to Pignerol, or to
the Sainte-Marguerite islands. Some fine morning he will
return to take command of your vessel.

Come when he will, it shall be kept for him. But how is it
he is not already returned? It seems to me the first care of
government should be to set at liberty those who have
suffered for their adherence to it.

Do not be too hasty, M. Morrel,replied Villefort. "The
order of imprisonment came from high authorityand the
order for his liberation must proceed from the same source;
andas Napoleon has scarcely been reinstated a fortnight
the letters have not yet been forwarded."

But,said Morrelis there no way of expediting all these
formalities -- of releasing him from arrest?

There has been no arrest.

How?

It is sometimes essential to government to cause a man's
disappearance without leaving any traces, so that no written
forms or documents may defeat their wishes.

It might be so under the Bourbons, but at present-


It has always been so, my dear Morrel, since the reign of
Louis XIV. The emperor is more strict in prison discipline


than even Louis himself, and the number of prisoners whose
names are not on the register is incalculable.Had Morrel
even any suspicionsso much kindness would have dispelled
them.

Well, M. de Villefort, how would you advise me to act?
asked he.

Petition the minister.

Oh, I know what that is; the minister receives two hundred
petitions every day, and does not read three.

That is true; but he will read a petition countersigned and
presented by me.

And will you undertake to deliver it?

With the greatest pleasure. Dantes was then guilty, and now
he is innocent, and it is as much my duty to free him as it
was to condemn him.Villefort thus forestalled any danger
of an inquirywhichhowever improbable it might beif it
did take place would leave him defenceless.

But how shall I address the minister?

Sit down there,said Villefortgiving up his place to
Morreland write what I dictate.

Will you be so good?

Certainly. But lose no time; we have lost too much
already.

That is true. Only think what the poor fellow may even now
be suffering.Villefort shuddered at the suggestion; but he
had gone too far to draw back. Dantes must be crushed to
gratify Villefort's ambition.

Villefort dictated a petitionin whichfrom an excellent
intentionno doubtDantes' patriotic services were
exaggeratedand he was made out one of the most active
agents of Napoleon's return. It was evident that at the
sight of this document the minister would instantly release
him. The petition finishedVillefort read it aloud.

That will do,said he; "leave the rest to me."

Will the petition go soon?

To-day.

Countersigned by you?

The best thing I can do will be to certify the truth of the
contents of your petition.Andsitting downVillefort
wrote the certificate at the bottom.

What more is to be done?

I will do whatever is necessary.This assurance delighted
Morrelwho took leave of Villefortand hastened to
announce to old Dantes that he would soon see his son.


As for Villefortinstead of sending to Parishe carefully
preserved the petition that so fearfully compromised Dantes
in the hopes of an event that seemed not unlikely-- that
isa second restoration. Dantes remained a prisonerand
heard not the noise of the fall of Louis XVIII.'s throneor
the still more tragic destruction of the empire.

Twice during the Hundred Days had Morrel renewed his demand
and twice had Villefort soothed him with promises. At last
there was Waterlooand Morrel came no more; he had done all
that was in his powerand any fresh attempt would only
compromise himself uselessly.

Louis XVIII. remounted the throne; Villefortto whom
Marseilles had become filled with remorseful memories
sought and obtained the situation of king's procureur at
Toulouseand a fortnight afterwards he married Mademoiselle
de Saint-Meranwhose father now stood higher at court than
ever.

And so Dantesafter the Hundred Days and after Waterloo
remained in his dungeonforgotten of earth and heaven.
Danglars comprehended the full extent of the wretched fate
that overwhelmed Dantes; andwhen Napoleon returned to
Franceheafter the manner of mediocre mindstermed the
coincidencea decree of Providence.But when Napoleon
returned to ParisDanglars' heart failed himand he lived
in constant fear of Dantes' return on a mission of
vengeance. He therefore informed M. Morrel of his wish to
quit the seaand obtained a recommendation from him to a
Spanish merchantinto whose service he entered at the end
of Marchthat isten or twelve days after Napoleon's
return. He then left for Madridand was no more heard of.

Fernand understood nothing except that Dantes was absent.
What had become of him he cared not to inquire. Onlyduring
the respite the absence of his rival afforded himhe
reflectedpartly on the means of deceiving Mercedes as to
the cause of his absencepartly on plans of emigration and
abductionas from time to time he sat sad and motionless on
the summit of Cape Pharoat the spot from whence Marseilles
and the Catalans are visiblewatching for the apparition of
a young and handsome manwho was for him also the messenger
of vengeance. Fernand's mind was made up; he would shoot
Dantesand then kill himself. But Fernand was mistaken; a
man of his disposition never kills himselffor he
constantly hopes.

During this time the empire made its last conscriptionand
every man in France capable of bearing arms rushed to obey
the summons of the emperor. Fernand departed with the rest
bearing with him the terrible thought that while he was
awayhis rival would perhaps return and marry Mercedes. Had
Fernand really meant to kill himselfhe would have done so
when he parted from Mercedes. His devotionand the
compassion he showed for her misfortunesproduced the
effect they always produce on noble minds -- Mercedes had
always had a sincere regard for Fernandand this was now
strengthened by gratitude.

My brother,said she as she placed his knapsack on his
shouldersbe careful of yourself, for if you are killed, I
shall be alone in the world.These words carried a ray of
hope into Fernand's heart. Should Dantes not return


Mercedes might one day be his.


Mercedes was left alone face to face with the vast plain
that had never seemed so barrenand the sea that had never
seemed so vast. Bathed in tears she wandered about the
Catalan village. Sometimes she stood mute and motionless as
a statuelooking towards Marseillesat other times gazing
on the seaand debating as to whether it were not better to
cast herself into the abyss of the oceanand thus end her
woes. It was not want of courage that prevented her putting
this resolution into execution; but her religious feelings
came to her aid and saved her. Caderousse waslike Fernand
enrolled in the armybutbeing married and eight years
olderhe was merely sent to the frontier. Old Danteswho
was only sustained by hopelost all hope at Napoleon's
downfall. Five months after he had been separated from his
sonand almost at the hour of his arresthe breathed his
last in Mercedes' arms. M. Morrel paid the expenses of his
funeraland a few small debts the poor old man had
contracted.


There was more than benevolence in this action; there was
courage; the south was aflameand to assisteven on his
death-bedthe father of so dangerous a Bonapartist as
Danteswas stigmatized as a crime.


Chapter 14
The Two Prisoners.


A year after Louis XVIII.'s restorationa visit was made by
the inspector-general of prisons. Dantes in his cell heard
the noise of preparation-- sounds that at the depth where
he lay would have been inaudible to any but the ear of a
prisonerwho could hear the plash of the drop of water that
every hour fell from the roof of his dungeon. He guessed
something uncommon was passing among the living; but he had
so long ceased to have any intercourse with the worldthat
he looked upon himself as dead.


The inspector visitedone after anotherthe cells and
dungeons of several of the prisonerswhose good behavior or
stupidity recommended them to the clemency of the
government. He inquired how they were fedand if they had
any request to make. The universal response wasthat the
fare was detestableand that they wanted to be set free.


The inspector asked if they had anything else to ask for.
They shook their heads. What could they desire beyond their
liberty? The inspector turned smilingly to the governor.


I do not know what reason government can assign for these
useless visits; when you see one prisoner, you see all, --
always the same thing, -- ill fed and innocent. Are there
any others?


Yes; the dangerous and mad prisoners are in the dungeons.


Let us visit them,said the inspector with an air of
fatigue. "We must play the farce to the end. Let us see the
dungeons."


Let us first send for two soldiers,said the governor.



The prisoners sometimes, through mere uneasiness of life,
and in order to be sentenced to death, commit acts of
useless violence, and you might fall a victim.

Take all needful precautions,replied the inspector.

Two soldiers were accordingly sent forand the inspector
descended a stairwayso foulso humidso darkas to be
loathsome to sightsmelland respiration.

Oh,cried the inspectorwho can live here?

A most dangerous conspirator, a man we are ordered to keep
the most strict watch over, as he is daring and resolute.

He is alone?

Certainly.

How long his he been there?

Nearly a year.

Was he placed here when he first arrived?

No; not until he attempted to kill the turnkey, who took
his food to him.

To kill the turnkey?

Yes, the very one who is lighting us. Is it not true,
Antoine?asked the governor.

True enough; he wanted to kill me!returned the turnkey.

He must be mad,said the inspector.

He is worse than that, -- he is a devil!returned the
turnkey.

Shall I complain of him?demanded the inspector.

Oh, no; it is useless. Besides, he is almost mad now, and
in another year he will be quite so.

So much the better for him, -- he will suffer less,said
the inspector. He wasas this remark showsa man full of
philanthropyand in every way fit for his office.

You are right, sir,replied the governor; "and this remark
proves that you have deeply considered the subject. Now we
have in a dungeon about twenty feet distantand to which
you descend by another stairan abbeformerly leader of a
party in Italywho has been here since 1811and in 1813 he
went madand the change is astonishing. He used to weephe
now laughs; he grew thinhe now grows fat. You had better
see himfor his madness is amusing."

I will see them both,returned the inspector; "I must
conscientiously perform my duty." This was the inspector's
first visit; he wished to display his authority.

Let us visit this one first,added he.


By all means,replied the governorand he signed to the
turnkey to open the door. At the sound of the key turning in
the lockand the creaking of the hingesDanteswho was
crouched in a corner of the dungeonwhence he could see the
ray of light that came through a narrow iron grating above
raised his head. Seeing a strangerescorted by two turnkeys
holding torches and accompanied by two soldiersand to whom
the governor spoke bareheadedDanteswho guessed the
truthand that the moment to address himself to the
superior authorities was comesprang forward with clasped
hands.

The soldiers interposed their bayonetsfor they thought
that he was about to attack the inspectorand the latter
recoiled two or three steps. Dantes saw that he was looked
upon as dangerous. Theninfusing all the humility he
possessed into his eyes and voicehe addressed the
inspectorand sought to inspire him with pity.

The inspector listened attentively; thenturning to the
governorobservedHe will become religious -- he is
already more gentle; he is afraid, and retreated before the
bayonets -- madmen are not afraid of anything; I made some
curious observations on this at Charenton.Thenturning to
the prisonerWhat is it you want?said he.

I want to know what crime I have committed -- to be tried;
and if I am guilty, to be shot; if innocent, to be set at
liberty.

Are you well fed?said the inspector.

I believe so; I don't know; it's of no consequence. What
matters really, not only to me, but to officers of justice
and the king, is that an innocent man should languish in
prison, the victim of an infamous denunciation, to die here
cursing his executioners.

You are very humble to-day,remarked the governor; "you
are not so always; the other dayfor instancewhen you
tried to kill the turnkey."

It is true, sir, and I beg his pardon, for he his always
been very good to me, but I was mad.

And you are not so any longer?

No; captivity his subdued me -- I have been here so long.

So long? -- when were you arrested, then?asked the
inspector.

The 28th of February, 1815, at half-past two in the
afternoon.

To-day is the 30th of July, 1816, -- why it is but
seventeen months.

Only seventeen months,replied Dantes. "Ohyou do not
know what is seventeen months in prison! -- seventeen ages
ratherespecially to a man wholike mehad arrived at the
summit of his ambition -- to a manwholike mewas on the
point of marrying a woman he adoredwho saw an honorable
career opened before himand who loses all in an instant -



who sees his prospects destroyedand is ignorant of the
fate of his affianced wifeand whether his aged father be
still living! Seventeen months captivity to a sailor
accustomed to the boundless oceanis a worse punishment
than human crime ever merited. Have pity on methenand
ask for menot intelligencebut a trial; not pardonbut a
verdict -- a trialsirI ask only for a trial; that
surelycannot be denied to one who is accused!"

We shall see,said the inspector; thenturning to the
governorOn my word, the poor devil touches me. You must
show me the proofs against him.

Certainly; but you will find terrible charges.

Monsieur,continued DantesI know it is not in your
power to release me; but you can plead for me -- you can
have me tried -- and that is all I ask. Let me know my
crime, and the reason why I was condemned. Uncertainty is
worse than all.

Go on with the lights,said the inspector.

Monsieur,cried DantesI can tell by your voice you are
touched with pity; tell me at least to hope.

I cannot tell you that,replied the inspector; "I can only
promise to examine into your case."

Oh, I am free -- then I am saved!

Who arrested you?

M. Villefort. See him, and hear what he says.

M. Villefort is no longer at Marseilles; he is now at
Toulouse.

I am no longer surprised at my detention,murmured Dantes
since my only protector is removed.

Had M. de Villefort any cause of personal dislike to you?

None; on the contrary, he was very kind to me.

I can, then, rely on the notes he has left concerning you?

Entirely.

That is well; wait patiently, then.Dantes fell on his
kneesand prayed earnestly. The door closed; but this time
a fresh inmate was left with Dantes -- hope.

Will you see the register at once,asked the governoror
proceed to the other cell?

Let us visit them all,said the inspector. "If I once went
up those stairs. I should never have the courage to come
down again."

Ah, this one is not like the other, and his madness is less
affecting than this one's display of reason.

What is his folly?


He fancies he possesses an immense treasure. The first year
he offered government a million of francs for his release;
the second, two; the third, three; and so on progressively.
He is now in his fifth year of captivity; he will ask to
speak to you in private, and offer you five millions.

How curious! -- what is his name?

The Abbe Faria.

No. 27,said the inspector.

It is here; unlock the door, Antoine.The turnkey obeyed
and the inspector gazed curiously into the chamber of the
mad abbe.

In the centre of the cellin a circle traced with a
fragment of plaster detached from the wallsat a man whose
tattered garments scarcely covered him. He was drawing in
this circle geometrical linesand seemed as much absorbed
in his problem as Archimedes was when the soldier of
Marcellus slew him.

He did not move at the sound of the doorand continued his
calculations until the flash of the torches lighted up with
an unwonted glare the sombre walls of his cell; then
raising his headhe perceived with astonishment the number
of persons present. He hastily seized the coverlet of his
bedand wrapped it round him.

What is it you want?said the inspector.

I, monsieur,replied the abbe with an air of surprise -"
I want nothing."

You do not understand,continued the inspector; "I am sent
here by government to visit the prisonand hear the
requests of the prisoners."

Oh, that is different,cried the abbe; "and we shall
understand each otherI hope."

There, now,whispered the governorit is just as I told
you.

Monsieur,continued the prisonerI am the Abbe Faria,
born at Rome. I was for twenty years Cardinal Spada's
secretary; I was arrested, why, I know not, toward the
beginning of the year 1811; since then I have demanded my
liberty from the Italian and French government.

Why from the French government?

Because I was arrested at Piombino, and I presume that,
like Milan and Florence, Piombino has become the capital of
some French department.

Ah,said the inspectoryou have not the latest news from
Italy?

My information dates from the day on which I was arrested,
returned the Abbe Faria; "and as the emperor had created the
kingdom of Rome for his infant sonI presume that he has


realized the dream of Machiavelli and Caesar Borgiawhich
was to make Italy a united kingdom."

Monsieur,returned the inspectorprovidence has changed
this gigantic plan you advocate so warmly.

It is the only means of rendering Italy strong, happy, and
independent.

Very possibly; only I am not come to discuss politics, but
to inquire if you have anything to ask or to complain of.

The food is the same as in other prisons, -- that is, very
bad; the lodging is very unhealthful, but, on the whole,
passable for a dungeon; but it is not that which I wish to
speak of, but a secret I have to reveal of the greatest
importance.

We are coming to the point,whispered the governor.

It is for that reason I am delighted to see you,continued
the abbealthough you have disturbed me in a most
important calculation, which, if it succeeded, would
possibly change Newton's system. Could you allow me a few
words in private.

What did I tell you?said the governor.

You knew him,returned the inspector with a smile.

What you ask is impossible, monsieur,continued he
addressing Faria.

But,said the abbeI would speak to you of a large sum,
amounting to five millions.

The very sum you named,whispered the inspector in his
turn.

However,continued Fariaseeing that the inspector was
about to departit is not absolutely necessary for us to
be alone; the governor can be present.

Unfortunately,said the governorI know beforehand what
you are about to say; it concerns your treasures, does it
not?Faria fixed his eyes on him with an expression that
would have convinced any one else of his sanity.

Of course,said he; "of what else should I speak?"

Mr. Inspector,continued the governorI can tell you the
story as well as he, for it has been dinned in my ears for
the last four or five years.

That proves,returned the abbethat you are like those
of Holy Writ, who having ears hear not, and having eyes see
not.

My dear sir, the government is rich and does not want your
treasures,replied the inspector; "keep them until you are
liberated." The abbe's eyes glistened; he seized the
inspector's hand.

But what if I am not liberated,cried heand am detained


here until my death? this treasure will be lost. Had not
government better profit by it? I will offer six millions,
and I will content myself with the rest, if they will only
give me my liberty.

On my word,said the inspector in a low tonehad I not
been told beforehand that this man was mad, I should believe
what he says.

I am not mad,replied Fariawith that acuteness of
hearing peculiar to prisoners. "The treasure I speak of
really existsand I offer to sign an agreement with youin
which I promise to lead you to the spot where you shall dig;
and if I deceive youbring me here again-- I ask no
more."

The governor laughed. "Is the spot far from here?"

A hundred leagues.

It is not ill-planned,said the governor. "If all the
prisoners took it into their heads to travel a hundred
leaguesand their guardians consented to accompany them
they would have a capital chance of escaping."

The scheme is well known,said the inspector; "and the
abbe's plan has not even the merit of originality."

Then turning to Faria -- "I inquired if you are well fed?"
said he.

Swear to me,replied Fariato free me if what I tell you
prove true, and I will stay here while you go to the spot.

Are you well fed?repeated the inspector.

Monsieur, you run no risk, for, as I told you, I will stay
here; so there is no chance of my escaping.

You do not reply to my question,replied the inspector
impatiently.

Nor you to mine,cried the abbe. "You will not accept my
gold; I will keep it for myself. You refuse me my liberty;
God will give it me." And the abbecasting away his
coverletresumed his placeand continued his calculations.

What is he doing there?said the inspector.

Counting his treasures,replied the governor.

Faria replied to this sarcasm with a glance of profound
contempt. They went out. The turnkey closed the door behind
them.

He was wealthy once, perhaps?said the inspector.

Or dreamed he was, and awoke mad.

After all,said the inspectorif he had been rich, he
would not have been here.So the matter ended for the Abbe
Faria. He remained in his celland this visit only
increased the belief in his insanity.


Caligula or Nerothose treasure-seekersthose desirers of
the impossiblewould have accorded to the poor wretchin
exchange for his wealththe liberty he so earnestly prayed
for. But the kings of modern timesrestrained by the limits
of mere probabilityhave neither courage nor desire. They
fear the ear that hears their ordersand the eye that
scrutinizes their actions. Formerly they believed themselves
sprung from Jupiterand shielded by their birth; but
nowadays they are not inviolable.


It has always been against the policy of despotic
governments to suffer the victims of their persecutions to
reappear. As the Inquisition rarely allowed its victims to
be seen with their limbs distorted and their flesh lacerated
by tortureso madness is always concealed in its cellfrom
whenceshould it departit is conveyed to some gloomy
hospitalwhere the doctor has no thought for man or mind in
the mutilated being the jailer delivers to him. The very
madness of the Abbe Fariagone mad in prisoncondemned him
to perpetual captivity.


The inspector kept his word with Dantes; he examined the
registerand found the following note concerning him: --


Edmond Dantes:


Violent Bonapartist; took an active part in the return from
Elba.


The greatest watchfulness and care to be exercised.


This note was in a different hand from the restwhich
showed that it had been added since his confinement. The
inspector could not contend against this accusation; he
simply wrote-- "Nothing to be done."


This visit had infused new vigor into Dantes; he hadtill
thenforgotten the date; but nowwith a fragment of
plasterhe wrote the date30th July1816and made a mark
every dayin order not to lose his reckoning again. Days
and weeks passed awaythen months -- Dantes still waited;
he at first expected to be freed in a fortnight. This
fortnight expiredhe decided that the inspector would do
nothing until his return to Parisand that he would not
reach there until his circuit was finishedhe therefore
fixed three months; three months passed awaythen six more.
Finally ten months and a half had gone by and no favorable
change had taken placeand Dantes began to fancy the
inspector's visit but a dreaman illusion of the brain.


At the expiration of a year the governor was transferred; he
had obtained charge of the fortress at Ham. He took with him
several of his subordinatesand amongst them Dantes'
jailer. A new governor arrived; it would have been too
tedious to acquire the names of the prisoners; he learned
their numbers instead. This horrible place contained fifty
cells; their inhabitants were designated by the numbers of
their celland the unhappy young man was no longer called
Edmond Dantes -- he was now number 34.


Chapter 15
Number 34 and Number 27.



Dantes passed through all the stages of torture natural to
prisoners in suspense. He was sustained at first by that
pride of conscious innocence which is the sequence to hope;
then he began to doubt his own innocencewhich justified in
some measure the governor's belief in his mental alienation;
and thenrelaxing his sentiment of pridehe addressed his
supplicationsnot to Godbut to man. God is always the
last resource. Unfortunateswho ought to begin with Goddo
not have any hope in him till they have exhausted all other
means of deliverance.

Dantes asked to be removed from his present dungeon into
another; for a changehowever disadvantageouswas still a
changeand would afford him some amusement. He entreated to
be allowed to walk aboutto have fresh airbooksand
writing materials. His requests were not grantedbut he
went on asking all the same. He accustomed himself to
speaking to the new jaileralthough the latter wasif
possiblemore taciturn than the old one; but stillto
speak to a maneven though mutewas something. Dantes
spoke for the sake of hearing his own voice; he had tried to
speak when alonebut the sound of his voice terrified him.
Oftenbefore his captivityDantesmind had revolted at
the idea of assemblages of prisonersmade up of thieves
vagabondsand murderers. He now wished to be amongst them
in order to see some other face besides that of his jailer;
he sighed for the galleyswith the infamous costumethe
chainand the brand on the shoulder. The galley-slaves
breathed the fresh air of heavenand saw each other. They
were very happy. He besought the jailer one day to let him
have a companionwere it even the mad abbe.

The jailerthough rough and hardened by the constant sight
of so much sufferingwas yet a man. At the bottom of his
heart he had often had a feeling of pity for this unhappy
young man who suffered so; and he laid the request of number
34 before the governor; but the latter sapiently imagined
that Dantes wished to conspire or attempt an escapeand
refused his request. Dantes had exhausted all human
resourcesand he then turned to God.

All the pious ideas that had been so long forgotten
returned; he recollected the prayers his mother had taught
himand discovered a new meaning in every word; for in
prosperity prayers seem but a mere medley of wordsuntil
misfortune comes and the unhappy sufferer first understands
the meaning of the sublime language in which he invokes the
pity of heaven! He prayedand prayed aloudno longer
terrified at the sound of his own voicefor he fell into a
sort of ecstasy. He laid every action of his life before the
Almightyproposed tasks to accomplishand at the end of
every prayer introduced the entreaty oftener addressed to
man than to God: "Forgive us our trespasses as we forgive
them that trespass against us." Yet in spite of his earnest
prayersDantes remained a prisoner.

Then gloom settled heavily upon him. Dantes was a man of
great simplicity of thoughtand without education; he could
notthereforein the solitude of his dungeontraverse in
mental vision the history of the agesbring to life the
nations that had perishedand rebuild the ancient cities so
vast and stupendous in the light of the imaginationand
that pass before the eye glowing with celestial colors in


Martin's Babylonian pictures. He could not do thishe whose
past life was so shortwhose present so melancholyand his
future so doubtful. Nineteen years of light to reflect upon
in eternal darkness! No distraction could come to his aid;
his energetic spiritthat would have exalted in thus
revisiting the pastwas imprisoned like an eagle in a cage.
He clung to one idea -- that of his happinessdestroyed
without apparent causeby an unheard-of fatality; he
considered and reconsidered this ideadevoured it (so to
speak)as the implacable Ugolino devours the skull of
Archbishop Roger in the Inferno of Dante.

Rage supplanted religious fervor. Dantes uttered blasphemies
that made his jailer recoil with horrordashed himself
furiously against the walls of his prisonwreaked his anger
upon everythingand chiefly upon himselfso that the least
thing-- a grain of sanda strawor a breath of air that
annoyed himled to paroxysms of fury. Then the letter that
Villefort had showed to him recurred to his mindand every
line gleamed forth in fiery letters on the wall like the
mene tekel upharsin of Belshazzar. He told himself that it
was the enmity of manand not the vengeance of heaventhat
had thus plunged him into the deepest misery. He consigned
his unknown persecutors to the most horrible tortures he
could imagineand found them all insufficientbecause
after torture came deathand after deathif not reposeat
least the boon of unconsciousness.

By dint of constantly dwelling on the idea that tranquillity
was deathand if punishment were the end in view other
tortures than death must be inventedhe began to reflect on
suicide. Unhappy hewhoon the brink of misfortunebroods
over ideas like these!

Before him is a dead sea that stretches in azure calm before
the eye; but he who unwarily ventures within its embrace
finds himself struggling with a monster that would drag him
down to perdition. Once thus ensnaredunless the protecting
hand of God snatch him thenceall is overand his
struggles but tend to hasten his destruction. This state of
mental anguish ishoweverless terrible than the
sufferings that precede or the punishment that possibly will
follow. There is a sort of consolation at the contemplation
of the yawning abyssat the bottom of which lie darkness
and obscurity.

Edmond found some solace in these ideas. All his sorrows
all his sufferingswith their train of gloomy spectres
fled from his cell when the angel of death seemed about to
enter. Dantes reviewed his past life with composureand
looking forward with terror to his future existencechose
that middle line that seemed to afford him a refuge.

Sometimes,said hein my voyages, when I was a man and
commanded other men, I have seen the heavens overcast, the
sea rage and foam, the storm arise, and, like a monstrous
bird, beating the two horizons with its wings. Then I felt
that my vessel was a vain refuge, that trembled and shook
before the tempest. Soon the fury of the waves and the sight
of the sharp rocks announced the approach of death, and
death then terrified me, and I used all my skill and
intelligence as a man and a sailor to struggle against the
wrath of God. But I did so because I was happy, because I
had not courted death, because to be cast upon a bed of


rocks and seaweed seemed terrible, because I was unwilling
that I, a creature made for the service of God, should serve
for food to the gulls and ravens. But now it is different; I
have lost all that bound me to life, death smiles and
invites me to repose; I die after my own manner, I die
exhausted and broken-spirited, as I fall asleep when I have
paced three thousand times round my cell.

No sooner had this idea taken possession of him than he
became more composedarranged his couch to the best of his
powerate little and slept lessand found existence almost
supportablebecause he felt that he could throw it off at
pleasurelike a worn-out garment. Two methods of
self-destruction were at his disposal. He could hang himself
with his handkerchief to the window barsor refuse food and
die of starvation. But the first was repugnant to him.
Dantes had always entertained the greatest horror of
pirateswho are hung up to the yard-arm; he would not die
by what seemed an infamous death. He resolved to adopt the
secondand began that day to carry out his resolve. Nearly
four years had passed away; at the end of the second he had
ceased to mark the lapse of time.

Dantes saidI wish to die,and had chosen the manner of
his deathand fearful of changing his mindhe had taken an
oath to die. "When my morning and evening meals are
brought thought he, I will cast them out of the window
and they will think that I have eaten them."

He kept his word; twice a day he cast outthrough the
barred aperturethe provisions his jailer brought him -- at
first gaylythen with deliberationand at last with
regret. Nothing but the recollection of his oath gave him
strength to proceed. Hunger made viands once repugnantnow
acceptable; he held the plate in his hand for an hour at a
timeand gazed thoughtfully at the morsel of bad meatof
tainted fishof black and mouldy bread. It was the last
yearning for life contending with the resolution of despair;
then his dungeon seemed less sombrehis prospects less
desperate. He was still young -- he was only four or five
and twenty -- he had nearly fifty years to live. What
unforseen events might not open his prison doorand restore
him to liberty? Then he raised to his lips the repast that
like a voluntary Tantalushe refused himself; but he
thought of his oathand he would not break it. He persisted
untilat lasthe had not sufficient strength to rise and
cast his supper out of the loophole. The next morning he
could not see or hear; the jailer feared he was dangerously
ill. Edmond hoped he was dying.

Thus the day passed away. Edmond felt a sort of stupor
creeping over him which brought with it a feeling almost of
content; the gnawing pain at his stomach had ceased; his
thirst had abated; when he closed his eyes he saw myriads of
lights dancing before them like the will-o'-the-wisps that
play about the marshes. It was the twilight of that
mysterious country called Death!

Suddenlyabout nine o'clock in the eveningEdmond heard a
hollow sound in the wall against which he was lying.

So many loathsome animals inhabited the prisonthat their
noise did notin generalawake him; but whether abstinence
had quickened his facultiesor whether the noise was really


louder than usualEdmond raised his head and listened. It
was a continual scratchingas if made by a huge clawa
powerful toothor some iron instrument attacking the
stones.

Although weakenedthe young man's brain instantly responded
to the idea that haunts all prisoners -- liberty! It seemed
to him that heaven had at length taken pity on himand had
sent this noise to warn him on the very brink of the abyss.
Perhaps one of those beloved ones he had so often thought of
was thinking of himand striving to diminish the distance
that separated them.

Nonodoubtless he was deceivedand it was but one of
those dreams that forerun death!

Edmond still heard the sound. It lasted nearly three hours;
he then heard a noise of something fallingand all was
silent.

Some hours afterwards it began againnearer and more
distinct. Edmond was intensely interested. Suddenly the
jailer entered.

For a week since he had resolved to dieand during the four
days that he had been carrying out his purposeEdmond had
not spoken to the attendanthad not answered him when he
inquired what was the matter with himand turned his face
to the wall when he looked too curiously at him; but now the
jailer might hear the noise and put an end to itand so
destroy a ray of something like hope that soothed his last
moments.

The jailer brought him his breakfast. Dantes raised himself
up and began to talk about everything; about the bad quality
of the foodabout the coldness of his dungeongrumbling
and complainingin order to have an excuse for speaking
louderand wearying the patience of his jailerwho out of
kindness of heart had brought broth and white bread for his
prisoner.

Fortunatelyhe fancied that Dantes was delirious; and
placing the food on the rickety tablehe withdrew. Edmond
listenedand the sound became more and more distinct.

There can be no doubt about it,thought he; "it is some
prisoner who is striving to obtain his freedom. Ohif I
were only there to help him!" Suddenly another idea took
possession of his mindso used to misfortunethat it was
scarcely capable of hope -- the idea that the noise was made
by workmen the governor had ordered to repair the
neighboring dungeon.

It was easy to ascertain this; but how could he risk the
question? It was easy to call his jailer's attention to the
noiseand watch his countenance as he listened; but might
he not by this means destroy hopes far more important than
the short-lived satisfaction of his own curiosity?
UnfortunatelyEdmond's brain was still so feeble that he
could not bend his thoughts to anything in particular.

He saw but one means of restoring lucidity and clearness to
his judgment. He turned his eyes towards the soup which the
jailer had broughtrosestaggered towards itraised the


vessel to his lipsand drank off the contents with a
feeling of indescribable pleasure. He had often heard that
shipwrecked persons had died through having eagerly devoured
too much food. Edmond replaced on the table the bread he was
about to devourand returned to his couch -- he did not
wish to die. He soon felt that his ideas became again
collected -- he could thinkand strengthen his thoughts by
reasoning. Then he said to himselfI must put this to the
test, but without compromising anybody. If it is a workman,
I need but knock against the wall, and he will cease to
work, in order to find out who is knocking, and why he does
so; but as his occupation is sanctioned by the governor, he
will soon resume it. If, on the contrary, it is a prisoner,
the noise I make will alarm him, he will cease, and not
begin again until he thinks every one is asleep.

Edmond rose againbut this time his legs did not tremble
and his sight was clear; he went to a corner of his dungeon
detached a stoneand with it knocked against the wall where
the sound came. He struck thrice. At the first blow the
sound ceasedas if by magic.

Edmond listened intently; an hour passedtwo hours passed
and no sound was heard from the wall -- all was silent
there.

Full of hopeEdmond swallowed a few mouthfuls of bread and
waterandthanks to the vigor of his constitutionfound
himself well-nigh recovered.

The day passed away in utter silence -- night came without
recurrence of the noise.

It is a prisoner,said Edmond joyfully. The night passed
in perfect silence. Edmond did not close his eyes.

In the morning the jailer brought him fresh provisions -- he
had already devoured those of the previous day; he ate these
listening anxiously for the soundwalking round and round
his cellshaking the iron bars of the loopholerestoring
vigor and agility to his limbs by exerciseand so preparing
himself for his future destiny. At intervals he listened to
learn if the noise had not begun againand grew impatient
at the prudence of the prisonerwho did not guess he had
been disturbed by a captive as anxious for liberty as
himself.

Three days passed -- seventy-two long tedious hours which he
counted off by minutes!

At length one eveningas the jailer was visiting him for
the last time that nightDanteswith his ear for the
hundredth time at the wallfancied he heard an almost
imperceptible movement among the stones. He moved away
walked up and down his cell to collect his thoughtsand
then went back and listened.

The matter was no longer doubtful. Something was at work on
the other side of the wall; the prisoner had discovered the
dangerand had substituted a lever for a chisel.

Encouraged by this discoveryEdmond determined to assist
the indefatigable laborer. He began by moving his bedand
looked around for anything with which he could pierce the


wallpenetrate the moist cementand displace a stone.

He saw nothinghe had no knife or sharp instrumentthe
window grating was of ironbut he had too often assured
himself of its solidity. All his furniture consisted of a
beda chaira tablea pailand a jug. The bed had iron
clampsbut they were screwed to the woodand it would have
required a screw-driver to take them off. The table and
chair had nothingthe pail had once possessed a handlebut
that had been removed.

Dantes had but one resourcewhich was to break the jugand
with one of the sharp fragments attack the wall. He let the
jug fall on the floorand it broke in pieces.

Dantes concealed two or three of the sharpest fragments in
his bedleaving the rest on the floor. The breaking of his
jug was too natural an accident to excite suspicion. Edmond
had all the night to work inbut in the darkness he could
not do muchand he soon felt that he was working against
something very hard; he pushed back his bedand waited for
day.

All night he heard the subterranean workmanwho continued
to mine his way. Day camethe jailer entered. Dantes told
him that the jug had fallen from his hands while he was
drinkingand the jailer went grumblingly to fetch another
without giving himself the trouble to remove the fragments
of the broken one. He returned speedilyadvised the
prisoner to be more carefuland departed.

Dantes heard joyfully the key grate in the lock; he listened
until the sound of steps died awayand thenhastily
displacing his bedsaw by the faint light that penetrated
into his cellthat he had labored uselessly the previous
evening in attacking the stone instead of removing the
plaster that surrounded it.

The damp had rendered it friableand Dantes was able to
break it off -- in small morselsit is truebut at the end
of half an hour he had scraped off a handful; a
mathematician might have calculated that in two years
supposing that the rock was not encountereda passage
twenty feet long and two feet broadmight be formed.

The prisoner reproached himself with not having thus
employed the hours he had passed in vain hopesprayerand
despondency. During the six years that he had been
imprisonedwhat might he not have accomplished?

In three days he had succeededwith the utmost precaution
in removing the cementand exposing the stone-work. The
wall was built of rough stonesamong whichto give
strength to the structureblocks of hewn stone were at
intervals imbedded. It was one of these he had uncovered
and which he must remove from its socket.

Dantes strove to do this with his nailsbut they were too
weak. The fragments of the jug brokeand after an hour of
useless toilhe paused.

Was he to be thus stopped at the beginningand was he to
wait inactive until his fellow workman had completed his
task? Suddenly an idea occurred to him -- he smiledand the


perspiration dried on his forehead.

The jailer always brought Dantes' soup in an iron saucepan;
this saucepan contained soup for both prisonersfor Dantes
had noticed that it was either quite fullor half empty
according as the turnkey gave it to him or to his companion
first.

The handle of this saucepan was of iron; Dantes would have
given ten years of his life in exchange for it.

The jailer was accustomed to pour the contents of the
saucepan into Dantes' plateand Dantesafter eating his
soup with a wooden spoonwashed the platewhich thus
served for every day. Now when evening came Dantes put his
plate on the ground near the door; the jaileras he
enteredstepped on it and broke it.

This time he could not blame Dantes. He was wrong to leave
it therebut the jailer was wrong not to have looked before
him.

The jailerthereforeonly grumbled. Then he looked about
for something to pour the soup into; Dantes' entire dinner
service consisted of one plate -- there was no alternative.

Leave the saucepan,said Dantes; "you can take it away
when you bring me my breakfast." This advice was to the
jailer's tasteas it spared him the necessity of making
another trip. He left the saucepan.

Dantes was beside himself with joy. He rapidly devoured his
foodand after waiting an hourlest the jailer should
change his mind and returnhe removed his bedtook the
handle of the saucepaninserted the point between the hewn
stone and rough stones of the walland employed it as a
lever. A slight oscillation showed Dantes that all went
well. At the end of an hour the stone was extricated from
the wallleaving a cavity a foot and a half in diameter.

Dantes carefully collected the plastercarried it into the
corner of his celland covered it with earth. Thenwishing
to make the best use of his time while he had the means of
laborhe continued to work without ceasing. At the dawn of
day he replaced the stonepushed his bed against the wall
and lay down. The breakfast consisted of a piece of bread;
the jailer entered and placed the bread on the table.

Well, don't you intend to bring me another plate?said
Dantes.

No,replied the turnkey; "you destroy everything. First
you break your jugthen you make me break your plate; if
all the prisoners followed your examplethe government
would be ruined. I shall leave you the saucepanand pour
your soup into that. So for the future I hope you will not
be so destructive."

Dantes raised his eyes to heaven and clasped his hands
beneath the coverlet. He felt more gratitude for the
possession of this piece of iron than he had ever felt for
anything. He had noticedhoweverthat the prisoner on the
other side had ceased to labor; no matterthis was a
greater reason for proceeding -- if his neighbor would not


come to himhe would go to his neighbor. All day he toiled
on untiringlyand by the evening he had succeeded in
extracting ten handfuls of plaster and fragments of stone.
When the hour for his jailer's visit arrivedDantes
straightened the handle of the saucepan as well as he could
and placed it in its accustomed place. The turnkey poured
his ration of soup into ittogether with the fish -- for
thrice a week the prisoners were deprived of meat. This
would have been a method of reckoning timehad not Dantes
long ceased to do so. Having poured out the soupthe
turnkey retired. Dantes wished to ascertain whether his
neighbor had really ceased to work. He listened -- all was
silentas it had been for the last three days. Dantes
sighed; it was evident that his neighbor distrusted him.
Howeverhe toiled on all the night without being
discouraged; but after two or three hours he encountered an
obstacle. The iron made no impressionbut met with a smooth
surface; Dantes touched itand found that it was a beam.
This beam crossedor rather blocked upthe hole Dantes had
made; it was necessarythereforeto dig above or under it.
The unhappy young man had not thought of this. "O my Godmy
God!" murmured heI have so earnestly prayed to you, that
I hoped my prayers had been heard. After having deprived me
of my liberty, after having deprived me of death, after
having recalled me to existence, my God, have pity on me,
and do not let me die in despair!

Who talks of God and despair at the same time?said a
voice that seemed to come from beneath the earthand
deadened by the distancesounded hollow and sepulchral in
the young man's ears. Edmond's hair stood on endand he
rose to his knees.

Ah,said heI hear a human voice.Edmond had not heard
any one speak save his jailer for four or five years; and a
jailer is no man to a prisoner -- he is a living doora
barrier of flesh and blood adding strength to restraints of
oak and iron.

In the name of heaven,cried Dantesspeak again, though
the sound of your voice terrifies me. Who are you?

Who are you?said the voice.

An unhappy prisoner,replied Danteswho made no
hesitation in answering.

Of what country?

A Frenchman.

Your name?

Edmond Dantes.

Your profession?

A sailor.

How long have you been here?

Since the 28th of February, 1815.

Your crime?


I am innocent.
But of what are you accused?


Of having conspired to aid the emperor's return.


What! For the emperor's return? -- the emperor is no longer
on the throne, then?

He abdicated at Fontainebleau in 1814, and was sent to the
Island of Elba. But how long have you been here that you are
ignorant of all this?

Since 1811.

Dantes shuddered; this man had been four years longer than
himself in prison.

Do not dig any more,said the voice; "only tell me how
high up is your excavation?"

On a level with the floor.

How is it concealed?
Behind my bed.


Has your bed been moved since you have been a prisoner?
No.


What does your chamber open on?
A corridor.


And the corridor?
On a court.


Alas!murmured the voice.
Oh, what is the matter?cried Dantes.


I have made a mistake owing to an error in my plans. I took
the wrong angle, and have come out fifteen feet from where I
intended. I took the wall you are mining for the outer wall
of the fortress.

But then you would be close to the sea?
That is what I hoped.

And supposing you had succeeded?

I should have thrown myself into the sea, gained one of the
islands near here -- the Isle de Daume or the Isle de
Tiboulen -- and then I should have been safe.

Could you have swum so far?

Heaven would have given me strength; but now all is lost.
All?


Yes; stop up your excavation carefully, do not work any
more, and wait until you hear from me.

Tell me, at least, who you are?

I am -- I am No. 27.

You mistrust me, then,said Dantes. Edmond fancied he
heard a bitter laugh resounding from the depths.

Oh, I am a Christian,cried Dantesguessing instinctively
that this man meant to abandon him. "I swear to you by him
who died for us that naught shall induce me to breathe one
syllable to my jailers; but I conjure you do not abandon me.
If you doI swear to youfor I have got to the end of my
strengththat I will dash my brains out against the wall
and you will have my death to reproach yourself with."

How old are you? Your voice is that of a young man.

I do not know my age, for I have not counted the years I
have been here. All I do know is, that I was just nineteen
when I was arrested, the 28th of February, 1815.

Not quite twenty-six!murmured the voice; "at that age he
cannot be a traitor."

Oh, no, no,cried Dantes. "I swear to you againrather
than betray youI would allow myself to be hacked in
pieces!"

You have done well to speak to me, and ask for my
assistance, for I was about to form another plan, and leave
you; but your age reassures me. I will not forget you.
Wait.

How long?

I must calculate our chances; I will give you the signal.

But you will not leave me; you will come to me, or you will
let me come to you. We will escape, and if we cannot escape
we will talk; you of those whom you love, and I of those
whom I love. You must love somebody?

No, I am alone in the world.

Then you will love me. If you are young, I will be your
comrade; if you are old, I will be your son. I have a father
who is seventy if he yet lives; I only love him and a young
girl called Mercedes. My father has not yet forgotten me, I
am sure, but God alone knows if she loves me still; I shall
love you as I loved my father.

It is well,returned the voice; "to-morrow."

These few words were uttered with an accent that left no
doubt of his sincerity; Dantes rosedispersed the fragments
with the same precaution as beforeand pushed his bed back
against the wall. He then gave himself up to his happiness.
He would no longer be alone. He wasperhapsabout to
regain his liberty; at the worsthe would have a companion
and captivity that is shared is but half captivity. Plaints


made in common are almost prayersand prayers where two or
three are gathered together invoke the mercy of heaven.


All day Dantes walked up and down his cell. He sat down
occasionally on his bedpressing his hand on his heart. At
the slightest noise he bounded towards the door. Once or
twice the thought crossed his mind that he might be
separated from this unknownwhom he loved already; and then
his mind was made up -- when the jailer moved his bed and
stooped to examine the openinghe would kill him with his
water jug. He would be condemned to diebut he was about to
die of grief and despair when this miraculous noise recalled
him to life.


The jailer came in the evening. Dantes was on his bed. It
seemed to him that thus he better guarded the unfinished
opening. Doubtless there was a strange expression in his
eyesfor the jailer saidCome, are you going mad again?


Dantes did not answer; he feared that the emotion of his
voice would betray him. The jailer went away shaking his
head. Night came; Dantes hoped that his neighbor would
profit by the silence to address himbut he was mistaken.
The next morninghoweverjust as he removed his bed from
the wallhe heard three knocks; he threw himself on his
knees.


Is it you?said he; "I am here."


Is your jailer gone?


Yes,said Dantes; "he will not return until the evening;
so that we have twelve hours before us."


I can work, then?said the voice.


Oh, yes, yes; this instant, I entreat you.


In a moment that part of the floor on which Dantes was
resting his two handsas he knelt with his head in the
openingsuddenly gave way; he drew back smartlywhile a
mass of stones and earth disappeared in a hole that opened
beneath the aperture he himself had formed. Then from the
bottom of this passagethe depth of which it was impossible
to measurehe saw appearfirst the headthen the
shouldersand lastly the body of a manwho sprang lightly
into his cell.


Chapter 16
A Learned Italian.


Seizing in his arms the friend so long and ardently desired
Dantes almost carried him towards the windowin order to
obtain a better view of his features by the aid of the
imperfect light that struggled through the grating.


He was a man of small staturewith hair blanched rather by
suffering and sorrow than by age. He had a deep-set
penetrating eyealmost buried beneath the thick gray
eyebrowand a long (and still black) beard reaching down to
his breast. His thin facedeeply furrowed by careand the
bold outline of his strongly marked featuresbetokened a



man more accustomed to exercise his mental faculties than
his physical strength. Large drops of perspiration were now
standing on his browwhile the garments that hung about him
were so ragged that one could only guess at the pattern upon
which they had originally been fashioned.

The stranger might have numbered sixty or sixty-five years;
but a certain briskness and appearance of vigor in his
movements made it probable that he was aged more from
captivity than the course of time. He received the
enthusiastic greeting of his young acquaintance with evident
pleasureas though his chilled affections were rekindled
and invigorated by his contact with one so warm and ardent.
He thanked him with grateful cordiality for his kindly
welcomealthough he must at that moment have been suffering
bitterly to find another dungeon where he had fondly
reckoned on discovering a means of regaining his liberty.

Let us first see,said hewhether it is possible to
remove the traces of my entrance here -- our future
tranquillity depends upon our jailers being entirely
ignorant of it.Advancing to the openinghe stooped and
raised the stone easily in spite of its weight; then
fitting it into its placehe said-


You removed this stone very carelessly; but I suppose you
had no tools to aid you.

Why,exclaimed Danteswith astonishmentdo you possess
any?

I made myself some; and with the exception of a file, I
have all that are necessary, -- a chisel, pincers, and
lever.

Oh, how I should like to see these products of your
industry and patience.

Well, in the first place, here is my chisel.So sayinghe
displayed a sharp strong bladewith a handle made of
beechwood.

And with what did you contrive to make that?inquired
Dantes.

With one of the clamps of my bedstead; and this very tool
has sufficed me to hollow out the road by which I came
hither, a distance of about fifty feet.

Fifty feet!responded Dantesalmost terrified.

Do not speak so loud, young man -- don't speak so loud. It
frequently occurs in a state prison like this, that persons
are stationed outside the doors of the cells purposely to
overhear the conversation of the prisoners.

But they believe I am shut up alone here.

That makes no difference.

And you say that you dug your way a distance of fifty feet
to get here?

I do; that is about the distance that separates your


chamber from mine; only, unfortunately, I did not curve
aright; for want of the necessary geometrical instruments to
calculate my scale of proportion, instead of taking an
ellipsis of forty feet, I made it fifty. I expected, as I
told you, to reach the outer wall, pierce through it, and
throw myself into the sea; I have, however, kept along the
corridor on which your chamber opens, instead of going
beneath it. My labor is all in vain, for I find that the
corridor looks into a courtyard filled with soldiers.

That's true,said Dantes; "but the corridor you speak of
only bounds one side of my cell; there are three others -do
you know anything of their situation?"

This one is built against the solid rock, and it would take
ten experienced miners, duly furnished with the requisite
tools, as many years to perforate it. This adjoins the lower
part of the governor's apartments, and were we to work our
way through, we should only get into some lock-up cellars,
where we must necessarily be recaptured. The fourth and last
side of your cell faces on -- faces on -- stop a minute, now
where does it face?

The wall of which he spoke was the one in which was fixed
the loophole by which light was admitted to the chamber.
This loopholewhich gradually diminished in size as it
approached the outsideto an opening through which a child
could not have passedwasfor better securityfurnished
with three iron barsso as to quiet all apprehensions even
in the mind of the most suspicious jailer as to the
possibility of a prisoner's escape. As the stranger asked
the questionhe dragged the table beneath the window.

Climb up,said he to Dantes. The young man obeyedmounted
on the tableanddivining the wishes of his companion
placed his back securely against the wall and held out both
hands. The strangerwhom as yet Dantes knew only by the
number of his cellsprang up with an agility by no means to
be expected in a person of his yearsandlight and steady
on his feet as a cat or a lizardclimbed from the table to
the outstretched hands of Dantesand from them to his
shoulders; thenbending doublefor the ceiling of the
dungeon prevented him from holding himself erecthe managed
to slip his head between the upper bars of the windowso as
to be able to command a perfect view from top to bottom.

An instant afterwards he hastily drew back his headsaying
I thought so!and sliding from the shoulders of Dantes as
dextrously as he had ascendedhe nimbly leaped from the
table to the ground.

What was it that you thought?asked the young man
anxiouslyin his turn descending from the table.

The elder prisoner pondered the matter. "Yes said he at
length, it is so. This side of your chamber looks out upon
a kind of open gallerywhere patrols are continually
passingand sentries keep watch day and night."

Are you quite sure of that?

Certain. I saw the soldier's shape and the top of his
musket; that made me draw in my head so quickly, for I was
fearful he might also see me.


Well?inquired Dantes.

You perceive then the utter impossibility of escaping
through your dungeon?

Then,pursued the young man eagerly -


Then,answered the elder prisonerthe will of God be
done!and as the old man slowly pronounced those wordsan
air of profound resignation spread itself over his careworn
countenance. Dantes gazed on the man who could thus
philosophically resign hopes so long and ardently nourished
with an astonishment mingled with admiration.

Tell me, I entreat of you, who and what you are?said he
at length; "never have I met with so remarkable a person as
yourself."

Willingly,answered the stranger; "ifindeedyou feel
any curiosity respecting onenowalaspowerless to aid
you in any way."

Say not so; you can console and support me by the strength
of your own powerful mind. Pray let me know who you really
are?

The stranger smiled a melancholy smile. "Then listen said
he. l am the Abbe Fariaand have been imprisoned as you
know in this Chateau d'If since the year 1811; previously to
which I had been confined for three years in the fortress of
Fenestrelle. In the year 1811 I was transferred to Piedmont
in France. It was at this period I learned that the destiny
which seemed subservient to every wish formed by Napoleon
had bestowed on him a sonnamed king of Rome even in his
cradle. I was very far then from expecting the change you
have just informed me of; namelythat four years
afterwardsthis colossus of power would be overthrown. Then
who reigns in France at this moment -- Napoleon II.?"

No, Louis XVIII.

The brother of Louis XVII.! How inscrutable are the ways of
providence -- for what great and mysterious purpose has it
pleased heaven to abase the man once so elevated, and raise
up him who was so abased?

Danteswhole attention was riveted on a man who could thus
forget his own misfortunes while occupying himself with the
destinies of others.

Yes, yes,continued he'Twill be the same as it was in
England. After Charles I., Cromwell; after Cromwell, Charles
II., and then James II., and then some son-in-law or
relation, some Prince of Orange, a stadtholder who becomes a
king. Then new concessions to the people, then a
constitution, then liberty. Ah, my friend!said the abbe
turning towards Dantesand surveying him with the kindling
gaze of a prophetyou are young, you will see all this
come to pass.

Probably, if ever I get out of prison!

True,replied Fariawe are prisoners; but I forget this


sometimes, and there are even moments when my mental vision
transports me beyond these walls, and I fancy myself at
liberty.

But wherefore are you here?

Because in 1807 I dreamed of the very plan Napoleon tried
to realize in 1811; because, like Machiavelli, I desired to
alter the political face of Italy, and instead of allowing
it to be split up into a quantity of petty principalities,
each held by some weak or tyrannical ruler, I sought to form
one large, compact, and powerful empire; and, lastly,
because I fancied I had found my Caesar Borgia in a crowned
simpleton, who feigned to enter into my views only to betray
me. It was the plan of Alexander VI. and Clement VII., but
it will never succeed now, for they attempted it
fruitlessly, and Napoleon was unable to complete his work.
Italy seems fated to misfortune.And the old man bowed his
head.

Dantes could not understand a man risking his life for such
matters. Napoleon certainly he knew something ofinasmuch
as he had seen and spoken with him; but of Clement VII. and
Alexander VI. he knew nothing.

Are you not,he askedthe priest who here in the Chateau
d'If is generally thought to be -- ill?

Mad, you mean, don't you?

I did not like to say so,answered Dantessmiling.

Well, then,resumed Faria with a bitter smilelet me
answer your question in full, by acknowledging that I am the
poor mad prisoner of the Chateau d'If, for many years
permitted to amuse the different visitors with what is said
to be my insanity; and, in all probability, I should be
promoted to the honor of making sport for the children, if
such innocent beings could be found in an abode devoted like
this to suffering and despair.

Dantes remained for a short time mute and motionless; at
length he said-- "Then you abandon all hope of escape?"

I perceive its utter impossibility; and I consider it
impious to attempt that which the Almighty evidently does
not approve.

Nay, be not discouraged. Would it not be expecting too much
to hope to succeed at your first attempt? Why not try to
find an opening in another direction from that which has so
unfortunately failed?

Alas, it shows how little notion you can have of all it has
cost me to effect a purpose so unexpectedly frustrated, that
you talk of beginning over again. In the first place, I was
four years making the tools I possess, and have been two
years scraping and digging out earth, hard as granite
itself; then what toil and fatigue has it not been to remove
huge stones I should once have deemed impossible to loosen.
Whole days have I passed in these Titanic efforts,
considering my labor well repaid if, by night-time I had
contrived to carry away a square inch of this hard-bound
cement, changed by ages into a substance unyielding as the


stones themselves; then to conceal the mass of earth and
rubbish I dug up, I was compelled to break through a
staircase, and throw the fruits of my labor into the hollow
part of it; but the well is now so completely choked up,
that I scarcely think it would be possible to add another
handful of dust without leading to discovery. Consider also
that I fully believed I had accomplished the end and aim of
my undertaking, for which I had so exactly husbanded my
strength as to make it just hold out to the termination of
my enterprise; and now, at the moment when I reckoned upon
success, my hopes are forever dashed from me. No, I repeat
again, that nothing shall induce me to renew attempts
evidently at variance with the Almighty's pleasure.

Dantes held down his headthat the other might not see how
joy at the thought of having a companion outweighed the
sympathy he felt for the failure of the abbe's plans.

The abbe sank upon Edmond's bed. while Edmond himself
remained standing. Escape had never once occurred to him.
There areindeedsome things which appear so impossible
that the mind does not dwell on them for an instant. To
undermine the ground for fifty feet -- to devote three years
to a labor whichif successfulwould conduct you to a
precipice overhanging the sea -- to plunge into the waves
from the height of fiftysixtyperhaps a hundred feetat
the risk of being dashed to pieces against the rocksshould
you have been fortunate enough to have escaped the fire of
the sentinels; and evensupposing all these perils past
then to have to swim for your life a distance of at least
three miles ere you could reach the shore -- were
difficulties so startling and formidable that Dantes had
never even dreamed of such a schemeresigning himself
rather to death. But the sight of an old man clinging to
life with so desperate a couragegave a fresh turn to his
ideasand inspired him with new courage. Anotherolder and
less strong than hehad attempted what he had not had
sufficient resolution to undertakeand had failed only
because of an error in calculation. This same personwith
almost incredible patience and perseverancehad contrived
to provide himself with tools requisite for so unparalleled
an attempt. Another had done all this; whythenwas it
impossible to Dantes? Faria had dug his way through fifty
feetDantes would dig a hundred; Fariaat the age of
fiftyhad devoted three years to the task; hewho was but
half as oldwould sacrifice six; Fariaa priest and
savanthad not shrunk from the idea of risking his life by
trying to swim a distance of three miles to one of the
islands -- DaumeRattonneauor Lemaire; should a hardy
saileran experienced diverlike himselfshrink from a
similar task; should hewho had so often for mere
amusement's sake plunged to the bottom of the sea to fetch
up the bright coral branchhesitate to entertain the same
project? He could do it in an hourand how many times had
hefor pure pastimecontinued in the water for more than
twice as long! At once Dantes resolved to follow the brave
example of his energetic companionand to remember that
what has once been done may be done again.

After continuing some time in profound meditationthe young
man suddenly exclaimedI have found what you were in
search of!

Faria started: "Have youindeed?" cried heraising his


head with quick anxiety; "praylet me know what it is you
have discovered?"

The corridor through which you have bored your way from the
cell you occupy here, extends in the same direction as the
outer gallery, does it not?

It does.

And is not above fifteen feet from it?

About that.

Well, then, I will tell you what we must do. We must pierce
through the corridor by forming a side opening about the
middle, as it were the top part of a cross. This time you
will lay your plans more accurately; we shall get out into
the gallery you have described; kill the sentinel who guards
it, and make our escape. All we require to insure success is
courage, and that you possess, and strength, which I am not
deficient in; as for patience, you have abundantly proved
yours -- you shall now see me prove mine.

One instant, my dear friend,replied the abbe; "it is
clear you do not understand the nature of the courage with
which I am endowedand what use I intend making of my
strength. As for patienceI consider that I have abundantly
exercised that in beginning every morning the task of the
night beforeand every night renewing the task of the day.
But thenyoung man (and I pray of you to give me your full
attention)then I thought I could not be doing anything
displeasing to the Almighty in trying to set an innocent
being at liberty -- one who had committed no offenceand
merited not condemnation."

And have your notions changed?asked Dantes with much
surprise; "do you think yourself more guilty in making the
attempt since you have encountered me?"

No; neither do I wish to incur guilt. Hitherto I have
fancied myself merely waging war against circumstances, not
men. I have thought it no sin to bore through a wall, or
destroy a staircase; but I cannot so easily persuade myself
to pierce a heart or take away a life.A slight movement of
surprise escaped Dantes.

Is it possible,said hethat where your liberty is at
stake you can allow any such scruple to deter you from
obtaining it?

Tell me,replied Fariawhat has hindered you from
knocking down your jailer with a piece of wood torn from
your bedstead, dressing yourself in his clothes, and
endeavoring to escape?

Simply the fact that the idea never occurred to me,
answered Dantes.

Because,said the old manthe natural repugnance to the
commission of such a crime prevented you from thinking of
it; and so it ever is because in simple and allowable things
our natural instincts keep us from deviating from the strict
line of duty. The tiger, whose nature teaches him to delight
in shedding blood, needs but the sense of smell to show him


when his prey is within his reach, and by following this
instinct he is enabled to measure the leap necessary to
permit him to spring on his victim; but man, on the
contrary, loathes the idea of blood -- it is not alone that
the laws of social life inspire him with a shrinking dread
of taking life; his natural construction and physiological
formation--

Dantes was confused and silent at this explanation of the
thoughts which had unconsciously been working in his mind
or rather soul; for there are two distinct sorts of ideas
those that proceed from the head and those that emanate from
the heart.

Since my imprisonment,said FariaI have thought over
all the most celebrated cases of escape on record. They have
rarely been successful. Those that have been crowned with
full success have been long meditated upon, and carefully
arranged; such, for instance, as the escape of the Duc de
Beaufort from the Chateau de Vincennes, that of the Abbe
Dubuquoi from For l'Eveque; of Latude from the Bastille.
Then there are those for which chance sometimes affords
opportunity, and those are the best of all. Let us,
therefore, wait patiently for some favorable moment, and
when it presents itself, profit by it.

Ah,said Dantesyou might well endure the tedious delay;
you were constantly employed in the task you set yourself,
and when weary with toil, you had your hopes to refresh and
encourage you.

I assure you,replied the old manI did not turn to that
source for recreation or support.

What did you do then?

I wrote or studied.

Were you then permitted the use of pens, ink, and paper?

Oh, no,answered the abbe; "I had none but what I made for
myself."

You made paper, pens and ink?

Yes.

Dantes gazed with admirationbut he had some difficulty in
believing. Faria saw this.

When you pay me a visit in my cell, my young friend,said
heI will show you an entire work, the fruits of the
thoughts and reflections of my whole life; many of them
meditated over in the shades of the Coloseum at Rome, at the
foot of St. Mark's column at Venice, and on the borders of
the Arno at Florence, little imagining at the time that they
would be arranged in order within the walls of the Chateau
d'If. The work I speak of is called `A Treatise on the
Possibility of a General Monarchy in Italy,' and will make
one large quarto volume.

And on what have you written all this?

On two of my shirts. I invented a preparation that makes


linen as smooth and as easy to write on as parchment.

You are, then, a chemist?

Somewhat; I know Lavoisier, and was the intimate friend of
Cabanis.

But for such a work you must have needed books -- had you
any?

I had nearly five thousand volumes in my library at Rome;
but after reading them over many times, I found out that
with one hundred and fifty well-chosen books a man
possesses, if not a complete summary of all human knowledge,
at least all that a man need really know. I devoted three
years of my life to reading and studying these one hundred
and fifty volumes, till I knew them nearly by heart; so that
since I have been in prison, a very slight effort of memory
has enabled me to recall their contents as readily as though
the pages were open before me. I could recite you the whole
of Thucydides, Xenophon, Plutarch, Titus Livius, Tacitus,
Strada, Jornandes, Dante, Montaigne, Shaksepeare, Spinoza,
Machiavelli, and Bossuet. I name only the most important.

You are, doubtless, acquainted with a variety of languages,
so as to have been able to read all these?

Yes, I speak five of the modern tongues -- that is to say,
German, French, Italian, English, and Spanish; by the aid of
ancient Greek I learned modern Greek -- I don't speak it so
well as I could wish, but I am still trying to improve
myself.

Improve yourself!repeated Dantes; "whyhow can you
manage to do so?"

Why, I made a vocabulary of the words I knew; turned,
returned, and arranged them, so as to enable me to express
my thoughts through their medium. I know nearly one thousand
words, which is all that is absolutely necessary, although I
believe there are nearly one hundred thousand in the
dictionaries. I cannot hope to be very fluent, but I
certainly should have no difficulty in explaining my wants
and wishes; and that would be quite as much as I should ever
require.

Stronger grew the wonder of Danteswho almost fancied he
had to do with one gifted with supernatural powers; still
hoping to find some imperfection which might bring him down
to a level with human beingshe addedThen if you were
not furnished with pens, how did you manage to write the
work you speak of?

I made myself some excellent ones, which would be
universally preferred to all others if once known. You are
aware what huge whitings are served to us on maigre days.
Well, I selected the cartilages of the heads of these
fishes, and you can scarcely imagine the delight with which
I welcomed the arrival of each Wednesday, Friday, and
Saturday, as affording me the means of increasing my stock
of pens; for I will freely confess that my historical labors
have been my greatest solace and relief. While retracing the
past, I forget the present; and traversing at will the path
of history I cease to remember that I am myself a prisoner.


But the ink,said Dantes; "of what did you make your ink?"


There was formerly a fireplace in my dungeon,replied
Fariabut it was closed up long ere I became an occupant
of this prison. Still, it must have been many years in use,
for it was thickly covered with a coating of soot; this soot
I dissolved in a portion of the wine brought to me every
Sunday, and I assure you a better ink cannot be desired. For
very important notes, for which closer attention is
required, I pricked one of my fingers, and wrote with my own
blood.


And when,asked Dantesmay I see all this?


Whenever you please,replied the abbe.


Oh, then let it be directly!exclaimed the young man.


Follow me, then,said the abbeas he re-entered the
subterranean passagein which he soon disappearedfollowed
by Dantes.


Chapter 17
The Abbe's Chamber.


After having passed with tolerable ease through the
subterranean passagewhichhoweverdid not admit of their
holding themselves erectthe two friends reached the
further end of the corridorinto which the abbe's cell
opened; from that point the passage became much narrower
and barely permitted one to creep through on hands and
knees. The floor of the abbe's cell was pavedand it had
been by raising one of the stones in the most obscure corner
that Faria had to been able to commence the laborious task
of which Dantes had witnessed the completion.


As he entered the chamber of his friendDantes cast around
one eager and searching glance in quest of the expected
marvelsbut nothing more than common met his view.


It is well,said the abbe; "we have some hours before us
-- it is now just a quarter past twelve o'clock."
Instinctively Dantes turned round to observe by what watch
or clock the abbe had been able so accurately to specify the
hour.


Look at this ray of light which enters by my window,said
the abbeand then observe the lines traced on the wall.
Well, by means of these lines, which are in accordance with
the double motion of the earth, and the ellipse it describes
round the sun, I am enabled to ascertain the precise hour
with more minuteness than if I possessed a watch; for that
might be broken or deranged in its movements, while the sun
and earth never vary in their appointed paths.


This last explanation was wholly lost upon Danteswho had
always imaginedfrom seeing the sun rise from behind the
mountains and set in the Mediterraneanthat it movedand
not the earth. A double movement of the globe he inhabited
and of which he could feel nothingappeared to him
perfectly impossible. Each word that fell from his



companion's lips seemed fraught with the mysteries of
scienceas worthy of digging out as the gold and diamonds
in the mines of Guzerat and Golcondawhich he could just
recollect having visited during a voyage made in his
earliest youth.

Come,said he to the abbeI am anxious to see your
treasures.

The abbe smiledandproceeding to the disused fireplace
raisedby the help of his chisela long stonewhich had
doubtless been the hearthbeneath which was a cavity of
considerable depthserving as a safe depository of the
articles mentioned to Dantes.

What do you wish to see first?asked the abbe.

Oh, your great work on the monarchy of Italy!

Faria then drew forth from his hiding-place three or four
rolls of linenlaid one over the otherlike folds of
papyrus. These rolls consisted of slips of cloth about four
inches wide and eighteen long; they were all carefully
numbered and closely covered with writingso legible that
Dantes could easily read itas well as make out the sense
-- it being in Italiana language heas a Provencal
perfectly understood.

There,said hethere is the work complete. I wrote the
word finis at the end of the sixty-eighth strip about a week
ago. I have torn up two of my shirts, and as many
handkerchiefs as I was master of, to complete the precious
pages. Should I ever get out of prison and find in all Italy
a printer courageous enough to publish what I have composed,
my literary reputation is forever secured.

I see,answered Dantes. "Now let me behold the curious
pens with which you have written your work."

Look!said Fariashowing to the young man a slender stick
about six inches longand much resembling the size of the
handle of a fine painting-brushto the end of which was
tiedby a piece of threadone of those cartilages of which
the abbe had before spoken to Dantes; it was pointedand
divided at the nib like an ordinary pen. Dantes examined it
with intense admirationthen looked around to see the
instrument with which it had been shaped so correctly into
form.

Ah, yes,said Faria; "the penknife. That's my masterpiece.
I made itas well as this larger knifeout of an old iron
candlestick." The penknife was sharp and keen as a razor; as
for the other knifeit would serve a double purposeand
with it one could cut and thrust.

Dantes examined the various articles shown to him with the
same attention that he had bestowed on the curiosities and
strange tools exhibited in the shops at Marseilles as the
works of the savages in the South Seas from whence they had
been brought by the different trading vessels.

As for the ink,said FariaI told you how I managed to
obtain that -- and I only just make it from time to time, as
I require it.


One thing still puzzles me,observed Dantesand that is
how you managed to do all this by daylight?

I worked at night also,replied Faria.

Night! -- why, for heaven's sake, are your eyes like cats',
that you can see to work in the dark?

Indeed they are not; but God his supplied man with the
intelligence that enables him to overcome the limitations of
natural conditions. I furnished myself with a light.

You did? Pray tell me how.

l separated the fat from the meat served to me, melted it,
and so made oil -- here is my lamp.So sayingthe abbe
exhibited a sort of torch very similar to those used in
public illuminations.

But light?

Here are two flints and a piece of burnt linen.

And matches?

I pretended that I had a disorder of the skin, and asked
for a little sulphur, which was readily supplied.Dantes
laid the different things he had been looking at on the
tableand stood with his head drooping on his breastas
though overwhelmed by the perseverance and strength of
Faria's mind.

You have not seen all yet,continued Fariafor I did not
think it wise to trust all my treasures in the same
hiding-place. Let us shut this one up.They put the stone
back in its place; the abbe sprinkled a little dust over it
to conceal the traces of its having been removedrubbed his
foot well on it to make it assume the same appearance as the
otherand thengoing towards his bedhe removed it from
the spot it stood in. Behind the head of the bedand
concealed by a stone fitting in so closely as to defy all
suspicionwas a hollow spaceand in this space a ladder of
cords between twenty-five and thirty feet in length. Dantes
closely and eagerly examined it; he found it firmsolid
and compact enough to bear any weight.

Who supplied you with the materials for making this
wonderful work?

I tore up several of my shirts, and ripped out the seams in
the sheets of my bed, during my three years' imprisonment at
Fenestrelle; and when I was removed to the Chateau d'If, I
managed to bring the ravellings with me, so that I have been
able to finish my work here.

And was it not discovered that your sheets were unhemmed?

Oh, no, for when I had taken out the thread I required, I
hemmed the edges over again.

With what?

With this needle,said the abbeasopening his ragged


vestmentshe showed Dantes a longsharp fish-bonewith a
small perforated eye for the threada small portion of
which still remained in it. "I once thought continued
Faria, of removing these iron barsand letting myself down
from the windowwhichas you seeis somewhat wider than
yoursalthough I should have enlarged it still more
preparatory to my flight; howeverI discovered that I
should merely have dropped into a sort of inner courtand I
therefore renounced the project altogether as too full of
risk and danger. NeverthelessI carefully preserved my
ladder against one of those unforeseen opportunities of
which I spoke just nowand which sudden chance frequently
brings about." While affecting to be deeply engaged in
examining the ladderthe mind of Dantes wasin fact
busily occupied by the idea that a person so intelligent
ingeniousand clear-sighted as the abbe might probably be
able to solve the dark mystery of his own misfortuneswhere
he himself could see nothing.

What are you thinking of?asked the abbe smilingly
imputing the deep abstraction in which his visitor was
plunged to the excess of his awe and wonder.

I was reflecting, in the first place,replied Dantes
upon the enormous degree of intelligence and ability you
must have employed to reach the high perfection to which you
have attained. What would you not have accomplished if you
had been free?

Possibly nothing at all; the overflow of my brain would
probably, in a state of freedom, have evaporated in a
thousand follies; misfortune is needed to bring to light the
treasures of the human intellect. Compression is needed to
explode gunpowder. Captivity has brought my mental faculties
to a focus; and you are well aware that from the collision
of clouds electricity is produced -- from electricity,
lightning, from lightning, illumination.

No,replied Dantes. "I know nothing. Some of your words
are to me quite empty of meaning. You must be blessed indeed
to possess the knowledge you have."

The abbe smiled. "Well said he, but you had another
subject for your thoughts; did you not say so just now?"

I did!

You have told me as yet but one of them -- let me hear the
other.

It was this, -- that while you had related to me all the
particulars of your past life, you were perfectly
unacquainted with mine.

Your life, my young friend, has not been of sufficient
length to admit of your having passed through any very
important events.

It has been long enough to inflict on me a great and
undeserved misfortune. I would fain fix the source of it on
man that I may no longer vent reproaches upon heaven.

Then you profess ignorance of the crime with which you are
charged?


I do, indeed; and this I swear by the two beings most dear
to me upon earth, -- my father and Mercedes.

Come,said the abbeclosing his hiding-placeand pushing
the bed back to its original situationlet me hear your
story.

Dantes obeyedand commenced what he called his historybut
which consisted only of the account of a voyage to India
and two or three voyages to the Levant until he arrived at
the recital of his last cruisewith the death of Captain
Leclereand the receipt of a packet to be delivered by
himself to the grand marshal; his interview with that
personageand his receivingin place of the packet
broughta letter addressed to a Monsieur Noirtier -- his
arrival at Marseillesand interview with his father -- his
affection for Mercedesand their nuptual feast -- his
arrest and subsequent examinationhis temporary detention
at the Palais de Justiceand his final imprisonment in the
Chateau d'If. From this point everything was a blank to
Dantes -- he knew nothing morenot even the length of time
he had been imprisoned. His recital finishedthe abbe
reflected long and earnestly.

There is,said heat the end of his meditationsa
clever maxim, which bears upon what I was saying to you some
little while ago, and that is, that unless wicked ideas take
root in a naturally depraved mind, human nature, in a right
and wholesome state, revolts at crime. Still, from an
artificial civilization have originated wants, vices, and
false tastes, which occasionally become so powerful as to
stifle within us all good feelings, and ultimately to lead
us into guilt and wickedness. From this view of things,
then, comes the axiom that if you visit to discover the
author of any bad action, seek first to discover the person
to whom the perpetration of that bad action could be in any
way advantageous. Now, to apply it in your case, -- to whom
could your disappearance have been serviceable?

To no one, by heaven! I was a very insignificant person.

Do not speak thus, for your reply evinces neither logic nor
philosophy; everything is relative, my dear young friend,
from the king who stands in the way of his successor, to the
employee who keeps his rival out of a place. Now, in the
event of the king's death, his successor inherits a crown,
-- when the employee dies, the supernumerary steps into his
shoes, and receives his salary of twelve thousand livres.
Well, these twelve thousand livres are his civil list, and
are as essential to him as the twelve millions of a king.
Every one, from the highest to the lowest degree, has his
place on the social ladder, and is beset by stormy passions
and conflicting interests, as in Descartes' theory of
pressure and impulsion. But these forces increase as we go
higher, so that we have a spiral which in defiance of reason
rests upon the apex and not on the base. Now let us return
to your particular world. You say you were on the point of
being made captain of the Pharaon?

Yes.

And about to become the husband of a young and lovely
girl?


Yes.

Now, could any one have had any interest in preventing the
accomplishment of these two things? But let us first settle
the question as to its being the interest of any one to
hinder you from being captain of the Pharaon. What say you?

I cannot believe such was the case. I was generally liked
on board, and had the sailors possessed the right of
selecting a captain themselves, I feel convinced their
choice would have fallen on me. There was only one person
among the crew who had any feeling of ill-will towards me. I
had quarelled with him some time previously, and had even
challenged him to fight me; but he refused.

Now we are getting on. And what was this man's name?

Danglars.

What rank did he hold on board?

He was supercargo.

And had you been captain, should you have retained him in
his employment?

Not if the choice had remained with me, for I had
frequently observed inaccuracies in his accounts.

Good again! Now then, tell me, was any person present
during your last conversation with Captain Leclere?

No; we were quite alone.

Could your conversation have been overheard by any one?

It might, for the cabin door was open -- and -- stay; now I
recollect, -- Danglars himself passed by just as Captain
Leclere was giving me the packet for the grand marshal.

That's better,cried the abbe; "now we are on the right
scent. Did you take anybody with you when you put into the
port of Elba?"

Nobody.

Somebody there received your packet, and gave you a letter
in place of it, I think?

Yes; the grand marshal did.

And what did you do with that letter?

Put it into my portfolio.

You had your portfolio with you, then? Now, how could a
sailor find room in his pocket for a portfolio large enough
to contain an official letter?

You are right; it was left on board.

Then it was not till your return to the ship that you put
the letter in the portfolio?


No.

And what did you do with this same letter while returning
from Porto-Ferrajo to the vessel?

I carried it in my hand.

So that when you went on board the Pharaon, everybody could
see that you held a letter in your hand?

Yes.

Danglars, as well as the rest?

Danglars, as well as others.

Now, listen to me, and try to recall every circumstance
attending your arrest. Do you recollect the words in which
the information against you was formulated?

Oh yes, I read it over three times, and the words sank
deeply into my memory.

Repeat it to me.

Dantes paused a momentthen saidThis is it, word for
word: `The king's attorney is informed by a friend to the
throne and religion, that one Edmond Dantes, mate on board
the Pharaon, this day arrived from Smyrna, after having
touched at Naples and Porto-Ferrajo, has been intrusted by
Murat with a packet for the usurper; again, by the usurper,
with a letter for the Bonapartist Club in Paris. This proof
of his guilt may be procured by his immediate arrest, as the
letter will be found either about his person, at his
father's residence, or in his cabin on board the Pharaon.'
The abbe shrugged his shoulders. "The thing is clear as
day said he; and you must have had a very confiding
natureas well as a good heartnot to have suspected the
origin of the whole affair."

Do you really think so? Ah, that would indeed be infamous.

How did Danglars usually write?

In a handsome, running hand.

And how was the anonymous letter written?

Backhanded.Again the abbe smiled. "Disguised."

It was very boldly written, if disguised.

Stop a bit,said the abbetaking up what he called his
penandafter dipping it into the inkhe wrote on a piece
of prepared linenwith his left handthe first two or
three words of the accusation. Dantes drew backand gazed
on the abbe with a sensation almost amounting to terror.

How very astonishing!cried he at length. "Why your
writing exactly resembles that of the accusation."

Simply because that accusation had been written with the
left hand; and I have noticed that-



What?

That while the writing of different persons done with the
right hand varies, that performed with the left hand is
invariably uniform.

You have evidently seen and observed everything.

Let us proceed.
Oh, yes, yes!

Now as regards the second question.
I am listening.

Was there any person whose interest it was to prevent your
marriage with Mercedes?

Yes; a young man who loved her.
And his name was--


Fernand.
That is a Spanish name, I think?


He was a Catalan.
You imagine him capable of writing the letter?


Oh, no; he would more likely have got rid of me by sticking
a knife into me.

That is in strict accordance with the Spanish character; an
assassination they will unhesitatingly commit, but an act of
cowardice, never.

Besides,said Dantesthe various circumstances mentioned
in the letter were wholly unknown to him.

You had never spoken of them yourself to any one?

To no one.
Not even to your mistress?


No, not even to my betrothed.
Then it is Danglars.


I feel quite sure of it now.
Wait a little. Pray, was Danglars acquainted with Fernand?


No -- yes, he was. Now I recollect--
What?


To have seen them both sitting at table together under an
arbor at Pere Pamphile's the evening before the day fixed
for my wedding. They were in earnest conversation. Danglars
was joking in a friendly way, but Fernand looked pale and


agitated.

Were they alone?

There was a third person with them whom I knew perfectly
well, and who had, in all probability made their
acquaintance; he was a tailor named Caderousse, but he was
very drunk. Stay! -- stay! -- How strange that it should not
have occurred to me before! Now I remember quite well, that
on the table round which they were sitting were pens, ink,
and paper. Oh, the heartless, treacherous scoundrels!
exclaimed Dantespressing his hand to his throbbing brows.

Is there anything else I can assist you in discovering,
besides the villany of your friends?inquired the abbe with
a laugh.

Yes, yes,replied Dantes eagerly; "I would beg of youwho
see so completely to the depths of thingsand to whom the
greatest mystery seems but an easy riddleto explain to me
how it was that I underwent no second examinationwas never
brought to trialandabove allwas condemned without ever
having had sentence passed on me?"

That is altogether a different and more serious matter,
responded the abbe. "The ways of justice are frequently too
dark and mysterious to be easily penetrated. All we have
hitherto done in the matter has been child's play. If you
wish me to enter upon the more difficult part of the
businessyou must assist me by the most minute information
on every point."

Pray ask me whatever questions you please; for, in good
truth, you see more clearly into my life than I do myself.

In the first place, then, who examined you, -- the king's
attorney, his deputy, or a magistrate?

The deputy.

Was he young or old?

About six or seven and twenty years of age, I should say.

So,answered the abbe. "Old enough to be ambitionsbut
too young to be corrupt. And how did he treat you?"

With more of mildness than severity.

Did you tell him your whole story?

I did.

And did his conduct change at all in the course of your
examination?

He did appear much disturbed when he read the letter that
had brought me into this scrape. He seemed quite overcome by
my misfortune.

By your misfortune?

Yes.


Then you feel quite sure that it was your misfortune he
deplored?

He gave me one great proof of his sympathy, at any rate.

And that?

He burnt the sole evidence that could at all have
criminated me.

What? the accusation?

No; the letter.

Are you sure?

I saw it done.

That alters the case. This man might, after all, be a
greater scoundrel than you have thought possible.

Upon my word,said Dantesyou make me shudder. Is the
world filled with tigers and crocodiles?

Yes; and remember that two-legged tigers and crocodiles are
more dangerous than the others.

Never mind; let us go on.

With all my heart! You tell me he burned the letter?

He did; saying at the same time, `You see I thus destroy
the only proof existing against you.'

This action is somewhat too sublime to be natural.

You think so?

I am sure of it. To whom was this letter addressed?

To M. Noirtier, No. 13 Coq-Heron, Paris.

Now can you conceive of any interest that your heroic
deputy could possibly have had in the destruction of that
letter?

Why, it is not altogether impossible he might have had, for
he made me promise several times never to speak of that
letter to any one, assuring me he so advised me for my own
interest; and, more than this, he insisted on my taking a
solemn oath never to utter the name mentioned in the
address.

Noirtier!repeated the abbe; "Noirtier! -- I knew a person
of that name at the court of the Queen of Etruria-- a
Noirtierwho had been a Girondin during the Revolution!
What was your deputy called?"

De Villefort!The abbe burst into a fit of laughterwhile
Dantes gazed on him in utter astonishment.

What ails you?said he at length.

Do you see that ray of sunlight?


I do.

Well, the whole thing is more clear to me than that sunbeam
is to you. Poor fellow! poor young man! And you tell me this
magistrate expressed great sympathy and commiseration for
you?

He did.

And the worthy man destroyed your compromising letter?

Yes.

And then made you swear never to utter the name of
Noirtier?

Yes.

Why, you poor short-sighted simpleton, can you not guess
who this Noirtier was, whose very name he was so careful to
keep concealed? Noirtier was his father.

Had a thunderbolt fallen at the feet of Dantesor hell
opened its yawning gulf before himhe could not have been
more completely transfixed with horror than he was at the
sound of these unexpected words. Starting uphe clasped his
hands around his head as though to prevent his very brain
from burstingand exclaimedHis father! his father!

Yes, his father,replied the abbe; "his right name was
Noirtier de Villefort." At this instant a bright light shot
through the mind of Dantesand cleared up all that had been
dark and obscure before. The change that had come over
Villefort during the examinationthe destruction of the
letterthe exacted promisethe almost supplicating tones
of the magistratewho seemed rather to implore mercy than
to pronounce punishment-- all returned with a stunning
force to his memory. He cried outand staggered against the
wall like a drunken manthen he hurried to the opening that
led from the abbe's cell to his ownand saidI must be
alone, to think over all this.

When he regained his dungeonhe threw himself on his bed
where the turnkey found him in the evening visitsitting
with fixed gaze and contracted featuresdumb and motionless
as a statue. During these hours of profound meditation
which to him had seemed only minuteshe had formed a
fearful resolutionand bound himself to its fulfilment by a
solemn oath.

Dantes was at length roused from his revery by the voice of
Fariawhohaving also been visited by his jailerhad come
to invite his fellow-sufferer to share his supper. The
reputation of being out of his mindthough harmlessly and
even amusingly sohad procured for the abbe unusual
privileges. He was supplied with bread of a finerwhiter
quality than the usual prison fareand even regaled each
Sunday with a small quantity of wine. Now this was a Sunday
and the abbe had come to ask his young companion to share
the luxuries with him. Dantes followed; his features were no
longer contractedand now wore their usual expressionbut
there was that in his whole appearance that bespoke one who
had come to a fixed and desperate resolve. Faria bent on him


his penetrating eye: "I regret now said he, having helped
you in your late inquiriesor having given you the
information I did."

Why so?inquired Dantes.

Because it has instilled a new passion in your heart -that
of vengeance.

Dantes smiled. "Let us talk of something else said he.

Again the abbe looked at him, then mournfully shook his
head; but in accordance with Dantes' request, he began to
speak of other matters. The elder prisoner was one of those
persons whose conversation, like that of all who have
experienced many trials, contained many useful and important
hints as well as sound information; but it was never
egotistical, for the unfortunate man never alluded to his
own sorrows. Dantes listened with admiring attention to all
he said; some of his remarks corresponded with what he
already knew, or applied to the sort of knowledge his
nautical life had enabled him to acquire. A part of the good
abbe's words, however, were wholly incomprehensible to him;
but, like the aurora which guides the navigator in northern
latitudes, opened new vistas to the inquiring mind of the
listener, and gave fantastic glimpses of new horizons,
enabling him justly to estimate the delight an intellectual
mind would have in following one so richly gifted as Faria
along the heights of truth, where he was so much at home.

You must teach me a small part of what you know said
Dantes, if only to prevent your growing weary of me. I can
well believe that so learned a person as yourself would
prefer absolute solitude to being tormented with the company
of one as ignorant and uninformed as myself. If you will
only agree to my requestI promise you never to mention
another word about escaping." The abbe smiled. "Alasmy
boy said he, human knowledge is confined within very
narrow limits; and when I have taught you mathematics
physicshistoryand the three or four modern languages
with which I am acquaintedyou will know as much as I do
myself. Nowit will scarcely require two years for me to
communicate to you the stock of learning I possess."

Two years!exclaimed Dantes; "do you really believe I can
acquire all these things in so short a time?"

Not their application, certainly, but their principles you
may; to learn is not to know; there are the learners and the
learned. Memory makes the one, philosophy the other.

But cannot one learn philosophy?

Philosophy cannot be taught; it is the application of the
sciences to truth; it is like the golden cloud in which the
Messiah went up into heaven.

Well, then,said DantesWhat shall you teach me first? I
am in a hurry to begin. I want to learn.

Everything,said the abbe. And that very evening the
prisoners sketched a plan of educationto be entered upon
the following day. Dantes possessed a prodigious memory
combined with an astonishing quickness and readiness of


conception; the mathematical turn of his mind rendered him
apt at all kinds of calculationwhile his naturally
poetical feelings threw a light and pleasing veil over the
dry reality of arithmetical computationor the rigid
severity of geometry. He already knew Italianand had also
picked up a little of the Romaic dialect during voyages to
the East; and by the aid of these two languages he easily
comprehended the construction of all the othersso that at
the end of six mouths he began to speak SpanishEnglish
and German. In strict accordance with the promise made to
the abbeDantes spoke no more of escape. Perhaps the
delight his studies afforded him left no room for such
thoughts; perhaps the recollection that he had pledged his
word (on which his sense of honor was keen) kept him from
referring in any way to the possibilities of flight. Days
even monthspassed by unheeded in one rapid and instructive
course. At the end of a year Dantes was a new man. Dantes
observedhoweverthat Fariain spite of the relief his
society affordeddaily grew sadder; one thought seemed
incessantly to harass and distract his mind. Sometimes he
would fall into long reveriessigh heavily and
involuntarilythen suddenly riseandwith folded arms
begin pacing the confined space of his dungeon. One day he
stopped all at onceand exclaimedAh, if there were no
sentinel!

There shall not be one a minute longer than you please,
said Danteswho had followed the working of his thoughts as
accurately as though his brain were enclosed in crystal so
clear as to display its minutest operations.

I have already told you,answered the abbethat I loathe
the idea of shedding blood.

And yet the murder, if you choose to call it so, would be
simply a measure of self-preservation.

No matter! I could never agree to it.

Still, you have thought of it?

Incessantly, alas!cried the abbe.

And you have discovered a means of regaining our freedom,
have you not?asked Dantes eagerly.

I have; if it were only possible to place a deaf and blind
sentinel in the gallery beyond us.

He shall be both blind and deaf,replied the young man
with an air of determination that made his companion
shudder.

No, no,cried the abbe; "impossible!" Dantes endeavored to
renew the subject; the abbe shook his head in token of
disapprovaland refused to make any further response. Three
months passed away.

Are you strong?the abbe asked one day of Dantes. The
young manin replytook up the chiselbent it into the
form of a horseshoeand then as readily straightened it.

And will you engage not to do any harm to the sentry,
except as a last resort?


I promise on my honor.

Then,said the abbewe may hope to put our design into
execution.

And how long shall we be in accomplishing the necessary
work?

At least a year.

And shall we begin at once?

At once.

We have lost a year to no purpose!cried Dantes.

Do you consider the last twelve months to have been
wasted?asked the abbe.

Forgive me!cried Edmondblushing deeply.

Tut, tut!answered the abbeman is but man after all,
and you are about the best specimen of the genus I have ever
known. Come, let me show you my plan.The abbe then showed
Dantes the sketch he had made for their escape. It consisted
of a plan of his own cell and that of Danteswith the
passage which united them. In this passage he proposed to
drive a level as they do in mines; this level would bring
the two prisoners immediately beneath the gallery where the
sentry kept watch; once therea large excavation would be
madeand one of the flag-stones with which the gallery was
paved be so completely loosened that at the desired moment
it would give way beneath the feet of the soldierwho
stunned by his fallwould be immediately bound and gagged
by Dantes before he had power to offer any resistance. The
prisoners were then to make their way through one of the
gallery windowsand to let themselves down from the outer
walls by means of the abbe's ladder of cords. Dantes' eyes
sparkled with joyand he rubbed his hands with delight at
the idea of a plan so simpleyet apparently so certain to
succeed.

That very day the miners began their laborswith a vigor
and alacrity proportionate to their long rest from fatigue
and their hopes of ultimate success. Nothing interrupted the
progress of the work except the necessity that each was
under of returning to his cell in anticipation of the
turnkey's visits. They had learned to distinguish the almost
imperceptible sound of his footsteps as he descended towards
their dungeonsand happilynever failed of being prepared
for his coming. The fresh earth excavated during their
present workand which would have entirely blocked up the
old passagewas thrownby degrees and with the utmost
precautionout of the window in either Faria's or Dantes'
cellthe rubbish being first pulverized so finely that the
night wind carried it far away without permitting the
smallest trace to remain. More than a year had been consumed
in this undertakingthe only tools for which had been a
chisela knifeand a wooden lever; Faria still continuing
to instruct Dantes by conversing with himsometimes in one
languagesometimes in another; at othersrelating to him
the history of nations and great men who from time to time
have risen to fame and trodden the path of glory.


The abbe was a man of the worldand hadmoreovermixed in
the first society of the day; he wore an air of melancholy
dignity which Dantesthanks to the imitative powers
bestowed on him by natureeasily acquiredas well as that
outward polish and politeness he had before been wanting in
and which is seldom possessed except by those who have been
placed in constant intercourse with persons of high birth
and breeding. At the end of fifteen months the level was
finishedand the excavation completed beneath the gallery
and the two workmen could distinctly hear the measured tread
of the sentinel as he paced to and fro over their heads.

Compelledas they wereto await a night sufficiently dark
to favor their flightthey were obliged to defer their
final attempt till that auspicious moment should arrive;
their greatest dread now was lest the stone through which
the sentry was doomed to fall should give way before its
right timeand this they had in some measure provided
against by propping it up with a small beam which they had
discovered in the walls through which they had worked their
way. Dantes was occupied in arranging this piece of wood
when he heard Fariawho had remained in Edmond's cell for
the purpose of cutting a peg to secure their rope-ladder
call to him in a tone indicative of great suffering. Dantes
hastened to his dungeonwhere he found him standing in the
middle of the roompale as deathhis forehead streaming
with perspirationand his hands clinched tightly together.

Gracious heavens!exclaimed Danteswhat is the matter?
what has happened?

Quick! quick!returned the abbelisten to what I have to
say.Dantes looked in fear and wonder at the livid
countenance of Fariawhose eyesalready dull and sunken
were surrounded by purple circleswhile his lips were white
as those of a corpseand his very hair seemed to stand on
end.

Tell me, I beseech you, what ails you?cried Dantes
letting his chisel fall to the floor.

Alas,faltered out the abbeall is over with me. I am
seized with a terrible, perhaps mortal illness; I can feel
that the paroxysm is fast approaching. I had a similar
attack the year previous to my imprisonment. This malady
admits but of one remedy; I will tell you what that is. Go
into my cell as quickly as you can; draw out one of the feet
that support the bed; you will find it has been hollowed out
for the purpose of containing a small phial you will see
there half-filled with a red-looking fluid. Bring it to me
-- or rather -- no, no! -- I may be found here, therefore
help me back to my room while I have the strength to drag
myself along. Who knows what may happen, or how long the
attack may last?

In spite of the magnitude of the misfortune which thus
suddenly frustrated his hopesDantes did not lose his
presence of mindbut descended into the passagedragging
his unfortunate companion with him; thenhalf-carrying
half-supporting himhe managed to reach the abbe's chamber
when he immediately laid the sufferer on his bed.

Thanks,said the poor abbeshivering as though his veins


were filled with ice. "I am about to be seized with a fit of
catalepsy; when it comes to its height I shall probably lie
still and motionless as though deaduttering neither sigh
nor groan. On the other handthe symptoms may be much more
violentand cause me to fall into fearful convulsionsfoam
at the mouthand cry out loudly. Take care my cries are not
heardfor if they are it is more than probable I should be
removed to another part of the prisonand we be separated
forever. When I become quite motionlesscoldand rigid as
a corpsethenand not before-- be careful about this-force
open my teeth with the knifepour from eight to ten
drops of the liquor contained in the phial down my throat
and I may perhaps revive."

Perhaps!exclaimed Dantes in grief-stricken tones.

Help! help!cried the abbeI -- I -- die -- I-


So sudden and violent was the fit that the unfortunate
prisoner was unable to complete the sentence; a violent
convulsion shook his whole framehis eyes started from
their socketshis mouth was drawn on one sidehis cheeks
became purplehe struggledfoameddashed himself about
and uttered the most dreadful crieswhichhoweverDantes
prevented from being heard by covering his head with the
blanket. The fit lasted two hours; thenmore helpless than
an infantand colder and paler than marblemore crushed
and broken than a reed trampled under foothe fell back
doubled up in one last convulsionand became as rigid as a
corpse.

Edmond waited till life seemed extinct in the body of his
friendthentaking up the knifehe with difficulty forced
open the closely fixed jawscarefully administered the
appointed number of dropsand anxiously awaited the result.
An hour passed away and the old man gave no sign of
returning animation. Dantes began to fear he had delayed too
long ere he administered the remedyandthrusting his
hands into his haircontinued gazing on the lifeless
features of his friend. At length a slight color tinged the
livid cheeksconsciousness returned to the dullopen
eyeballsa faint sigh issued from the lipsand the
sufferer made a feeble effort to move.

He is saved! he is saved!cried Dantes in a paroxysm of
delight.

The sick man was not yet able to speakbut he pointed with
evident anxiety towards the door. Dantes listenedand
plainly distinguished the approaching steps of the jailer.
It was therefore near seven o'clock; but Edmond's anxiety
had put all thoughts of time out of his head. The young man
sprang to the entrancedarted through itcarefully drawing
the stone over the openingand hurried to his cell. He had
scarcely done so before the door openedand the jailer saw
the prisoner seated as usual on the side of his bed. Almost
before the key had turned in the lockand before the
departing steps of the jailer had died away in the long
corridor he had to traverseDanteswhose restless anxiety
concerning his friend left him no desire to touch the food
brought himhurried back to the abbe's chamberand raising
the stone by pressing his head against itwas soon beside
the sick man's couch. Faria had now fully regained his
consciousnessbut he still lay helpless and exhausted.


I did not expect to see you again,said he feeblyto
Dantes.

And why not?asked the young man. "Did you fancy yourself
dying?"

No, I had no such idea; but, knowing that all was ready for
flight, I thought you might have made your escape.The deep
glow of indignation suffused the cheeks of Dantes.

Without you? Did you really think me capable of that?

At least,said the abbeI now see how wrong such an
opinion would have been. Alas, alas! I am fearfully
exhausted and debilitated by this attack.

Be of good cheer,replied Dantes; "your strength will
return." And as he spoke he seated himself near the bed
beside Fariaand took his hands. The abbe shook his head.

The last attack I had,said helasted but half an hour,
and after it I was hungry, and got up without help; now I
can move neither my right arm nor leg, and my head seems
uncomfortable, which shows that there has been a suffusion
of blood on the brain. The third attack will either carry me
off, or leave me paralyzed for life.

No, no,cried Dantes; "you are mistaken -- you will not
die! And your third attack (ifindeedyou should have
another) will find you at liberty. We shall save you another
timeas we have done thisonly with a better chance of
successbecause we shall be able to command every requisite
assistance."

My good Edmond,answered the abbebe not deceived. The
attack which has just passed away, condemns me forever to
the walls of a prison. None can fly from a dungeon who
cannot walk.

Well, we will wait, -- a week, a month, two months, if need
be, -- and meanwhile your strength will return. Everything
is in readiness for our flight, and we can select any time
we choose. As soon as you feel able to swim we will go.

I shall never swim again,replied Faria. "This arm is
paralyzed; not for a timebut forever. Lift itand judge
if I am mistaken." The young man raised the armwhich fell
back by its own weightperfectly inanimate and helpless. A
sigh escaped him.

You are convinced now, Edmond, are you not?asked the
abbe. "Depend upon itI know what I say. Since the first
attack I experienced of this maladyI have continually
reflected on it. IndeedI expected itfor it is a family
inheritance; both my father and grandfather died of it in a
third attack. The physician who prepared for me the remedy I
have twice successfully takenwas no other than the
celebrated Cabanisand he predicted a similar end for me."

The physician may be mistaken!exclaimed Dantes. "And as
for your poor armwhat difference will that make? I can
take you on my shouldersand swim for both of us."


My son,said the abbeyou, who are a sailor and a
swimmer, must know as well as I do that a man so loaded
would sink before he had done fifty strokes. Cease, then, to
allow yourself to be duped by vain hopes, that even your own
excellent heart refuses to believe in. Here I shall remain
till the hour of my deliverance arrives, and that, in all
human probability, will be the hour of my death. As for you,
who are young and active, delay not on my account, but fly
-- go-I give you back your promise.

It is well,said Dantes. "Then I shall also remain." Then
rising and extending his hand with an air of solemnity over
the old man's headhe slowly addedBy the blood of Christ
I swear never to leave you while you live.

Faria gazed fondly on his noble-mindedsingle-hearted
high-principled young friendand read in his countenance
ample confirmation of the sincerity of his devotion and the
loyalty of his purpose.

Thanks,murmured the invalidextending one hand. "I
accept. You may one of these days reap the reward of your
disinterested devotion. But as I cannotand you will not
quit this placeit becomes necessary to fill up the
excavation beneath the soldier's gallery; he mightby
chancehear the hollow sound of his footstepsand call the
attention of his officer to the circumstance. That would
bring about a discovery which would inevitably lead to our
being separated. Gothenand set about this workin
whichunhappilyI can offer you no assistance; keep at it
all nightif necessaryand do not return here to-morrow
till after the jailer his visited me. I shall have something
of the greatest importance to communicate to you."

Dantes took the hand of the abbe in hisand affectionately
pressed it. Faria smiled encouragingly on himand the young
man retired to his taskin the spirit of obedience and
respect which he had sworn to show towards his aged friend.

Chapter 18
The Treasure.

When Dantes returned next morning to the chamber of his
companion in captivityhe found Faria seated and looking
composed. In the ray of light which entered by the narrow
window of his cellhe held open in his left handof which
aloneit will be recollectedhe retained the usea sheet
of paperwhichfrom being constantly rolled into a small
compasshad the form of a cylinderand was not easily kept
open. He did not speakbut showed the paper to Dantes.

What is that?he inquired.

Look at it,said the abbe with a smile.

I have looked at it with all possible attention,said
Dantesand I only see a half-burnt paper, on which are
traces of Gothic characters inscribed with a peculiar kind
of ink.

This paper, my friend,said FariaI may now avow to you,
since I have the proof of your fidelity -- this paper is my


treasure, of which, from this day forth, one-half belongs to
you.

The sweat started forth on Dantes brow. Until this day and
for how long a time! -- he had refrained from talking of the
treasurewhich had brought upon the abbe the accusation of
madness. With his instinctive delicacy Edmond had preferred
avoiding any touch on this painful chordand Faria had been
equally silent. He had taken the silence of the old man for
a return to reason; and now these few words uttered by
Fariaafter so painful a crisisseemed to indicate a
serious relapse into mental alienation.

Your treasure?stammered Dantes. Faria smiled.

Yes,said he. "You haveindeeda noble natureEdmond
and I see by your paleness and agitation what is passing in
your heart at this moment. Nobe assuredI am not mad.
This treasure existsDantesand if I have not been allowed
to possess ityou will. Yes -- you. No one would listen or
believe mebecause everyone thought me mad; but youwho
must know that I am notlisten to meand believe me so
afterwards if you will."

Alas,murmured Edmond to himselfthis is a terrible
relapse! There was only this blow wanting.Then he said
aloudMy dear friend, your attack has, perhaps, fatigued
you; had you not better repose awhile? To-morrow, if you
will, I will hear your narrative; but to-day I wish to nurse
you carefully. Besides,he saida treasure is not a thing
we need hurry about.

On the contrary, it is a matter of the utmost importance,
Edmond!replied the old man. "Who knows if to-morrowor
the next day afterthe third attack may not come on? and
then must not all be over? YesindeedI have often thought
with a bitter joy that these richeswhich would make the
wealth of a dozen familieswill be forever lost to those
men who persecute me. This idea was one of vengeance to me
and I tasted it slowly in the night of my dungeon and the
despair of my captivity. But now I have forgiven the world
for the love of you; now that I see youyoung and with a
promising future-- now that I think of all that may result
to you in the good fortune of such a disclosureI shudder
at any delayand tremble lest I should not assure to one as
worthy as yourself the possession of so vast an amount of
hidden wealth." Edmond turned away his head with a sigh.

You persist in your incredulity, Edmond,continued Faria.
My words have not convinced you. I see you require proofs.
Well, then, read this paper, which I have never shown to any
one.

To-morrow, my dear friend,said Edmonddesirous of not
yielding to the old man's madness. "I thought it was
understood that we should not talk of that until to-morrow."

Then we will not talk of it until to-morrow; but read this
paper to-day.

I will not irritate him,thought Edmondand taking the
paperof which half was wanting-- having been burntno
doubtby some accident-- he read: -



This treasure, which may amount to two...
of Roman crowns in the most distant a...
of the second opening wh...
declare to belong to him alo...
heir.
25th Aprill49"


Well!said Fariawhen the young man had finished reading
it.


Why,replied DantesI see nothing but broken lines and
unconnected words, which are rendered illegible by fire.


Yes, to you, my friend, who read them for the first time;
but not for me, who have grown pale over them by many
nights' study, and have reconstructed every phrase,
completed every thought.


And do you believe you have discovered the hidden meaning?


I am sure I have, and you shall judge for yourself; but
first listen to the history of this paper.


Silence!exclaimed Dantes. "Steps approach -- I go --
adieu."


And Danteshappy to escape the history and explanation
which would be sure to confirm his belief in his friend's
mental instabilityglided like a snake along the narrow
passage; while Fariarestored by his alarm to a certain
amount of activitypushed the stone into place with his
footand covered it with a mat in order the more
effectually to avoid discovery.


It was the governorwhohearing of Faria's illness from
the jailerhad come in person to see him.


Faria sat up to receive himavoiding all gestures in order
that he might conceal from the governor the paralysis that
had already half stricken him with death. His fear was lest
the governortouched with pitymight order him to be
removed to better quartersand thus separate him from his
young companion. But fortunately this was not the caseand
the governor left himconvinced that the poor madmanfor
whom in his heart he felt a kind of affectionwas only
troubled with a slight indisposition.


During this timeEdmondseated on his bed with his head in
his handstried to collect his scattered thoughts. Faria
since their first acquaintancehad been on all points so
rational and logicalso wonderfully sagaciousin fact
that he could not understand how so much wisdom on all
points could be allied with madness. Was Faria deceived as
to his treasureor was all the world deceived as to Faria?


Dantes remained in his cell all daynot daring to return to
his friendthinking thus to defer the moment when he should
be convincedonce for allthat the abbe was mad -- such a
conviction would be so terrible!


Buttowards the evening after the hour for the customary
visit had gone byFarianot seeing the young man appear
tried to move and get over the distance which separated
them. Edmond shuddered when he heard the painful efforts



which the old man made to drag himself along; his leg was
inertand he could no longer make use of one arm. Edmond
was obliged to assist himfor otherwise he would not have
been able to enter by the small aperture which led to
Dantes' chamber.

Here I am, pursuing you remorselessly,he said with a
benignant smile. "You thought to escape my munificencebut
it is in vain. Listen to me."

Edmond saw there was no escapeand placing the old man on
his bedhe seated himself on the stool beside him.

You know,said the abbethat I was the secretary and
intimate friend of Cardinal Spada, the last of the princes
of that name. I owe to this worthy lord all the happiness I
ever knew. He was not rich, although the wealth of his
family had passed into a proverb, and I heard the phrase
very often, `As rich as a Spada.' But he, like public rumor,
lived on this reputation for wealth; his palace was my
paradise. I was tutor to his nephews, who are dead; and when
he was alone in the world, I tried by absolute devotion to
his will, to make up to him all he had done for me during
ten years of unremitting kindness. The cardinal's house had
no secrets for me. I had often seen my noble patron
annotating ancient volumes, and eagerly searching amongst
dusty family manuscripts. One day when I was reproaching him
for his unavailing searches, and deploring the prostration
of mind that followed them, he looked at me, and, smiling
bitterly, opened a volume relating to the History of the
City of Rome. There, in the twentieth chapter of the Life of
Pope Alexander VI., were the following lines, which I can
never forget: -


`The great wars of Romagna had ended; Caesar Borgiawho
had completed his conquesthad need of money to purchase
all Italy. The pope had also need of money to bring matters
to an end with Louis XII. King of Francewho was formidable
still in spite of his recent reverses; and it was necessary
thereforeto have recourse to some profitable schemewhich
was a matter of great difficulty in the impoverished
condition of exhausted Italy. His holiness had an idea. He
determined to make two cardinals.'

By choosing two of the greatest personages of Rome,
especially rich men -- this was the return the holy father
looked for. In the first place, he could sell the great
appointments and splendid offices which the cardinals
already held; and then he had the two hats to sell besides.
There was a third point in view, which will appear
hereafter. The pope and Caesar Borgia first found the two
future cardinals; they were Giovanni Rospigliosi, who held
four of the highest dignities of the Holy See, and Caesar
Spada, one of the noblest and richest of the Roman nobility;
both felt the high honor of such a favor from the pope. They
were ambitious, and Caesar Borgia soon found purchasers for
their appointments. The result was, that Rospigliosi and
Spada paid for being cardinals, and eight other persons paid
for the offices the cardinals held before their elevation,
and thus eight hundred thousand crowns entered into the
coffers of the speculators.

It is time now to proceed to the last part of the
speculation. The pope heaped attentions upon Rospigliosi and


Spadaconferred upon them the insignia of the cardinalate
and induced them to arrange their affairs and take up their
residence at Rome. Then the pope and Caesar Borgia invited
the two cardinals to dinner. This was a matter of dispute
between the holy father and his son. Caesar thought they
could make use of one of the means which he always had ready
for his friendsthat is to sayin the first placethe
famous key which was given to certain persons with the
request that they go and open a designated cupboard. This
key was furnished with a small iron point-- a negligence
on the part of the locksmith. When this was pressed to
effect the opening of the cupboardof which the lock was
difficultthe person was pricked by this small pointand
died next day. Then there was the ring with the lion's head
which Caesar wore when he wanted to greet his friends with a
clasp of the hand. The lion bit the hand thus favoredand
at the end of twenty-four hoursthe bite was mortal. Caesar
proposed to his fatherthat they should either ask the
cardinals to open the cupboardor shake hands with them;
but Alexander VI.replied: `Now as to the worthy cardinals
Spada and Rospigliosilet us ask both of them to dinner
something tells me that we shall get that money back.
Besidesyou forgetCaesaran indigestion declares itself
immediatelywhile a prick or a bite occasions a delay of a
day or two.' Caesar gave way before such cogent reasoning
and the cardinals were consequently invited to dinner.

The table was laid in a vineyard belonging to the pope,
near San Pierdarena, a charming retreat which the cardinals
knew very well by report. Rospigliosi, quite set up with his
new dignities, went with a good appetite and his most
ingratiating manner. Spada, a prudent man, and greatly
attached to his only nephew, a young captain of the highest
promise, took paper and pen, and made his will. He then sent
word to his nephew to wait for him near the vineyard; but it
appeared the servant did not find him.

Spada knew what these invitations meant; since
Christianityso eminently civilizinghad made progress in
Romeit was no longer a centurion who came from the tyrant
with a message`Caesar wills that you die.' but it was a
legate a laterewho came with a smile on his lips to say
from the pope`His holiness requests you to dine with him.'

Spada set out about two o'clock to San Pierdarena. The pope
awaited him. The first sight that attracted the eyes of
Spada was that of his nephew, in full costume, and Caesar
Borgia paying him most marked attentions. Spada turned pale,
as Caesar looked at him with an ironical air, which proved
that he had anticipated all, and that the snare was well
spread. They began dinner and Spada was only able to inquire
of his nephew if he had received his message. The nephew
replied no; perfectly comprehending the meaning of the
question. It was too late, for he had already drunk a glass
of excellent wine, placed for him expressly by the pope's
butler. Spada at the same moment saw another bottle approach
him, which he was pressed to taste. An hour afterwards a
physician declared they were both poisoned through eating
mushrooms. Spada died on the threshold of the vineyard; the
nephew expired at his own door, making signs which his wife
could not comprehend.

Then Caesar and the pope hastened to lay hands on the
heritageunder presence of seeking for the papers of the


dead man. But the inheritance consisted in this onlya
scrap of paper on which Spada had written: -- `I bequeath to
my beloved nephew my coffersmy booksandamongst others
my breviary with the gold cornerswhich I beg he will
preserve in remembrance of his affectionate uncle.'

The heirs sought everywhere, admired the breviary, laid
hands on the furniture, and were greatly astonished that
Spada, the rich man, was really the most miserable of uncles
-- no treasures -- unless they were those of science,
contained in the library and laboratories. That was all.
Caesar and his father searched, examined, scrutinized, but
found nothing, or at least very little; not exceeding a few
thousand crowns in plate, and about the same in ready money;
but the nephew had time to say to his wife before he
expired: `Look well among my uncle's papers; there is a
will.'

They sought even more thoroughly than the august heirs had
donebut it was fruitless. There were two palaces and a
vineyard behind the Palatine Hill; but in these days landed
property had not much valueand the two palaces and the
vineyard remained to the family since they were beneath the
rapacity of the pope and his son. Months and years rolled
on. Alexander VI. diedpoisoned-- you know by what
mistake. Caesarpoisoned at the same timeescaped by
shedding his skin like a snake; but the new skin was spotted
by the poison till it looked like a tiger's. Thencompelled
to quit Romehe went and got himself obscurely killed in a
night skirmishscarcely noticed in history. After the
pope's death and his son's exileit was supposed that the
Spada family would resume the splendid position they had
held before the cardinal's time; but this was not the case.
The Spadas remained in doubtful easea mystery hung over
this dark affairand the public rumor wasthat Caesara
better politician than his fatherhad carried off from the
pope the fortune of the two cardinals. I say the two
because Cardinal Rospigliosiwho had not taken any
precautionwas completely despoiled.

Up to this point,said Fariainterrupting the thread of
his narrativethis seems to you very meaningless, no
doubt, eh?

Oh, my friend,cried Danteson the contrary, it seems as
if I were reading a most interesting narrative; go on, I beg
of you.

I will.

The family began to get accustomed to their obscurity.
Years rolled on, and amongst the descendants some were
soldiers, others diplomatists; some churchmen, some bankers;
some grew rich, and some were ruined. I come now to the last
of the family, whose secretary I was -- the Count of Spada.
I had often heard him complain of the disproportion of his
rank with his fortune; and I advised him to invest all he
had in an annuity. He did so, and thus doubled his income.
The celebrated breviary remained in the family, and was in
the count's possession. It had been handed down from father
to son; for the singular clause of the only will that had
been found, had caused it to be regarded as a genuine relic,
preserved in the family with superstitious veneration. It
was an illuminated book, with beautiful Gothic characters,


and so weighty with gold, that a servant always carried it
before the cardinal on days of great solemnity.

At the sight of papers of all sorts-- titlescontracts
parchmentswhich were kept in the archives of the family
all descending from the poisoned cardinalI in my turn
examined the immense bundles of documentslike twenty
servitorsstewardssecretaries before me; but in spite of
the most exhaustive researchesI found -- nothing. Yet I
had readI had even written a precise history of the Borgia
familyfor the sole purpose of assuring myself whether any
increase of fortune had occurred to them on the death of the
Cardinal Caesar Spada; but could only trace the acquisition
of the property of the Cardinal Rospigliosihis companion
in misfortune.

I was then almost assured that the inheritance had neither
profited the Borgias nor the family, but had remained
unpossessed like the treasures of the Arabian Nights, which
slept in the bosom of the earth under the eyes of the genie.
I searched, ransacked, counted, calculated a thousand and a
thousand times the income and expenditure of the family for
three hundred years. It was useless. I remained in my
ignorance, and the Count of Spada in his poverty. My patron
died. He had reserved from his annuity his family papers,
his library, composed of five thousand volumes, and his
famous breviary. All these he bequeathed to me, with a
thousand Roman crowns, which he had in ready money, on
condition that I would have anniversary masses said for the
repose of his soul, and that I would draw up a genealogical
tree and history of his house. All this I did scrupulously.
Be easy, my dear Edmond, we are near the conclusion.

In 1807a month before I was arrestedand a fortnight
after the death of the Count of Spadaon the 25th of
December (you will see presently how the date became fixed
in my memory)I was readingfor the thousandth timethe
papers I was arrangingfor the palace was sold to a
strangerand I was going to leave Rome and settle at
Florenceintending to take with me twelve thousand francs I
possessedmy libraryand the famous breviarywhentired
with my constant labor at the same thingand overcome by a
heavy dinner I had eatenmy head dropped on my handsand I
fell asleep about three o'clock in the afternoon. I awoke as
the clock was striking six. I raised my head; I was in utter
darkness. I rang for a lightbut as no one cameI
determined to find one for myself. It was indeed but
anticipating the simple manners which I should soon be under
the necessity of adopting. I took a wax-candle in one hand
and with the other groped about for a piece of paper (my
match-box being empty)with which I proposed to get a light
from the small flame still playing on the embers. Fearing
howeverto make use of any valuable piece of paperI
hesitated for a momentthen recollected that I had seen in
the famous breviarywhich was on the table beside mean
old paper quite yellow with ageand which had served as a
marker for centurieskept there by the request of the
heirs. I felt for itfound ittwisted it up togetherand
putting it into the expiring flameset light to it.

But beneath my fingers, as if by magic, in proportion as
the fire ascended, I saw yellowish characters appear on the
paper. I grasped it in my hand, put out the flame as quickly
as I could, lighted my taper in the fire itself, and opened


the crumpled paper with inexpressible emotion, recognizing,
when I had done so, that these characters had been traced in
mysterious and sympathetic ink, only appearing when exposed
to the fire; nearly one-third of the paper had been consumed
by the flame. It was that paper you read this morning; read
it again, Dantes, and then I will complete for you the
incomplete words and unconnected sense.


Fariawith an air of triumphoffered the paper to Dantes
who this time read the following wordstraced with an ink
of a reddish color resembling rust: --


This 25th day of April, 1498, be...
Alexander VI., and fearing that not...
he may desire to become my heir, and re...
and Bentivoglio, who were poisoned,...
my sole heir, that I have bu...
and has visited with me, that is, in...
Island of Monte Cristo, all I poss...
jewels, diamonds, gems; that I alone...
may amount to nearly two mil...
will find on raising the twentieth ro...
creek to the east in a right line. Two open...
in these caves; the treasure is in the furthest a...
which treasure I bequeath and leave en...
as my sole heir.
25th April1498.
Caes...


And now said the abbe, read this other paper;" and he
presented to Dantes a second leaf with fragments of lines
written on itwhich Edmond read as follows: --


...ing invited to dine by his Holiness
...content with making me pay for my hat,
...serves for me the fate of Cardinals Caprara
...I declare to my nephew, Guido Spada
...ried in a place he knows
...the caves of the small
...essed of ingots, gold, money,
...know of the existence of this treasure, which
...lions of Roman crowns, and which he
...ck from the small
...ings have been made
...ngle in the second;
...tire to him
...ar Spada.


Faria followed him with an excited look. "and now he said,
when he saw that Dantes had read the last line, put the two
fragments togetherand judge for yourself." Dantes obeyed
and the conjointed pieces gave the following: -


This 25th day of April, 1498, be...ing invited to dine by
his Holiness Alexander VI., and fearing that not...content
with making me pay for my hat, he may desire to become my
heir, and re...serves for me the fate of Cardinals Caprara
and Bentivoglio, who were poisoned...I declare to my nephew,
Guido Spada, my sole heir, that I have bu...ried in a place
he knows and has visited with me, that is, in...the caves of
the small Island of Monte Cristo all I poss...ssed of
ingots, gold, money, jewels, diamonds, gems; that I
alone...know of the existence of this treasure, which may
amount to nearly two mil...lions of Roman crowns, and which


he will find on raising the twentieth ro...ck from the small
creek to the east in a right line. Two open...ings have been
made in these caves; the treasure is in the furthest
a...ngle in the second; which treasure I bequeath and leave
en...tire to him as my sole heir.
25th April1498.
Caes...ar Spada.

Well, do you comprehend now?inquired Faria.

It is the declaration of Cardinal Spada, and the will so
long sought for,replied Edmondstill incredulous.

Yes; a thousand times, yes!

And who completed it as it now is?

I did. Aided by the remaining fragment, I guessed the rest;
measuring the length of the lines by those of the paper, and
divining the hidden meaning by means of what was in part
revealed, as we are guided in a cavern by the small ray of
light above us.

And what did you do when you arrived at this conclusion?

I resolved to set out, and did set out at that very
instant, carrying with me the beginning of my great work,
the unity of the Italian kingdom; but for some time the
imperial police (who at this period, quite contrary to what
Napoleon desired so soon as he had a son born to him, wished
for a partition of provinces) had their eyes on me; and my
hasty departure, the cause of which they were unable to
guess, having aroused their suspicions, I was arrested at
the very moment I was leaving Piombino.

Now continued Faria, addressing Dantes with an almost
paternal expression, nowmy dear fellowyou know as much
as I do myself. If we ever escape togetherhalf this
treasure is yours; if I die hereand you escape alonethe
whole belongs to you."

But,inquired Dantes hesitatinghas this treasure no
more legitimate possessor in the world than ourselves?

No, no, be easy on that score; the family is extinct. The
last Count of Spada, moreover, made me his heir, bequeathing
to me this symbolic breviary, he bequeathed to me all it
contained; no, no, make your mind satisfied on that point.
If we lay hands on this fortune, we may enjoy it without
remorse.

And you say this treasure amounts to-


Two millions of Roman crowns; nearly thirteen millions of
our money.*

* $2600000 in 1894.
Impossible!said Dantesstaggered at the enormous amount.

Impossible? and why?asked the old man. "The Spada family
was one of the oldest and most powerful families of the
fifteenth century; and in those timeswhen other
opportunities for investment were wantingsuch


accumulations of gold and jewels were by no means rare;
there are at this day Roman families perishing of hunger
though possessed of nearly a million in diamonds and jewels
handed down by entailand which they cannot touch." Edmond
thought he was in a dream -- he wavered between incredulity
and joy.


I have only kept this secret so long from you,continued
Fariathat I might test your character, and then surprise
you. Had we escaped before my attack of catalepsy, I should
have conducted you to Monte Cristo; now,he addedwith a
sighit is you who will conduct me thither. Well, Dantes,
you do not thank me?


This treasure belongs to you, my dear friend,replied
Dantesand to you only. I have no right to it. I am no
relation of yours.


You are my son, Dantes,exclaimed the old man. "You are
the child of my captivity. My profession condemns me to
celibacy. God has sent you to me to consoleat one and the
same timethe man who could not be a fatherand the
prisoner who could not get free." And Faria extended the arm
of which alone the use remained to him to the young man who
threw himself upon his neck and wept.


Chapter 19
The Third Attack.


Now that this treasurewhich had so long been the object of
the abbe's meditationscould insure the future happiness of
him whom Faria really loved as a sonit had doubled its
value in his eyesand every day he expatiated on the
amountexplaining to Dantes all the good whichwith
thirteen or fourteen millions of francsa man could do in
these days to his friends; and then Dantes' countenance
became gloomyfor the oath of vengeance he had taken
recurred to his memoryand he reflected how much illin
these timesa man with thirteen or fourteen millions could
do to his enemies.


The abbe did not know the Island of Monte Cristo; but Dantes
knew itand had often passed itsituated twenty-five miles
from Pianosabetween Corsica and the Island of Elbaand
had once touched there. This island wasalways had been
and still iscompletely deserted. It is a rock of almost
conical formwhich looks as though it had been thrust up by
volcanic force from the depth to the surface of the ocean.
Dantes drew a plan of the island for Fariaand Faria gave
Dantes advice as to the means he should employ to recover
the treasure. But Dantes was far from being as enthusiastic
and confident as the old man. It was past a question now
that Faria was not a lunaticand the way in which he had
achieved the discoverywhich had given rise to the
suspicion of his madnessincreased Edmond's admiration of
him; but at the same time Dantes could not believe that the
depositsupposing it had ever existedstill existed; and
though he considered the treasure as by no means chimerical
he yet believed it was no longer there.


Howeveras if fate resolved on depriving the prisoners of
their last chanceand making them understand that they were



condemned to perpetual imprisonmenta new misfortune befell
them; the gallery on the sea sidewhich had long been in
ruinswas rebuilt. They had repaired it completelyand
stopped up with vast masses of stone the hole Dantes had
partly filled in. But for this precautionwhichit will be
rememberedthe abbe had made to Edmondthe misfortune
would have been still greaterfor their attempt to escape
would have been detectedand they would undoubtedly have
been separated. Thus a newa strongerand more inexorable
barrier was interposed to cut off the realization of their
hopes.

You see,said the young manwith an air of sorrowful
resignationto Fariathat God deems it right to take from
me any claim to merit for what you call my devotion to you.
I have promised to remain forever with you, and now I could
not break my promise if I would. The treasure will be no
more mine than yours, and neither of us will quit this
prison. But my real treasure is not that, my dear friend,
which awaits me beneath the sombre rocks of Monte Cristo, it
is your presence, our living together five or six hours a
day, in spite of our jailers; it is the rays of intelligence
you have elicited from my brain, the languages you have
implanted in my memory, and which have taken root there with
all their philological ramifications. These different
sciences that you have made so easy to me by the depth of
the knowledge you possess of them, and the clearness of the
principles to which you have reduced them -- this is my
treasure, my beloved friend, and with this you have made me
rich and happy. Believe me, and take comfort, this is better
for me than tons of gold and cases of diamonds, even were
they not as problematical as the clouds we see in the
morning floating over the sea, which we take for terra
firma, and which evaporate and vanish as we draw near to
them. To have you as long as possible near me, to hear your
eloquent speech, -- which embellishes my mind, strengthens
my soul, and makes my whole frame capable of great and
terrible things, if I should ever be free, -- so fills my
whole existence, that the despair to which I was just on the
point of yielding when I knew you, has no longer any hold
over me; and this -- this is my fortune -- not chimerical,
but actual. I owe you my real good, my present happiness;
and all the sovereigns of the earth, even Caesar Borgia
himself, could not deprive me of this.

Thusif not actually happyyet the days these two
unfortunates passed together went quickly. Fariawho for so
long a time had kept silence as to the treasurenow
perpetually talked of it. As he had prophesied would be the
casehe remained paralyzed in the right arm and the left
legand had given up all hope of ever enjoying it himself.
But he was continually thinking over some means of escape
for his young companionand anticipating the pleasure he
would enjoy. For fear the letter might be some day lost or
stolenhe compelled Dantes to learn it by heart; and Dantes
knew it from the first to the last word. Then he destroyed
the second portionassured that if the first were seized
no one would be able to discover its real meaning. Whole
hours sometimes passed while Faria was giving instructions
to Dantes-- instructions which were to serve him when he
was at liberty. Thenonce freefrom the day and hour and
moment when he was sohe could have but one only thought
which wasto gain Monte Cristo by some meansand remain
there alone under some pretext which would arouse no


suspicions; and once thereto endeavor to find the
wonderful cavernsand search in the appointed spot-- the
appointed spotbe it rememberedbeing the farthest angle
in the second opening.

In the meanwhile the hours passedif not rapidlyat least
tolerably. Fariaas we have saidwithout having recovered
the use of his hand and foothad regained all the clearness
of his understandingand had graduallybesides the moral
instructions we have detailedtaught his youthful companion
the patient and sublime duty of a prisonerwho learns to
make something from nothing. They were thus perpetually
employed-- Fariathat he might not see himself grow old;
Dantesfor fear of recalling the almost extinct past which
now only floated in his memory like a distant light
wandering in the night. So life went on for them as it does
for those who are not victims of misfortune and whose
activities glide along mechanically and tranquilly beneath
the eye of providence.

But beneath this superficial calm there were in the heart of
the young manand perhaps in that of the old manmany
repressed desiresmany stifled sighswhich found vent when
Faria was left aloneand when Edmond returned to his cell.
One night Edmond awoke suddenlybelieving that he heard
some one calling him. He opened his eyes upon utter
darkness. His nameor rather a plaintive voice which
essayed to pronounce his namereached him. He sat up in bed
and a cold sweat broke out upon his brow. Undoubtedly the
call came from Faria's dungeon. "Alas murmured Edmond;
can it be?"

He moved his beddrew up the stonerushed into the
passageand reached the opposite extremity; the secret
entrance was open. By the light of the wretched and wavering
lampof which we have spokenDantes saw the old manpale
but yet erectclinging to the bedstead. His features were
writhing with those horrible symptoms which he already knew
and which had so seriously alarmed him when he saw them for
the first time.

Alas, my dear friend,said Faria in a resigned toneyou
understand, do you not, and I need not attempt to explain to
you?

Edmond uttered a cry of agonyandquite out of his senses
rushed towards the doorexclaimingHelp, help!Faria had
just sufficient strength to restrain him.

Silence,he saidor you are lost. We must now only think
of you, my dear friend, and so act as to render your
captivity supportable or your flight possible. It would
require years to do again what I have done here, and the
results would be instantly destroyed if our jailers knew we
had communicated with each other. Besides, be assured, my
dear Edmond, the dungeon I am about to leave will not long
remain empty; some other unfortunate being will soon take my
place, and to him you will appear like an angel of
salvation. Perhaps he will be young, strong, and enduring,
like yourself, and will aid you in your escape, while I have
been but a hindrance. You will no longer have half a dead
body tied to you as a drag to all your movements. At length
providence has done something for you; he restores to you
more than he takes away, and it was time I should die.


Edmond could only clasp his hands and exclaimOh, my
friend, my friend, speak not thus!and then resuming all
his presence of mindwhich had for a moment staggered under
this blowand his strengthwhich had failed at the words
of the old manhe saidOh, I have saved you once, and I
will save you a second time!And raising the foot of the
bedhe drew out the phialstill a third filled with the
red liquor.

See,he exclaimedthere remains still some of the magic
draught. Quick, quick! tell me what I must do this time; are
there any fresh instructions? Speak, my friend; I listen.

There is not a hope,replied Fariashaking his headbut
no matter; God wills it that man whom he has created, and in
whose heart he has so profoundly rooted the love of life,
should do all in his power to preserve that existence,
which, however painful it may be, is yet always so dear.

Oh, yes, yes!exclaimed Dantes; "and I tell you that I
will save you yet."

Well, then, try. The cold gains upon me. I feel the blood
flowing towards my brain. These horrible chills, which make
my teeth chatter and seem to dislocate my bones, begin to
pervade my whole frame; in five minutes the malady will
reach its height, and in a quarter of an hour there will be
nothing left of me but a corpse.

Oh!exclaimed Danteshis heart wrung with anguish.

Do as you did before, only do not wait so long, all the
springs of life are now exhausted in me, and death,he
continuedlooking at his paralyzed arm and leghas but
half its work to do. If, after having made me swallow twelve
drops instead of ten, you see that I do not recover, then
pour the rest down my throat. Now lift me on my bed, for I
can no longer support myself.

Edmond took the old man in his armsand laid him on the
bed.

And now, my dear friend,said Fariasole consolation of
my wretched existence, -- you whom heaven gave me somewhat
late, but still gave me, a priceless gift, and for which I
am most grateful, -- at the moment of separating from you
forever, I wish you all the happiness and all the prosperity
you so well deserve. My son, I bless thee!The young man
cast himself on his kneesleaning his head against the old
man's bed.

Listen, now, to what I say in this my dying moment. The
treasure of the Spadas exists. God grants me the boon of
vision unrestricted by time or space. I see it in the depths
of the inner cavern. My eyes pierce the inmost recesses of
the earth, and are dazzled at the sight of so much riches.
If you do escape, remember that the poor abbe, whom all the
world called mad, was not so. Hasten to Monte Cristo -avail
yourself of the fortune -- for you have indeed
suffered long enough.A violent convulsion attacked the old
man. Dantes raised his head and saw Faria's eyes injected
with blood. It seemed as if a flow of blood had ascended
from the chest to the head.


Adieu, adieu!murmured the old manclasping Edmond's hand
convulsively -- "adieu!"

Oh, no, -- no, not yet,he cried; "do not forsake me! Oh
succor him! Help -- help -- help!"

Hush -- hush!murmured the dying manthat they may not
separate us if you save me!

You are right. Oh, yes, yes; be assured I shall save you!
Besides, although you suffer much, you do not seem to be in
such agony as you were before.

Do not mistake. I suffer less because there is in me less
strength to endure. At your age we have faith in life; it is
the privilege of youth to believe and hope, but old men see
death more clearly. Oh, 'tis here -- 'tis here -- 'tis over
-- my sight is gone -- my senses fail! Your hand, Dantes!
Adieu -- adieu!And raising himself by a final effortin
which he summoned all his facultieshe said-- "Monte
Cristoforget not Monte Cristo!" And he fell back on the
bed. The crisis was terribleand a rigid form with twisted
limbsswollen eyelidsand lips flecked with bloody foam
lay on the bed of torturein place of the intellectual
being who so lately rested there.

Dantes took the lampplaced it on a projecting stone above
the bedwhence its tremulous light fell with strange and
fantastic ray on the distorted countenance and motionless
stiffened body. With steady gaze he awaited confidently the
moment for administering the restorative.

When he believed that the right moment had arrivedhe took
the knifepried open the teethwhich offered less
resistance than beforecounted one after the other twelve
dropsand watched; the phial containedperhapstwice as
much more. He waited ten minutesa quarter of an hourhalf
an hour-- no change took place. Tremblinghis hair erect
his brow bathed with perspirationhe counted the seconds by
the beating of his heart. Then he thought it was time to
make the last trialand he put the phial to the purple lips
of Fariaand without having occasion to force open his
jawswhich had remained extendedhe poured the whole of
the liquid down his throat.

The draught produced a galvanic effecta violent trembling
pervaded the old man's limbshis eyes opened until it was
fearful to gaze upon themhe heaved a sigh which resembled
a shriekand then his convulsed body returned gradually to
its former immobilitythe eyes remaining open.

Half an houran houran hour and a half elapsedand
during this period of anguishEdmond leaned over his
friendhis hand applied to his heartand felt the body
gradually grow coldand the heart's pulsation become more
and more deep and dulluntil at length it stopped; the last
movement of the heart ceasedthe face became lividthe
eyes remained openbut the eyeballs were glazed. It was six
o'clock in the morningthe dawn was just breakingand its
feeble ray came into the dungeonand paled the ineffectual
light of the lamp. Strange shadows passed over the
countenance of the dead manand at times gave it the
appearance of life. While the struggle between day and night


lastedDantes still doubted; but as soon as the daylight
gained the pre-eminencehe saw that he was alone with a
corpse. Then an invincible and extreme terror seized upon
himand he dared not again press the hand that hung out of
bedhe dared no longer to gaze on those fixed and vacant
eyeswhich he tried many times to closebut in vain -they
opened again as soon as shut. He extinguished the lamp
carefully concealed itand then went awayclosing as well
as he could the entrance to the secret passage by the large
stone as he descended.

It was timefor the jailer was coming. On this occasion he
began his rounds at Dantes' celland on leaving him he went
on to Faria's dungeontaking thither breakfast and some
linen. Nothing betokened that the man know anything of what
had occurred. He went on his way.

Dantes was then seized with an indescribable desire to know
what was going on in the dungeon of his unfortunate friend.
He therefore returned by the subterraneous galleryand
arrived in time to hear the exclamations of the turnkeywho
called out for help. Other turnkeys cameand then was heard
the regular tramp of soldiers. Last of all came the
governor.

Edmond heard the creaking of the bed as they moved the
corpseheard the voice of the governorwho asked them to
throw water on the dead man's face; and seeing thatin
spite of this applicationthe prisoner did not recover
they sent for the doctor. The governor then went outand
words of pity fell on Dantes' listening earsmingled with
brutal laughter.

Well, well,said onethe madman has gone to look after
his treasure. Good journey to him!

With all his millions, he will not have enough to pay for
his shroud!said another.

Oh,added a third voicethe shrouds of the Chateau d'If
are not dear!

Perhaps,said one of the previous speakersas he was a
churchman, they may go to some expense in his behalf.

They may give him the honors of the sack.

Edmond did not lose a wordbut comprehended very little of
what was said. The voices soon ceasedand it seemed to him
as if every one had left the cell. Still he dared not to
enteras they might have left some turnkey to watch the
dead. He remainedthereforemute and motionlesshardly
venturing to breathe. At the end of an hourhe heard a
faint noisewhich increased. It was the governor who
returnedfollowed by the doctor and other attendants. There
was a moment's silence-- it was evident that the doctor
was examining the dead body. The inquiries soon commenced.

The doctor analyzed the symptoms of the malady to which the
prisoner had succumbedand declared that he was dead.
Questions and answers followed in a nonchalant manner that
made Dantes indignantfor he felt that all the world should
have for the poor abbe a love and respect equal to his own.


I am very sorry for what you tell me,said the governor
replying to the assurance of the doctorthat the old man
is really dead; for he was a quiet, inoffensive prisoner,
happy in his folly, and required no watching.

Ah,added the turnkeythere was no occasion for watching
him: he would have stayed here fifty years, I'll answer for
it, without any attempt to escape.

Still,said the governorI believe it will be requisite,
notwithstanding your certainty, and not that I doubt your
science, but in discharge of my official duty, that we
should be perfectly assured that the prisoner is dead.
There was a moment of complete silenceduring which Dantes
still listeningknew that the doctor was examining the
corpse a second time.

You may make your mind easy,said the doctor; "he is dead.
I will answer for that."

You know, sir,said the governorpersistingthat we are
not content in such cases as this with such a simple
examination. In spite of all appearances, be so kind,
therefore, as to finish your duty by fulfilling the
formalities described by law.

Let the irons be heated,said the doctor; "but really it
is a useless precaution." This order to heat the irons made
Dantes shudder. He heard hasty stepsthe creaking of a
doorpeople going and comingand some minutes afterwards a
turnkey enteredsaying-


Here is the brazier, lighted.There was a moment's
silenceand then was heard the crackling of burning flesh
of which the peculiar and nauseous smell penetrated even
behind the wall where Dantes was listening in horror. The
perspiration poured forth upon the young man's browand he
felt as if he should faint.

You see, sir, he is really dead,said the doctor; "this
burn in the heel is decisive. The poor fool is cured of his
follyand delivered from his captivity."

Wasn't his name Faria?inquired one of the officers who
accompanied the governor.

Yes, sir; and, as he said, it was an ancient name. He was,
too, very learned, and rational enough on all points which
did not relate to his treasure; but on that, indeed, he was
intractable.

It is the sort of malady which we call monomania,said the
doctor.

You had never anything to complain of?said the governor
to the jailer who had charge of the abbe.

Never, sir,replied the jailernever; on the contrary,
he sometimes amused me very much by telling me stories. One
day, too, when my wife was ill, he gave me a prescription
which cured her.

Ah, ah!said the doctorI did not know that I had a
rival; but I hope, governor, that you will show him all


proper respect.


Yes, yes, make your mind easy, he shall be decently
interred in the newest sack we can find. Will that satisfy
you?


Must this last formality take place in your presence, sir?
inquired a turnkey.


Certainly. But make haste -- I cannot stay here all day.
Other footstepsgoing and comingwere now heardand a
moment afterwards the noise of rustling canvas reached
Dantes' earsthe bed creakedand the heavy footfall of a
man who lifts a weight sounded on the floor; then the bed
again creaked under the weight deposited upon it.


This evening,said the governor.


Will there be any mass?asked one of the attendants.


That is impossible,replied the governor. "The chaplain of
the chateau came to me yesterday to beg for leave of
absencein order to take a trip to Hyeres for a week. I
told him I would attend to the prisoners in his absence. If
the poor abbe had not been in such a hurryhe might have
had his requiem."


Pooh, pooh;said the doctorwith the impiety usual in
persons of his profession; "he is a churchman. God will
respect his professionand not give the devil the wicked
delight of sending him a priest." A shout of laughter
followed this brutal jest. Meanwhile the operation of
putting the body in the sack was going on.


This evening,said the governorwhen the task was ended.


At what hour?inquired a turnkey.


Why, about ten or eleven o'clock.


Shall we watch by the corpse?


Of what use would it be? Shut the dungeon as if he were
alive -- that is all.Then the steps retreatedand the
voices died away in the distance; the noise of the door
with its creaking hinges and bolts ceasedand a silence
more sombre than that of solitude ensued-- the silence of
deathwhich was all-pervasiveand struck its icy chill to
the very soul of Dantes. Then he raised the flag-stone
cautiously with his headand looked carefully around the
chamber. It was emptyand Dantes emerged from the tunnel.


Chapter 20
The Cemetery of the Chateau D'If.


On the bedat full lengthand faintly illuminated by the
pale light that came from the windowlay a sack of canvas
and under its rude folds was stretched a long and stiffened
form; it was Faria's last winding-sheet-- a winding-sheet
whichas the turnkey saidcost so little. Everything was
in readiness. A barrier had been placed between Dantes and
his old friend. No longer could Edmond look into those



wide-open eyes which had seemed to be penetrating the
mysteries of death; no longer could he clasp the hand which
had done so much to make his existence blessed. Fariathe
beneficent and cheerful companionwith whom he was
accustomed to live so intimatelyno longer breathed. He
seated himself on the edge of that terrible bedand fell
into melancholy and gloomy revery.

Alone -- he was alone again -- again condemned to silence -again
face to face with nothingness! Alone! -- never again
to see the facenever again to hear the voice of the only
human being who united him to earth! Was not Faria's fate
the betterafter all -- to solve the problem of life at its
sourceeven at the risk of horrible suffering? The idea of
suicidewhich his friend had driven away and kept away by
his cheerful presencenow hovered like a phantom over the
abbe's dead body.

If I could die,he saidI should go where he goes, and
should assuredly find him again. But how to die? It is very
easy,he went on with a smile; "I will remain hererush on
the first person that opens the doorstrangle himand then
they will guillotine me." But excessive grief is like a
storm at seawhere the frail bark is tossed from the depths
to the top of the wave. Dantes recoiled from the idea of so
infamous a deathand passed suddenly from despair to an
ardent desire for life and liberty.

Die? oh, no,he exclaimed -- "not die nowafter having
lived and suffered so long and so much! Die? yeshad I died
years ago; but now to die would beindeedto give way to
the sarcasm of destiny. NoI want to live; I shall struggle
to the very last; I will yet win back the happiness of which
I have been deprived. Before I die I must not forget that I
have my executioners to punishand perhapstoowho knows
some friends to reward. Yet they will forget me hereand I
shall die in my dungeon like Faria." As he said thishe
became silent and gazed straight before him like one
overwhelmed with a strange and amazing thought. Suddenly he
aroselifted his hand to his brow as if his brain wore
giddypaced twice or thrice round the dungeonand then
paused abruptly by the bed.

Just God!he mutteredwhence comes this thought? Is it
from thee? Since none but the dead pass freely from this
dungeon, let me take the place of the dead!Without giving
himself time to reconsider his decisionandindeedthat
he might not allow his thoughts to be distracted from his
desperate resolutionhe bent over the appalling shroud
opened it with the knife which Faria had madedrew the
corpse from the sackand bore it along the tunnel to his
own chamberlaid it on his couchtied around its head the
rag he wore at night around his owncovered it with his
counterpaneonce again kissed the ice-cold browand tried
vainly to close the resisting eyeswhich glared horribly
turned the head towards the wallso that the jailer might
when he brought the evening mealbelieve that he was
asleepas was his frequent custom; entered the tunnel
againdrew the bed against the wallreturned to the other
celltook from the hiding-place the needle and thread
flung off his ragsthat they might feel only naked flesh
beneath the coarse canvasand getting inside the sack
placed himself in the posture in which the dead body had
been laidand sewed up the mouth of the sack from the


inside.

He would have been discovered by the beating of his heart
if by any mischance the jailers had entered at that moment.
Dantes might have waited until the evening visit was over
but he was afraid that the governor would change his mind
and order the dead body to be removed earlier. In that case
his last hope would have been destroyed. Now his plans were
fully madeand this is what he intended to do. If while he
was being carried out the grave-diggers should discover that
they were bearing a live instead of a dead bodyDantes did
not intend to give them time to recognize himbut with a
sudden cut of the knifehe meant to open the sack from top
to bottomandprofiting by their alarmescape; if they
tried to catch himhe would use his knife to better
purpose.

If they took him to the cemetery and laid him in a gravehe
would allow himself to be covered with earthand thenas
it was nightthe grave-diggers could scarcely have turned
their backs before he would have worked his way through the
yielding soil and escaped. He hoped that the weight of earth
would not be so great that he could not overcome it. If he
was detected in this and the earth proved too heavyhe
would be stifledand then -- so much the betterall would
be over. Dantes had not eaten since the preceding evening
but he had not thought of hungernor did he think of it
now. His situation was too precarious to allow him even time
to reflect on any thought but one.

The first risk that Dantes ran wasthat the jailerwhen he
brought him his supper at seven o'clockmight perceive the
change that had been made; fortunatelytwenty times at
leastfrom misanthropy or fatigueDantes had received his
jailer in bedand then the man placed his bread and soup on
the tableand went away without saying a word. This time
the jailer might not be as silent as usualbut speak to
Dantesand seeing that he received no replygo to the bed
and thus discover all.

When seven o'clock cameDantes' agony really began. His
hand placed upon his heart was unable to redress its
throbbingswhilewith the other he wiped the perspiration
from his temples. From time to time chills ran through his
whole bodyand clutched his heart in a grasp of ice. Then
he thought he was going to die. Yet the hours passed on
without any unusual disturbanceand Dantes knew that he had
escaped the first peril. It was a good augury. At length
about the hour the governor had appointedfootsteps were
heard on the stairs. Edmond felt that the moment had
arrivedsummoned up all his courageheld his breathand
would have been happy if at the same time he could have
repressed the throbbing of his veins. The footsteps -- they
were double -- paused at the door -- and Dantes guessed that
the two grave-diggers had come to seek him -- this idea was
soon converted into certaintywhen he heard the noise they
made in putting down the hand-bier. The door openedand a
dim light reached Dantes' eyes through the coarse sack that
covered him; he saw two shadows approach his beda third
remaining at the door with a torch in its hand. The two men
approaching the ends of the bedtook the sack by its
extremities.

He's heavy though for an old and thin man,said oneas he


raised the head.

They say every year adds half a pound to the weight of the
bones,said anotherlifting the feet.

Have you tied the knot?inquired the first speaker.

What would be the use of carrying so much more weight?was
the replyI can do that when we get there.

Yes, you're right,replied the companion.

What's the knot for?thought Dantes.

They deposited the supposed corpse on the bier. Edmond
stiffened himself in order to play the part of a dead man
and then the partylighted by the man with the torchwho
went firstascended the stairs. Suddenly he felt the fresh
and sharp night airand Dantes knew that the mistral was
blowing. It was a sensation in which pleasure and pain were
strangely mingled. The bearers went on for twenty paces
then stoppedputting the bier down on the ground. One of
them went awayand Dantes heard his shoes striking on the
pavement.

Where am I?he asked himself.

Really, he is by no means a light load!said the other
bearersitting on the edge of the hand-barrow. Dantes'
first impulse was to escapebut fortunately he did not
attempt it.

Give us a light,said the other beareror I shall never
find what I am looking for.The man with the torch
compliedalthough not asked in the most polite terms.

What can he be looking for?thought Edmond. "The spade
perhaps." An exclamation of satisfaction indicated that the
grave-digger had found the object of his search. "Here it is
at last he said, not without some trouble though."

Yes,was the answerbut it has lost nothing by waiting.

As he said thisthe man came towards Edmondwho heard a
heavy metallic substance laid down beside himand at the
same moment a cord was fastened round his feet with sudden
and painful violence.

Well, have you tied the knot?inquired the grave-digger
who was looking on.

Yes, and pretty tight too, I can tell you,was the answer.

Move on, then.And the bier was lifted once moreand they
proceeded.

They advanced fifty paces fartherand then stopped to open
a doorthen went forward again. The noise of the waves
dashing against the rocks on which the chateau is built
reached Dantes' ear distinctly as they went forward.

Bad weather!observed one of the bearers; "not a pleasant
night for a dip in the sea."


Why, yes, the abbe runs a chance of being wet,said the
other; and then there was a burst of brutal laughter. Dantes
did not comprehend the jestbut his hair stood erect on his
head.


Well, here we are at last,said one of them. "A little
farther -- a little farther said the other. You know very
well that the last was stopped on his waydashed on the
rocksand the governor told us next day that we were
careless fellows."


They ascended five or six more stepsand then Dantes felt
that they took himone by the head and the other by the
heelsand swung him to and fro. "One!" said the
grave-diggerstwo! three!And at the same instant Dantes
felt himself flung into the air like a wounded bird
fallingfallingwith a rapidity that made his blood
curdle. Although drawn downwards by the heavy weight which
hastened his rapid descentit seemed to him as if the fall
lasted for a century.


At lastwith a horrible splashhe darted like an arrow
into the ice-cold waterand as he did so he uttered a
shrill crystifled in a moment by his immersion beneath the
waves.


Dantes had been flung into the seaand was dragged into its
depths by a thirty-six pound shot tied to his feet. The sea
is the cemetery of the Chateau d'If.


Chapter 21
The Island of Tiboulen.


Dantesalthough stunned and almost suffocatedhad
sufficient presence of mind to hold his breathand as his
right hand (prepared as he was for every chance) held his
knife openhe rapidly ripped up the sackextricated his
armand then his body; but in spite of all his efforts to
free himself from the shothe felt it dragging him down
still lower. He then bent his bodyand by a desperate
effort severed the cord that bound his legsat the moment
when it seemed as if he were actually strangled. With a
mighty leap he rose to the surface of the seawhile the
shot dragged down to the depths the sack that had so nearly
become his shroud.


Dantes waited only to get breathand then divedin order
to avoid being seen. When he arose a second timehe was
fifty paces from where he had first sunk. He saw overhead a
black and tempestuous skyacross which the wind was driving
clouds that occasionally suffered a twinkling star to
appear; before him was the vast expanse of waterssombre
and terriblewhose waves foamed and roared as if before the
approach of a storm. Behind himblacker than the sea
blacker than the skyrose phantom-like the vast stone
structurewhose projecting crags seemed like arms extended
to seize their preyand on the highest rock was a torch
lighting two figures. He fancied that these two forms were
looking at the sea; doubtless these strange grave-diggers
had heard his cry. Dantes dived againand remained a long
time beneath the water. This was an easy feat to himfor he
usually attracted a crowd of spectators in the bay before



the lighthouse at Marseilles when he swam thereand was
unanimously declared to be the best swimmer in the port.
When he came up again the light had disappeared.

He must now get his bearings. Ratonneau and Pomegue are the
nearest islands of all those that surround the Chateau d'If
but Ratonneau and Pomegue are inhabitedas is also the
islet of DaumeTiboulen and Lemaire were therefore the
safest for Dantes' venture. The islands of Tiboulen and
Lemaire are a league from the Chateau d'If; Dantes
neverthelessdetermined to make for them. But how could he
find his way in the darkness of the night? At this moment he
saw the light of Planiergleaming in front of him like a
star. By leaving this light on the righthe kept the Island
of Tiboulen a little on the left; by turning to the left
thereforehe would find it. Butas we have saidit was at
least a league from the Chateau d'If to this island. Often
in prison Faria had said to himwhen he saw him idle and
inactiveDantes, you must not give way to this
listlessness; you will be drowned if you seek to escape, and
your strength has not been properly exercised and prepared
for exertion.These words rang in Dantes' earseven
beneath the waves; he hastened to cleave his way through
them to see if he had not lost his strength. He found with
pleasure that his captivity had taken away nothing of his
powerand that he was still master of that element on whose
bosom he had so often sported as a boy.

Fearthat relentless pursuerclogged Dantes' efforts. He
listened for any sound that might be audibleand every time
that he rose to the top of a wave he scanned the horizon
and strove to penetrate the darkness. He fancied that every
wave behind him was a pursuing boatand he redoubled his
exertionsincreasing rapidly his distance from the chateau
but exhausting his strength. He swam on stilland already
the terrible chateau had disappeared in the darkness. He
could not see itbut he felt its presence. An hour passed
during which Dantesexcited by the feeling of freedom
continued to cleave the waves. "Let us see said he, I
have swum above an hourbut as the wind is against methat
has retarded my speed; howeverif I am not mistakenI must
be close to Tiboulen. But what if I were mistaken?" A
shudder passed over him. He sought to tread waterin order
to rest himself; but the sea was too violentand he felt
that he could not make use of this means of recuperation.

Well,said heI will swim on until I am worn out, or the
cramp seizes me, and then I shall sink;and he struck out
with the energy of despair.

Suddenly the sky seemed to him to become still darker and
more denseand heavy clouds seemed to sweep down towards
him; at the same time he felt a sharp pain in his knee. He
fancied for a moment that he had been shotand listened for
the report; but he heard nothing. Then he put out his hand
and encountered an obstacle and with another stroke knew
that he had gained the shore.

Before him rose a grotesque mass of rocksthat resembled
nothing so much as a vast fire petrified at the moment of
its most fervent combustion. It was the Island of Tiboulen.
Dantes roseadvanced a few stepsandwith a fervent
prayer of gratitudestretched himself on the granite. which
seemed to him softer than down. Thenin spite of the wind


and rainhe fell into the deepsweet sleep of utter
exhaustion. At the expiration of an hour Edmond was awakened
by the roar of thunder. The tempest was let loose and
beating the atmosphere with its mighty wings; from time to
time a flash of lightning stretched across the heavens like
a fiery serpentlighting up the clouds that rolled on in
vast chaotic waves.

Dantes had not been deceived -- he had reached the first of
the two islandswhich wasin factTiboulen. He knew that
it was barren and without shelter; but when the sea became
more calmhe resolved to plunge into its waves againand
swim to Lemaireequally aridbut largerand consequently
better adapted for concealment.

An overhanging rock offered him a temporary shelterand
scarcely had he availed himself of it when the tempest burst
forth in all its fury. Edmond felt the trembling of the rock
beneath which he lay; the wavesdashing themselves against
itwetted him with their spray. He was safely sheltered
and yet he felt dizzy in the midst of the warring of the
elements and the dazzling brightness of the lightning. It
seemed to him that the island trembled to its baseand that
it wouldlike a vessel at anchorbreak mooringsand bear
him off into the centre of the storm. He then recollected
that he had not eaten or drunk for four-and-twenty hours. He
extended his handsand drank greedily of the rainwater that
had lodged in a hollow of the rock.

As he rosea flash of lightningthat seemed to rive the
remotest heights of heavenillumined the darkness. By its
lightbetween the Island of Lemaire and Cape Croisellea
quarter of a league distantDantes saw a fishing-boat
driven rapidly like a spectre before the power of winds and
waves. A second afterhe saw it againapproaching with
frightful rapidity. Dantes cried at the top of his voice to
warn them of their dangerbut they saw it themselves.
Another flash showed him four men clinging to the shattered
mast and the riggingwhile a fifth clung to the broken
rudder.

The men he beheld saw him undoubtedlyfor their cries were
carried to his ears by the wind. Above the splintered mast a
sail rent to tatters was waving; suddenly the ropes that
still held it gave wayand it disappeared in the darkness
of the night like a vast sea-bird. At the same moment a
violent crash was heardand cries of distress. Dantes from
his rocky perch saw the shattered vesseland among the
fragments the floating forms of the hapless sailors. Then
all was dark again.

Dantes ran down the rocks at the risk of being himself
dashed to pieces; he listenedhe groped aboutbut he heard
and saw nothing -- the cries had ceasedand the tempest
continued to rage. By degrees the wind abatedvast gray
clouds rolled towards the westand the blue firmament
appeared studded with bright stars. Soon a red streak became
visible in the horizonthe waves whiteneda light played
over themand gilded their foaming crests with gold. It was
day.

Dantes stood mute and motionless before this majestic
spectacleas if he now beheld it for the first time; and
indeed since his captivity in the Chateau d'If he had


forgotten that such scenes were ever to be witnessed. He
turned towards the fortressand looked at both sea and
land. The gloomy building rose from the bosom of the ocean
with imposing majesty and seemed to dominate the scene. It
was about five o'clock. The sea continued to get calmer.

In two or three hours,thought Dantesthe turnkey will
enter my chamber, find the body of my poor friend, recognize
it, seek for me in vain, and give the alarm. Then the tunnel
will be discovered; the men who cast me into the sea and who
must have heard the cry I uttered, will be questioned. Then
boats filled with armed soldiers will pursue the wretched
fugitive. The cannon will warn every one to refuse shelter
to a man wandering about naked and famished. The police of
Marseilles will be on the alert by land, whilst the governor
pursues me by sea. I am cold, I am hungry. I have lost even
the knife that saved me. O my God, I have suffered enough
surely! Have pity on me, and do for me what I am unable to
do for myself.

As Dantes (his eyes turned in the direction of the Chateau
d'If) uttered this prayerhe saw off the farther point of
the Island of Pomegue a small vessel with lateen sail
skimming the sea like a gull in search of prey; and with his
sailor's eye he knew it to be a Genoese tartan. She was
coming out of Marseilles harborand was standing out to sea
rapidlyher sharp prow cleaving through the waves. "Oh
cried Edmond, to think that in half an hour I could join
herdid I not fear being questioneddetectedand conveyed
back to Marseilles! What can I do? What story can I invent?
under pretext of trading along the coastthese menwho are
in reality smugglerswill prefer selling me to doing a good
action. I must wait. But I cannot ---I am starving. In a few
hours my strength will be utterly exhausted; besides
perhaps I have not been missed at the fortress. I can pass
as one of the sailors wrecked last night. My story will be
acceptedfor there is no one left to contradict me."

As he spokeDantes looked toward the spot where the
fishing-vessel had been wreckedand started. The red cap of
one of the sailors hung to a point of the rock and some
timbers that had formed part of the vessel's keelfloated
at the foot of the crag. It an instant Dantes' plan was
formed. he swam to the capplaced it on his headseized
one of the timbersand struck out so as to cut across the
course the vessel was taking.

I am saved!murmured he. And this conviction restored his
strength.

He soon saw that the vesselwith the wind dead aheadwas
tacking between the Chateau d'If and the tower of Planier.
For an instant he feared lestinstead of keeping in shore
she should stand out to sea; but he soon saw that she would
passlike most vessels bound for Italybetween the islands
of Jaros and Calaseraigne. Howeverthe vessel and the
swimmer insensibly neared one anotherand in one of its
tacks the tartan bore down within a quarter of a mile of
him. He rose on the wavesmaking signs of distress; but no
one on board saw himand the vessel stood on another tack.
Dantes would have shoutedbut he knew that the wind would
drown his voice.

It was then he rejoiced at his precaution in taking the


timberfor without it he would have been unableperhaps
to reach the vessel -- certainly to return to shoreshould
he be unsuccessful in attracting attention.

Dantesthough almost sure as to what course the vessel
would takehad yet watched it anxiously until it tacked and
stood towards him. Then he advanced; but before they could
meetthe vessel again changed her course. By a violent
effort he rose half out of the waterwaving his capand
uttering a loud shout peculiar to sailers. This time he was
both seen and heardand the tartan instantly steered
towards him. At the same timehe saw they were about to
lower the boat.

An instant afterthe boatrowed by two menadvanced
rapidly towards him. Dantes let go of the timberwhich he
now thought to be uselessand swam vigorously to meet them.
But he had reckoned too much upon his strengthand then he
realized how serviceable the timber had been to him. His
arms became stiffhis legs lost their flexibilityand he
was almost breathless.

He shouted again. The two sailors redoubled their efforts
and one of them cried in ItalianCourage!

The word reached his ear as a wave which he no longer had
the strength to surmount passed over his head. He rose again
to the surfacestruggled with the last desperate effort of
a drowning manuttered a third cryand felt himself
sinkingas if the fatal cannon shot were again tied to his
feet. The water passed over his headand the sky turned
gray. A convulsive movement again brought him to the
surface. He felt himself seized by the hairthen he saw and
heard nothing. He had fainted.

When he opened his eyes Dantes found himself on the deck of
the tartan. His first care was to see what course they were
taking. They were rapidly leaving the Chateau d'If behind.
Dantes was so exhausted that the exclamation of joy he
uttered was mistaken for a sigh.

As we have saidhe was lying on the deck. A sailor was
rubbing his limbs with a woollen cloth; anotherwhom he
recognized as the one who had cried out "Courage!" held a
gourd full of rum to his mouth; while the thirdan old
sailerat once the pilot and captainlooked on with that
egotistical pity men feel for a misfortune that they have
escaped yesterdayand which may overtake them to-morrow.

A few drops of the rum restored suspended animationwhile
the friction of his limbs restored their elasticity.

Who are you?said the pilot in bad French.

I am,replied Dantesin bad Italiana Maltese sailor.
We were coming from Syracuse laden with grain. The storm of
last night overtook us at Cape Morgion, and we were wrecked
on these rocks.

Where do you come from?

From these rocks that I had the good luck to cling to while
our captain and the rest of the crew were all lost. I saw
your vessel, and fearful of being left to perish on the


desolate island, I swam off on a piece of wreckage to try
and intercept your course. You have saved my life, and I
thank you,continued Dantes. "I was lost when one of your
sailors caught hold of my hair."

It was I,said a sailor of a frank and manly appearance;
and it was time, for you were sinking.

Yes,returned Dantesholding out his handI thank you
again.

I almost hesitated, though,replied the sailor; "you
looked more like a brigand than an honest manwith your
beard six inchesand your hair a foot long." Dantes
recollected that his hair and beard had not been cut all the
time he was at the Chateau d'If.

Yes,said heI made a vow, to our Lady of the Grotto not
to cut my hair or beard for ten years if I were saved in a
moment of danger; but to-day the vow expires.

Now what are we to do with you?said the captain.

Alas, anything you please. My captain is dead; I have
barely escaped; but I am a good sailor. Leave me at the
first port you make; I shall be sure to find employment.

Do you know the Mediterranean?

I have sailed over it since my childhood.

You know the best harbors?

There are few ports that I could not enter or leave with a
bandage over my eyes.

I say, captain,said the sailor who had cried "Courage!"
to Dantesif what he says is true, what hinders his
staying with us?

If he says true,said the captain doubtingly. "But in his
present condition he will promise anythingand take his
chance of keeping it afterwards."

I will do more than I promise,said Dantes.

We shall see,returned the othersmiling.

Where are you going?asked Dantes.

To Leghorn.

Then why, instead of tacking so frequently, do you not sail
nearer the wind?

Because we should run straight on to the Island of Rion.

You shall pass it by twenty fathoms.

Take the helm, and let us see what you know.The young man
took the helmfelt to see if the vessel answered the rudder
promptly and seeing thatwithout being a first-rate sailer
she yet was tolerably obedient-



To the sheets,said he. The four seamenwho composed the
crewobeyedwhile the pilot looked on. "Haul taut." --
They obeyed.

Belay.This order was also executed; and the vessel
passedas Dantes had predictedtwenty fathoms to windward.

Bravo!said the captain.

Bravo!repeated the sailors. And they all looked with
astonishment at this man whose eye now disclosed an
intelligence and his body a vigor they had not thought him
capable of showing.

You see,said Dantesquitting the helmI shall be of
some use to you, at least during the voyage. If you do not
want me at Leghorn, you can leave me there, and I will pay
you out of the first wages I get, for my food and the
clothes you lend me.

Ah,said the captainwe can agree very well, if you are
reasonable.

Give me what you give the others, and it will be all
right,returned Dantes.

That's not fair,said the seaman who had saved Dantes;
for you know more than we do.

What is that to you, Jacopo?returned the Captain. "Every
one is free to ask what he pleases."

That's true,replied Jacopo; "I only make a remark."

Well, you would do much better to find him a jacket and a
pair of trousers, if you have them.

No,said Jacopo; "but I have a shirt and a pair of
trousers."

That is all I want,interrupted Dantes. Jacopo dived into
the hold and soon returned with what Edmond wanted.

Now, then, do you wish for anything else?said the patron.

A piece of bread and another glass of the capital rum I
tasted, for I have not eaten or drunk for a long time.He
had not tasted food for forty hours. A piece of bread was
broughtand Jacopo offered him the gourd.

Larboard your helm,cried the captain to the steersman.
Dantes glanced that way as he lifted the gourd to his mouth;
then paused with hand in mid-air.

Hollo! what's the matter at the Chateau d'If?said the
captain.

A small white cloudwhich had attracted Dantes' attention
crowned the summit of the bastion of the Chateau d'If. At
the same moment the faint report of a gun was heard. The
sailors looked at one another.

What is this?asked the captain.


A prisoner has escaped from the Chateau d'If, and they are
firing the alarm gun,replied Dantes. The captain glanced
at himbut he had lifted the rum to his lips and was
drinking it with so much composurethat suspicionsif the
captain had anydied away.

At any rate,murmured heif it be, so much the better,
for I have made a rare acquisition.Under pretence of being
fatiguedDantes asked to take the helm; the steersmanglad
to be relievedlooked at the captainand the latter by a
sign indicated that he might abandon it to his new comrade.
Dantes could thus keep his eyes on Marseilles.

What is the day of the month?asked he of Jacopowho sat
down beside him.

The 28th of February.

In what year?

In what year -- you ask me in what year?

Yes,replied the young manI ask you in what year!

You have forgotten then?

I got such a fright last night,replied Dantessmiling
that I have almost lost my memory. I ask you what year is
it?

The year 1829,returned Jacopo. It was fourteen years day
for day since Dantes' arrest. He was nineteen when he
entered the Chateau d'If; he was thirty-three when he
escaped. A sorrowful smile passed over his face; he asked
himself what had become of Mercedeswho must believe him
dead. Then his eyes lighted up with hatred as he thought of
the three men who had caused him so long and wretched a
captivity. He renewed against DanglarsFernandand
Villefort the oath of implacable vengeance he had made in
his dungeon. This oath was no longer a vain menace; for the
fastest sailer in the Mediterranean would have been unable
to overtake the little tartanthat with every stitch of
canvas set was flying before the wind to Leghorn.

Chapter 22
The Smugglers.

Dantes had not been a day on board before he had a very
clear idea of the men with whom his lot had been cast.
Without having been in the school of the Abbe Fariathe
worthy master of The Young Amelia (the name of the Genoese
tartan) knew a smattering of all the tongues spoken on the
shores of that large lake called the Mediterraneanfrom the
Arabic to the Provencaland thiswhile it spared him
interpreterspersons always troublesome and frequently
indiscreetgave him great facilities of communication
either with the vessels he met at seawith the small boats
sailing along the coastor with the people without name
countryor occupationwho are always seen on the quays of
seaportsand who live by hidden and mysterious means which
we must suppose to be a direct gift of providenceas they
have no visible means of support. It is fair to assume that


Dantes was on board a smuggler.

At first the captain had received Dantes on board with a
certain degree of distrust. He was very well known to the
customs officers of the coast; and as there was between
these worthies and himself a perpetual battle of witshe
had at first thought that Dantes might be an emissary of
these industrious guardians of rights and dutieswho
perhaps employed this ingenious means of learning some of
the secrets of his trade. But the skilful manner in which
Dantes had handled the lugger had entirely reassured him;
and thenwhen he saw the light plume of smoke floating
above the bastion of the Chateau d'Ifand heard the distant
reporthe was instantly struck with the idea that he had on
board his vessel one whose coming and goinglike that of
kingswas accompanied with salutes of artillery. This made
him less uneasyit must be ownedthan if the new-comer had
proved to be a customs officer; but this supposition also
disappeared like the firstwhen he beheld the perfect
tranquillity of his recruit.

Edmond thus had the advantage of knowing what the owner was
without the owner knowing who he was; and however the old
sailor and his crew tried to "pump" himthey extracted
nothing more from him; he gave accurate descriptions of
Naples and Maltawhich he knew as well as Marseillesand
held stoutly to his first story. Thus the Genoesesubtle as
he waswas duped by Edmondin whose favor his mild
demeanorhis nautical skilland his admirable
dissimulationpleaded. Moreoverit is possible that the
Genoese was one of those shrewd persons who know nothing but
what they should knowand believe nothing but what they
should believe.

In this state of mutual understandingthey reached Leghorn.
Here Edmond was to undergo another trial; he was to find out
whether he could recognize himselfas he had not seen his
own face for fourteen years. He had preserved a tolerably
good remembrance of what the youth had beenand was now to
find out what the man had become. His comrades believed that
his vow was fulfilled. As he had twenty times touched at
Leghornhe remembered a barber in St. Ferdinand Street; he
went there to have his beard and hair cut. The barber gazed
in amazement at this man with the longthick and black hair
and beardwhich gave his head the appearance of one of
Titian's portraits. At this period it was not the fashion to
wear so large a beard and hair so long; now a barber would
only be surprised if a man gifted with such advantages
should consent voluntarily to deprive himself of them. The
Leghorn barber said nothing and went to work.

When the operation was concludedand Edmond felt that his
chin was completely smoothand his hair reduced to its
usual lengthhe asked for a hand-glass. He was nowas we
have saidthree-and-thirty years of ageand his fourteen
years' imprisonment had produced a great transformation in
his appearance. Dantes had entered the Chateau d'If with the
roundopensmiling face of a young and happy manwith
whom the early paths of life have been smooth. and who
anticipates a future corresponding with his past. This was
now all changed. The oval face was lengthenedhis smiling
mouth had assumed the firm and marked lines which betoken
resolution; his eyebrows were arched beneath a brow furrowed
with thought; his eyes were full of melancholyand from


their depths occasionally sparkled gloomy fires of
misanthropy and hatred; his complexionso long kept from
the sunhad now that pale color which produceswhen the
features are encircled with black hairthe aristocratic
beauty of the man of the north; the profound learning he had
acquired had besides diffused over his features a refined
intellectual expression; and he had also acquiredbeing
naturally of a goodly staturethat vigor which a frame
possesses which has so long concentrated all its force
within itself.

To the elegance of a nervous and slight form had succeeded
the solidity of a rounded and muscular figure. As to his
voiceprayerssobsand imprecations had changed it so
that at times it was of a singularly penetrating sweetness
and at others rough and almost hoarse. Moreoverfrom being
so long in twilight or darknesshis eyes had acquired the
faculty of distinguishing objects in the nightcommon to
the hyena and the wolf. Edmond smiled when he beheld
himself: it was impossible that his best friend -- if
indeedhe had any friend left -- could recognize him; he
could not recognize himself.

The master of The Young Ameliawho was very desirous of
retaining amongst his crew a man of Edmond's valuehad
offered to advance him funds out of his future profits
which Edmond had accepted. His next care on leaving the
barber's who had achieved his first metamorphosis was to
enter a shop and buy a complete sailor's suit -- a garbas
we all knowvery simpleand consisting of white trousers
a striped shirtand a cap. It was in this costumeand
bringing back to Jacopo the shirt and trousers he had lent
himthat Edmond reappeared before the captain of the
luggerwho had made him tell his story over and over again
before he could believe himor recognize in the neat and
trim sailor the man with thick and matted beardhair
tangled with seaweedand body soaking in seabrinewhom he
had picked up naked and nearly drowned. Attracted by his
prepossessing appearancehe renewed his offers of an
engagement to Dantes; but Danteswho had his own projects
would not agree for a longer time than three months.

The Young Amelia had a very active crewvery obedient to
their captainwho lost as little time as possible. He had
scarcely been a week at Leghorn before the hold of his
vessel was filled with printed muslinscontraband cottons
English powderand tobacco on which the excise had
forgotten to put its mark. The master was to get all this
out of Leghorn free of dutiesand land it on the shores of
Corsicawhere certain speculators undertook to forward the
cargo to France. They sailed; Edmond was again cleaving the
azure sea which had been the first horizon of his youthand
which he had so often dreamed of in prison. He left Gorgone
on his right and La Pianosa on his leftand went towards
the country of Paoli and Napoleon. The next morning going on
deckas he always did at an early hourthe patron found
Dantes leaning against the bulwarks gazing with intense
earnestness at a pile of granite rockswhich the rising sun
tinged with rosy light. It was the Island of Monte Cristo.
The Young Amelia left it three-quarters of a league to the
larboardand kept on for Corsica.

Dantes thoughtas they passed so closely to the island
whose name was so interesting to himthat he had only to


leap into the sea and in half an hour be at the promised
land. But then what could he do without instruments to
discover his treasurewithout arms to defend himself?
Besideswhat would the sailors say? What would the patron
think? He must wait.

FortunatelyDantes had learned how to wait; he had waited
fourteen years for his libertyand now he was free he could
wait at least six months or a year for wealth. Would he not
have accepted liberty without riches if it had been offered
to him? Besideswere not those riches chimerical? -offspring
of the brain of the poor Abbe Fariahad they not
died with him? It is truethe letter of the Cardinal Spada
was singularly circumstantialand Dantes repeated it to
himselffrom one end to the otherfor he had not forgotten
a word.

Evening cameand Edmond saw the island tinged with the
shades of twilightand then disappear in the darkness from
all eyes but his ownfor hewith vision accustomed to the
gloom of a prisoncontinued to behold it last of allfor
he remained alone upon deck. The next morn broke off the
coast of Aleria; all day they coastedand in the evening
saw fires lighted on land; the position of these was no
doubt a signal for landingfor a ship's lantern was hung up
at the mast-head instead of the streamerand they came to
within a gunshot of the shore. Dantes noticed that the
captain of The Young Amelia hadas he neared the land
mounted two small culverinswhichwithout making much
noisecan throw a four ounce ball a thousand paces or so.

But on this occasion the precaution was superfluousand
everything proceeded with the utmost smoothness and
politeness. Four shallops came off with very little noise
alongside the luggerwhichno doubtin acknowledgement of
the complimentlowered her own shallop into the seaand
the five boats worked so well that by two o'clock in the
morning all the cargo was out of The Young Amelia and on
terra firma. The same nightsuch a man of regularity was
the patron of The Young Ameliathe profits were divided
and each man had a hundred Tuscan livresor about eighty
francs. But the voyage was not ended. They turned the
bowsprit towards Sardiniawhere they intended to take in a
cargowhich was to replace what had been discharged. The
second operation was as successful as the firstThe Young
Amelia was in luck. This new cargo was destined for the
coast of the Duchy of Luccaand consisted almost entirely
of Havana cigarssherryand Malaga wines.

There they had a bit of a skirmish in getting rid of the
duties; the excise wasin truththe everlasting enemy of
the patron of The Young Amelia. A customs officer was laid
lowand two sailors wounded; Dantes was one of the latter
a ball having touched him in the left shoulder. Dantes was
almost glad of this affrayand almost pleased at being
woundedfor they were rude lessons which taught him with
what eye he could view dangerand with what endurance he
could bear suffering. He had contemplated danger with a
smileand when wounded had exclaimed with the great
philosopherPain, thou art not an evil.He hadmoreover.
looked upon the customs officer wounded to deathand
whether from heat of blood produced by the encounteror the
chill of human sentimentthis sight had made but slight
impression upon him. Dantes was on the way he desired to


followand was moving towards the end he wished to achieve;
his heart was in a fair way of petrifying in his bosom.
Jacoposeeing him fallhad believed him killedand
rushing towards him raised him upand then attended to him
with all the kindness of a devoted comrade.

This world was not then so good as Doctor Pangloss believed
itneither was it so wicked as Dantes thought itsince
this manwho had nothing to expect from his comrade but the
inheritance of his share of the prize-moneymanifested so
much sorrow when he saw him fall. Fortunatelyas we have
saidEdmond was only woundedand with certain herbs
gathered at certain seasonsand sold to the smugglers by
the old Sardinian womenthe wound soon closed. Edmond then
resolved to try Jacopoand offered him in return for his
attention a share of his prize-moneybut Jacopo refused it
indignantly.

As a result of the sympathetic devotion which Jacopo had
from the first bestowed on Edmondthe latter was moved to a
certain degree of affection. But this sufficed for Jacopo
who instinctively felt that Edmond had a right to
superiority of position -- a superiority which Edmond had
concealed from all others. And from this time the kindness
which Edmond showed him was enough for the brave seaman.

Then in the long days on board shipwhen the vessel
gliding on with security over the azure searequired no
care but the hand of the helmsmanthanks to the favorable
winds that swelled her sailsEdmondwith a chart in his
handbecame the instructor of Jacopoas the poor Abbe
Faria had been his tutor. He pointed out to him the bearings
of the coastexplained to him the variations of the
compassand taught him to read in that vast book opened
over our heads which they call heavenand where God writes
in azure with letters of diamonds. And when Jacopo inquired
of himWhat is the use of teaching all these things to a
poor sailor like me?Edmond repliedWho knows? You may
one day be the captain of a vessel. Your fellow-countryman,
Bonaparte, became emperor.We had forgotten to say that
Jacopo was a Corsican.

Two months and a half elapsed in these tripsand Edmond had
become as skilful a coaster as he had been a hardy seaman;
he had formed an acquaintance with all the smugglers on the
coastand learned all the Masonic signs by which these half
pirates recognize each other. He had passed and re-passed
his Island of Monte Cristo twenty timesbut not once had he
found an opportunity of landing there. He then formed a
resolution. As soon as his engagement with the patron of The
Young Amelia endedhe would hire a small vessel on his own
account -- for in his several voyages he had amassed a
hundred piastres -- and under some pretext land at the
Island of Monte Cristo. Then he would be free to make his
researchesnot perhaps entirely at libertyfor he would be
doubtless watched by those who accompanied him. But in this
world we must risk something. Prison had made Edmond
prudentand he was desirous of running no risk whatever.
But in vain did he rack his imagination; fertile as it was
he could not devise any plan for reaching the island without
companionship.

Dantes was tossed about on these doubts and wisheswhen the
patronwho had great confidence in himand was very


desirous of retaining him in his servicetook him by the
arm one evening and led him to a tavern on the Via del'
Ogliowhere the leading smugglers of Leghorn used to
congregate and discuss affairs connected with their trade.
Already Dantes had visited this maritime Bourse two or three
timesand seeing all these hardy free-traderswho supplied
the whole coast for nearly two hundred leagues in extenthe
had asked himself what power might not that man attain who
should give the impulse of his will to all these contrary
and diverging minds. This time it was a great matter that
was under discussionconnected with a vessel laden with
Turkey carpetsstuffs of the Levantand cashmeres. It was
necessary to find some neutral ground on which an exchange
could be madeand then to try and land these goods on the
coast of France. If the venture was successful the profit
would be enormousthere would be a gain of fifty or sixty
piastres each for the crew.


The patron of The Young Amelia proposed as a place of
landing the Island of Monte Cristowhich being completely
desertedand having neither soldiers nor revenue officers
seemed to have been placed in the midst of the ocean since
the time of the heathen Olympus by Mercurythe god of
merchants and robbersclasses of mankind which we in modern
times have separated if not made distinctbut which
antiquity appears to have included in the same category. At
the mention of Monte Cristo Dantes started with joy; he rose
to conceal his emotionand took a turn around the smoky
tavernwhere all the languages of the known world were
jumbled in a lingua franca. When he again joined the two
persons who had been discussing the matterit had been
decided that they should touch at Monte Cristo and set out
on the following night. Edmondbeing consultedwas of
opinion that the island afforded every possible security
and that great enterprises to be well done should be done
quickly. Nothing then was altered in the planand orders
were given to get under weigh next nightandwind and
weather permittingto make the neutral island by the
following day.


Chapter 23
The Island of Monte Cristo.


Thusat lengthby one of the unexpected strokes of fortune
which sometimes befall those who have for a long time been
the victims of an evil destinyDantes was about to secure
the opportunity he wished forby simple and natural means
and land on the island without incurring any suspicion. One
night more and he would be on his way.


The night was one of feverish distractionand in its
progress visions good and evil passed through Dantes' mind.
If he closed his eyeshe saw Cardinal Spada's letter
written on the wall in characters of flame -- if he slept
for a moment the wildest dreams haunted his brain. He
ascended into grottos paved with emeraldswith panels of
rubiesand the roof glowing with diamond stalactites.
Pearls fell drop by dropas subterranean waters filter in
their caves. Edmondamazedwonderstruckfilled his
pockets with the radiant gems and then returned to daylight
when be discovered that his prizes had all changed into
common pebbles. He then endeavored to re-enter the



marvellous grottosbut they had suddenly recededand now
the path became a labyrinthand then the entrance vanished
and in vain did he tax his memory for the magic and
mysterious word which opened the splendid caverns of Ali
Baba to the Arabian fisherman. All was uselessthe treasure
disappearedand had again reverted to the genii from whom
for a moment he had hoped to carry it off. The day came at
lengthand was almost as feverish as the night had been
but it brought reason to the aid of imaginationand Dantes
was then enabled to arrange a plan which had hitherto been
vague and unsettled in his brain. Night cameand with it
the preparation for departureand these preparations served
to conceal Dantes' agitation. He had by degrees assumed such
authority over his companions that he was almost like a
commander on board; and as his orders were always clear
distinctand easy of executionhis comrades obeyed him
with celerity and pleasure.

The old patron did not interferefor he too had recognized
the superiority of Dantes over the crew and himself. He saw
in the young man his natural successorand regretted that
he had not a daughterthat he might have bound Edmond to
him by a more secure alliance. At seven o'clock in the
evening all was readyand at ten minutes past seven they
doubled the lighthouse just as the beacon was kindled. The
sea was calmandwith a fresh breeze from the south-east
they sailed beneath a bright blue skyin which God also
lighted up in turn his beacon lightseach of which is a
world. Dantes told them that all hands might turn inand he
would take the helm. When the Maltese (for so they called
Dantes) had said thisit was sufficientand all went to
their bunks contentedly. This frequently happened. Dantes
cast from solitude into the worldfrequently experienced an
imperious desire for solitude; and what solitude is more
completeor more poeticalthen that of a ship floating in
isolation on the sea during the obscurity of the nightin
the silence of immensityand under the eye of heaven?

Now this solitude was peopled with his thoughtsthe night
lighted up by his illusionsand the silence animated by his
anticipations. When the patron awokethe vessel was
hurrying on with every sail setand every sail full with
the breeze. They were making nearly ten knots an hour. The
Island of Monte Cristo loomed large in the horizon. Edmond
resigned the lugger to the master's careand went and lay
down in his hammock; butin spite of a sleepless nighthe
could not close his eyes for a moment. Two hours afterwards
he came on deckas the boat was about to double the Island
of Elba. They were just abreast of Marecianaand beyond the
flat but verdant Island of La Pianosa. The peak of Monte
Cristo reddened by the burning sunwas seen against the
azure sky. Dantes ordered the helmsman to put down his helm
in order to leave La Pianosa to starboardas he knew that
he should shorten his course by two or three knots. About
five o'clock in the evening the island was distinctand
everything on it was plainly perceptibleowing to that
clearness of the atmosphere peculiar to the light which the
rays of the sun cast at its setting.

Edmond gazed very earnestly at the mass of rocks which gave
out all the variety of twilight colorsfrom the brightest
pink to the deepest blue; and from time to time his cheeks
flushedhis brow darkenedand a mist passed over his eyes.
Never did gamesterwhose whole fortune is staked on one


cast of the dieexperience the anguish which Edmond felt in
his paroxysms of hope. Night cameand at ten o'clock they
anchored. The Young Amelia was first at the rendezvous. In
spite of his usual command over himselfDantes could not
restrain his impetuosity. He was the first to jump on shore;
and had he daredhe wouldlike Lucius Brutushave "kissed
his mother earth." It was darkbut at eleven o'clock the
moon rose in the midst of the oceanwhose every wave she
silveredand thenascending high,played in floods of
pale light on the rocky hills of this second Pelion.

The island was familiar to the crew of The Young Amelia-it
was one of her regular haunts. As to Danteshe had
passed it on his voyage to and from the Levantbut never
touched at it. He questioned Jacopo. "Where shall we pass
the night?" he inquired.

Why, on board the tartan,replied the sailor.

Should we not do better in the grottos?

What grottos?

Why, the grottos -- caves of the island.

I do not know of any grottos,replied Jacopo. The cold
sweat sprang forth on Dantes' brow.

What, are there no grottos at Monte Cristo?he asked.

None.

For a moment Dantes was speechless; then he remembered that
these caves might have been filled up by some accidentor
even stopped upfor the sake of greater securityby
Cardinal Spada. The point wasthento discover the hidden
entrance. It was useless to search at nightand Dantes
therefore delayed all investigation until the morning.
Besidesa signal made half a league out at seaand to
which The Young Amelia replied by a similar signal
indicated that the moment for business had come. The boat
that now arrivedassured by the answering signal that all
was wellsoon came in sightwhite and silent as a phantom
and cast anchor within a cable's length of shore.

Then the landing began. Dantes reflectedas he workedon
the shout of joy whichwith a single wordhe could evoke
from all these menif he gave utterance to the one
unchanging thought that pervaded his heart; butfar from
disclosing this precious secrethe almost feared that he
had already said too muchand by his restlessness and
continual questionshis minute observations and evident
pre-occupationaroused suspicions. Fortunatelyas regarded
this circumstance at leasthis painful past gave to his
countenance an indelible sadnessand the glimmerings of
gayety seen beneath this cloud were indeed but transitory.

No one had the slightest suspicion; and when next day
taking a fowling-piecepowderand shotDantes declared
his intention to go and kill some of the wild goats that
were seen springing from rock to rockhis wish was
construed into a love of sportor a desire for solitude.
HoweverJacopo insisted on following himand Dantes did
not oppose thisfearing if he did so that he might incur


distrust. Scarcelyhoweverhad they gone a quarter of a
league whenhaving killed a kidhe begged Jacopo to take
it to his comradesand request them to cook itand when
ready to let him know by firing a gun. This and some dried
fruits and a flask of Monte Pulcianowas the bill of fare.
Dantes went onlooking from time to time behind and around
about him. Having reached the summit of a rockhe sawa
thousand feet beneath himhis companionswhom Jacopo had
rejoinedand who were all busy preparing the repast which
Edmond's skill as a marksman had augmented with a capital
dish.

Edmond looked at them for a moment with the sad and gentle
smile of a man superior to his fellows. "In two hours'
time said he, these persons will depart richer by fifty
piastres eachto go and risk their lives again by
endeavoring to gain fifty more; then they will return with a
fortune of six hundred francsand waste this treasure in
some city with the pride of sultans and the insolence of
nabobs. At this moment hope makes me despise their riches
which seem to me contemptible. Yet perchance to-morrow
deception will so act on methat I shallon compulsion
consider such a contemptible possession as the utmost
happiness. Ohno!" exclaimed Edmondthat will not be. The
wise, unerring Faria could not be mistaken in this one
thing. Besides, it were better to die than to continue to
lead this low and wretched life.Thus Danteswho but three
months before had no desire but liberty had now not liberty
enoughand panted for wealth. The cause was not in Dantes
but in providencewhowhile limiting the power of manhas
filled him with boundless desires.

Meanwhileby a cleft between two walls of rockfollowing a
path worn by a torrentand whichin all human probability
human foot had never before trodDantes approached the spot
where he supposed the grottos must have existed. Keeping
along the shoreand examining the smallest object with
serious attentionhe thought he could traceon certain
rocksmarks made by the hand of man.

Timewhich encrusts all physical substances with its mossy
mantleas it invests all things of the mind with
forgetfulnessseemed to have respected these signswhich
apparently had been made with some degree of regularityand
probably with a definite purpose. Occasionally the marks
were hidden under tufts of myrtlewhich spread into large
bushes laden with blossomsor beneath parasitical lichen.
So Edmond had to separate the branches or brush away the
moss to know where the guide-marks were. The sight of marks
renewed Edmond fondest hopes. Might it not have been the
cardinal himself who had first traced themin order that
they might serve as a guide for his nephew in the event of a
catastrophewhich he could not foresee would have been so
complete. This solitary place was precisely suited to the
requirements of a man desirous of burying treasure. Only
might not these betraying marks have attracted other eyes
than those for whom they were made? and had the dark and
wondrous island indeed faithfully guarded its precious
secret?

It seemedhoweverto Edmondwho was hidden from his
comrades by the inequalities of the groundthat at sixty
paces from the harbor the marks ceased; nor did they
terminate at any grotto. A large round rockplaced solidly


on its basewas the only spot to which they seemed to lead.
Edmond concluded that perhaps instead of having reached the
end of the route he had only explored its beginningand he
therefore turned round and retraced his steps.

Meanwhile his comrades had prepared the repasthad got some
water from a springspread out the fruit and breadand
cooked the kid. Just at the moment when they were taking the
dainty animal from the spitthey saw Edmond springing with
the boldness of a chamois from rock to rockand they fired
the signal agreed upon. The sportsman instantly changed his
directionand ran quickly towards them. But even while they
watched his daring progressEdmond's foot slippedand they
saw him stagger on the edge of a rock and disappear. They
all rushed towards himfor all loved Edmond in spite of his
superiority; yet Jacopo reached him first.

He found Edmond lying pronebleedingand almost senseless.
He had rolled down a declivity of twelve or fifteen feet.
They poured a little rum down his throatand this remedy
which had before been so beneficial to himproduced the
same effect as formerly. Edmond opened his eyescomplained
of great pain in his kneea feeling of heaviness in his
headand severe pains in his loins. They wished to carry
him to the shore; but when they touched himalthough under
Jacopo's directionshe declaredwith heavy groansthat he
could not bear to be moved.

It may be supposed that Dantes did not now think of his
dinnerbut he insisted that his comradeswho had not his
reasons for fastingshould have their meal. As for himself
he declared that he had only need of a little restand that
when they returned he should be easier. The sailors did not
require much urging. They were hungryand the smell of the
roasted kid was very savoryand your tars are not very
ceremonious. An hour afterwards they returned. All that
Edmond had been able to do was to drag himself about a dozen
paces forward to lean against a moss-grown rock.

Butinstead of growing easierDantes' pains appeared to
increase in violence. The old patronwho was obliged to
sail in the morning in order to land his cargo on the
frontiers of Piedmont and Francebetween Nice and Frejus
urged Dantes to try and rise. Edmond made great exertions in
order to comply; but at each effort he fell backmoaning
and turning pale.

He has broken his ribs,said the commanderin a low
voice. "No matter; he is an excellent fellowand we must
not leave him. We will try and carry him on board the
tartan." Dantes declaredhoweverthat he would rather die
where he was than undergo the agony which the slightest
movement cost him. "Well said the patron, let what may
happenit shall never be said that we deserted a good
comrade like you. We will not go till evening." This very
much astonished the sailorsalthoughnot one opposed it.
The patron was so strict that this was the first time they
had ever seen him give up an enterpriseor even delay in
its execution. Dantes would not allow that any such
infraction of regular and proper rules should be made in his
favor. "Nono he said to the patron, I was awkwardand
it is just that I pay the penalty of my clumsiness. Leave me
a small supply of biscuita gunpowderand ballsto kill
the kids or defend myself at needand a pickaxethat I may


build a shelter if you delay in coming back for me."

But you'll die of hunger,said the patron.

I would rather do so,was Edmond replythan suffer the
inexpressible agonies which the slightest movement causes
me.The patron turned towards his vesselwhich was rolling
on the swell in the little harborandwith sails partly
setwould be ready for sea when her toilet should be
completed.

What are we to do, Maltese?asked the captain. "We cannot
leave you here soand yet we cannot stay."

Go, go!exclaimed Dantes.

We shall be absent at least a week,said the patronand
then we must run out of our course to come here and take you
up again.

Why,said Dantesif in two or three days you hail any
fishing-boat, desire them to come here to me. I will pay
twenty-five piastres for my passage back to Leghorn. If you
do not come across one, return for me.The patron shook his
head.

Listen, Captain Baldi; there's one way of settling this,
said Jacopo. "Do you goand I will stay and take care of
the wounded man."

And give up your share of the venture,said Edmondto
remain with me?

Yes,said Jacopoand without any hesitation.

You are a good fellow and a kind-hearted messmate,replied
Edmondand heaven will recompense you for your generous
intentions; but I do not wish any one to stay with me. A day
or two of rest will set me up, and I hope I shall find among
the rocks certain herbs most excellent for bruises.

A peculiar smile passed over Dantes' lips; he squeezed
Jacopo's hand warmlybut nothing could shake his
determination to remain -- and remain alone. The smugglers
left with Edmond what he had requested and set sailbut not
without turning about several timesand each time making
signs of a cordial farewellto which Edmond replied with
his hand onlyas if he could not move the rest of his body.
Thenwhen they had disappearedhe said with a smile-"'
Tis strange that it should be among such men that we find
proofs of friendship and devotion." Then he dragged himself
cautiously to the top of a rockfrom which he had a full
view of the seaand thence he saw the tartan complete her
preparations for sailingweigh anchorandbalancing
herself as gracefully as a water-fowl ere it takes to the
wingset sail. At the end of an hour she was completely out
of sight; at leastit was impossible for the wounded man to
see her any longer from the spot where he was. Then Dantes
rose more agile and light than the kid among the myrtles and
shrubs of these wild rockstook his gun in one handhis
pickaxe in the otherand hastened towards the rock on which
the marks he had noted terminated. "And now he exclaimed,
remembering the tale of the Arabian fisherman, which Faria
had related to him, nowopen sesame!"


Chapter 24
The Secret Cave.


The sun had nearly reached the meridianand his scorching
rays fell full on the rockswhich seemed themselves
sensible of the heat. Thousands of grasshoppershidden in
the busheschirped with a monotonous and dull note; the
leaves of the myrtle and olive trees waved and rustled in
the wind. At every step that Edmond took he disturbed the
lizards glittering with the hues of the emerald; afar off he
saw the wild goats bounding from crag to crag. In a word
the island was inhabitedyet Edmond felt himself alone
guided by the hand of God. He felt an indescribable
sensation somewhat akin to dread -- that dread of the
daylight which even in the desert makes us fear we are
watched and observed. This feeling was so strong that at the
moment when Edmond was about to begin his laborhe stopped
laid down his pickaxeseized his gunmounted to the summit
of the highest rockand from thence gazed round in every
direction.


But it was not upon Corsicathe very houses of which he
could distinguish; or on Sardinia; or on the Island of Elba
with its historical associations; or upon the almost
imperceptible line that to the experienced eye of a sailor
alone revealed the coast of Genoa the proudand Leghorn the
commercialthat he gazed. It was at the brigantine that had
left in the morningand the tartan that had just set sail
that Edmond fixed his eyes. The first was just disappearing
in the straits of Bonifacio; the otherfollowing an
opposite directionwas about to round the Island of
Corsica. This sight reassured him. He then looked at the
objects near him. He saw that he was on the highest point of
the island-- a statue on this vast pedestal of granite
nothing human appearing in sightwhile the blue ocean beat
against the base of the islandand covered it with a fringe
of foam. Then he descended with cautious and slow stepfor
he dreaded lest an accident similar to that he had so
adroitly feigned should happen in reality.


Dantesas we have saidhad traced the marks along the
rocksand he had noticed that they led to a small creek.
which was hidden like the bath of some ancient nymph. This
creek was sufficiently wide at its mouthand deep in the
centreto admit of the entrance of a small vessel of the
lugger classwhich would be perfectly concealed from
observation.


Then following the clew thatin the hands of the Abbe
Fariahad been so skilfully used to guide him through the
Daedalian labyrinth of probabilitieshe thought that the
Cardinal Spadaanxious not to be watchedhad entered the
creekconcealed his little barquefollowed the line marked
by the notches in the rockand at the end of it had buried
his treasure. It was this idea that had brought Dantes back
to the circular rock. One thing only perplexed Edmondand
destroyed his theory. How could this rockwhich weighed
several tonshave been lifted to this spotwithout the aid
of many men? Suddenly an idea flashed across his mind.
Instead of raising itthought hethey have lowered it. And
he sprang from the rock in order to inspect the base on



which it had formerly stood. He soon perceived that a slope
had been formedand the rock had slid along this until it
stopped at the spot it now occupied. A large stone had
served as a wedge; flints and pebbles had been inserted
around itso as to conceal the orifice; this species of
masonry had been covered with earthand grass and weeds had
grown theremoss had clung to the stonesmyrtle-bushes had
taken rootand the old rock seemed fixed to the earth.

Dantes dug away the earth carefullyand detectedor
fancied he detectedthe ingenious artifice. He attacked
this wallcemented by the hand of timewith his pickaxe.
After ten minutes' labor the wall gave wayand a hole large
enough to insert the arm was opened. Dantes went and cut the
strongest olive-tree he could findstripped off its
branchesinserted it in the holeand used it as a lever.
But the rock was too heavyand too firmly wedgedto be
moved by any one manwere he Hercules himself. Dantes saw
that he must attack the wedge. But how? He cast his eyes
aroundand saw the horn full of powder which his friend
Jacopo had left him. He smiled; the infernal invention would
serve him for this purpose. With the aid of his pickaxe
Dantesafter the manner of a labor-saving pioneerdug a
mine between the upper rock and the one that supported it
filled it with powderthen made a match by rolling his
handkerchief in saltpetre. He lighted it and retired. The
explosion soon followed; the upper rock was lifted from its
base by the terrific force of the powder; the lower one flew
into pieces; thousands of insects escaped from the aperture
Dantes had previously formedand a huge snakelike the
guardian demon of the treasurerolled himself along in
darkening coilsand disappeared.

Dantes approached the upper rockwhich nowwithout any
supportleaned towards the sea. The intrepid
treasure-seeker walked round itandselecting the spot
from whence it appeared most susceptible to attackplaced
his lever in one of the crevicesand strained every nerve
to move the mass. The rockalready shaken by the explosion
tottered on its base. Dantes redoubled his efforts; he
seemed like one of the ancient Titanswho uprooted the
mountains to hurl against the father of the gods. The rock
yieldedrolled overbounded from point to pointand
finally disappeared in the ocean.

On the spot it had occupied was a circular spaceexposing
an iron ring let into a square flag-stone. Dantes uttered a
cry of joy and surprise; never had a first attempt been
crowned with more perfect success. He would fain have
continuedbut his knees trembledand his heart beat so
violentlyand his sight became so dimthat he was forced
to pause. This feeling lasted but for a moment. Edmond
inserted his lever in the ring and exerted all his strength;
the flag-stone yieldedand disclosed steps that descended
until they were lost in the obscurity of a subterraneous
grotto. Any one else would have rushed on with a cry of joy.
Dantes turned palehesitatedand reflected. "Come said
he to himself, be a man. I am accustomed to adversity. I
must not be cast down by the discovery that I have been
deceived. Whatthenwould be the use of all I have
suffered? The heart breaks whenafter having been elated by
flattering hopesit sees all its illusions destroyed. Faria
has dreamed this; the Cardinal Spada buried no treasure
here; perhaps he never came hereor if he didCaesar


Borgiathe intrepid adventurerthe stealthy and
indefatigable plundererhas followed himdiscovered his
tracespursued them as I have doneraised the stoneand
descending before mehas left me nothing." He remained
motionless and pensivehis eyes fixed on the gloomy
aperture that was open at his feet.

Now that I expect nothing, now that I no longer entertain
the slightest hopes, the end of this adventure becomes
simply a matter of curiosity.And he remained again
motionless and thoughtful.

Yes, yes; this is an adventure worthy a place in the varied
career of that royal bandit. This fabulous event formed but
a link in a long chain of marvels. Yes, Borgia has been
here, a torch in one band, a sword in the other, and within
twenty paces, at the foot of this rock, perhaps two guards
kept watch on land and sea, while their master descended, as
I am about to descend, dispelling the darkness before his
awe-inspiring progress.

But what was the fate of the guards who thus possessed his
secret?asked Dantes of himself.

The fate,replied hesmilingof those who buried
Alaric.

Yet, had he come,thought Danteshe would have found the
treasure, and Borgia, he who compared Italy to an artichoke,
which he could devour leaf by leaf, knew too well the value
of time to waste it in replacing this rock. I will go down.

Then he descendeda smile on his lipsand murmuring that
last word of human philosophyPerhaps!But instead of the
darknessand the thick and mephitic atmosphere he had
expected to findDantes saw a dim and bluish lightwhich
as well as the airenterednot merely by the aperture he
had just formedbut by the interstices and crevices of the
rock which were visible from withoutand through which he
could distinguish the blue sky and the waving branches of
the evergreen oaksand the tendrils of the creepers that
grew from the rocks. After having stood a few minutes in the
cavernthe atmosphere of which was rather warm than damp
Dantes' eyehabituated as it was to darknesscould pierce
even to the remotest angles of the cavernwhich was of
granite that sparkled like diamonds. "Alas said Edmond,
smiling, these are the treasures the cardinal has left; and
the good abbeseeing in a dream these glittering wallshas
indulged in fallacious hopes."

But he called to mind the words of the willwhich he knew
by heart. "In the farthest angle of the second opening
said the cardinal's will. He had only found the first
grotto; he had now to seek the second. Dantes continued his
search. He reflected that this second grotto must penetrate
deeper into the island; he examined the stones, and sounded
one part of the wall where he fancied the opening existed,
masked for precaution's sake. The pickaxe struck for a
moment with a dull sound that drew out of Dantes' forehead
large drops of perspiration. At last it seemed to him that
one part of the wall gave forth a more hollow and deeper
echo; he eagerly advanced, and with the quickness of
perception that no one but a prisoner possesses, saw that
there, in all probability, the opening must be.


However, he, like Caesar Borgia, knew the value of time;
and, in order to avoid fruitless toil, he sounded all the
other walls with his pickaxe, struck the earth with the butt
of his gun, and finding nothing that appeared suspicious,
returned to that part of the wall whence issued the
consoling sound he had before heard. He again struck it, and
with greater force. Then a singular thing occurred. As he
struck the wall, pieces of stucco similar to that used in
the ground work of arabesques broke off, and fell to the
ground in flakes, exposing a large white stone. The aperture
of the rock had been closed with stones, then this stucco
had been applied, and painted to imitate granite. Dantes
struck with the sharp end of his pickaxe, which entered
someway between the interstices. It was there he must dig.
But by some strange play of emotion, in proportion as the
proofs that Faria, had not been deceived became stronger, so
did his heart give way, and a feeling of discouragement
stole over him. This last proof, instead of giving him fresh
strength, deprived him of it; the pickaxe descended, or
rather fell; he placed it on the ground, passed his hand
over his brow, and remounted the stairs, alleging to
himself, as an excuse, a desire to be assured that no one
was watching him, but in reality because he felt that he was
about to faint. The island was deserted, and the sun seemed
to cover it with its fiery glance; afar off, a few small
fishing boats studded the bosom of the blue ocean.

Dantes had tasted nothing, but he thought not of hunger at
such a moment; he hastily swallowed a few drops of rum, and
again entered the cavern. The pickaxe that had seemed so
heavy, was now like a feather in his grasp; he seized it,
and attacked the wall. After several blows he perceived that
the stones were not cemented, but had been merely placed one
upon the other, and covered with stucco; he inserted the
point of his pickaxe, and using the handle as a lever, with
joy soon saw the stone turn as if on hinges, and fall at his
feet. He had nothing more to do now, but with the iron tooth
of the pickaxe to draw the stones towards him one by one.
The aperture was already sufficiently large for him to
enter, but by waiting, he could still cling to hope, and
retard the certainty of deception. At last, after renewed
hesitation, Dantes entered the second grotto. The second
grotto was lower and more gloomy than the first; the air
that could only enter by the newly formed opening had the
mephitic smell Dantes was surprised not to find in the outer
cavern. He waited in order to allow pure air to displace the
foul atmosphere, and then went on. At the left of the
opening was a dark and deep angle. But to Dantes' eye there
was no darkness. He glanced around this second grotto; it
was, like the first, empty.

The treasure, if it existed, was buried in this corner. The
time had at length arrived; two feet of earth removed, and
Dantes' fate would be decided. He advanced towards the
angle, and summoning all his resolution, attacked the ground
with the pickaxe. At the fifth or sixth blow the pickaxe
struck against an iron substance. Never did funeral knell,
never did alarm-bell, produce a greater effect on the
hearer. Had Dantes found nothing he could not have become
more ghastly pale. He again struck his pickaxe into the
earth, and encountered the same resistance, but not the same
sound. It is a casket of wood bound with iron thought he.
At this moment a shadow passed rapidly before the opening;


Dantes seized his gun, sprang through the opening, and
mounted the stair. A wild goat had passed before the mouth
of the cave, and was feeding at a little distance. This
would have been a favorable occasion to secure his dinner;
but Dantes feared lest the report of his gun should attract
attention.

He thought a moment, cut a branch of a resinous tree,
lighted it at the fire at which the smugglers had prepared
their breakfast, and descended with this torch. He wished to
see everything. He approached the hole he had dug. and now,
with the aid of the torch, saw that his pickaxe had in
reality struck against iron and wood. He planted his torch
in the ground and resumed his labor. In an instant a space
three feet long by two feet broad was cleared, and Dantes
could see an oaken coffer, bound with cut steel; in the
middle of the lid he saw engraved on a silver plate, which
was still untarnished, the arms of the Spada family -- viz.,
a sword, pale, on an oval shield, like all the Italian
armorial bearings, and surmounted by a cardinal's hat;
Dantes easily recognized them, Faria had so often drawn them
for him. There was no longer any doubt: the treasure was
there -- no one would have been at such pains to conceal an
empty casket. In an instant he had cleared every obstacle
away, and he saw successively the lock, placed between two
padlocks, and the two handles at each end, all carved as
things were carved at that epoch, when art rendered the
commonest metals precious. Dantes seized the handles, and
strove to lift the coffer; it was impossible. He sought to
open it; lock and padlock were fastened; these faithful
guardians seemed unwilling to surrender their trust. Dantes
inserted the sharp end of the pickaxe between the coffer and
the lid, and pressing with all his force on the handle,
burst open the fastenings. The hinges yielded in their turn
and fell, still holding in their grasp fragments of the
wood, and the chest was open.

Edmond was seized with vertigo; he cocked his gun and laid
it beside him. He then closed his eyes as children do in
order that they may see in the resplendent night of their
own imagination more stars than are visible in the
firmament; then he re-opened them, and stood motionless with
amazement. Three compartments divided the coffer. In the
first, blazed piles of golden coin; in the second, were
ranged bars of unpolished gold, which possessed nothing
attractive save their value; in the third, Edmond grasped
handfuls of diamonds, pearls, and rubies, which, as they
fell on one another, sounded like hail against glass. After
having touched, felt, examined these treasures, Edmond
rushed through the caverns like a man seized with frenzy; he
leaped on a rock, from whence he could behold the sea. He
was alone -- alone with these countless, these unheard-of
treasures! was he awake, or was it but a dream?

He would fain have gazed upon his gold, and yet he had not
strength enough; for an instant he leaned his head in his
hands as if to prevent his senses from leaving him, and then
rushed madly about the rocks of Monte Cristo, terrifying the
wild goats and scaring the sea-fowls with his wild cries and
gestures; then he returned, and, still unable to believe the
evidence of his senses, rushed into the grotto, and found
himself before this mine of gold and jewels. This time he
fell on his knees, and, clasping his hands convulsively,
uttered a prayer intelligible to God alone. He soon became


calmer and more happy, for only now did he begin to realize
his felicity. He then set himself to work to count his
fortune. There were a thousand ingots of gold, each weighing
from two to three pounds; then he piled up twenty-five
thousand crowns, each worth about eighty francs of our
money, and bearing the effigies of Alexander VI. and his
predecessors; and he saw that the complement was not half
empty. And he measured ten double handfuls of pearls,
diamonds, and other gems, many of which, mounted by the most
famous workmen, were valuable beyond their intrinsic worth.
Dantes saw the light gradually disappear, and fearing to be
surprised in the cavern, left it, his gun in his hand. A
piece of biscuit and a small quantity of rum formed his
supper, and he snatched a few hours' sleep, lying over the
mouth of the cave.

It was a night of joy and terror, such as this man of
stupendous emotions had already experienced twice or thrice
in his lifetime.

Chapter 25
The Unknown.

Day, for which Dantes had so eagerly and impatiently waited
with open eyes, again dawned. With the first light Dantes
resumed his search. Again he climbed the rocky height he had
ascended the previous evening, and strained his view to
catch every peculiarity of the landscape; but it wore the
same wild, barren aspect when seen by the rays of the
morning sun which it had done when surveyed by the fading
glimmer of eve. Descending into the grotto, he lifted the
stone, filled his pockets with gems, put the box together as
well and securely as he could, sprinkled fresh sand over the
spot from which it had been taken, and then carefully trod
down the earth to give it everywhere a uniform appearance;
then, quitting the grotto, he replaced the stone, heaping on
it broken masses of rocks and rough fragments of crumbling
granite, filling the interstices with earth, into which he
deftly inserted rapidly growing plants, such as the wild
myrtle and flowering thorn, then carefully watering these
new plantations, he scrupulously effaced every trace of
footsteps, leaving the approach to the cavern as
savage-looking and untrodden as he had found it. This done,
he impatiently awaited the return of his companions. To wait
at Monte Cristo for the purpose of watching like a dragon
over the almost incalculable riches that had thus fallen into
his possession satisfied not the cravings of his heart,
which yearned to return to dwell among mankind, and to
assume the rank, power, and influence which are always
accorded to wealth -- that first and greatest of all the
forces within the grasp of man.

On the sixth day, the smugglers returned. From a distance
Dantes recognized the rig and handling of The Young Amelia,
and dragging himself with affected difficulty towards the
landing-place, he met his companions with an assurance that,
although considerably better than when they quitted him, he
still suffered acutely from his late accident. He then
inquired how they had fared in their trip. To this question
the smugglers replied that, although successful in landing
their cargo in safety, they had scarcely done so when they
received intelligence that a guard-ship had just quitted the


port of Toulon and was crowding all sail towards them. This
obliged them to make all the speed they could to evade the
enemy, when they could but lament the absence of Dantes,
whose superior skill in the management of a vessel would
have availed them so materially. In fact, the pursuing
vessel had almost overtaken them when, fortunately, night
came on, and enabled them to double the Cape of Corsica, and
so elude all further pursuit. Upon the whole, however, the
trip had been sufficiently successful to satisfy all
concerned; while the crew, and particularly Jacopo,
expressed great regrets that Dantes had not been an equal
sharer with themselves in the profits, which amounted to no
less a sum than fifty piastres each.

Edmond preserved the most admirable self-command, not
suffering the faintest indication of a smile to escape him
at the enumeration of all the benefits he would have reaped
had he been able to quit the island; but as The Young Amelia
had merely come to Monte Cristo to fetch him away, he
embarked that same evening, and proceeded with the captain
to Leghorn. Arrived at Leghorn, he repaired to the house of
a Jew, a dealer in precious stones, to whom he disposed of
four of his smallest diamonds for five thousand francs each.
Dantes half feared that such valuable jewels in the hands of
a poor sailor like himself might excite suspicion; but the
cunning purchaser asked no troublesome questions concerning
a bargain by which he gained a round profit of at least
eighty per cent.

The following day Dantes presented Jacopo with an entirely
new vessel, accompanying the gift by a donation of one
hundred piastres, that he might provide himself with a
suitable crew and other requisites for his outfit, upon
condition that he would go at once to Marseilles for the
purpose of inquiring after an old man named Louis Dantes,
residing in the Allees de Meillan, and also a young woman
called Mercedes, an inhabitant of the Catalan village.
Jacopo could scarcely believe his senses at receiving this
magnificent present, which Dantes hastened to account for by
saying that he had merely been a sailor from whim and a
desire to spite his family, who did not allow him as much
money as he liked to spend; but that on his arrival at
Leghorn he had come into possession of a large fortune, left
him by an uncle, whose sole heir he was. The superior
education of Dantes gave an air of such extreme probability
to this statement that it never once occurred to Jacopo to
doubt its accuracy. The term for which Edmond had engaged to
serve on board The Young Amelia having expired, Dantes took
leave of the captain, who at first tried all his powers of
persuasion to induce him to remain as one of the crew, but
having been told the history of the legacy, he ceased to
importune him further. The following morning Jacopo set sail
for Marseilles, with directions from Dantes to join him at
the Island of Monte Cristo.

Having seen Jacopo fairly out of the harbor, Dantes
proceeded to make his final adieus on board The Young
Amelia, distributing so liberal a gratuity among her crew as
to secure for him the good wishes of all, and expressions of
cordial interest in all that concerned him. To the captain
he promised to write when he had made up his mind as to his
future plans. Then Dantes departed for Genoa. At the moment
of his arrival a small yacht was under trial in the bay;
this yacht had been built by order of an Englishman, who,


having heard that the Genoese excelled all other builders
along the shores of the Mediterranean in the construction of
fast-sailing vessels, was desirous of possessing a specimen
of their skill; the price agreed upon between the Englishman
and the Genoese builder was forty thousand francs. Dantes,
struck with the beauty and capability of the little vessel,
applied to its owner to transfer it to him, offering sixty
thousand francs, upon condition that he should be allowed to
take immediate possession. The proposal was too advantageous
to be refused, the more so as the person for whom the yacht
was intended had gone upon a tour through Switzerland, and
was not expected back in less than three weeks or a month,
by which time the builder reckoned upon being able to
complete another. A bargain was therefore struck. Dantes led
the owner of the yacht to the dwelling of a Jew; retired
with the latter for a few minutes to a small back parlor,
and upon their return the Jew counted out to the shipbuilder
the sum of sixty thousand francs in bright gold pieces.

The delighted builder then offered his services in providing
a suitable crew for the little vessel, but this Dantes
declined with many thanks, saying he was accustomed to
cruise about quite alone, and his principal pleasure
consisted in managing his yacht himself; the only thing the
builder could oblige him in would be to contrive a sort of
secret closet in the cabin at his bed's head, the closet to
contain three divisions, so constructed as to be concealed
from all but himself. The builder cheerfully undertook the
commission, and promised to have these secret places
completed by the next day, Dantes furnishing the dimensions
and plan in accordance with which they were to be
constructed.

The following day Dantes sailed with his yacht from Genoa,
under the inspection of an immense crowd drawn together by
curiosity to see the rich Spanish nobleman who preferred
managing his own yacht. But their wonder was soon changed to
admiration at seeing the perfect skill with which Dantes
handled the helm. The boat, indeed, seemed to be animated
with almost human intelligence, so promptly did it obey the
slightest touch; and Dantes required but a short trial of
his beautiful craft to acknowledge that the Genoese had not
without reason attained their high reputation in the art of
shipbuilding. The spectators followed the little vessel with
their eyes as long as it remained visible; they then turned
their conjectures upon her probable destination. Some
insisted she was making for Corsica, others the Island of
Elba; bets were offered to any amount that she was bound for
Spain; while Africa was positively reported by many persons
as her intended course; but no one thought of Monte Cristo.
Yet thither it was that Dantes guided his vessel, and at
Monte Cristo he arrived at the close of the second day; his
boat had proved herself a first-class sailer, and had come
the distance from Genoa in thirty-five hours. Dantes had
carefully noted the general appearance of the shore, and,
instead of landing at the usual place, he dropped anchor in
the little creek. The island was utterly deserted, and bore
no evidence of having been visited since he went away; his
treasure was just as he had left it. Early on the following
morning he commenced the removal of his riches, and ere
nightfall the whole of his immense wealth was safely
deposited in the compartments of the secret locker.

A week passed by. Dantes employed it in manoeuvring his


yacht round the island, studying it as a skilful horseman
would the animal he destined for some important service,
till at the end of that time he was perfectly conversant
with its good and bad qualities. The former Dantes proposed
to augment, the latter to remedy.

Upon the eighth day he discerned a small vessel under full
sail approaching Monte Cristo. As it drew near, he
recognized it as the boat he had given to Jacopo. He
immediately signalled it. His signal was returned, and in
two hours afterwards the newcomer lay at anchor beside the
yacht. A mournful answer awaited each of Edmond's eager
inquiries as to the information Jacopo had obtained. Old
Dantes was dead, and Mercedes had disappeared. Dantes
listened to these melancholy tidings with outward calmness;
but, leaping lightly ashore, he signified his desire to be
quite alone. In a couple of hours he returned. Two of the
men from Jacopo's boat came on board the yacht to assist in
navigating it, and he gave orders that she should be steered
direct to Marseilles. For his father's death he was in some
manner prepared; but he knew not how to account for the
mysterious disappearance of Mercedes.

Without divulging his secret, Dantes could not give
sufficiently clear instructions to an agent. There were,
besides, other particulars he was desirous of ascertaining,
and those were of a nature he alone could investigate in a
manner satisfactory to himself. His looking-glass had
assured him, during his stay at Leghorn, that he ran no risk
of recognition; moreover, he had now the means of adopting
any disguise he thought proper. One fine morning, then, his
yacht, followed by the little fishing-boat, boldly entered
the port of Marseilles, and anchored exactly opposite the
spot from whence, on the never-to-be-forgotten night of his
departure for the Chateau d'If, he had been put on board the
boat destined to convey him thither. Still Dantes could not
view without a shudder the approach of a gendarme who
accompanied the officers deputed to demand his bill of
health ere the yacht was permitted to hold communication
with the shore; but with that perfect self-possession he had
acquired during his acquaintance with Faria, Dantes coolly
presented an English passport he had obtained from Leghorn,
and as this gave him a standing which a French passport
would not have afforded, he was informed that there existed
no obstacle to his immediate debarkation.

The first person to attract the attention of Dantes, as he
landed on the Canebiere, was one of the crew belonging to
the Pharaon. Edmond welcomed the meeting with this fellow -who
had been one of his own sailors -- as a sure means of
testing the extent of the change which time had worked in
his own appearance. Going straight towards him, he
propounded a variety of questions on different subjects,
carefully watching the man's countenance as he did so; but
not a word or look implied that he had the slightest idea of
ever having seen before the person with whom he was then
conversing. Giving the sailor a piece of money in return for
his civility, Dantes proceeded onwards; but ere he had gone
many steps he heard the man loudly calling him to stop.
Dantes instantly turned to meet him. I beg your pardon
sir said the honest fellow, in almost breathless haste,
but I believe you made a mistake; you intended to give me a
two-franc pieceand seeyou gave me a double Napoleon."


Thank you, my good friend. I see that I have made a
trifling mistake, as you say; but by way of rewarding your
honesty I give you another double Napoleon, that you may
drink to my health, and be able to ask your messmates to
join you.

So extreme was the surprise of the sailorthat he was
unable even to thank Edmondwhose receding figure he
continued to gaze after in speechless astonishment. "Some
nabob from India was his comment.

Dantes, meanwhile, went on his way. Each step he trod
oppressed his heart with fresh emotion; his first and most
indelible recollections were there; not a tree, not a
street, that he passed but seemed filled with dear and
cherished memories. And thus he proceeded onwards till he
arrived at the end of the Rue de Noailles, from whence a
full view of the Allees de Meillan was obtained. At this
spot, so pregnant with fond and filial remembrances, his
heart beat almost to bursting, his knees tottered under him,
a mist floated over his sight, and had he not clung for
support to one of the trees, he would inevitably have fallen
to the ground and been crushed beneath the many vehicles
continually passing there. Recovering himself, however, he
wiped the perspiration from his brows, and stopped not again
till he found himself at the door of the house in which his
father had lived.

The nasturtiums and other plants, which his father had
delighted to train before his window, had all disappeared
from the upper part of the house. Leaning against the tree,
he gazed thoughtfully for a time at the upper stories of the
shabby little house. Then he advanced to the door, and asked
whether there were any rooms to be let. Though answered in
the negative, he begged so earnestly to be permitted to
visit those on the fifth floor, that, in despite of the
oft-repeated assurance of the concierge that they were
occupied, Dantes succeeded in inducing the man to go up to
the tenants, and ask permission for a gentleman to be
allowed to look at them.

The tenants of the humble lodging were a young couple who
had been scarcely married a week; and seeing them, Dantes
sighed heavily. Nothing in the two small chambers forming
the apartments remained as it had been in the time of the
elder Dantes; the very paper was different, while the
articles of antiquated furniture with which the rooms had
been filled in Edmond's time had all disappeared; the four
walls alone remained as he had left them. The bed belonging
to the present occupants was placed as the former owner of
the chamber had been accustomed to have his; and, in spite
of his efforts to prevent it, the eyes of Edmond were
suffused in tears as he reflected that on that spot the old
man had breathed his last, vainly calling for his son. The
young couple gazed with astonishment at the sight of their
visitor's emotion, and wondered to see the large tears
silently chasing each other down his otherwise stern and
immovable features; but they felt the sacredness of his
grief, and kindly refrained from questioning him as to its
cause, while, with instinctive delicacy, they left him to
indulge his sorrow alone. When he withdrew from the scene of
his painful recollections, they both accompanied him
downstairs, reiterating their hope that he would come again
whenever he pleased, and assuring him that their poor


dwelling would ever be open to him. As Edmond passed the
door on the fourth floor, he paused to inquire whether
Caderousse the tailor still dwelt there; but he received,
for reply, that the person in question had got into
difficulties, and at the present time kept a small inn on
the route from Bellegarde to Beaucaire.


Having obtained the address of the person to whom the house
in the Allees de Meillan belonged, Dantes next proceeded
thither, and, under the name of Lord Wilmore (the name and
title inscribed on his passport), purchased the small
dwelling for the sum of twenty-five thousand francs, at
least ten thousand more than it was worth; but had its owner
asked half a million, it would unhesitatingly have been
given. The very same day the occupants of the apartments on
the fifth floor of the house, now become the property of
Dantes, were duly informed by the notary who had arranged
the necessary transfer of deeds, etc., that the new landlord
gave them their choice of any of the rooms in the house,
without the least augmentation of rent, upon condition of
their giving instant possession of the two small chambers
they at present inhabited.


This strange event aroused great wonder and curiosity in the
neighborhood of the Allees de Meillan, and a multitude of
theories were afloat, none of which was anywhere near the
truth. But what raised public astonishment to a climax, and
set all conjecture at defiance, was the knowledge that the
same stranger who had in the morning visited the Allees de
Meillan had been seen in the evening walking in the little
village of the Catalans, and afterwards observed to enter a
poor fisherman's hut, and to pass more than an hour in
inquiring after persons who had either been dead or gone
away for more than fifteen or sixteen years. But on the
following day the family from whom all these particulars had
been asked received a handsome present, consisting of an
entirely new fishing-boat, with two seines and a tender. The
delighted recipients of these munificent gifts would gladly
have poured out their thanks to their generous benefactor,
but they had seen him, upon quitting the hut, merely give
some orders to a sailor, and then springing lightly on
horseback, leave Marseilles by the Porte d'Aix.


Chapter 26
The Pont du Gard Inn.


Such of my readers as have made a pedestrian excursion to
the south of France may perchance have noticed, about midway
between the town of Beaucaire and the village of Bellegarde,
-- a little nearer to the former than to the latter, -- a
small roadside inn, from the front of which hung, creaking
and flapping in the wind, a sheet of tin covered with a
grotesque representation of the Pont du Gard. This modern
place of entertainment stood on the left-hand side of the
post road, and backed upon the Rhone. It also boasted of
what in Languedoc is styled a garden, consisting of a small
plot of ground, on the side opposite to the main entrance
reserved for the reception of guests. A few dingy olives and
stunted fig-trees struggled hard for existence, but their
withered dusty foliage abundantly proved how unequal was the
conflict. Between these sickly shrubs grew a scanty supply
of garlic, tomatoes, and eschalots; while, lone and



solitary, like a forgotten sentinel, a tall pine raised its
melancholy head in one of the corners of this unattractive
spot, and displayed its flexible stem and fan-shaped summit
dried and cracked by the fierce heat of the sub-tropical
sun.

In the surrounding plain, which more resembled a dusty lake
than solid ground, were scattered a few miserable stalks of
wheat, the effect, no doubt, of a curious desire on the part
of the agriculturists of the country to see whether such a
thing as the raising of grain in those parched regions was
practicable. Each stalk served as a perch for a grasshopper,
which regaled the passers by through this Egyptian scene
with its strident, monotonous note.

For about seven or eight years the little tavern had been
kept by a man and his wife, with two servants, -- a
chambermaid named Trinette, and a hostler called Pecaud.
This small staff was quite equal to all the requirements,
for a canal between Beaucaire and Aiguemortes had
revolutionized transportation by substituting boats for the
cart and the stagecoach. And, as though to add to the daily
misery which this prosperous canal inflicted on the
unfortunate inn-keeper, whose utter ruin it was fast
accomplishing, it was situated between the Rhone from which
it had its source and the post-road it had depleted, not a
hundred steps from the inn, of which we have given a brief
but faithful description.

The inn-keeper himself was a man of from forty to fifty-five
years of age, tall, strong, and bony, a perfect specimen of
the natives of those southern latitudes; he had dark,
sparkling, and deep-set eyes, hooked nose, and teeth white
as those of a carnivorous animal; his hair, like his beard,
which he wore under his chin, was thick and curly, and in
spite of his age but slightly interspersed with a few
silvery threads. His naturally dark complexion had assumed a
still further shade of brown from the habit the unfortunate
man had acquired of stationing himself from morning till eve
at the threshold of his door, on the lookout for guests who
seldom came, yet there he stood, day after day, exposed to
the meridional rays of a burning sun, with no other
protection for his head than a red handkerchief twisted
around it, after the manner of the Spanish muleteers. This
man was our old acquaintance, Gaspard Caderousse. His wife,
on the contrary, whose maiden name had been Madeleine
Radelle, was pale, meagre, and sickly-looking. Born in the
neighborhood of Arles, she had shared in the beauty for
which its women are proverbial; but that beauty had
gradually withered beneath the devastating influence of the
slow fever so prevalent among dwellers by the ponds of
Aiguemortes and the marshes of Camargue. She remained nearly
always in her second-floor chamber, shivering in her chair,
or stretched languid and feeble on her bed, while her
husband kept his daily watch at the door -- a duty he
performed with so much the greater willingness, as it saved
him the necessity of listening to the endless plaints and
murmurs of his helpmate, who never saw him without breaking
out into bitter invectives against fate; to all of which her
husband would calmly return an unvarying reply, in these
philosophic words: -


HushLa Carconte. It is God's pleasure that things should
be so."


The sobriquet of La Carconte had been bestowed on Madeleine
Radelle from the fact that she had been born in a village
so calledsituated between Salon and Lambesc; and as a
custom existed among the inhabitants of that part of France
where Caderousse lived of styling every person by some
particular and distinctive appellationher husband had
bestowed on her the name of La Carconte in place of her
sweet and euphonious name of Madeleinewhichin all
probabilityhis rude gutteral language would not have
enabled him to pronounce. Stilllet it not be supposed that
amid this affected resignation to the will of Providence
the unfortunate inn-keeper did not writhe under the double
misery of seeing the hateful canal carry off his customers
and his profitsand the daily infliction of his peevish
partner's murmurs and lamentations.

Like other dwellers in the southhe was a man of sober
habits and moderate desiresbut fond of external show
vainand addicted to display. During the days of his
prosperitynot a festivity took place without himself and
wife being among the spectators. He dressed in the
picturesque costume worn upon grand occasions by the
inhabitants of the south of Francebearing equal
resemblance to the style adopted both by the Catalans and
Andalusians; while La Carconte displayed the charming
fashion prevalent among the women of Arlesa mode of attire
borrowed equally from Greece and Arabia. Butby degrees
watch-chainsnecklacesparti-colored scarfsembroidered
bodicesvelvet vestselegantly worked stockingsstriped
gaitersand silver buckles for the shoesall disappeared;
and Gaspard Caderousseunable to appear abroad in his
pristine splendorhad given up any further participation in
the pomps and vanitiesboth for himself and wifealthough
a bitter feeling of envious discontent filled his mind as
the sound of mirth and merry music from the joyous revellers
reached even the miserable hostelry to which he still clung
more for the shelter than the profit it afforded.

Caderoussethenwasas usualat his place of observation
before the doorhis eyes glancing listlessly from a piece
of closely shaven grass -- on which some fowls were
industriouslythough fruitlesslyendeavoring to turn up
some grain or insect suited to their palate -- to the
deserted roadwhich led away to the north and southwhen
he was aroused by the shrill voice of his wifeand
grumbling to himself as he wenthe mounted to her chamber
first taking carehoweverto set the entrance door wide
openas an invitation to any chance traveller who might be
passing.

At the moment Caderousse quitted his sentry-like watch
before the doorthe road on which he so eagerly strained
his sight was void and lonely as a desert at mid-day. There
it lay stretching out into one interminable line of dust and
sandwith its sides bordered by tallmeagre trees
altogether presenting so uninviting an appearancethat no
one in his senses could have imagined that any travellerat
liberty to regulate his hours for journeyingwould choose
to expose himself in such a formidable Sahara. Nevertheless
had Caderousse but retained his post a few minutes longer
he might have caught a dim outline of something approaching
from the direction of Bellegarde; as the moving object drew
nearerhe would easily have perceived that it consisted of


a man and horsebetween whom the kindest and most amiable
understanding appeared to exist. The horse was of Hungarian
breedand ambled along at an easy pace. His rider was a
priestdressed in blackand wearing a three-cornered hat;
andspite of the ardent rays of a noonday sunthe pair
came on with a fair degree of rapidity.

Having arrived before the Pont du Gardthe horse stopped
but whether for his own pleasure or that of his rider would
have been difficult to say. However that might have been
the priestdismountingled his steed by the bridle in
search of some place to which he could secure him. Availing
himself of a handle that projected from a half-fallen door
he tied the animal safely and having drawn a red cotton
handkerchieffrom his pocketwiped away the perspiration
that streamed from his browthenadvancing to the door
struck thrice with the end of his iron-shod stick. At this
unusual sounda huge black dog came rushing to meet the
daring assailant of his ordinarily tranquil abodesnarling
and displaying his sharp white teeth with a determined
hostility that abundantly proved how little he was
accustomed to society. At that moment a heavy footstep was
heard descending the wooden staircase that led from the
upper floorandwith many bows and courteous smilesmine
host of the Pont du Gard besought his guest to enter.

You are welcome, sir, most welcome!repeated the
astonished Caderousse. "NowthenMargotin cried he,
speaking to the dog, will you be quiet? Pray don't heed
himsir! -- he only barkshe never bites. I make no doubt
a glass of good wine would be acceptable this dreadfully hot
day." Then perceiving for the first time the garb of the
traveller he had to entertainCaderousse hastily exclaimed:
A thousand pardons! I really did not observe whom I had the
honor to receive under my poor roof. What would the abbe
please to have? What refreshment can I offer? All I have is
at his service.

The priest gazed on the person addressing him with a long
and searching gaze -- there even seemed a disposition on his
part to court a similar scrutiny on the part of the
inn-keeper; thenobserving in the countenance of the latter
no other expression than extreme surprise at his own want of
attention to an inquiry so courteously wordedhe deemed it
as well to terminate this dumb showand therefore said
speaking with a strong Italian accentYou are, I presume,

M. Caderousse?
Yes, sir,answered the hosteven more surprised at the
question than he had been by the silence which had preceded
it; "I am Gaspard Caderousseat your service."

Gaspard Caderousse,rejoined the priest. "Yes--
Christian and surname are the same. You formerly livedI
believe in the Allees de Meillanon the fourth floor?"

I did.

And you followed the business of a tailor?

True, I was a tailor, till the trade fell off. It is so hot
at Marseilles, that really I believe that the respectable
inhabitants will in time go without any clothing whatever.
But talking of heat, is there nothing I can offer you by way


of refreshment?

Yes; let me have a bottle of your best wine, and then, with
your permission, we will resume our conversation from where
we left off.

As you please, sir,said Caderoussewhoanxious not to
lose the present opportunity of finding a customer for one
of the few bottles of Cahors still remaining in his
possessionhastily raised a trap-door in the floor of the
apartment they were inwhich served both as parlor and
kitchen. Upon issuing forth from his subterranean retreat at
the expiration of five minuteshe found the abbe seated
upon a wooden stoolleaning his elbow on a tablewhile
Margotinwhose animosity seemed appeased by the unusual
command of the traveller for refreshmentshad crept up to
himand had established himself very comfortably between
his kneeshis longskinny neck resting on his lapwhile
his dim eye was fixed earnestly on the traveller's face.

Are you quite alone?inquired the guestas Caderousse
placed before him the bottle of wine and a glass.

Quite, quite alone,replied the man -- "orat least
practically sofor my poor wifewho is the only person in
the house besides myselfis laid up with illnessand
unable to render me the least assistancepoor thing!"

You are married, then?said the priestwith a show of
interestglancing round as he spoke at the scanty
furnishings of the apartment.

Ah, sir,said Caderousse with a sighit is easy to
perceive I am not a rich man; but in this world a man does
not thrive the better for being honest.The abbe fixed on
him a searchingpenetrating glance.

Yes, honest -- I can certainly say that much for myself,
continued the inn-keeperfairly sustaining the scrutiny of
the abbe's gaze; "I can boast with truth of being an honest
man; and continued he significantly, with a hand on his
breast and shaking his head, that is more than every one
can say nowadays."

So much the better for you, if what you assert be true,
said the abbe; "for I am firmly persuaded thatsooner or
laterthe good will be rewardedand the wicked punished."

Such words as those belong to your profession,answered
Caderousseand you do well to repeat them; but,added he
with a bitter expression of countenanceone is free to
believe them or not, as one pleases.

You are wrong to speak thus,said the abbe; "and perhaps I
mayin my own personbe able to prove to you how
completely you are in error."

What mean you?inquired Caderousse with a look of
surprise.

In the first place, I must be satisfied that you are the
person I am in search of.

What proofs do you require?


Did you, in the year 1814 or 1815, know anything of a young
sailor named Dantes?

Dantes? Did I know poor dear Edmond? Why, Edmond Dantes and
myself were intimate friends!exclaimed Caderoussewhose
countenance flushed darkly as he caught the penetrating gaze
of the abbe fixed on himwhile the clearcalm eye of the
questioner seemed to dilate with feverish scrutiny.

You remind me,said the priestthat the young man
concerning whom I asked you was said to bear the name of
Edmond.

Said to bear the name!repeated Caderoussebecoming
excited and eager. "Whyhe was so called as truly as I
myself bore the appellation of Gaspard Caderousse; but tell
meI praywhat has become of poor Edmond? Did you know
him? Is he alive and at liberty? Is he prosperous and
happy?"

He died a more wretched, hopeless, heart-broken prisoner
than the felons who pay the penalty of their crimes at the
galleys of Toulon.

A deadly pallor followed the flush on the countenance of
Caderoussewho turned awayand the priest saw him wiping
the tears from his eyes with the corner of the red
handkerchief twisted round his head.

Poor fellow, poor fellow!murmured Caderousse. "Well
theresiris another proof that good people are never
rewarded on this earthand that none but the wicked
prosper. Ah continued Caderousse, speaking in the highly
colored language of the south, the world grows worse and
worse. Why does not Godif he really hates the wickedas
he is said to dosend down brimstone and fireand consume
them altogether?"

You speak as though you had loved this young Dantes,
observed the abbewithout taking any notice of his
companion's vehemence.

And so I did,replied Caderousse; "though onceI confess
I envied him his good fortune. But I swear to yousirI
swear to youby everything a man holds dearI havesince
thendeeply and sincerely lamented his unhappy fate." There
was a brief silenceduring which the fixedsearching eye
of the abbe was employed in scrutinizing the agitated
features of the inn-keeper.

You knew the poor lad, then?continued Caderousse.

I was called to see him on his dying bed, that I might
administer to him the consolations of religion.

And of what did he die?asked Caderousse in a choking
voice.

Of what, think you, do young and strong men die in prison,
when they have scarcely numbered their thirtieth year,
unless it be of imprisonment?Caderousse wiped away the
large beads of perspiration that gathered on his brow.


But the strangest part of the story is,resumed the abbe
that Dantes, even in his dying moments, swore by his
crucified Redeemer, that he was utterly ignorant of the
cause of his detention.

And so he was,murmured Caderousse. "How should he have
been otherwise? Ahsirthe poor fellow told you the
truth."

And for that reason, he besought me to try and clear up a
mystery he had never been able to penetrate, and to clear
his memory should any foul spot or stain have fallen on it.

And here the look of the abbebecoming more and more fixed
seemed to rest with ill-concealed satisfaction on the gloomy
depression which was rapidly spreading over the countenance
of Caderousse.

A rich Englishman,continued the abbewho had been his
companion in misfortune, but had been released from prison
during the second restoration, was possessed of a diamond of
immense value; this jewel he bestowed on Dantes upon himself
quitting the prison, as a mark of his gratitude for the
kindness and brotherly care with which Dantes had nursed him
in a severe illness he underwent during his confinement.
Instead of employing this diamond in attempting to bribe his
jailers, who might only have taken it and then betrayed him
to the governor, Dantes carefully preserved it, that in the
event of his getting out of prison he might have wherewithal
to live, for the sale of such a diamond would have quite
sufficed to make his fortune.

Then, I suppose,asked Caderoussewith eagerglowing
looksthat it was a stone of immense value?

Why, everything is relative,answered the abbe. "To one in
Edmond's position the diamond certainly was of great value.
It was estimated at fifty thousand francs."

Bless me!exclaimed Caderoussefifty thousand francs!
Surely the diamond was as large as a nut to be worth all
that.

No,replied the abbeit was not of such a size as that;
but you shall judge for yourself. I have it with me.

The sharp gaze of Caderousse was instantly directed towards
the priest's garmentsas though hoping to discover the
location of the treasure. Calmly drawing forth from his
pocket a small box covered with black shagreenthe abbe
opened itand displayed to the dazzled eyes of Caderousse
the sparkling jewel it containedset in a ring of admirable
workmanship. "And that diamond cried Caderousse, almost
breathless with eager admiration, you sayis worth fifty
thousand francs?"

It is, without the setting, which is also valuable,
replied the abbeas he closed the boxand returned it to
his pocketwhile its brilliant hues seemed still to dance
before the eyes of the fascinated inn-keeper.

But how comes the diamond in your possession, sir? Did
Edmond make you his heir?


No, merely his testamentary executor. `I once possessed
four dear and faithful friends, besides the maiden to whom I
was betrothed' he said; `and I feel convinced they have all
unfeignedly grieved over my loss. The name of one of the
four friends is Caderousse.'The inn-keeper shivered.

`Another of the number,'continued the abbewithout
seeming to notice the emotion of Caderousse`is called
Danglars; and the third, in spite of being my rival,
entertained a very sincere affection for me.'A fiendish
smile played over the features of Caderoussewho was about
to break in upon the abbe's speechwhen the latterwaving
his handsaidAllow me to finish first, and then if you
have any observations to make, you can do so afterwards.
`The third of my friends, although my rival, was much
attached to me, -- his name was Fernand; that of my
betrothed was' -- Stay, stay,continued the abbeI have
forgotten what he called her.

Mercedes,said Caderousse eagerly.

True,said the abbewith a stifled sighMercedes it
was.

Go on,urged Caderousse.

Bring me a carafe of water,said the abbe.

Caderousse quickly performed the stranger's bidding; and
after pouring some into a glassand slowly swallowing its
contentsthe abberesuming his usual placidity of manner
saidas he placed his empty glass on the table-- "Where
did we leave off?"

The name of Edmond's betrothed was Mercedes.

To be sure. `You will go to Marseilles,' said Dantes, -for
you understand, I repeat his words just as he uttered
them. Do you understand?

Perfectly.

`You will sell this diamond; you will divide the money into
five equal parts, and give an equal portion to these good
friends, the only persons who have loved me upon earth.'

But why into five parts?asked Caderousse; "you only
mentioned four persons."

Because the fifth is dead, as I hear. The fifth sharer in
Edmond's bequest, was his own father.

Too true, too true!ejaculated Caderoussealmost
suffocated by the contending passions which assailed him
the poor old man did die.

I learned so much at Marseilles,replied the abbemaking
a strong effort to appear indifferent; "but from the length
of time that has elapsed since the death of the elder
DantesI was unable to obtain any particulars of his end.
Can you enlighten me on that point?"

I do not know who could if I could not,said Caderousse.
Why, I lived almost on the same floor with the poor old


man. Ah, yes, about a year after the disappearance of his
son the poor old man died.

Of what did he die?

Why, the doctors called his complaint gastro-enteritis, I
believe; his acquaintances say he died of grief; but I, who
saw him in his dying moments, I say he died of--
Caderousse paused.

Of what?asked the priestanxiously and eagerly.

Why, of downright starvation.

Starvation!exclaimed the abbespringing from his seat.
Why, the vilest animals are not suffered to die by such a
death as that. The very dogs that wander houseless and
homeless in the streets find some pitying hand to cast them
a mouthful of bread; and that a man, a Christian, should be
allowed to perish of hunger in the midst of other men who
call themselves Christians, is too horrible for belief. Oh,
it is impossible -- utterly impossible!

What I have said, I have said,answered Caderousse.

And you are a fool for having said anything about it,said
a voice from the top of the stairs. "Why should you meddle
with what does not concern you?"

The two men turned quicklyand saw the sickly countenance
of La Carconte peering between the baluster rails; attracted
by the sound of voicesshe had feebly dragged herself down
the stairsandseated on the lower stephead on knees
she had listened to the foregoing conversation. "Mind your
own businesswife replied Caderousse sharply. This
gentleman asks me for informationwhich common politeness
will not permit me to refuse."

Politeness, you simpleton!retorted La Carconte. "What
have you to do with politenessI should like to know?
Better study a little common prudence. How do you know the
motives that person may have for trying to extract all he
can from you?"

I pledge you my word, madam,said the abbethat my
intentions are good; and that you husband can incur no risk,
provided he answers me candidly.

Ah, that's all very fine,retorted the woman. "Nothing is
easier than to begin with fair promises and assurances of
nothing to fear; but when poorsilly folkslike my husband
therehave been persuaded to tell all they knowthe
promises and assurances of safety are quickly forgotten; and
at some moment when nobody is expecting itbehold trouble
and miseryand all sorts of persecutionsare heaped on the
unfortunate wretcheswho cannot even see whence all their
afflictions come."

Nay, nay, my good woman, make yourself perfectly easy, I
beg of you. Whatever evils may befall you, they will not be
occasioned by my instrumentality, that I solemnly promise
you.

La Carconte muttered a few inarticulate wordsthen let her


head again drop upon her kneesand went into a fit of ague
leaving the two speakers to resume the conversationbut
remaining so as to be able to hear every word they uttered.
Again the abbe had been obliged to swallow a draught of
water to calm the emotions that threatened to overpower him.
When he had sufficiently recovered himselfhe saidIt
appears, then, that the miserable old man you were telling
me of was forsaken by every one. Surely, had not such been
the case, he would not have perished by so dreadful a
death.

Why, he was not altogether forsaken,continued Caderousse
for Mercedes the Catalan and Monsieur Morrel were very kind
to him; but somehow the poor old man had contracted a
profound hatred for Fernand -- the very person,added
Caderousse with a bitter smilethat you named just now as
being one of Dantes' faithful and attached friends.

And was he not so?asked the abbe.

Gaspard, Gaspard!murmured the womanfrom her seat on the
stairsmind what you are saying!Caderousse made no reply
to these wordsthough evidently irritated and annoyed by
the interruptionbutaddressing the abbesaidCan a man
be faithful to another whose wife he covets and desires for
himself? But Dantes was so honorable and true in his own
nature, that he believed everybody's professions of
friendship. Poor Edmond, he was cruelly deceived; but it was
fortunate that he never knew, or he might have found it more
difficult, when on his deathbed, to pardon his enemies. And,
whatever people may say,continued Caderoussein his
native languagewhich was not altogether devoid of rude
poetryI cannot help being more frightened at the idea of
the malediction of the dead than the hatred of the living.

Imbecile!exclaimed La Carconte.

Do you, then, know in what manner Fernand injured Dantes?
inquired the abbe of Caderousse.

Do I? No one better.

Speak out then, say what it was!

Gaspard!cried La Carcontedo as you will; you are
master -- but if you take my advice you'll hold your
tongue.

Well, wife,replied CaderousseI don't know but what
you're right!

So you will say nothing?asked the abbe.

Why, what good would it do?asked Caderousse. "If the poor
lad were livingand came to me and begged that I would
candidly tell which were his true and which his false
friendswhyperhapsI should not hesitate. But you tell
me he is no moreand therefore can have nothing to do with
hatred or revengeso let all such feeling be buried with
him."

You prefer, then,said the abbethat I should bestow on
men you say are false and treacherous, the reward intended
for faithful friendship?


That is true enough,returned Caderousse. "You say truly
the gift of poor Edmond was not meant for such traitors as
Fernand and Danglars; besideswhat would it be to them? no
more than a drop of water in the ocean."

Remember,chimed in La Carcontethose two could crush
you at a single blow!

How so?inquired the abbe. "Are these personsthenso
rich and powerful?"

Do you not know their history?

I do not. Pray relate it to me!Caderousse seemed to
reflect for a few momentsthen saidNo, truly, it would
take up too much time.

Well, my good friend,returned the abbein a tone that
indicated utter indifference on his partyou are at
liberty, either to speak or be silent, just as you please;
for my own part, I respect your scruples and admire your
sentiments; so let the matter end. I shall do my duty as
conscientiously as I can, and fulfil my promise to the dying
man. My first business will be to dispose of this diamond.
So sayingthe abbe again draw the small box from his
pocketopened itand contrived to hold it in such a light
that a bright flash of brilliant hues passed before the
dazzled gaze of Caderousse.

Wife, wife!cried he in a hoarse voicecome here!

Diamond!exclaimed La Carconterising and descending to
the chamber with a tolerably firm step; "what diamond are
you talking about?"

Why, did you not hear all we said?inquired Caderousse.
It is a beautiful diamond left by poor Edmond Dantes, to be
sold, and the money divided between his father, Mercedes,
his betrothed bride, Fernand, Danglars, and myself. The
jewel is worth at least fifty thousand francs.

Oh, what a magnificent jewel!cried the astonished woman.

The fifth part of the profits from this stone belongs to us
then, does it not?asked Caderousse.

It does,replied the abbe; "with the addition of an equal
division of that part intended for the elder Danteswhich I
believe myself at liberty to divide equally with the four
survivors."

And why among us four?inquired Caderousse.

As being the friends Edmond esteemed most faithful and
devoted to him.

I don't call those friends who betray and ruin you,
murmured the wife in her turnin a lowmuttering voice.

Of course not!rejoined Caderousse quickly; "no more do I
and that was what I was observing to this gentleman just
now. I said I looked upon it as a sacrilegious profanation
to reward treacheryperhaps crime."


Remember,answered the abbe calmlyas he replaced the
jewel and its case in the pocket of his cassockit is your
fault, not mine, that I do so. You will have the goodness to
furnish me with the address of both Fernand and Danglars, in
order that I may execute Edmond's last wishes.The
agitation of Caderousse became extremeand large drops of
perspiration rolled from his heated brow. As he saw the abbe
rise from his seat and go towards the dooras though to
ascertain if his horse were sufficiently refreshed to
continue his journeyCaderousse and his wife exchanged
looks of deep meaning.

There, you see, wife,said the formerthis splendid
diamond might all be ours, if we chose!

Do you believe it?

Why, surely a man of his holy profession would not deceive
us!

Well,replied La Carcontedo as you like. For my part, I
wash my hands of the affair.So sayingshe once more
climbed the staircase leading to her chamberher body
convulsed with chillsand her teeth rattling in her head
in spite of the intense heat of the weather. Arrived at the
top stairshe turned roundand called outin a warning
toneto her husbandGaspard, consider well what you are
about to do!

I have both reflected and decided,answered he. La
Carconte then entered her chamberthe flooring of which
creaked beneath her heavyuncertain treadas she proceeded
towards her arm-chairinto which she fell as though
exhausted.

Well,asked the abbeas he returned to the apartment
belowwhat have you made up your mind to do?

To tell you all I know,was the reply.

I certainly think you act wisely in so doing,said the
priest. "Not because I have the least desire to learn
anything you may please to conceal from mebut simply that
ifthrough your assistanceI could distribute the legacy
according to the wishes of the testatorwhyso much the
betterthat is all."

I hope it may be so,replied Caderoussehis face flushed
with cupidity.

I am all attention,said the abbe.

Stop a minute,answered Caderousse; "we might be
interrupted in the most interesting part of my storywhich
would be a pity; and it is as well that your visit hither
should be made known only to ourselves." With these words he
went stealthily to the doorwhich he closedandby way of
still greater precautionbolted and barred itas he was
accustomed to do at night. During this time the abbe had
chosen his place for listening at his ease. He removed his
seat into a corner of the roomwhere he himself would be in
deep shadowwhile the light would be fully thrown on the
narrator; thenwith head bent down and hands claspedor


rather clinched togetherhe prepared to give his whole
attention to Caderoussewho seated himself on the little
stoolexactly opposite to him.

Remember, this is no affair of mine,said the trembling
voice of La Carconteas though through the flooring of her
chamber she viewed the scene that was enacting below.

Enough, enough!replied Caderousse; "say no more about it;
I will take all the consequences upon myself." And he began
his story.

Chapter 27
The Story.

First, sir,said Caderousseyou must make me a promise.

What is that?inquired the abbe.

Why, if you ever make use of the details I am about to give
you, that you will never let any one know that it was I who
supplied them; for the persons of whom I am about to talk
are rich and powerful, and if they only laid the tips of
their fingers on me, I should break to pieces like glass.

Make yourself easy, my friend,replied the abbe. "I am a
priestand confessions die in my breast. Recollectour
only desire is to carry outin a fitting mannerthe last
wishes of our friend. Speakthenwithout reserveas
without hatred; tell the truththe whole truth; I do not
knownever may knowthe persons of whom you are about to
speak; besidesI am an Italianand not a Frenchmanand
belong to Godand not to manand I shall shortly retire to
my conventwhich I have only quitted to fulfil the last
wishes of a dying man." This positive assurance seemed to
give Caderousse a little courage.

Well, then, under these circumstances,said CaderousseI
will, I even believe I ought to undeceive you as to the
friendship which poor Edmond thought so sincere and
unquestionable.

Begin with his father, if you please.said the abbe;
Edmond talked to me a great deal about the old man for whom
he had the deepest love.

The history is a sad one, sir,said Caderousseshaking
his head; "perhaps you know all the earlier part of it?"

Yes.answered the abbe; "Edmond related to me everything
until the moment when he was arrested in a small cabaret
close to Marseilles."

At La Reserve! Oh, yes; I can see it all before me this
moment.

Was it not his betrothal feast?

It was and the feast that began so gayly had a very
sorrowful ending; a police commissary, followed by four
soldiers, entered, and Dantes was arrested.


Yes, and up to this point I know all,said the priest.
Dantes himself only knew that which personally concerned
him, for he never beheld again the five persons I have named
to you, or heard mention of any one of them.

Well, when Dantes was arrested, Monsieur Morrel hastened to
obtain the particulars, and they were very sad. The old man
returned alone to his home, folded up his wedding suit with
tears in his eyes, and paced up and down his chamber the
whole day, and would not go to bed at all, for I was
underneath him and heard him walking the whole night; and
for myself, I assure you I could not sleep either, for the
grief of the poor father gave me great uneasiness, and every
step he took went to my heart as really as if his foot had
pressed against my breast. The next day Mercedes came to
implore the protection of M. de Villefort; she did not
obtain it, however, and went to visit the old man; when she
saw him so miserable and heart-broken, having passed a
sleepless night, and not touched food since the previous
day, she wished him to go with her that she might take care
of him; but the old man would not consent. `No,' was the old
man's reply, `I will not leave this house, for my poor dear
boy loves me better than anything in the world; and if he
gets out of prison he will come and see me the first thing,
and what would he think if I did not wait here for him?' I
heard all this from the window, for I was anxious that
Mercedes should persuade the old man to accompany her, for
his footsteps over my head night and day did not leave me a
moment's repose.

But did you not go up-stairs and try to console the poor
old man?asked the abbe.

Ah, sir,replied Caderoussewe cannot console those who
will not be consoled, and he was one of these; besides, I
know not why, but he seemed to dislike seeing me. One night,
however, I heard his sobs, and I could not resist my desire
to go up to him, but when I reached his door he was no
longer weeping but praying. I cannot now repeat to you, sir,
all the eloquent words and imploring language he made use
of; it was more than piety, it was more than grief, and I,
who am no canter, and hate the Jesuits, said then to myself,
`It is really well, and I am very glad that I have not any
children; for if I were a father and felt such excessive
grief as the old man does, and did not find in my memory or
heart all he is now saying, I should throw myself into the
sea at once, for I could not bear it.'

Poor father!murmured the priest.

From day to day he lived on alone, and more and more
solitary. M. Morrel and Mercedes came to see him, but his
door was closed; and, although I was certain he was at home,
he would not make any answer. One day, when, contrary to his
custom, he had admitted Mercedes, and the poor girl, in
spite of her own grief and despair, endeavored to console
him, he said to her, -- `Be assured, my dear daughter, he is
dead; and instead of expecting him, it is he who is awaiting
us; I am quite happy, for I am the oldest, and of course
shall see him first.' However well disposed a person may be,
why you see we leave off after a time seeing persons who are
in sorrow, they make one melancholy; and so at last old
Dantes was left all to himself, and I only saw from time to
time strangers go up to him and come down again with some


bundle they tried to hide; but I guessed what these bundles
were, and that he sold by degrees what he had to pay for his
subsistence. At length the poor old fellow reached the end
of all he had; he owed three quarters' rent, and they
threatened to turn him out; he begged for another week,
which was granted to him. I know this, because the landlord
came into my apartment when he left his. For the first three
days I heard him walking about as usual, but, on the fourth
I heard nothing. I then resolved to go up to him at all
risks. The door was closed, but I looked through the
keyhole, and saw him so pale and haggard, that believing him
very ill, I went and told M. Morrel and then ran on to
Mercedes. They both came immediately, M. Morrel bringing a
doctor, and the doctor said it was inflammation of the
bowels, and ordered him a limited diet. I was there, too,
and I never shall forget the old man's smile at this
prescription. From that time he received all who came; he
had an excuse for not eating any more; the doctor had put
him on a diet.The abbe uttered a kind of groan. "The story
interests youdoes it notsir?" inquired Caderousse.

Yes,replied the abbeit is very affecting.

Mercedes came again, and she found him so altered that she
was even more anxious than before to have him taken to her
own home. This was M. Morrel's wish also, who would fain
have conveyed the old man against his consent; but the old
man resisted, and cried so that they were actually
frightened. Mercedes remained, therefore, by his bedside,
and M. Morrel went away, making a sign to the Catalan that
he had left his purse on the chimney-piece. But availing
himself of the doctor's order, the old man would not take
any sustenance; at length (after nine days of despair and
fasting), the old man died, cursing those who had caused his
misery, and saying to Mercedes, `If you ever see my Edmond
again, tell him I die blessing him.'The abbe rose from his
chairmade two turns round the chamberand pressed his
trembling hand against his parched throat. "And you believe
he died" -


Of hunger, sir, of hunger,said Caderousse. "I am as
certain of it as that we two are Christians."

The abbewith a shaking handseized a glass of water that
was standing by him half-fullswallowed it at one gulpand
then resumed his seatwith red eyes and pale cheeks. "This
wasindeeda horrid event." said he in a hoarse voice.

The more so, sir, as it was men's and not God's doing.

Tell me of those men,said the abbeand remember too,
he added in an almost menacing toneyou have promised to
tell me everything. Tell me, therefore, who are these men
who killed the son with despair, and the father with
famine?

Two men jealous of him, sir; one from love, and the other
from ambition, -- Fernand and Danglars.

How was this jealousy manifested? Speak on.

They denounced Edmond as a Bonapartist agent.

Which of the two denounced him? Which was the real


delinquent?

Both, sir; one with a letter, and the other put it in the
post.

And where was this letter written?

At La Reserve, the day before the betrothal feast.

'Twas so, then -- 'twas so, then,murmured the abbe. "Oh
FariaFariahow well did you judge men and things!"

What did you please to say, sir?asked Caderousse.

Nothing, nothing,replied the priest; "go on."

It was Danglars who wrote the denunciation with his left
hand, that his writing might not be recognized, and Fernand
who put it in the post.

But,exclaimed the abbe suddenlyyou were there
yourself.

I!said Caderousseastonished; "who told you I was
there?"

The abbe saw he had overshot the markand he added quickly
-- "No one; but in order to have known everything so well
you must have been an eye-witness."

True, true!said Caderousse in a choking voiceI was
there.

And did you not remonstrate against such infamy?asked the
abbe; "if notyou were an accomplice."

Sir,replied Caderoussethey had made me drink to such
an excess that I nearly lost all perception. I had only an
indistinct understanding of what was passing around me. I
said all that a man in such a state could say; but they both
assured me that it was a jest they were carrying on, and
perfectly harmless.

Next day -- next day, sir, you must have seen plain enough
what they had been doing, yet you said nothing, though you
were present when Dantes was arrested.

Yes, sir, I was there, and very anxious to speak; but
Danglars restrained me. `If he should really be guilty,'
said he, `and did really put in to the Island of Elba; if he
is really charged with a letter for the Bonapartist
committee at Paris, and if they find this letter upon him,
those who have supported him will pass for his accomplices.'
I confess I had my fears, in the state in which politics
then were, and I held my tongue. It was cowardly, I confess,
but it was not criminal.

I understand -- you allowed matters to take their course,
that was all.

Yes, sir,answered Caderousse; "and remorse preys on me
night and day. I often ask pardon of GodI swear to you
because this actionthe only one with which I have
seriously to reproach myself in all my lifeis no doubt the


cause of my abject condition. I am expiating a moment of
selfishnessand so I always say to La Carcontewhen she
complains`Hold your tonguewoman; it is the will of
God.'" And Caderousse bowed his head with every sign of real
repentance.

Well, sir,said the abbeyou have spoken unreservedly;
and thus to accuse yourself is to deserve pardon.

Unfortunately, Edmond is dead, and has not pardoned me.

He did not know,said the abbe.

But he knows it all now,interrupted Caderousse; "they say
the dead know everything." There was a brief silence; the
abbe rose and paced up and down pensivelyand then resumed
his seat. "You have two or three times mentioned a M.
Morrel he said; who was he?"

The owner of the Pharaon and patron of Dantes.

And what part did he play in this sad drama?inquired the
abbe.

The part of an honest man, full of courage and real regard.
Twenty times he interceded for Edmond. When the emperor
returned, he wrote, implored, threatened, and so
energetically, that on the second restoration he was
persecuted as a Bonapartist. Ten times, as I told you, he
came to see Dantes' father, and offered to receive him in
his own house; and the night or two before his death, as I
have already said, he left his purse on the mantelpiece,
with which they paid the old man's debts, and buried him
decently; and so Edmond's father died, as he had lived,
without doing harm to any one. I have the purse still by me
-- a large one, made of red silk.

And,asked the abbeis M. Morrel still alive?

Yes,replied Caderousse.

In that case,replied the abbehe should be rich,
happy.

Caderousse smiled bitterly. "Yeshappy as myself said he.

What! M. Morrel unhappy?" exclaimed the abbe.

He is reduced almost to the last extremity -- nay, he is
almost at the point of dishonor.

How?

Yes,continued Caderousseso it is; after five and
twenty years of labor, after having acquired a most
honorable name in the trade of Marseilles, M. Morrel is
utterly ruined; he has lost five ships in two years, has
suffered by the bankruptcy of three large houses, and his
only hope now is in that very Pharaon which poor Dantes
commanded, and which is expected from the Indies with a
cargo of cochineal and indigo. If this ship founders, like
the others, he is a ruined man.

And has the unfortunate man wife or children?inquired the


abbe.

Yes, he has a wife, who through everything has behaved like
an angel; he has a daughter, who was about to marry the man
she loved, but whose family now will not allow him to wed
the daughter of a ruined man; he has, besides, a son, a
lieutenant in the army; and, as you may suppose, all this,
instead of lessening, only augments his sorrows. If he were
alone in the world he would blow out his brains, and there
would be an end.

Horrible!ejaculated the priest.

And it is thus heaven recompenses virtue, sir,added
Caderousse. "You seeIwho never did a bad action but that
I have told you of -- am in destitutionwith my poor wife
dying of fever before my very eyesand I unable to do
anything in the world for her; I shall die of hungeras old
Dantes didwhile Fernand and Danglars are rolling in
wealth."

How is that?

Because their deeds have brought them good fortune, while
honest men have been reduced to misery.

What has become of Danglars, the instigator, and therefore
the most guilty?

What has become of him? Why, he left Marseilles, and was
taken, on the recommendation of M. Morrel, who did not know
his crime, as cashier into a Spanish bank. During the war
with Spain he was employed in the commissariat of the French
army, and made a fortune; then with that money he speculated
in the funds, and trebled or quadrupled his capital; and,
having first married his banker's daughter, who left him a
widower, he has married a second time, a widow, a Madame de
Nargonne, daughter of M. de Servieux, the king's
chamberlain, who is in high favor at court. He is a
millionaire, and they have made him a baron, and now he is
the Baron Danglars, with a fine residence in the Rue de
Mont-Blanc, with ten horses in his stables, six footmen in
his ante-chamber, and I know not how many millions in his
strongbox.

Ah!said the abbein a peculiar tonehe is happy.

Happy? Who can answer for that? Happiness or unhappiness is
the secret known but to one's self and the walls -- walls
have ears but no tongue; but if a large fortune produces
happiness, Danglars is happy.

And Fernand?

Fernand? Why, much the same story.

But how could a poor Catalan fisher-boy, without education
or resources, make a fortune? I confess this staggers me.

And it has staggered everybody. There must have been in his
life some strange secret that no one knows.

But, then, by what visible steps has he attained this high
fortune or high position?


Both, sir -- he has both fortune and position -- both.

This must be impossible!

It would seem so; but listen, and you will understand. Some
days before the return of the emperor, Fernand was drafted.
The Bourbons left him quietly enough at the Catalans, but
Napoleon returned, a special levy was made, and Fernand was
compelled to join. I went too; but as I was older than
Fernand, and had just married my poor wife, I was only sent
to the coast. Fernand was enrolled in the active troop, went
to the frontier with his regiment, and was at the battle of
Ligny. The night after that battle he was sentry at the door
of a general who carried on a secret correspondence with the
enemy. That same night the general was to go over to the
English. He proposed to Fernand to accompany him; Fernand
agreed to do so, deserted his post, and followed the
general. Fernand would have been court-martialed if Napoleon
had remained on the throne, but his action was rewarded by
the Bourbons. He returned to France with the epaulet of
sub-lieutenant, and as the protection of the general, who is
in the highest favor, was accorded to him, he was a captain
in 1823, during the Spanish war -- that is to say, at the
time when Danglars made his early speculations. Fernand was
a Spaniard, and being sent to Spain to ascertain the feeling
of his fellow-countrymen, found Danglars there, got on very
intimate terms with him, won over the support of the
royalists at the capital and in the provinces, received
promises and made pledges on his own part, guided his
regiment by paths known to himself alone through the
mountain gorges which were held by the royalists, and, in
fact, rendered such services in this brief campaign that,
after the taking of Trocadero, he was made colonel, and
received the title of count and the cross of an officer of
the Legion of Honor.

Destiny! destiny!murmured the abbe.

Yes, but listen: this was not all. The war with Spain being
ended, Fernand's career was checked by the long peace which
seemed likely to endure throughout Europe. Greece only had
risen against Turkey, and had begun her war of independence;
all eyes were turned towards Athens -- it was the fashion to
pity and support the Greeks. The French government, without
protecting them openly, as you know, gave countenance to
volunteer assistance. Fernand sought and obtained leave to
go and serve in Greece, still having his name kept on the
army roll. Some time after, it was stated that the Comte de
Morcerf (this was the name he bore) had entered the service
of Ali Pasha with the rank of instructor-general. Ali Pasha
was killed, as you know, but before he died he recompensed
the services of Fernand by leaving him a considerable sum,
with which he returned to France, when he was gazetted
lieutenant-general.

So that now?-- inquired the abbe.

So that now,continued Caderoussehe owns a magnificent
house -- No. 27, Rue du Helder, Paris.The abbe opened his
mouthhesitated for a momentthenmaking an effort at
self-controlhe saidAnd Mercedes -- they tell me that
she has disappeared?


Disappeared,said Caderousseyes, as the sun disappears,
to rise the next day with still more splendor.

Has she made a fortune also?inquired the abbewith an
ironical smile.

Mercedes is at this moment one of the greatest ladies in
Paris,replied Caderousse.

Go on,said the abbe; "it seems as if I were listening to
the story of a dream. But I have seen things so
extraordinarythat what you tell me seems less astonishing
than it otherwise might."

Mercedes was at first in the deepest despair at the blow
which deprived her of Edmond. I have told you of her
attempts to propitiate M. de Villefort, her devotion to the
elder Dantes. In the midst of her despair, a new affliction
overtook her. This was the departure of Fernand -- of
Fernand, whose crime she did not know, and whom she regarded
as her brother. Fernand went, and Mercedes remained alone.
Three months passed and still she wept -- no news of Edmond,
no news of Fernand, no companionship save that of an old man
who was dying with despair. One evening, after a day of
accustomed vigil at the angle of two roads leading to
Marseilles from the Catalans, she returned to her home more
depressed than ever. Suddenly she heard a step she knew,
turned anxiously around, the door opened, and Fernand,
dressed in the uniform of a sub-lieutenant, stood before
her. It was not the one she wished for most, but it seemed
as if a part of her past life had returned to her. Mercedes
seized Fernand's hands with a transport which he took for
love, but which was only joy at being no longer alone in the
world, and seeing at last a friend, after long hours of
solitary sorrow. And then, it must be confessed, Fernand had
never been hated -- he was only not precisely loved. Another
possessed all Mercedes' heart; that other was absent, had
disappeared, perhaps was dead. At this last thought Mercedes
burst into a flood of tears, and wrung her hands in agony;
but the thought, which she had always repelled before when
it was suggested to her by another, came now in full force
upon her mind; and then, too, old Dantes incessantly said to
her, `Our Edmond is dead; if he were not, he would return to
us.' The old man died, as I have told you; had he lived,
Mercedes, perchance, had not become the wife of another, for
he would have been there to reproach her infidelity. Fernand
saw this, and when he learned of the old man's death he
returned. He was now a lieutenant. At his first coming he
had not said a word of love to Mercedes; at the second he
reminded her that he loved her. Mercedes begged for six
months more in which to await and mourn for Edmond.

So that,said the abbewith a bitter smilethat makes
eighteen months in all. What more could the most devoted
lover desire?Then he murmured the words of the English
poet`Frailty, thy name is woman.'

Six months afterwards,continued Caderoussethe marriage
took place in the church of Accoules.

The very church in which she was to have married Edmond,
murmured the priest; "there was only a change of
bride-grooms."


Well, Mercedes was married,proceeded Caderousse; "but
although in the eyes of the world she appeared calmshe
nearly fainted as she passed La Reservewhereeighteen
months beforethe betrothal had been celebrated with him
whom she might have known she still loved had she looked to
the bottom of her heart. Fernandmore happybut not more
at his ease -- for I saw at this time he was in constant
dread of Edmond's return -- Fernand was very anxious to get
his wife awayand to depart himself. There were too many
unpleasant possibilities associated with the Catalansand
eight days after the wedding they left Marseilles."

Did you ever see Mercedes again?inquired the priest.

Yes, during the Spanish war, at Perpignan, where Fernand
had left her; she was attending to the education of her
son.The abbe started. "Her son?" said he.

Yes,replied Caderousselittle Albert.

But, then, to be able to instruct her child,continued the
abbeshe must have received an education herself. I
understood from Edmond that she was the daughter of a simple
fisherman, beautiful but uneducated.

Oh,replied Caderoussedid he know so little of his
lovely betrothed? Mercedes might have been a queen, sir, if
the crown were to be placed on the heads of the loveliest
and most intelligent. Fernand's fortune was already waxing
great, and she developed with his growing fortune. She
learned drawing, music -- everything. Besides, I believe,
between ourselves, she did this in order to distract her
mind, that she might forget; and she only filled her head in
order to alleviate the weight on her heart. But now her
position in life is assured,continued Caderousse; "no
doubt fortune and honors have comforted her; she is richa
countessand yet" -- Caderousse paused.

And yet what?asked the abbe.

Yet, I am sure, she is not happy,said Caderousse.

What makes you believe this?

Why, when I found myself utterly destitute, I thought my
old friends would, perhaps, assist me. So I went to
Danglars, who would not even receive me. I called on
Fernand, who sent me a hundred francs by his
valet-de-chambre.

Then you did not see either of them?

No, but Madame de Morcerf saw me.

How was that?

As I went away a purse fell at my feet -- it contained five
and twenty louis; I raised my head quickly, and saw
Mercedes, who at once shut the blind.

And M. de Villefort?asked the abbe.

Oh, he never was a friend of mine, I did not know him, and
I had nothing to ask of him.


Do you not know what became of him, and the share he had in
Edmond's misfortunes?

No; I only know that some time after Edmond's arrest, he
married Mademoiselle de Saint-Meran, and soon after left
Marseilles; no doubt he has been as lucky as the rest; no
doubt he is as rich as Danglars, as high in station as
Fernand. I only, as you see, have remained poor, wretched,
and forgotten.

You are mistaken, my friend,replied the abbe; "God may
seem sometimes to forget for a timewhile his justice
reposesbut there always comes a moment when he remembers
-- and behold -- a proof!" As he spokethe abbe took the
diamond from his pocketand giving it to Caderoussesaid
-- "Heremy friendtake this diamondit is yours."

What, for me only?cried Caderousseah, sir, do not jest
with me!

This diamond was to have been shared among his friends.
Edmond had one friend only, and thus it cannot be divided.
Take the diamond, then, and sell it; it is worth fifty
thousand francs, and I repeat my wish that this sum may
suffice to release you from your wretchedness.

Oh, sir,said Caderousseputting out one hand timidly
and with the other wiping away the perspiration which
bedewed his brow-- "Ohsirdo not make a jest of the
happiness or despair of a man."

I know what happiness and what despair are, and I never
make a jest of such feelings. Take it, then, but in exchange
--

Caderoussewho touched the diamondwithdrew his hand. The
abbe smiled. "In exchange he continued, give me the red
silk purse that M. Morrel left on old Dantes' chimney-piece
and which you tell me is still in your hands." Caderousse
more and more astonishedwent toward a large oaken
cupboardopened itand gave the abbe a long purse of faded
red silkround which were two copper runners that had once
been gilt. The abbe took itand in return gave Caderousse
the diamond.

Oh, you are a man of God, sir,cried Caderousse; "for no
one knew that Edmond had given you this diamondand you
might have kept it."

Which,said the abbe to himselfyou would have done.
The abbe rosetook his hat and gloves. "Well he said,
all you have told me is perfectly truethenand I may
believe it in every particular."

See, sir,replied Caderoussein this corner is a
crucifix in holy wood -- here on this shelf is my wife's
testament; open this book, and I will swear upon it with my
hand on the crucifix. I will swear to you by my soul's
salvation, my faith as a Christian, I have told everything
to you as it occurred, and as the recording angel will tell
it to the ear of God at the day of the last judgment!

'Tis well,said the abbeconvinced by his manner and tone


that Caderousse spoke the truth. "'Tis welland may this
money profit you! Adieu; I go far from men who thus so
bitterly injure each other." The abbe with difficulty got
away from the enthusiastic thanks of Caderousseopened the
door himselfgot out and mounted his horseonce more
saluted the innkeeperwho kept uttering his loud farewells
and then returned by the road he had travelled in coming.
When Caderousse turned aroundhe saw behind him La
Carcontepaler and trembling more than ever. "Isthenall
that I have heard really true?" she inquired.


What? That he has given the diamond to us only?inquired
Caderoussehalf bewildered with joy; "yesnothing more
true! Seehere it is." The woman gazed at it a momentand
then saidin a gloomy voiceSuppose it's false?
Caderousse started and turned pale. "False!" he muttered.
False! Why should that man give me a false diamond?


To get your secret without paying for it, you blockhead!


Caderousse remained for a moment aghast under the weight of
such an idea. "Oh!" he saidtaking up his hatwhich he
placed on the red handkerchief tied round his headwe will
soon find out.


In what way?


Why, the fair is on at Beaucaire, there are always
jewellers from Paris there, and I will show it to them. Look
after the house, wife, and I shall be back in two hours,
and Caderousse left the house in hasteand ran rapidly in
the direction opposite to that which the priest had taken.
Fifty thousand francs!muttered La Carconte when left
alone; "it is a large sum of moneybut it is not a
fortune."


Chapter 28
The Prison Register.


The day after that in which the scene we have just described
had taken place on the road between Bellegarde and
Beaucairea man of about thirty or two and thirtydressed
in a bright blue frock coatnankeen trousersand a white
waistcoathaving the appearance and accent of an
Englishmanpresented himself before the mayor of
Marseilles. "Sir said he, I am chief clerk of the house
of Thomson & Frenchof Rome. We areand have been these
ten yearsconnected with the house of Morrel & Sonof
Marseilles. We have a hundred thousand francs or thereabouts
loaned on their securitiesand we are a little uneasy at
reports that have reached us that the firm is on the brink
of ruin. I have comethereforeexpress from Rometo ask
you for information."


Sir,replied the mayor. "I know very well that during the
last four or five years misfortune has seemed to pursue M.
Morrel. He has lost four or five vesselsand suffered by
three or four bankruptcies; but it is not for mealthough I
am a creditor myself to the amount of ten thousand francs
to give any information as to the state of his finances. Ask
of meas mayorwhat is my opinion of M. Morreland I
shall say that he is a man honorable to the last degreeand



who has up to this time fulfilled every engagement with
scrupulous punctuality. This is all I can saysir; if you
wish to learn moreaddress yourself to M. de Bovillethe
inspector of prisonsNo. 15Rue de Nouailles; he hasI
believetwo hundred thousand francs in Morrel's handsand
if there be any grounds for apprehensionas this is a
greater amount than mineyou will most probably find him
better informed than myself."

The Englishman seemed to appreciate this extreme delicacy
made his bow and went awayproceeding with a characteristic
British stride towards the street mentioned. M. de Boville
was in his private roomand the Englishmanon perceiving
himmade a gesture of surprisewhich seemed to indicate
that it was not the first time he had been in his presence.
As to M. de Bovillehe was in such a state of despairthat
it was evident all the faculties of his mindabsorbed in
the thought which occupied him at the momentdid not allow
either his memory or his imagination to stray to the past.
The Englishmanwith the coolness of his nationaddressed
him in terms nearly similar to those with which he had
accosted the mayor of Marseilles. "Ohsir exclaimed M. de
Boville, your fears are unfortunately but too well founded
and you see before you a man in despair. I had two hundred
thousand francs placed in the hands of Morrel & Son; these
two hundred thousand francs were the dowry of my daughter
who was to be married in a fortnightand these two hundred
thousand francs were payablehalf on the 15th of this
monthand the other half on the 15th of next month. I had
informed M. Morrel of my desire to have these payments
punctuallyand he has been here within the last half-hour
to tell me that if his shipthe Pharaondid not come into
port on the 15thhe would be wholly unable to make this
payment."

But,said the Englishmanthis looks very much like a
suspension of payment.

It looks more like bankruptcy!exclaimed M. de Boville
despairingly.

The Englishman appeared to reflect a momentand then said
-- "From which it would appearsirthat this credit
inspires you with considerable apprehension?"

To tell you the truth, I consider it lost.

Well, then, I will buy it of you!

You?

Yes, I!

But at a tremendous discount, of course?

No, for two hundred thousand francs. Our house,added the
Englishman with a laughdoes not do things in that way.

And you will pay-


Ready money.And the Englishman drew from his pocket a
bundle of bank-noteswhich might have been twice the sum M.
de Boville feared to lose. A ray of joy passed across M. de
Boville's countenanceyet he made an effort at


self-controland said-- "SirI ought to tell you that
in all probabilityyou will not realize six per cent of
this sum."

That's no affair of mine,replied the Englishmanthat is
the affair of the house of Thomson & French, in whose name I
act. They have, perhaps, some motive to serve in hastening
the ruin of a rival firm. But all I know, sir, is, that I am
ready to hand you over this sum in exchange for your
assignment of the debt. I only ask a brokerage.

Of course, that is perfectly just,cried M. de Boville.
The commission is usually one and a half; will you have two
-- three -- five per cent, or even more? Whatever you say.

Sir,replied the EnglishmanlaughingI am like my
house, and do not do such things -- no, the commission I ask
is quite different.

Name it, sir, I beg.

You are the inspector of prisons?

I have been so these fourteen years.

You keep the registers of entries and departures?

I do.

To these registers there are added notes relative to the
prisoners?

There are special reports on every prisoner.

Well, sir, I was educated at home by a poor devil of an
abbe, who disappeared suddenly. I have since learned that he
was confined in the Chateau d'If, and I should like to learn
some particulars of his death.

What was his name?

The Abbe Faria.

Oh, I recollect him perfectly,cried M. de Boville; "he
was crazy."

So they said.

Oh, he was, decidedly.

Very possibly; but what sort of madness was it?

He pretended to know of an immense treasure, and offered
vast sums to the government if they would liberate him.

Poor devil! -- and he is dead?

Yes, sir, five or six months ago -- last February.

You have a good memory, sir, to recollect dates so well.

I recollect this, because the poor devil's death was
accompanied by a singular incident.


May I ask what that was?said the Englishman with an
expression of curiositywhich a close observer would have
been astonished at discovering in his phlegmatic
countenance.

Oh dear, yes, sir; the abbe's dungeon was forty or fifty
feet distant from that of one of Bonaparte's emissaries, -one
of those who had contributed the most to the return of
the usurper in 1815, -- a very resolute and very dangerous
man.

Indeed!said the Englishman.

Yes,replied M. de Boville; "I myself had occasion to see
this man in 1816 or 1817and we could only go into his
dungeon with a file of soldiers. That man made a deep
impression on me; I shall never forget his countenance!" The
Englishman smiled imperceptibly.

And you say, sir,he interposedthat the two dungeons

Were separated by a distance of fifty feet; but it appears
that this Edmond Dantes-


This dangerous man's name was-


Edmond Dantes. It appears, sir, that this Edmond Dantes had
procured tools, or made them, for they found a tunnel
through which the prisoners held communication with one
another.

This tunnel was dug, no doubt, with an intention of
escape?

No doubt; but unfortunately for the prisoners, the Abbe
Faria had an attack of catalepsy, and died.

That must have cut short the projects of escape.

For the dead man, yes,replied M. de Bovillebut not for
the survivor; on the contrary, this Dantes saw a means of
accelerating his escape. He, no doubt, thought that
prisoners who died in the Chateau d'If were interred in an
ordinary burial-ground, and he conveyed the dead man into
his own cell, took his place in the sack in which they had
sewed up the corpse, and awaited the moment of interment.

It was a bold step, and one that showed some courage,
remarked the Englishman.

As I have already told you, sir, he was a very dangerous
man; and, fortunately, by his own act disembarrassed the
government of the fears it had on his account.

How was that?

How? Do you not comprehend?

No.

The Chateau d'If has no cemetery, and they simply throw the
dead into the sea, after fastening a thirty-six pound
cannon-ball to their feet.


Well,observed the Englishman as if he were slow of
comprehension.

Well, they fastened a thirty-six pound ball to his feet,
and threw him into the sea.

Really!exclaimed the Englishman.

Yes, sir,continued the inspector of prisons. "You may
imagine the amazement of the fugitive when he found himself
flung headlong over the rocks! I should like to have seen
his face at that moment."

That would have been difficult.

No matter,replied De Bovillein supreme good-humor at
the certainty of recovering his two hundred thousand francs
-- "no matterI can fancy it." And he shouted with
laughter.

So can I,said the Englishmanand he laughed too; but he
laughed as the English doat the end of his teeth.

And so,continued the Englishman who first gained his
composurehe was drowned?

Unquestionably.

So that the governor got rid of the dangerous and the crazy
prisoner at the same time?

Precisely.

But some official document was drawn up as to this affair,
I suppose?inquired the Englishman.

Yes, yes, the mortuary deposition. You understand, Dantes'
relations, if he had any, might have some interest in
knowing if he were dead or alive.

So that now, if there were anything to inherit from him,
they may do so with easy conscience. He is dead, and no
mistake about it.

Oh, yes; and they may have the fact attested whenever they
please.

So be it,said the Englishman. "But to return to these
registers."

True, this story has diverted our attention from them.
Excuse me.

Excuse you for what? For the story? By no means; it really
seems to me very curious.

Yes, indeed. So, sir, you wish to see all relating to the
poor abbe, who really was gentleness itself.

Yes, you will much oblige me.

Go into my study here, and I will show it to you.And they
both entered M. de Boville's study. Everything was here


arranged in perfect order; each register had its number
each file of papers its place. The inspector begged the
Englishman to seat himself in an arm-chairand placed
before him the register and documents relative to the
Chateau d'Ifgiving him all the time he desired for the
examinationwhile De Boville seated himself in a corner
and began to read his newspaper. The Englishman easily found
the entries relative to the Abbe Faria; but it seemed that
the history which the inspector had related interested him
greatlyfor after having perused the first documents he
turned over the leaves until he reached the deposition
respecting Edmond Dantes. There he found everything arranged
in due order-- the accusationexaminationMorrel's
petitionM. de Villefort's marginal notes. He folded up the
accusation quietlyand put it as quietly in his pocket;
read the examinationand saw that the name of Noirtier was
not mentioned in it; perusedtoothe application dated
10th April1815in which Morrelby the deputy procureur's
adviceexaggerated with the best intentions (for Napoleon
was then on the throne) the services Dantes had rendered to
the imperial cause -- services which Villefort's
certificates rendered indispensable. Then he saw through the
whole thing. This petition to Napoleonkept back by
Villeforthad becomeunder the second restorationa
terrible weapon against him in the hands of the king's
attorney. He was no longer astonished when he searched on to
find in the register this noteplaced in a bracket against
his name: --

Edmond Dantes.

An inveterate Bonapartist; took an active part in the return
from the Island of Elba.

To be kept in strict solitary confinementand to be closely
watched and guarded.

Beneath these lines was written in another hand: "See note
above -- nothing can be done." He compared the writing in
the bracket with the writing of the certificate placed
beneath Morrel's petitionand discovered that the note in
the bracket was the some writing as the certificate -- that
is to saywas in Villefort's handwriting. As to the note
which accompanied thisthe Englishman understood that it
might have been added by some inspector who had taken a
momentary interest in Dantes' situationbut who hadfrom
the remarks we have quotedfound it impossible to give any
effect to the interest he had felt.

As we have saidthe inspectorfrom discretionand that he
might not disturb the Abbe Faria's pupil in his researches
had seated himself in a cornerand was reading Le Drapeau
Blanc. He did not see the Englishman fold up and place in
his pocket the accusation written by Danglars under the
arbor of La Reserveand which had the postmark
Marseilles, 27th Feb., delivery 6 o'clock, P.M.But it
must be said that if he had seen ithe attached so little
importance to this scrap of paperand so much importance to
his two hundred thousand francsthat he would not have
opposed whatever the Englishman might dohowever irregular
it might be.

Thanks,said the latterclosing the register with a slam
I have all I want; now it is for me to perform my promise.


Give me a simple assignment of your debt; acknowledge
therein the receipt of the cash, and I will hand you over
the money.He rosegave his seat to M. de Bovillewho
took it without ceremonyand quickly drew up the required
assignmentwhile the Englishman counted out the bank-notes
on the other side of the desk.


Chapter 29
The House of Morrel & Son.


Any one who had quitted Marseilles a few years previously
well acquainted with the interior of Morrel's warehouseand
had returned at this datewould have found a great change.
Instead of that air of lifeof comfortand of happiness
that permeates a flourishing and prosperous business
establishment -- instead of merry faces at the windowsbusy
clerks hurrying to and fro in the long corridors -- instead
of the court filled with bales of goodsre-echoing with the
cries and the jokes of portersone would have immediately
perceived all aspect of sadness and gloom. Out of all the
numerous clerks that used to fill the deserted corridor and
the empty officebut two remained. One was a young man of
three or four and twentywho was in love with M. Morrel's
daughterand had remained with him in spite of the efforts
of his friends to induce him to withdraw; the other was an
old one-eyed cashiercalled "Cocles or Cock-eye a
nickname given him by the young men who used to throng this
vast now almost deserted bee-hive, and which had so
completely replaced his real name that he would not, in all
probability, have replied to any one who addressed him by
it.


Cocles remained in M. Morrel's service, and a most singular
change had taken place in his position; he had at the same
time risen to the rank of cashier, and sunk to the rank of a
servant. He was, however, the same Cocles, good, patient,
devoted, but inflexible on the subject of arithmetic, the
only point on which he would have stood firm against the
world, even against M. Morrel; and strong in the
multiplication-table, which he had at his fingers' ends, no
matter what scheme or what trap was laid to catch him. In
the midst of the disasters that befell the house, Cocles was
the only one unmoved. But this did not arise from a want of
affection; on the contrary, from a firm conviction. Like the
rats that one by one forsake the doomed ship even before the
vessel weighs anchor, so all the numerous clerks had by
degrees deserted the office and the warehouse. Cocles had
seen them go without thinking of inquiring the cause of
their departure. Everything was as we have said, a question
of arithmetic to Cocles, and during twenty years he had
always seen all payments made with such exactitude, that it
seemed as impossible to him that the house should stop
payment, as it would to a miller that the river that had so
long turned his mill should cease to flow.


Nothing had as yet occurred to shake Cocles' belief; the
last month's payment had been made with the most scrupulous
exactitude; Cocles had detected an overbalance of fourteen
sous in his cash, and the same evening he had brought them
to M. Morrel, who, with a melancholy smile, threw them into
an almost empty drawer, saying: --



ThanksCocles; you are the pearl of cashiers "

Cocles went away perfectly happyfor this eulogium of M.
Morrelhimself the pearl of the honest men of Marseilles
flattered him more than a present of fifty crowns. But since
the end of the month M. Morrel had passed many an anxious
hour. In order to meet the payments then due; he had
collected all his resourcesandfearing lest the report of
his distress should get bruited abroad at Marseilles when he
was known to be reduced to such an extremityhe went to the
Beaucaire fair to sell his wife's and daughter's jewels and
a portion of his plate. By this means the end of the month
was passedbut his resources were now exhausted. Credit
owing to the reports afloatwas no longer to be had; and to
meet the one hundred thousand francs due on the 10th of the
present monthand the one hundred thousand francs due on
the 15th of the next month to M. de BovilleM. Morrel had
in realityno hope but the return of the Pharaonof whose
departure he had learnt from a vessel which had weighed
anchor at the same timeand which had already arrived in
harbor. But this vessel whichlike the Pharaoncame from
Calcuttahad been in for a fortnightwhile no intelligence
had been received of the Pharaon.

Such was the state of affairs whenthe day after his
interview with M. de Bovillethe confidential clerk of the
house of Thomson & French of Romepresented himself at M.
Morrel's. Emmanuel received him; this young man was alarmed
by the appearance of every new facefor every new face
might be that of a new creditorcome in anxiety to question
the head of the house. The young manwishing to spare his
employer the pain of this interviewquestioned the
new-comer; but the stranger declared that he had nothing to
say to M. Emmanueland that his business was with M. Morrel
in person. Emmanuel sighedand summoned Cocles. Cocles
appearedand the young man bade him conduct the stranger to

M. Morrel's apartment. Cocles went firstand the stranger
followed him. On the staircase they met a beautiful girl of
sixteen or seventeenwho looked with anxiety at the
stranger.
M. Morrel is in his room, is he not, Mademoiselle Julie?
said the cashier.

Yes; I think so, at least,said the young girl
hesitatingly. "Go and seeCoclesand if my father is
thereannounce this gentleman."

It will be useless to announce me, mademoiselle,returned
the Englishman. "M. Morrel does not know my name; this
worthy gentleman has only to announce the confidential clerk
of the house of Thomson & French of Romewith whom your
father does business."

The young girl turned pale and continued to descendwhile
the stranger and Cocles continued to mount the staircase.
She entered the office where Emmanuel waswhile Coclesby
the aid of a key he possessedopened a door in the corner
of a landing-place on the second staircaseconducted the
stranger into an ante-chamberopened a second doorwhich
he closed behind himand after having left the clerk of the
house of Thomson & French alonereturned and signed to him
that he could enter. The Englishman enteredand found
Morrel seated at a tableturning over the formidable


columns of his ledgerwhich contained the list of his
liabilities. At the sight of the strangerM. Morrel closed
the ledgeraroseand offered a seat to the stranger; and
when he had seen him seatedresumed his own chair. Fourteen
years had changed the worthy merchantwhoin his
thirty-sixth year at the opening of this historywas now in
his fiftieth; his hair had turned whitetime and sorrow had
ploughed deep furrows on his browand his lookonce so
firm and penetratingwas now irresolute and wanderingas
if he feared being forced to fix his attention on some
particular thought or person. The Englishman looked at him
with an air of curiosityevidently mingled with interest.
Monsieur,said Morrelwhose uneasiness was increased by
this examinationyou wish to speak to me?

Yes, monsieur; you are aware from whom I come?

The house of Thomson & French; at least, so my cashier
tells me.

He has told you rightly. The house of Thomson & French had
300,000 or 400,000 francs to pay this month in France; and,
knowing your strict punctuality, have collected all the
bills bearing your signature, and charged me as they became
due to present them, and to employ the money otherwise.
Morrel sighed deeplyand passed his hand over his forehead
which was covered with perspiration.

So then, sir,said Morrelyou hold bills of mine?

Yes, and for a considerable sum.

What is the amount?asked Morrel with a voice he strove to
render firm.

Here is,said the Englishmantaking a quantity of papers
from his pocketan assignment of 200,000 francs to our
house by M. de Boville, the inspector of prisons, to whom
they are due. You acknowledge, of course, that you owe this
sum to him?

Yes; he placed the money in my hands at four and a half per
cent nearly five years ago.

When are you to pay?

Half the 15th of this month, half the 15th of next.

Just so; and now here are 32,500 francs payable shortly;
they are all signed by you, and assigned to our house by the
holders.

I recognize them,said Morrelwhose face was suffusedas
he thought thatfor the first time in his lifehe would be
unable to honor his own signature. "Is this all?"

No, I have for the end of the month these bills which have
been assigned to us by the house of Pascal, and the house of
Wild & Turner of Marseilles, amounting to nearly 55,000
francs; in all, 287,500 francs.It is impossible to
describe what Morrel suffered during this enumeration. "Two
hundred and eighty-seven thousand five hundred francs
repeated he.


Yessir replied the Englishman. I will not continued
he, after a moment's silence, conceal from youthat while
your probity and exactitude up to this moment are
universally acknowledgedyet the report is current in
Marseilles that you are not able to meet your liabilities."
At this almost brutal speech Morrel turned deathly pale.
Sir,said heup to this time -- and it is now more than
four-and-twenty years since I received the direction of this
house from my father, who had himself conducted it for five
and thirty years -- never has anything bearing the signature
of Morrel & Son been dishonored.

I know that,replied the Englishman. "But as a man of
honor should answer anothertell me fairlyshall you pay
these with the same punctuality?" Morrel shudderedand
looked at the manwho spoke with more assurance than he had
hitherto shown. "To questions frankly put said he, a
straightforward answer should be given. YesI shall pay
ifas I hopemy vessel arrives safely; for its arrival
will again procure me the credit which the numerous
accidentsof which I have been the victimhave deprived
me; but if the Pharaon should be lostand this last
resource be gone" -- the poor man's eyes filled with tears.

Well,said the otherif this last resource fail you?

Well,returned Morrelit is a cruel thing to be forced
to say, but, already used to misfortune, I must habituate
myself to shame. I fear I shall be forced to suspend
payment.

Have you no friends who could assist you?Morrel smiled
mournfully. "In businesssir said he, one has no
friendsonly correspondents."

It is true,murmured the Englishman; "then you have but
one hope."

But one.

The last?

The last.

So that if this fail-


I am ruined, -- completely ruined!

As I was on my way here, a vessel was coming into port.

I know it, sir; a young man, who still adheres to my fallen
fortunes, passes a part of his time in a belvidere at the
top of the house, in hopes of being the first to announce
good news to me; he has informed me of the arrival of this
ship.

And it is not yours?

No, she is a Bordeaux vessel, La Gironde; she comes from
India also; but she is not mine.

Perhaps she has spoken the Pharaon, and brings you some
tidings of her?


Shall I tell you plainly one thing, sir? I dread almost as
much to receive any tidings of my vessel as to remain in
doubt. uncertainty is still hope.Then in a low voice
Morrel added-- "This delay is not natural. The Pharaon
left Calcutta the 5th February; she ought to have been here
a month ago."

What is that?said the Englishman. "What is the meaning of
that noise?"

Oh, oh!cried Morrelturning palewhat is it?A loud
noise was heard on the stairs of people moving hastilyand
half-stifled sobs. Morrel rose and advanced to the door; but
his strength failed him and he sank into a chair. The two
men remained opposite one anotherMorrel trembling in every
limbthe stranger gazing at him with an air of profound
pity. The noise had ceased; but it seemed that Morrel
expected something -- something had occasioned the noise
and something must follow. The stranger fancied he heard
footsteps on the stairs; and that the footstepswhich were
those of several personsstopped at the door. A key was
inserted in the lock of the first doorand the creaking of
hinges was audible.

There are only two persons who have the key to that door,
murmured MorrelCocles and Julie.At this instant the
second door openedand the young girlher eyes bathed with
tearsappeared. Morrel rose tremblinglysupporting himself
by the arm of the chair. He would have spokenbut his voice
failed him. "Ohfather!" said sheclasping her hands
forgive your child for being the bearer of evil tidings.

Morrel again changed color. Julie threw herself into his
arms.

Oh, father, father!murmured shecourage!

The Pharaon has gone down, then?said Morrel in a hoarse
voice. The young girl did not speak; but she made an
affirmative sign with her head as she lay on her father's
breast.

And the crew?asked Morrel.

Saved,said the girl; "saved by the crew of the vessel
that has just entered the harbor." Morrel raised his two
hands to heaven with an expression of resignation and
sublime gratitude. "Thanksmy God said he, at least thou
strikest but me alone." A tear moistened the eye of the
phlegmatic Englishman.

Come in, come in,said Morrelfor I presume you are all
at the door.

Scarcely had he uttered those words than Madame Morrel
entered weeping bitterly. Emmanuel followed herand in the
antechamber were visible the rough faces of seven or eight
half-naked sailors. At the sight of these men the Englishman
started and advanced a step; then restrained himselfand
retired into the farthest and most obscure corner of the
apartment. Madame Morrel sat down by her husband and took
one of his hands in hersJulie still lay with her head on
his shoulderEmmanuel stood in the centre of the chamber
and seemed to form the link between Morrel's family and the


sailors at the door.

How did this happen?said Morrel.

Draw nearer, Penelon,said the young manand tell us all
about it.

An old seamanbronzed by the tropical sunadvanced
twirling the remains of a tarpaulin between his hands.
Good-day, M. Morrel,said heas if he had just quitted
Marseilles the previous eveningand had just returned from
Aix or Toulon.

Good-day, Penelon,returned Morrelwho could not refrain
from smiling through his tearswhere is the captain?

The captain, M. Morrel, -- he has stayed behind sick at
Palma; but please God, it won't be much, and you will see
him in a few days all alive and hearty.

Well, now tell your story, Penelon.

Penelon rolled his quid in his cheekplaced his hand before
his mouthturned his headand sent a long jet of
tobacco-juice into the antechamberadvanced his foot
balanced himselfand began-- "You seeM. Morrel said
he, we were somewhere between Cape Blanc and Cape Boyador
sailing with a fair breezesouth-south-west after a week's
calmwhen Captain Gaumard comes up to me -- I was at the
helm I should tell you -- and says`Penelonwhat do you
think of those clouds coming up over there?' I was just then
looking at them myself. `What do I thinkcaptain? Why I
think that they are rising faster than they have any
business to doand that they would not be so black if they
didn't mean mischief.' -- `That's my opinion too' said the
captain`and I'll take precautions accordingly. We are
carrying too much canvas. Avastthereall hands! Take in
the studding-sl's and stow the flying jib.' It was time; the
squall was on usand the vessel began to heel. `Ah' said
the captain`we have still too much canvas set; all hands
lower the mains'l!' Five minutes afterit was down; and we
sailed under mizzen-tops'ls and to'gall'nt sails. `Well
Penelon' said the captain`what makes you shake your
head?' `Why' I says`I still think you've got too much
on.' `I think you're right' answered he`we shall have a
gale.' `A gale? More than thatwe shall have a tempestor
I don't know what's what.' You could see the wind coming
like the dust at Montredon; luckily the captain understood
his business. `Take in two reefs in the tops'ls' cried the
captain; `let go the bowlin'shaul the bracelower the
to'gall'nt sailshaul out the reef-tackles on the yards.'"

That was not enough for those latitudes,said the
Englishman; "I should have taken four reefs in the topsails
and furled the spanker."

His firmsonorousand unexpected voice made every one
start. Penelon put his hand over his eyesand then stared
at the man who thus criticized the manoeuvres of his
captain. "We did better than thatsir said the old sailor
respectfully; we put the helm up to run before the tempest;
ten minutes after we struck our tops'ls and scudded under
bare poles."


The vessel was very old to risk that,said the Englishman.

Eh, it was that that did the business; after pitching
heavily for twelve hours we sprung a leak. `Penelon,' said
the captain, `I think we are sinking, give me the helm, and
go down into the hold.' I gave him the helm, and descended;
there was already three feet of water. `All hands to the
pumps!' I shouted; but it was too late, and it seemed the
more we pumped the more came in. `Ah,' said I, after four
hours' work, `since we are sinking, let us sink; we can die
but once.' `That's the example you set, Penelon,' cries the
captain; `very well, wait a minute.' He went into his cabin
and came back with a brace of pistols. `I will blow the
brains out of the first man who leaves the pump,' said he.

Well done!said the Englishman.

There's nothing gives you so much courage as good reasons,
continued the sailor; "and during that time the wind had
abatedand the sea gone downbut the water kept rising;
not muchonly two inches an hourbut still it rose. Two
inches an hour does not seem muchbut in twelve hours that
makes two feetand three we had beforethat makes five.
`Come' said the captain`we have done all in our power
and M. Morrel will have nothing to reproach us withwe have
tried to save the shiplet us now save ourselves. To the
boatsmy ladsas quick as you can.' Now continued
Penelon, you seeM. Morrela sailor is attached to his
shipbut still more to his lifeso we did not wait to be
told twice; the more sothat the ship was sinking under us
and seemed to say`Get along -- save yourselves.' We soon
launched the boatand all eight of us got into it. The
captain descended lastor ratherhe did not descendhe
would not quit the vessel; so I took him round the waist
and threw him into the boatand then I jumped after him. It
was timefor just as I jumped the deck burst with a noise
like the broadside of a man-of-war. Ten minutes after she
pitched forwardthen the other wayspun round and round
and then good-by to the Pharaon. As for uswe were three
days without anything to eat or drinkso that we began to
think of drawing lots who should feed the restwhen we saw
La Gironde; we made signals of distressshe perceived us
made for usand took us all on board. There nowM. Morrel
that's the whole truthon the honor of a sailor; is not it
trueyou fellows there?" A general murmur of approbation
showed that the narrator had faithfully detailed their
misfortunes and sufferings.

Well, well,said M. MorrelI know there was no one in
fault but destiny. It was the will of God that this should
happen, blessed be his name. What wages are due to you?

Oh, don't let us talk of that, M. Morrel.

Yes, but we will talk of it.

Well, then, three months,said Penelon.

Cocles, pay two hundred francs to each of these good
fellows,said Morrel. "At another time added be, I
should have saidGive thembesidestwo hundred francs
over as a present; but times are changedand the little
money that remains to me is not my own."


Penelon turned to his companionsand exchanged a few words
with them.

As for that, M. Morrel,said heagain turning his quid
as for that-


As for what?

The money.

Well-


Well, we all say that fifty francs will be enough for us at
present, and that we will wait for the rest.

Thanks, my friends, thanks!cried Morrel gratefully; "take
it -- take it; and if you can find another employerenter
his service; you are free to do so." These last words
produced a prodigious effect on the seaman. Penelon nearly
swallowed his quid; fortunately he recovered. "WhatM.
Morrel!" said he in a low voiceyou send us away; you are
then angry with us!

No, no,said M. MorrelI am not angry, quite the
contrary, and I do not send you away; but I have no more
ships, and therefore I do not want any sailors.

No more ships!returned Penelon; "wellthenyou'll build
some; we'll wait for you."

I have no money to build ships with, Penelon,said the
poor owner mournfullyso I cannot accept your kind offer.

No more money? Then you must not pay us; we can scud, like
the Pharaon, under bare poles.

Enough, enough!cried Morrelalmost overpowered; "leave
meI pray you; we shall meet again in a happier time.
Emmanuelgo with themand see that my orders are
executed."

At least, we shall see each other again, M. Morrel?asked
Penelon.

Yes; I hope so, at least. Now go.He made a sign to
Cocleswho went first; the seamen followed him and Emmanuel
brought up the rear. "Now said the owner to his wife and
daughter, leave me; I wish to speak with this gentleman."
And he glanced towards the clerk of Thomson & Frenchwho
had remained motionless in the corner during this scenein
which he had taken no partexcept the few words we have
mentioned. The two women looked at this person whose
presence they had entirely forgottenand retired; butas
she left the apartmentJulie gave the stranger a
supplicating glanceto which he replied by a smile that an
indifferent spectator would have been surprised to see on
his stern features. The two men were left alone. "Well
sir said Morrel, sinking into a chair, you have heard
alland I have nothing further to tell you."

I see,returned the Englishmanthat a fresh and
unmerited misfortune his overwhelmed you, and this only
increases my desire to serve you.


Oh, sir!cried Morrel.

Let me see,continued the strangerI am one of your
largest creditors.

Your bills, at least, are the first that will fall due.

Do you wish for time to pay?

A delay would save my honor, and consequently my life.

How long a delay do you wish for?-- Morrel reflected.
Two months,said he.

I will give you three,replied the stranger.

But,asked Morrelwill the house of Thomson & French
consent?

Oh, I take everything on myself. To-day is the 5th of
June.

Yes.

Well, renew these bills up to the 5th of September; and on
the 5th of September at eleven o'clock (the hand of the
clock pointed to eleven), I shall come to receive the
money.

I shall expect you,returned Morrel; "and I will pay you
-- or I shall he dead." These last words were uttered in so
low a tone that the stranger could not hear them. The bills
were renewedthe old ones destroyedand the poor
ship-owner found himself with three months before him to
collect his resources. The Englishman received his thanks
with the phlegm peculiar to his nation; and Morrel
overwhelming him with grateful blessingsconducted him to
the staircase. The stranger met Julie on the stairs; she
pretended to be descendingbut in reality she was waiting
for him. "Ohsir" -- said sheclasping her hands.

Mademoiselle,said the strangerone day you will receive
a letter signed `Sinbad the Sailor.' Do exactly what the
letter bids you, however strange it may appear.

Yes, sir,returned Julie.

Do you promise?

I swear to you I will.

It is well. Adieu, mademoiselle. Continue to be the good,
sweet girl you are at present, and I have great hopes that
heaven will reward you by giving you Emmanuel for a
husband.

Julie uttered a faint cryblushed like a roseand leaned
against the baluster. The stranger waved his handand
continued to descend. In the court he found Penelonwho
with a rouleau of a hundred francs in either handseemed
unable to make up his mind to retain them. "Come with memy
friend said the Englishman; I wish to speak to you."


Chapter 30
The Fifth of September.


The extension provided for by the agent of Thomson & French
at the moment when Morrel expected it leastwas to the poor
shipowner so decided a stroke of good fortune that he almost
dared to believe that fate was at length grown weary of
wasting her spite upon him. The same day he told his wife
Emmanueland his daughter all that had occurred; and a ray
of hopeif not of tranquillityreturned to the family.
UnfortunatelyhoweverMorrel had not only engagements with
the house of Thomson & Frenchwho had shown themselves so
considerate towards him; andas he had saidin business he
had correspondentsand not friends. When he thought the
matter overhe could by no means account for this generous
conduct on the part of Thomson & French towards him; and
could only attribute it to some such selfish argument as
this: -- "We had better help a man who owes us nearly
300000 francsand have those 300000 francs at the end of
three months than hasten his ruinand get only six or eight
per cent of our money back again." Unfortunatelywhether
through envy or stupidityall Morrel's correspondents did
not take this view; and some even came to a contrary
decision. The bills signed by Morrel were presented at his
office with scrupulous exactitudeandthanks to the delay
granted by the Englishmanwere paid by Cocles with equal
punctuality. Cocles thus remained in his accustomed
tranquillity. It was Morrel alone who remembered with alarm
that if he had to repay on the 15th the 50000 francs of M.
de Bovilleand on the 30th the 32500 francs of billsfor
whichas well as the debt due to the inspector of prisons
he had time grantedhe must be a ruined man.


The opinion of all the commercial men was thatunder the
reverses which had successively weighed down Morrelit was
impossible for him to remain solvent. Greatthereforewas
the astonishment when at the end of the monthhe cancelled
all his obligations with his usual punctuality. Still
confidence was not restored to all mindsand the general
opinion was that the complete ruin of the unfortunate
shipowner had been postponed only until the end of the
month. The month passedand Morrel made extraordinary
efforts to get in all his resources. Formerly his paperat
any datewas taken with confidenceand was even in
request. Morrel now tried to negotiate bills at ninety days
onlyand none of the banks would give him credit.
FortunatelyMorrel had some funds coming in on which he
could rely; andas they reached himhe found himself in a
condition to meet his engagements when the end of July came.
The agent of Thomson & French had not been again seen at
Marseilles; the day afteror two days after his visit to
Morrelhe had disappeared; and as in that city he had had
no intercourse but with the mayorthe inspector of prisons
and M. Morrelhis departure left no trace except in the
memories of these three persons. As to the sailors of the
Pharaonthey must have found snug berths elsewherefor
they also had disappeared.


Captain Gaumardrecovered from his illnesshad returned
from Palma. He delayed presenting himself at Morrel'sbut
the ownerhearing of his arrivalwent to see him. The
worthy shipowner knewfrom Penelon's recitalof the
captain's brave conduct during the stormand tried to



console him. He brought him also the amount of his wages
which Captain Gaumard had not dared to apply for. As he
descended the staircaseMorrel met Penelonwho was going
up. Penelon hadit would seemmade good use of his money
for he was newly clad. When he saw his employerthe worthy
tar seemed much embarrasseddrew on one side into the
corner of the landing-placepassed his quid from one cheek
to the otherstared stupidly with his great eyesand only
acknowledged the squeeze of the hand which Morrel as usual
gave him by a slight pressure in return. Morrel attributed
Penelon's embarrassment to the elegance of his attire; it
was evident the good fellow had not gone to such an expense
on his own account; he wasno doubtengaged on board some
other vesseland thus his bashfulness arose from the fact
of his not havingif we may so express ourselvesworn
mourning for the Pharaon longer. Perhaps he had come to tell
Captain Gaumard of his good luckand to offer him
employment from his new master. "Worthy fellows!" said
Morrelas he went awaymay your new master love you as I
loved you, and be more fortunate than I have been!

August rolled by in unceasing efforts on the part of Morrel
to renew his credit or revive the old. On the 20th of August
it was known at Marseilles that he had left town in the
mailcoachand then it was said that the bills would go to
protest at the end of the monthand that Morrel had gone
away and left his chief clerk Emmanueland his cashier
Coclesto meet the creditors. Butcontrary to all
expectationwhen the 31st of August camethe house opened
as usualand Cocles appeared behind the grating of the
counterexamined all bills presented with the usual
scrutinyandfrom first to lastpaid all with the usual
precision. There came inmoreovertwo drafts which M.
Morrel had fully anticipatedand which Cocles paid as
punctually as the bills which the shipowner had accepted.
All this was incomprehensibleand thenwith the tenacity
peculiar to prophets of bad newsthe failure was put off
until the end of September. On the 1stMorrel returned; he
was awaited by his family with extreme anxietyfor from
this journey to Paris they hoped great things. Morrel had
thought of Danglarswho was now immensely richand had
lain under great obligations to Morrel in former dayssince
to him it was owing that Danglars entered the service of the
Spanish bankerwith whom he had laid the foundations of his
vast wealth. It was said at this moment that Danglars was
worth from six to eight millions of francsand had
unlimited credit. Danglarsthenwithout taking a crown
from his pocketcould save Morrel; he had but to pass his
word for a loanand Morrel was saved. Morrel had long
thought of Danglarsbut had kept away from some instinctive
motiveand had delayed as long as possible availing himself
of this last resource. And Morrel was rightfor he returned
home crushed by the humiliation of a refusal. Yeton his
arrivalMorrel did not utter a complaintor say one harsh
word. He embraced his weeping wife and daughterpressed
Emmanuel's hand with friendly warmthand then going to his
private room on the second floor had sent for Cocles.
Then,said the two women to Emmanuelwe are indeed
ruined.

It was agreed in a brief council held among themthat Julie
should write to her brotherwho was in garrison at Nimes
to come to them as speedily as possible. The poor women felt
instinctively that they required all their strength to


support the blow that impended. BesidesMaximilian Morrel
though hardly two and twentyhad great influence over his
father. He was a strong-mindedupright young man. At the
time when he decided on his profession his father had no
desire to choose for himbut had consulted young
Maximilian's taste. He had at once declared for a military
lifeand had in consequence studied hardpassed
brilliantly through the Polytechnic Schooland left it as
sub-lieutenant of the 53d of the line. For a year he had
held this rankand expected promotion on the first vacancy.
In his regiment Maximilian Morrel was noted for his rigid
observancenot only of the obligations imposed on a
soldierbut also of the duties of a man; and he thus gained
the name of "the stoic." We need hardly say that many of
those who gave him this epithet repeated it because they had
heard itand did not even know what it meant. This was the
young man whom his mother and sister called to their aid to
sustain them under the serious trial which they felt they
would soon have to endure. They had not mistaken the gravity
of this eventfor the moment after Morrel had entered his
private office with CoclesJulie saw the latter leave it
paletremblingand his features betraying the utmost
consternation. She would have questioned him as he passed by
herbut the worthy creature hastened down the staircase
with unusual precipitationand only raised his hands to
heaven and exclaimedOh, mademoiselle, mademoiselle, what
a dreadful misfortune! Who could ever have believed it!A
moment afterwards Julie saw him go up-stairs carrying two or
three heavy ledgersa portfolioand a bag of money.

Morrel examined the ledgersopened the portfolioand
counted the money. All his funds amounted to 6000or 8000
francshis bills receivable up to the 5th to 4000 or
5000whichmaking the best of everythinggave him 14000
francs to meet debts amounting to 287500 francs. He had not
even the means for making a possible settlement on account.
Howeverwhen Morrel went down to his dinnerhe appeared
very calm. This calmness was more alarming to the two women
than the deepest dejection would have been. After dinner
Morrel usually went out and used to take his coffee at the
Phocaean cluband read the Semaphore; this day he did not
leave the housebut returned to his office.

As to Cocleshe seemed completely bewildered. For part of
the day he went into the court-yardseated himself on a
stone with his head bare and exposed to the blazing sun.
Emmanuel tried to comfort the womenbut his eloquence
faltered. The young man was too well acquainted with the
business of the housenot to feel that a great catastrophe
hung over the Morrel family. Night camethe two women had
watchedhoping that when he left his room Morrel would come
to thembut they heard him pass before their doorand
trying to conceal the noise of his footsteps. They listened;
he went into his sleeping-roomand fastened the door
inside. Madame Morrel sent her daughter to bedand half an
hour after Julie had retiredshe rosetook off her shoes
and went stealthily along the passageto see through the
keyhole what her husband was doing. In the passage she saw a
retreating shadow; it was Juliewhouneasy herselfhad
anticipated her mother. The young lady went towards Madame
Morrel.

He is writing,she said. They had understood each other
without speaking. Madame Morrel looked again through the


keyholeMorrel was writing; but Madame Morrel remarked
what her daughter had not observedthat her husband was
writing on stamped paper. The terrible idea that he was
writing his will flashed across her; she shudderedand yet
had not strength to utter a word. Next day M. Morrel seemed
as calm as everwent into his office as usualcame to his
breakfast punctuallyand thenafter dinnerhe placed his
daughter beside himtook her head in his armsand held her
for a long time against his bosom. In the eveningJulie
told her motherthat although he was apparently so calm
she had noticed that her father's heart beat violently. The
next two days passed in much the same way. On the evening of
the 4th of SeptemberM. Morrel asked his daughter for the
key of his study. Julie trembled at this requestwhich
seemed to her of bad omen. Why did her father ask for this
key which she always keptand which was only taken from her
in childhood as a punishment? The young girl looked at
Morrel.

What have I done wrong, father,she saidthat you should
take this key from me?

Nothing, my dear,replied the unhappy manthe tears
starting to his eyes at this simple question-- "nothing
only I want it." Julie made a pretence to feel for the key.
I must have left it in my room,she said. And she went
outbut instead of going to her apartment she hastened to
consult Emmanuel. "Do not give this key to your father
said he, and to-morrow morningif possibledo not quit
him for a moment." She questioned Emmanuelbut he knew
nothingor would not say what he knew. During the night
between the 4th and 5th of SeptemberMadame Morrel remained
listening for every soundanduntil three o'clock in the
morningshe heard her husband pacing the room in great
agitation. It was three o'clock when he threw himself on the
bed. The mother and daughter passed the night together. They
had expected Maximilian since the previous evening. At eight
o'clock in the morning Morrel entered their chamber. He was
calm; but the agitation of the night was legible in his pale
and careworn visage. They did not dare to ask him how he had
slept. Morrel was kinder to his wifemore affectionate to
his daughterthan he had ever been. He could not cease
gazing at and kissing the sweet girl. Juliemindful of
Emmanuel's requestwas following her father when he quitted
the roombut he said to her quickly-- "Remain with your
motherdearest." Julie wished to accompany him. "I wish you
to do so said he.

This was the first time Morrel had ever so spoken, but he
said it in a tone of paternal kindness, and Julie did not
dare to disobey. She remained at the same spot standing mute
and motionless. An instant afterwards the door opened, she
felt two arms encircle her, and a mouth pressed her
forehead. She looked up and uttered an exclamation of joy.

Maximilianmy dearest brother!" she cried. At these words
Madame Morrel roseand threw herself into her son's arms.
Mother,said the young manlooking alternately at Madame
Morrel and her daughterwhat has occurred -- what has
happened? Your letter has frightened me, and I have come
hither with all speed.

Julie,said Madame Morrelmaking a sign to the young man
go and tell your father that Maximilian has just arrived.


The young lady rushed out of the apartmentbut on the first
step of the staircase she found a man holding a letter in
his hand.

Are you not Mademoiselle Julie Morrel?inquired the man
with a strong Italian accent.

Yes, sir,replied Julie with hesitation; "what is your
pleasure? I do not know you."

Read this letter,he saidhanding it to her. Julie
hesitated. "It concerns the best interests of your father
said the messenger.

The young girl hastily took the letter from him. She opened
it quickly and read: -


Go this moment to the Allees de Meillanenter the house
No. 15ask the porter for the key of the room on the fifth
floorenter the apartmenttake from the corner of the
mantelpiece a purse netted in red silkand give it to your
father. It is important that he should receive it before
eleven o'clock. You promised to obey me implicitly. Remember
your oath.

Sinbad the Sailor.

The young girl uttered a joyful cryraised her eyeslooked
round to question the messengerbut he had disappeared. She
cast her eyes again over the note to peruse it a second
timeand saw there was a postscript. She read: -


It is important that you should fulfil this mission in
person and alone. If you go accompanied by any other person,
or should any one else go in your place, the porter will
reply that he does not know anything about it.

This postscript decreased greatly the young girl's
happiness. Was there nothing to fear? was there not some
snare laid for her? Her innocence had kept her in ignorance
of the dangers that might assail a young girl of her age.
But there is no need to know danger in order to fear it;
indeedit may be observedthat it is usually unknown
perils that inspire the greatest terror.

Julie hesitatedand resolved to take counsel. Yetthrough
a singular impulseit was neither to her mother nor her
brother that she appliedbut to Emmanuel. She hastened down
and told him what had occurred on the day when the agent of
Thomson & French had come to her father'srelated the scene
on the staircaserepeated the promise she had madeand
showed him the letter. "You must gothenmademoiselle
said Emmanuel.

Go there?" murmured Julie.

Yes; I will accompany you.

But did you not read that I must be alone?said Julie.

And you shall be alone,replied the young man. "I will
await you at the corner of the Rue de Museeand if you are
so long absent as to make me uneasyI will hasten to rejoin
youand woe to him of whom you shall have cause to complain


to me!"

Then, Emmanuel?said the young girl with hesitationit
is your opinion that I should obey this invitation?

Yes. Did not the messenger say your father's safety
depended upon it?

But what danger threatens him, then, Emmanuel?she asked.

Emmanuel hesitated a momentbut his desire to make Julie
decide immediately made him reply.

Listen,he said; "to-day is the 5th of Septemberis it
not?"

Yes.

To-day, then, at eleven o'clock, your father has nearly
three hundred thousand francs to pay?

Yes, we know that.

Well, then,continued Emmanuelwe have not fifteen
thousand francs in the house.

What will happen then?

Why, if to-day before eleven o'clock your father has not
found someone who will come to his aid, he will be compelled
at twelve o'clock to declare himself a bankrupt.

Oh, come, then, come!cried shehastening away with the
young man. During this timeMadame Morrel had told her son
everything. The young man knew quite well thatafter the
succession of misfortunes which had befallen his father
great changes had taken place in the style of living and
housekeeping; but he did not know that matters had reached
such a point. He was thunderstruck. Thenrushing hastily
out of the apartmenthe ran up-stairsexpecting to find
his father in his studybut he rapped there in vain.

While he was yet at the door of the study he heard the
bedroom door openturnedand saw his father. Instead of
going direct to his studyM. Morrel had returned to his
bed-chamberwhich he was only this moment quitting. Morrel
uttered a cry of surprise at the sight of his sonof whose
arrival he was ignorant. He remained motionless on the spot
pressing with his left hand something he had concealed under
his coat. Maximilian sprang down the staircaseand threw
his arms round his father's neck; but suddenly he recoiled
and placed his right hand on Morrel's breast. "Father he
exclaimed, turning pale as death, what are you going to do
with that brace of pistols under your coat?"

Oh, this is what I feared!said Morrel.

Father, father, in heaven's name,exclaimed the young man
what are these weapons for?

Maximilian,replied Morrellooking fixedly at his son
you are a man, and a man of honor. Come, and I will explain
to you.


And with a firm step Morrel went up to his studywhile
Maximilian followed himtrembling as he went. Morrel opened
the doorand closed it behind his son; thencrossing the
anteroomwent to his desk on which he placed the pistols
and pointed with his finger to an open ledger. In this
ledger was made out an exact balance-sheet of his affair's.
Morrel had to paywithin half an hour287500 francs. All
he possessed was 15257 francs. "Read!" said Morrel.

The young man was overwhelmed as he read. Morrel said not a
word. What could he say? What need he add to such a
desperate proof in figures? "And have you done all that is
possiblefatherto meet this disastrous result?" asked the
young manafter a moment's pause. "I have replied Morrel.

You have no money coming in on which you can rely?"

None.

You have exhausted every resource?

All.

And in half an hour,said Maximilian in a gloomy voice
our name is dishonored!

Blood washes out dishonor,said Morrel.

You are right, father; I understand you.Then extending
his hand towards one of the pistolshe saidThere is one
for you and one for me -- thanks!Morrel caught his hand.
Your mother -- your sister! Who will support them?A
shudder ran through the young man's frame. "Father he
said, do you reflect that you are bidding me to live?"

Yes, I do so bid you,answered Morrelit is your duty.
You have a calm, strong mind, Maximilian. Maximilian, you
are no ordinary man. I make no requests or commands; I only
ask you to examine my position as if it were your own, and
then judge for yourself.

The young man reflected for a momentthen an expression of
sublime resignation appeared in his eyesand with a slow
and sad gesture he took off his two epauletsthe insignia
of his rank. "Be it sothenmy father he said, extending
his hand to Morrel, die in peacemy father; I will live."
Morrel was about to cast himself on his knees before his
sonbut Maximilian caught him in his armsand those two
noble hearts were pressed against each other for a moment.
You know it is not my fault,said Morrel. Maximilian
smiled. "I knowfatheryou are the most honorable man I
have ever known."

Good, my son. And now there is no more to be said; go and
rejoin your mother and sister.

My father,said the young manbending his kneebless
me!Morrel took the head of his son between his two hands
drew him forwardand kissing his forehead several times
saidOh, yes, yes, I bless you in my own name, and in the
name of three generations of irreproachable men, who say
through me, `The edifice which misfortune has destroyed,
providence may build up again.' On seeing me die such a
death, the most inexorable will have pity on you. To you,


perhaps, they will accord the time they have refused to me.
Then do your best to keep our name free from dishonor. Go to
work, labor, young man, struggle ardently and courageously;
live, yourself, your mother and sister, with the most rigid
economy, so that from day to day the property of those whom
I leave in your hands may augment and fructify. Reflect how
glorious a day it will be, how grand, how solemn, that day
of complete restoration, on which you will say in this very
office, `My father died because he could not do what I have
this day done; but he died calmly and peaceably, because in
dying he knew what I should do.'

My father, my father!cried the young manwhy should you
not live?

If I live, all would be changed; if I live, interest would
be converted into doubt, pity into hostility; if I live I am
only a man who his broken his word, failed in his
engagements -- in fact, only a bankrupt. If, on the
contrary, I die, remember, Maximilian, my corpse is that of
an honest but unfortunate man. Living, my best friends would
avoid my house; dead, all Marseilles will follow me in tears
to my last home. Living, you would feel shame at my name;
dead, you may raise your head and say, `I am the son of him
you killed, because, for the first time, he has been
compelled to break his word.'

The young man uttered a groanbut appeared resigned.

And now,said Morrelleave me alone, and endeavor to
keep your mother and sister away.

Will you not see my sister once more?asked Maximilian. A
last but final hope was concealed by the young man in the
effect of this interviewand therefore he had suggested it.
Morrel shook his head. "I saw her this morningand bade her
adieu."

Have you no particular commands to leave with me, my
father?inquired Maximilian in a faltering voice.

Yes; my son, and a sacred command.

Say it, my father.

The house of Thomson & French is the only one who, from
humanity, or, it may be, selfishness -- it is not for me to
read men's hearts -- has had any pity for me. Its agent, who
will in ten minutes present himself to receive the amount of
a bill of 287,500 francs, I will not say granted, but
offered me three months. Let this house be the first repaid,
my son, and respect this man.

Father, I will,said Maximilian.

And now, once more, adieu,said Morrel. "Goleave me; I
would be alone. You will find my will in the secretary in my
bedroom."

The young man remained standing and motionlesshaving but
the force of will and not the power of execution.

Hear me, Maximilian,said his father. "Suppose I was a
soldier like youand ordered to carry a certain redoubt


and you knew I must be killed in the assaultwould you not
say to meas you said just now`Gofather; for you are
dishonored by delayand death is preferable to shame!'"

Yes, yes,said the young manyes;and once again
embracing his father with convulsive pressurehe saidBe
it so, my father.

And he rushed out of the study. When his son had left him
Morrel remained an instant standing with his eyes fixed on
the door; then putting forth his armhe pulled the bell.
After a moment's intervalCocles appeared.

It was no longer the same man -- the fearful revelations of
the three last days had crushed him. This thought -- the
house of Morrel is about to stop payment -- bent him to the
earth more than twenty years would otherwise have done.

My worthy Cocles,said Morrel in a tone impossible to
describedo you remain in the ante-chamber. When the
gentleman who came three months ago -- the agent of Thomson
& French -- arrives, announce his arrival to me.Cocles
made no reply; he made a sign with his headwent into the
anteroomand seated himself. Morrel fell back in his chair
his eyes fixed on the clock; there were seven minutes left
that was all. The hand moved on with incredible rapidityhe
seemed to see its motion.

What passed in the mind of this man at the supreme moment of
his agony cannot be told in words. He was still
comparatively younghe was surrounded by the loving care of
a devoted familybut he had convinced himself by a course
of reasoningillogical perhapsyet certainly plausible
that he must separate himself from all he held dear in the
worldeven life itself. To form the slightest idea of his
feelingsone must have seen his face with its expression of
enforced resignation and its tear-moistened eyes raised to
heaven. The minute hand moved on. The pistols were loaded;
he stretched forth his handtook one upand murmured his
daughter's name. Then he laid it down seized his penand
wrote a few words. It seemed to him as if he had not taken a
sufficient farewell of his beloved daughter. Then he turned
again to the clockcounting time now not by minutesbut by
seconds. He took up the deadly weapon againhis lips parted
and his eyes fixed on the clockand then shuddered at the
click of the trigger as he cocked the pistol. At this moment
of mortal anguish the cold sweat came forth upon his browa
pang stronger than death clutched at his heart-strings. He
heard the door of the staircase creak on its hinges -- the
clock gave its warning to strike eleven -- the door of his
study opened; Morrel did not turn round -- he expected these
words of CoclesThe agent of Thomson & French.

He placed the muzzle of the pistol between his teeth.
Suddenly he heard a cry -- it was his daughter's voice. He
turned and saw Julie. The pistol fell from his hands. "My
father!" cried the young girlout of breathand half dead
with joy -- "savedyou are saved!" And she threw herself
into his armsholding in her extended hand a rednetted
silk purse.

Saved, my child!said Morrel; "what do you mean?"

Yes, saved -- saved! See, see!said the young girl.


Morrel took the purseand started as he did sofor a vague
remembrance reminded him that it once belonged to himself.
At one end was the receipted bill for the 287000 francs
and at the other was a diamond as large as a hazel-nutwith
these words on a small slip of parchment: -- Julie's Dowry.

Morrel passed his hand over his brow; it seemed to him a
dream. At this moment the clock struck eleven. He felt as if
each stroke of the hammer fell upon his heart. "Explainmy
child he said, Explainmy child he said, explain -where
did you find this purse?"

In a house in the Allees de Meillan, No. 15, on the corner
of a mantelpiece in a small room on the fifth floor.

But,cried Morrelthis purse is not yours!Julie handed
to her father the letter she had received in the morning.

And did you go alone?asked Morrelafter he had read it.

Emmanuel accompanied me, father. He was to have waited for
me at the corner of the Rue de Musee, but, strange to say,
he was not there when I returned.

Monsieur Morrel!exclaimed a voice on the stairs. -"
Monsieur Morrel!"

It is his voice!said Julie. At this moment Emmanuel
enteredhis countenance full of animation and joy. "The
Pharaon!" he cried; "the Pharaon!"

What -- what -- the Pharaon! Are you mad, Emmanuel? You
know the vessel is lost.

The Pharaon, sir -- they signal the Pharaon! The Pharaon is
entering the harbor!Morrel fell back in his chairhis
strength was failing him; his understanding weakened by such
eventsrefused to comprehend such incredibleunheard-of
fabulous facts. But his son came in. "Father cried
Maximilian, how could you say the Pharaon was lost? The
lookout has signalled herand they say she is now coming
into port."

My dear friends,said Morrelif this be so, it must be a
miracle of heaven! Impossible, impossible!

But what was real and not less incredible was the purse he
held in his handthe acceptance receipted -- the splendid
diamond.

Ah, sir,exclaimed Cocleswhat can it mean? -- the
Pharaon?

Come, dear ones,said Morrelrising from his seatlet
us go and see, and heaven have pity upon us if it be false
intelligence!They all went outand on the stairs met
Madame Morrelwho had been afraid to go up into the study.
In a moment they were at the Cannebiere. There was a crowd
on the pier. All the crowd gave way before Morrel. "The
Pharaonthe Pharaon!" said every voice.

Andwonderful to seein front of the tower of Saint-Jean
was a ship bearing on her stern these wordsprinted in


white lettersThe Pharaon, Morrel & Son, of Marseilles.
She was the exact duplicate of the other Pharaonand
loadedas that had beenwith cochineal and indigo. She
cast anchorclued up sailsand on the deck was Captain
Gaumard giving ordersand good old Penelon making signals
to M. Morrel. To doubt any longer was impossible; there was
the evidence of the sensesand ten thousand persons who
came to corroborate the testimony. As Morrel and his son
embraced on the pier-headin the presence and amid the
applause of the whole city witnessing this eventa man
with his face half-covered by a black beardand who
concealed behind the sentry-boxwatched the scene with
delightuttered these words in a low tone: "Be happynoble
heartbe blessed for all the good thou hast done and wilt
do hereafterand let my gratitude remain in obscurity like
your good deeds."


And with a smile expressive of supreme contenthe left his
hiding-placeand without being observeddescended one of
the flights of steps provided for debarkationand hailing
three timesshouted "JacopoJacopoJacopo!" Then a launch
came to shoretook him on boardand conveyed him to a
yacht splendidly fitted upon whose deck he sprung with the
activity of a sailor; thence he once again looked towards
Morrelwhoweeping with joywas shaking hands most
cordially with all the crowd around himand thanking with a
look the unknown benefactor whom he seemed to be seeking in
the skies. "And now said the unknown, farewell kindness
humanityand gratitude! Farewell to all the feelings that
expand the heart! I have been heaven's substitute to
recompense the good -- now the god of vengeance yields to me
his power to punish the wicked!" At these words he gave a
signalandas if only awaiting this signalthe yacht
instantly put out to sea.


Chapter 31
Italy: Sinbad the Sailor.


Towards the beginning of the year 1838two young men
belonging to the first society of Paristhe Vicomte Albert
de Morcerf and the Baron Franz d'Epinaywere at Florence.
They had agreed to see the Carnival at Rome that yearand
that Franzwho for the last three or four years had
inhabited Italyshould act as cicerone to Albert. As it is
no inconsiderable affair to spend the Carnival at Rome
especially when you have no great desire to sleep on the
Piazza del Popoloor the Campo Vaccinothey wrote to
Signor Pastrinithe proprietor of the Hotel de Londres
Piazza di Spagnato reserve comfortable apartments for
them. Signor Pastrini replied that he had only two rooms and
a parlor on the third floorwhich he offered at the low
charge of a louis per diem. They accepted his offer; but
wishing to make the best use of the time that was left
Albert started for Naples. As for Franzhe remained at
Florenceand after having passed a few days in exploring
the paradise of the Cascineand spending two or three
evenings at the houses of the Florentine nobilityhe took a
fancy into his head (having already visited Corsicathe
cradle of Bonaparte) to visit Elbathe waiting-place of
Napoleon.


One evening he cast off the painter of a sailboat from the



iron ring that secured it to the dock at Leghornwrapped
himself in his coat and lay downand said to the crew-"
To the Island of Elba!" The boat shot out of the harbor
like a bird and the next morning Franz disembarked at
Porto-Ferrajo. He traversed the islandafter having
followed the traces which the footsteps of the giant have
leftand re-embarked for Marciana. Two hours after he again
landed at Pianosawhere he was assured that red partridges
abounded. The sport was bad; Franz only succeeded in killing
a few partridgesandlike every unsuccessful sportsmanhe
returned to the boat very much out of temper. "Ahif your
excellency chose said the captain, you might have capital
sport."

Where?

Do you see that island?continued the captainpointing to
a conical pile rising from the indigo sea.

Well, what is this island?

The Island of Monte Cristo.

But I have no permission to shoot over this island.

Your excellency does not require a permit, for the island
is uninhabited.

Ah, indeed!said the young man. "A desert island in the
midst of the Mediterranean must be a curiosity."

It is very natural; this island is a mass of rocks, and
does not contain an acre of land capable of cultivation.

To whom does this island belong?

To Tuscany.

What game shall I find there!

Thousands of wild goats.

Who live upon the stones, I suppose,said Franz with an
incredulous smile.

No, but by browsing the shrubs and trees that grow out of
the crevices of the rocks.

Where can I sleep?

On shore in the grottos, or on board in your cloak;
besides, if your excellency pleases, we can leave as soon as
you like -- we can sail as well by night as by day, and if
the wind drops we can use our oars.

As Franz had sufficient timeand his apartments at Rome
were not yet availablehe accepted the proposition. Upon
his answer in the affirmativethe sailors exchanged a few
words together in a low tone. "Well asked he, what now?
Is there any difficulty in the way?"

No.replied the captainbut we must warn your excellency
that the island is an infected port.


What do you mean?

Monte Cristo although uninhabited, yet serves occasionally
as a refuge for the smugglers and pirates who come from
Corsica, Sardinia, and Africa, and if it becomes known that
we have been there, we shall have to perform quarantine for
six days on our return to Leghorn.

The deuce! That puts a different face on the matter. Six
days! Why, that's as long as the Almighty took to make the
world! Too long a wait -- too long.

But who will say your excellency has been to Monte Cristo?

Oh, I shall not,cried Franz.

Nor I, nor I,chorused the sailors.

Then steer for Monte Cristo.

The captain gave his ordersthe helm was put upand the
boat was soon sailing in the direction of the island. Franz
waited until all was in orderand when the sail was filled
and the four sailors had taken their places -- three
forwardand one at the helm -- he resumed the conversation.
Gaetano,said he to the captainyou tell me Monte Cristo
serves as a refuge for pirates, who are, it seems to me, a
very different kind of game from the goats.

Yes, your excellency, and it is true.

I knew there were smugglers, but I thought that since the
capture of Algiers, and the destruction of the regency,
pirates existed only in the romances of Cooper and Captain
Marryat.

Your excellency is mistaken; there are pirates, like the
bandits who were believed to have been exterminated by Pope
Leo XII., and who yet, every day, rob travellers at the
gates of Rome. Has not your excellency heard that the French
charge d'affaires was robbed six months ago within five
hundred paces of Velletri?

Oh, yes, I heard that.

Well, then, if, like us, your excellency lived at Leghorn,
you would hear, from time to time, that a little merchant
vessel, or an English yacht that was expected at Bastia, at
Porto-Ferrajo, or at Civita Vecchia, has not arrived; no one
knows what has become of it, but, doubtless, it has struck
on a rock and foundered. Now this rock it has met has been a
long and narrow boat, manned by six or eight men, who have
surprised and plundered it, some dark and stormy night, near
some desert and gloomy island, as bandits plunder a carriage
in the recesses of a forest.

But,asked Franzwho lay wrapped in his cloak at the
bottom of the boatwhy do not those who have been
plundered complain to the French, Sardinian, or Tuscan
governments?

Why?said Gaetano with a smile.

Yes, why?


Because, in the first place, they transfer from the vessel
to their own boat whatever they think worth taking, then
they bind the crew hand and foot, they attach to every one's
neck a four and twenty pound ball, a large hole is chopped
in the vessel's bottom, and then they leave her. At the end
of ten minutes the vessel begins to roll heavily and settle
down. First one gun'l goes under, then the other. Then they
lift and sink again, and both go under at once. All at once
there's a noise like a cannon -- that's the air blowing up
the deck. Soon the water rushes out of the scupper-holes
like a whale spouting, the vessel gives a last groan, spins
round and round, and disappears, forming a vast whirlpool in
the ocean, and then all is over, so that in five minutes
nothing but the eye of God can see the vessel where she lies
at the bottom of the sea. Do you understand now,said the
captainwhy no complaints are made to the government, and
why the vessel never reaches port?

It is probable that if Gaetano had related this previous to
proposing the expeditionFranz would have hesitatedbut
now that they had startedhe thought it would be cowardly
to draw back. He was one of those men who do not rashly
court dangerbut if danger presents itselfcombat it with
the most unalterable coolness. Calm and resolutehe treated
any peril as he would an adversary in a duel-- calculated
its probable method of approach; retreatedif at allas a
point of strategy and not from cowardice; was quick to see
an opening for attackand won victory at a single thrust.
Bah!said heI have travelled through Sicily and
Calabria -- I have sailed two months in the Archipelago, and
yet I never saw even the shadow of a bandit or a pirate.

I did not tell your excellency this to deter you from your
project,replied Gaetanobut you questioned me, and I
have answered; that's all.

Yes, and your conversation is most interesting; and as I
wish to enjoy it as long as possible, steer for Monte
Cristo.

The wind blew stronglythe boat made six or seven knots an
hourand they were rapidly reaching the end of their
voyage. As they drew near the island seemed to lift from the
seaand the air was so clear that they could already
distinguish the rocks heaped on one anotherlike cannon
balls in an arsenalwith green bushes and trees growing in
the crevices. As for the sailorsalthough they appeared
perfectly tranquil yet it was evident that they were on the
alertand that they carefully watched the glassy surface
over which they were sailingand on which a few
fishing-boatswith their white sailswere alone visible.
They were within fifteen miles of Monte Cristo when the sun
began to set behind Corsicawhose mountains appeared
against the skyshowing their rugged peaks in bold relief;
this mass of rocklike the giant Adamastorrose dead
aheada formidable barrierand intercepting the light that
gilded its massive peaks so that the voyagers were in
shadow. Little by little the shadow rose higher and seemed
to drive before it the last rays of the expiring day; at
last the reflection rested on the summit of the mountain
where it paused an instantlike the fiery crest of a
volcanothen gloom gradually covered the summit as it had
covered the baseand the island now only appeared to be a


gray mountain that grew continually darker; half an hour
afterthe night was quite dark.

Fortunatelythe mariners were used to these latitudesand
knew every rock in the Tuscan Archipelago; for in the midst
of this obscurity Franz was not without uneasiness -Corsica
had long since disappearedand Monte Cristo itself
was invisible; but the sailors seemedlike the lynxto see
in the darkand the pilot who steered did not evince the
slightest hesitation. An hour had passed since the sun had
setwhen Franz fancied he sawat a quarter of a mile to
the lefta dark massbut he could not precisely make out
what it wasand fearing to excite the mirth of the sailors
by mistaking a floating cloud for landhe remained silent;
suddenly a great light appeared on the strand; land might
resemble a cloudbut the fire was not a meteor. "What is
this light?" asked he.

Hush!said the captain; "it is a fire."

But you told me the island was uninhabited?

l said there were no fixed habitations on it, but I said
also that it served sometimes as a harbor for smugglers.

And for pirates?

And for pirates,returned Gaetanorepeating Franz's
words. "It is for that reason I have given orders to pass
the islandforas you seethe fire is behind us."

But this fire?continued Franz. "It seems to me rather
reassuring than otherwise; men who did not wish to be seen
would not light a fire."

Oh, that goes for nothing,said Gaetano. "If you can guess
the position of the island in the darknessyou will see
that the fire cannot be seen from the side or from Pianosa
but only from the sea."

You think, then, this fire indicates the presence of
unpleasant neighbors?

That is what we must find out,returned Gaetanofixing
his eyes on this terrestrial star.

How can you find out?

You shall see.Gaetano consulted with his companionsand
after five minutes' discussion a manoeuvre was executed
which caused the vessel to tack aboutthey returned the way
they had comeand in a few minutes the fire disappeared
hidden by an elevation of the land. The pilot again changed
the course of the boatwhich rapidly approached the island
and was soon within fifty paces of it. Gaetano lowered the
sailand the boat came to rest. All this was done in
silenceand from the moment that their course was changed
not a word was spoken.

Gaetanowho had proposed the expeditionhad taken all the
responsibility on himself; the four sailors fixed their eyes
on himwhile they got out their oars and held themselves in
readiness to row awaywhichthanks to the darknesswould
not be difficult. As for Franzhe examined his arms with


the utmost coolness; he had two double-barrelled guns and a
rifle; he loaded themlooked at the primingand waited
quietly. During this time the captain had thrown off his
vest and shirtand secured his trousers round his waist;
his feet were nakedso he had no shoes and stockings to
take off; after these preparations he placed his finger on
his lipsand lowering himself noiselessly into the sea
swam towards the shore with such precaution that it was
impossible to hear the slightest sound; he could only be
traced by the phosphorescent line in his wake. This track
soon disappeared; it was evident that he had touched the
shore. Every one on board remained motionless for half an
hourwhen the same luminous track was again observedand
the swimmer was soon on board. "Well?" exclaimed Franz and
the sailors in unison.

They are Spanish smugglers,said he; "they have with them
two Corsican bandits."

And what are these Corsican bandits doing here with Spanish
smugglers?

Alas,returned the captain with an accent of the most
profound pitywe ought always to help one another. Very
often the bandits are hard pressed by gendarmes or
carbineers; well, they see a vessel, and good fellows like
us on board, they come and demand hospitality of us; you
can't refuse help to a poor hunted devil; we receive them,
and for greater security we stand out to sea. This costs us
nothing, and saves the life, or at least the liberty, of a
fellow-creature, who on the first occasion returns the
service by pointing out some safe spot where we can land our
goods without interruption.

Ah!said Franzthen you are a smuggler occasionally,
Gaetano?

Your excellency, we must live somehow,returned the other
smiling impenetrably.

Then you know the men who are now on Monte Cristo?

Oh, yes, we sailors are like freemasons, and recognize each
other by signs.

And do you think we have nothing to fear if we land?

Nothing at all; smugglers are not thieves.

But these two Corsican bandits?said Franzcalculating
the chances of peril.

It is not their fault that they are bandits, but that of
the authorities.

How so?

Because they are pursued for having made a stiff, as if it
was not in a Corsican's nature to revenge himself.

What do you mean by having made a stiff? -- having
assassinated a man?said Franzcontinuing his
investigation.


I mean that they have killed an enemy, which is a very
different thing,returned the captain.

Well,said the young manlet us demand hospitality of
these smugglers and bandits. Do you think they will grant
it?

Without doubt.

How many are they?

Four, and the two bandits make six.

Just our number, so that if they prove troublesome, we
shall be able to hold them in check; so, for the last time,
steer to Monte Cristo.

Yes, but your excellency will permit us to take all due
precautions.

By all means, be as wise as Nestor and as prudent as
Ulysses; I do more than permit, I exhort you.

Silence, then!said Gaetano.

Every one obeyed. For a man wholike Franzviewed his
position in its true lightit was a grave one. He was alone
in the darkness with sailors whom he did not knowand who
had no reason to be devoted to him; who knew that he had
several thousand francs in his beltand who had often
examined his weapons-- which were very beautiful-- if
not with envyat least with curiosity. On the other hand
he was about to landwithout any other escort than these
menon an island which hadindeeda very religious name
but which did not seem to Franz likely to afford him much
hospitalitythanks to the smugglers and bandits. The
history of the scuttled vesselswhich had appeared
improbable during the dayseemed very probable at night;
placed as he was between two possible sources of dangerhe
kept his eye on the crewand his gun in his hand. The
sailors had again hoisted sailand the vessel was once more
cleaving the waves. Through the darkness Franzwhose eyes
were now more accustomed to itcould see the looming shore
along which the boat was sailingand thenas they rounded
a rocky pointhe saw the fire more brilliant than everand
about it five or six persons seated. The blaze illumined the
sea for a hundred paces around. Gaetano skirted the light
carefully keeping the boat in the shadow; thenwhen they
were opposite the firehe steered to the centre of the
circlesinging a fishing songof which his companions sung
the chorus. At the first words of the song the men seated
round the fire arose and approached the landing-placetheir
eyes fixed on the boatevidently seeking to know who the
new-comers were and what were their intentions. They soon
appeared satisfied and returned (with the exception of one
who remained at the shore) to their fireat which the
carcass of a goat was roasting. When the boat was within
twenty paces of the shorethe man on the beachwho carried
a carbinepresented arms after the manner of a sentinel
and criedWho comes there?in Sardinian. Franz coolly
cocked both barrels. Gaetano then exchanged a few words with
this man which the traveller did not understandbut which
evidently concerned him. "Will your excellency give your
nameor remain incognito?" asked the captain.


My name must rest unknown, -- merely say I am a Frenchman
travelling for pleasure.As soon as Gaetano had transmitted
this answerthe sentinel gave an order to one of the men
seated round the firewho rose and disappeared among the
rocks. Not a word was spokenevery one seemed occupied
Franz with his disembarkmentthe sailors with their sails
the smugglers with their goat; but in the midst of all this
carelessness it was evident that they mutually observed each
other. The man who had disappeared returned suddenly on the
opposite side to that by which he had left; he made a sign
with his head to the sentinelwhoturning to the boat
saidS'accommodi.The Italian s'accommodi is
untranslatable; it means at onceCome, enter, you are
welcome; make yourself at home; you are the master.It is
like that Turkish phrase of Moliere's that so astonished the
bourgeois gentleman by the number of things implied in its
utterance. The sailors did not wait for a second invitation;
four strokes of the oar brought them to land; Gaetano sprang
to shoreexchanged a few words with the sentinelthen his
comrades disembarkedand lastly came Franz. One of his guns
was swung over his shoulderGaetano had the otherand a
sailor held his rifle; his dresshalf artisthalf dandy
did not excite any suspicionandconsequentlyno
disquietude. The boat was moored to the shoreand they
advanced a few paces to find a comfortable bivouac; but
doubtlessthe spot they chose did not suit the smuggler who
filled the post of sentinelfor he cried outNot that
way, if you please.

Gaetano faltered an excuseand advanced to the opposite
sidewhile two sailors kindled torches at the fire to light
them on their way. They advanced about thirty pacesand
then stopped at a small esplanade surrounded with rocksin
which seats had been cutnot unlike sentry-boxes. Around in
the crevices of the rocks grew a few dwarf oaks and thick
bushes of myrtles. Franz lowered a torchand saw by the
mass of cinders that had accumulated that he was not the
first to discover this retreatwhich wasdoubtlessone of
the halting-places of the wandering visitors of Monte
Cristo. As for his suspicionsonce on terra firmaonce
that he had seen the indifferentif not friendly
appearance of his hostshis anxiety had quite disappeared
or ratherat sight of the goathad turned to appetite. He
mentioned this to Gaetanowho replied that nothing could be
more easy than to prepare a supper when they had in their
boatbreadwinehalf a dozen partridgesand a good fire
to roast them by. "Besides added he, if the smell of
their roast meat tempts youI will go and offer them two of
our birds for a slice."

You are a born diplomat,returned Franz; "go and try."

Meanwhile the sailors had collected dried sticks and
branches with which they made a fire. Franz waited
impatientlyinhaling the aroma of the roasted meatwhen
the captain returned with a mysterious air.

Well,said Franzanything new? -- do they refuse?

On the contrary,returned Gaetanothe chief, who was
told you were a young Frenchman, invites you to sup with
him.


Well,observed Franzthis chief is very polite, and I
see no objection -- the more so as I bring my share of the
supper.

Oh, it is not that; he has plenty, and to spare, for
supper; but he makes one condition, and rather a peculiar
one, before he will receive you at his house.

His house? Has he built one here, then?

No; but he has a very comfortable one all the same, so they
say.

You know this chief, then?

I have heard talk of him.

Favorably or otherwise?

Both.

The deuce! -- and what is this condition?

That you are blindfolded, and do not take off the bandage
until he himself bids you.Franz looked at Gaetanoto see
if possiblewhat he thought of this proposal. "Ah replied
he, guessing Franz's thought, I know this is a serious
matter."

What should you do in my place?

I, who have nothing to lose, -- I should go.

You would accept?

Yes, were it only out of curiosity.

There is something very peculiar about this chief, then?

Listen,said Gaetanolowering his voiceI do not know
if what they say is true-- he stopped to see if any one
was near.

What do they say?

That this chief inhabits a cavern to which the Pitti Palace
is nothing.

What nonsense!said Franzreseating himself.

It is no nonsense; it is quite true. Cama, the pilot of the
Saint Ferdinand, went in once, and he came back amazed,
vowing that such treasures were only to be heard of in fairy
tales.

Do you know,observed Franzthat with such stories you
make me think of Ali Baba's enchanted cavern?

I tell you what I have been told.

Then you advise me to accept?

Oh, I don't say that; your excellency will do as you
please; I should be sorry to advise you in the matter.


Franz pondered the matter for a few momentsconcluded that
a man so rich could not have any intention of plundering him
of what little he hadand seeing only the prospect of a
good supperaccepted. Gaetano departed with the reply.
Franz was prudentand wished to learn all he possibly could
concerning his host. He turned towards the sailorwho
during this dialoguehad sat gravely plucking the
partridges with the air of a man proud of his officeand
asked him how these men had landedas no vessel of any kind
was visible.

Never mind that,returned the sailorI know their
vessel.

Is it a very beautiful vessel?

I would not wish for a better to sail round the world.

Of what burden is she?

About a hundred tons; but she is built to stand any
weather. She is what the English call a yacht.

Where was she built?

I know not; but my own opinion is she is a Genoese.

And how did a leader of smugglers,continued Franz
venture to build a vessel designed for such a purpose at
Genoa?

I did not say that the owner was a smuggler,replied the
sailor.

No; but Gaetano did, I thought.

Gaetano had only seen the vessel from a distance, he had
not then spoken to any one.

And if this person be not a smuggler, who is he?

A wealthy signor, who travels for his pleasure.

Come,thought Franzhe is still more mysterious, since
the two accounts do not agree.

What is his name?

If you ask him he says Sinbad the Sailor; but I doubt if it
be his real name.

Sinbad the Sailor?

Yes.

And where does he reside?

On the sea.

What country does he come from?

I do not know.

Have you ever seen him?


Sometimes.

What sort of a man is he?

Your excellency will judge for yourself.

Where will he receive me?

No doubt in the subterranean palace Gaetano told you of.

Have you never had the curiosity, when you have landed and
found this island deserted, to seek for this enchanted
palace?

Oh, yes, more than once, but always in vain; we examined
the grotto all over, but we never could find the slightest
trace of any opening; they say that the door is not opened
by a key, but a magic word.

Decidedly,muttered Franzthis is an Arabian Nights'
adventure.

His excellency waits for you,said a voicewhich he
recognized as that of the sentinel. He was accompanied by
two of the yacht's crew. Franz drew his handkerchief from
his pocketand presented it to the man who had spoken to
him. Without uttering a wordthey bandaged his eyes with a
care that showed their apprehensions of his committing some
indiscretion. Afterwards he was made to promise that he
would not make the least attempt to raise the bandage. He
promised. Then his two guides took his armsand he went on
guided by themand preceded by the sentinel. After going
about thirty paceshe smelt the appetizing odor of the kid
that was roastingand knew thus that he was passing the
bivouac; they then led him on about fifty paces farther
evidently advancing towards that part of the shore where
they would not allow Gaetano to go -- a refusal he could now
comprehend. Presentlyby a change in the atmospherehe
knew that they were entering a cave; after going on for a
few seconds more he heard a cracklingand it seemed to him
as though the atmosphere again changedand became balmy and
perfumed. At length his feet touched on a thick and soft
carpetand his guides let go their hold of him. There was a
moment's silenceand then a voicein excellent French
althoughwith a foreign accentsaidWelcome, sir. I beg
you will remove your bandage.It may be supposedthen
Franz did not wait for a repetition of this permissionbut
took off the handkerchiefand found himself in the presence
of a man from thirty-eight to forty years of agedressed in
a Tunisian costume -- that is to saya red cap with a long
blue silk tassela vest of black cloth embroidered with
goldpantaloons of deep redlarge and full gaiters of the
same colorembroidered with gold like the vestand yellow
slippers; he had a splendid cashmere round his waistand a
small sharp and crooked cangiar was passed through his
girdle. Although of a paleness that was almost lividthis
man had a remarkably handsome face; his eyes were
penetrating and sparkling; his nosequite straightand
projecting direct from the browwas of the pure Greek type
while his teethas white as pearlswere set off to
admiration by the black mustache that encircled them.

His pallor was so peculiarthat it seemed to pertain to one


who had been long entombedand who was incapable of
resuming the healthy glow and hue of life. He was not
particularly tallbut extremely well madeandlike the
men of the southhad small hands and feet. But what
astonished Franzwho had treated Gaetano's description as a
fablewas the splendor of the apartment in which he found
himself. The entire chamber was lined with crimson brocade
worked with flowers of gold. In a recess was a kind of
divansurmounted with a stand of Arabian swords in silver
scabbardsand the handles resplendent with gems; from the
ceiling hung a lamp of Venetian glassof beautiful shape
and colorwhile the feet rested on a Turkey carpetin
which they sunk to the instep; tapestry hung before the door
by which Franz had enteredand also in front of another
doorleading into a second apartment which seemed to be
brilliantly illuminated. The host gave Franz time to recover
from his surpriseandmoreoverreturned look for look
not even taking his eyes off him. "Sir he said, after a
pause, a thousand excuses for the precaution taken in your
introduction hither; but asduring the greater portion of
the yearthis island is desertedif the secret of this
abode were discovered. I should doubtlessfind on my return
my temporary retirement in a state of great disorderwhich
would be exceedingly annoyingnot for the loss it
occasioned mebut because I should not have the certainty I
now possess of separating myself from all the rest of
mankind at pleasure. Let me now endeavor to make you forget
this temporary unpleasantnessand offer you what no doubt
you did not expect to find here -- that is to saya
tolerable supper and pretty comfortable beds."

Ma foi, my dear sir,replied Franzmake no apologies. I
have always observed that they bandage people's eyes who
penetrate enchanted palaces, for instance, those of Raoul in
the `Huguenots,' and really I have nothing to complain of,
for what I see makes me think of the wonders of the `Arabian
Nights.'

Alas, I may say with Lucullus, if I could have anticipated
the honor of your visit, I would have prepared for it. But
such as is my hermitage, it is at your disposal; such as is
my supper, it is yours to share, if you will. Ali, is the
supper ready?At this moment the tapestry moved asideand
a Nubianblack as ebonyand dressed in a plain white
tunicmade a sign to his master that all was prepared in
the dining-room. "Now said the unknown to Franz, I do not
know if you are of my opinionbut I think nothing is more
annoying than to remain two or three hours together without
knowing by name or appellation how to address one another.
Pray observethat I too much respect the laws of
hospitality to ask your name or title. I only request you to
give me one by which I may have the pleasure of addressing
you. As for myselfthat I may put you at your easeI tell
you that I am generally called `Sinbad the Sailor.'"

And I,replied Franzwill tell you, as I only require
his wonderful lamp to make me precisely like Aladdin, that I
see no reason why at this moment I should not be called
Aladdin. That will keep us from going away from the East
whither I am tempted to think I have been conveyed by some
good genius.

Well, then, Signor Aladdin,replied the singular
amphitryonyou heard our repast announced, will you now


take the trouble to enter the dining-room, your humble
servant going first to show the way?At these wordsmoving
aside the tapestrySinbad preceded his guest. Franz now
looked upon another scene of enchantment; the table was
splendidly coveredand once convinced of this important
point he cast his eyes around him. The dining-room was
scarcely less striking than the room he had just left; it
was entirely of marblewith antique bas-reliefs of
priceless value; and at the four corners of this apartment
which was oblongwere four magnificent statueshaving
baskets in their hands. These baskets contained four
pyramids of most splendid fruit; there were Sicily
pine-applespomegranates from Malagaoranges from the
Balearic Islespeaches from Franceand dates from Tunis.
The supper consisted of a roast pheasant garnished with
Corsican blackbirds; a boar's ham with jellya quarter of a
kid with tartar saucea glorious turbotand a gigantic
lobster. Between these large dishes were smaller ones
containing various dainties. The dishes were of silverand
the plates of Japanese china.

Franz rubbed his eyes in order to assure himself that this
was not a dream. Ali alone was present to wait at tableand
acquitted himself so admirablythat the guest complimented
his host thereupon. "Yes replied he, while he did the
honors of the supper with much ease and grace -- yeshe is
a poor devil who is much devoted to meand does all he can
to prove it. He remembers that I saved his lifeand as he
has a regard for his headhe feels some gratitude towards
me for having kept it on his shoulders." Ali approached his
mastertook his handand kissed it.

Would it be impertinent, Signor Sinbad,said Franzto
ask you the particulars of this kindness?

Oh, they are simple enough,replied the host. "It seems
the fellow had been caught wandering nearer to the harem of
the Bey of Tunis than etiquette permits to one of his color
and he was condemned by the bey to have his tongue cut out
and his hand and head cut off; the tongue the first daythe
hand the secondand the head the third. I always had a
desire to have a mute in my serviceso learning the day his
tongue was cut outI went to the beyand proposed to give
him for Ali a splendid double-barreled gun which I knew he
was very desirous of having. He hesitated a momenthe was
so very desirous to complete the poor devil's punishment.
But when I added to the gun an English cutlass with which I
had shivered his highness's yataghan to piecesthe bey
yieldedand agreed to forgive the hand and headbut on
condition that the poor fellow never again set foot in
Tunis. This was a useless clause in the bargainfor
whenever the coward sees the first glimpse of the shores of
Africahe runs down belowand can only be induced to
appear again when we are out of sight of that quarter of the
globe."

Franz remained a moment silent and pensivehardly knowing
what to think of the half-kindnesshalf-crueltywith which
his host related the brief narrative. "And like the
celebrated sailor whose name you have assumed he said, by
way of changing the conversation, you pass your life in
travelling?"

Yes. I made a vow at a time when I little thought I should


ever be able to accomplish it,said the unknown with a
singular smile; "and I made some others also which I hope I
may fulfil in due season." Although Sinbad pronounced these
words with much calmnesshis eyes gave forth gleams of
extraordinary ferocity.

You have suffered a great deal, sir?said Franz
inquiringly.

Sinbad started and looked fixedly at himas he replied
What makes you suppose so?

Everything,answered Franz-- "your voiceyour look
your pallid complexionand even the life you lead."

I? -- I live the happiest life possible, the real life of a
pasha. I am king of all creation. I am pleased with one
place, and stay there; I get tired of it, and leave it; I am
free as a bird and have wings like one; my attendants obey
my slightest wish. Sometimes I amuse myself by delivering
some bandit or criminal from the bonds of the law. Then I
have my mode of dispensing justice, silent and sure, without
respite or appeal, which condemns or pardons, and which no
one sees. Ah, if you had tasted my life, you would not
desire any other, and would never return to the world unless
you had some great project to accomplish there.

Revenge, for instance!observed Franz.

The unknown fixed on the young man one of those looks which
penetrate into the depth of the heart and thoughts. "And why
revenge?" he asked.

Because,replied Franzyou seem to me like a man who,
persecuted by society, has a fearful account to settle with
it.

Ah,responded Sinbadlaughing with his singular laugh
which displayed his white and sharp teeth. "You have not
guessed rightly. Such as you see me I ama sort of
philosopherand one day perhaps I shall go to Paris to
rival Monsieur Appertand the little man in the blue
cloak."

And will that be the first time you ever took that
journey?

Yes; it will. I must seem to you by no means curious, but I
assure you that it is not my fault I have delayed it so long
-- it will happen one day or the other.

And do you propose to make this journey very shortly?

I do not know; it depends on circumstances which depend on
certain arrangements.

I should like to be there at the time you come, and I will
endeavor to repay you, as far as lies in my power, for your
liberal hospitality displayed to me at Monte Cristo.

I should avail myself of your offer with pleasure,replied
the hostbut, unfortunately, if I go there, it will be, in
all probability, incognito.


The supper appeared to have been supplied solely for Franz
for the unknown scarcely touched one or two dishes of the
splendid banquet to which his guest did ample justice. Then
Ali brought on the dessertor rather took the baskets from
the hands of the statues and placed them on the table.
Between the two baskets he placed a small silver cup with a
silver cover. The care with which Ali placed this cup on the
table roused Franz's curiosity. He raised the cover and saw
a kind of greenish pastesomething like preserved angelica
but which was perfectly unknown to him. He replaced the lid
as ignorant of what the cup contained as he was before he
had looked at itand then casting his eyes towards his host
he saw him smile at his disappointment. "You cannot guess
said he, what there is in that small vasecan you?"

No, I really cannot.

Well, then, that green preserve is nothing less than the
ambrosia which Hebe served at the table of Jupiter.

But,replied Franzthis ambrosia, no doubt, in passing
through mortal hands has lost its heavenly appellation and
assumed a human name; in vulgar phrase, what may you term
this composition, for which, to tell the truth, I do not
feel any particular desire?

Ah, thus it is that our material origin is revealed,cried
Sinbad; "we frequently pass so near to happiness without
seeingwithout regarding itor if we do see and regard it
yet without recognizing it. Are you a man for the
substantialsand is gold your god? taste thisand the
mines of PeruGuzeratand Golconda are opened to you. Are
you a man of imagination -- a poet? taste thisand the
boundaries of possibility disappear; the fields of infinite
space open to youyou advance free in heartfree in mind
into the boundless realms of unfettered revery. Are you
ambitiousand do you seek after the greatnesses of the
earth? taste thisand in an hour you will be a kingnot a
king of a petty kingdom hidden in some corner of Europe like
FranceSpainor Englandbut king of the worldking of
the universeking of creation; without bowing at the feet
of Satanyou will be king and master of all the kingdoms of
the earth. Is it not tempting what I offer youand is it
not an easy thingsince it is only to do thus? look!" At
these words he uncovered the small cup which contained the
substance so laudedtook a teaspoonful of the magic
sweetmeatraised it to his lipsand swallowed it slowly
with his eyes half shut and his head bent backwards. Franz
did not disturb him whilst he absorbed his favorite
sweetmeatbut when he had finishedhe inquired-- "What
thenis this precious stuff?"

Did you ever hear,he repliedof the Old Man of the
Mountain, who attempted to assassinate Philip Augustus?

Of course I have.

Well, you know he reigned over a rich valley which was
overhung by the mountain whence he derived his picturesque
name. In this valley were magnificent gardens planted by
Hassen-ben-Sabah, and in these gardens isolated pavilions.
Into these pavilions he admitted the elect, and there, says
Marco Polo, gave them to eat a certain herb, which
transported them to Paradise, in the midst of ever-blooming


shrubs, ever-ripe fruit, and ever-lovely virgins. What these
happy persons took for reality was but a dream; but it was a
dream so soft, so voluptuous, so enthralling, that they sold
themselves body and soul to him who gave it to them, and
obedient to his orders as to those of a deity, struck down
the designated victim, died in torture without a murmur,
believing that the death they underwent was but a quick
transition to that life of delights of which the holy herb,
now before you had given them a slight foretaste.

Then,cried Franzit is hashish! I know that -- by name
at least.

That is it precisely, Signor Aladdin; it is hashish -- the
purest and most unadulterated hashish of Alexandria, -- the
hashish of Abou-Gor, the celebrated maker, the only man, the
man to whom there should be built a palace, inscribed with
these words, `A grateful world to the dealer in happiness.'

Do you know,said FranzI have a very great inclination
to judge for myself of the truth or exaggeration of your
eulogies.

Judge for yourself, Signor Aladdin -- judge, but do not
confine yourself to one trial. Like everything else, we must
habituate the senses to a fresh impression, gentle or
violent, sad or joyous. There is a struggle in nature
against this divine substance, -- in nature which is not
made for joy and clings to pain. Nature subdued must yield
in the combat, the dream must succeed to reality, and then
the dream reigns supreme, then the dream becomes life, and
life becomes the dream. But what changes occur! It is only
by comparing the pains of actual being with the joys of the
assumed existence, that you would desire to live no longer,
but to dream thus forever. When you return to this mundane
sphere from your visionary world, you would seem to leave a
Neapolitan spring for a Lapland winter -- to quit paradise
for earth -- heaven for hell! Taste the hashish, guest of
mine -- taste the hashish.

Franz's only reply was to take a teaspoonful of the
marvellous preparationabout as much in quantity as his
host had eatenand lift it to his mouth. "Diable!" he said
after having swallowed the divine preserve. "I do not know
if the result will be as agreeable as you describebut the
thing does not appear to me as palatable as you say."

Because your palate his not yet been attuned to the
sublimity of the substances it flavors. Tell me, the first
time you tasted oysters, tea, porter, truffles, and sundry
other dainties which you now adore, did you like them? Could
you comprehend how the Romans stuffed their pheasants with
assafoetida, and the Chinese eat swallows' nests? Eh? no!
Well, it is the same with hashish; only eat for a week, and
nothing in the world will seem to you to equal the delicacy
of its flavor, which now appears to you flat and
distasteful. Let us now go into the adjoining chamber, which
is your apartment, and Ali will bring us coffee and pipes.
They both aroseand while he who called himself Sinbad -and
whom we have occasionally named sothat we mightlike
his guesthave some title by which to distinguish him -gave
some orders to the servantFranz entered still another
apartment. It was simply yet richly furnished. It was round
and a large divan completely encircled it. Divanwalls


ceilingfloorwere all covered with magnificent skins as
soft and downy as the richest carpets; there were
heavy-maned lion-skins from Atlasstriped tiger-skins from
Bengal; panther-skins from the Capespotted beautifully
like those that appeared to Dante; bear-skins from Siberia
fox-skins from Norwayand so on; and all these skins were
strewn in profusion one on the otherso that it seemed like
walking over the most mossy turfor reclining on the most
luxurious bed. Both laid themselves down on the divan;
chibouques with jasmine tubes and amber mouthpieces were
within reachand all prepared so that there was no need to
smoke the same pipe twice. Each of them took onewhich Ali
lighted and then retired to prepare the coffee. There was a
moment's silenceduring which Sinbad gave himself up to
thoughts that seemed to occupy him incessantlyeven in the
midst of his conversation; and Franz abandoned himself to
that mute reveryinto which we always sink when smoking
excellent tobaccowhich seems to remove with its fume all
the troubles of the mindand to give the smoker in exchange
all the visions of the soul. Ali brought in the coffee. "How
do you take it?" inquired the unknown; "in the French or
Turkish stylestrong or weaksugar or nonecool or
boiling? As you please; it is ready in all ways."

I will take it in the Turkish style,replied Franz.

And you are right,said his host; "it shows you have a
tendency for an Oriental life. Ahthose Orientals; they are
the only men who know how to live. As for me he added,
with one of those singular smiles which did not escape the
young man, when I have completed my affairs in ParisI
shall go and die in the East; and should you wish to see me
againyou must seek me at CairoBagdador Ispahan."

Ma foi,said Franzit would be the easiest thing in the
world; for I feel eagle's wings springing out at my
shoulders, and with those wings I could make a tour of the
world in four and twenty hours.

Ah, yes, the hashish is beginning its work. Well, unfurl
your wings, and fly into superhuman regions; fear nothing,
there is a watch over you; and if your wings, like those of
Icarus, melt before the sun, we are here to ease your fall.
He then said something in Arabic to Aliwho made a sign of
obedience and withdrewbut not to any distance. As to Franz
a strange transformation had taken place in him. All the
bodily fatigue of the dayall the preoccupation of mind
which the events of the evening had brought ondisappeared
as they do at the first approach of sleepwhen we are still
sufficiently conscious to be aware of the coming of slumber.
His body seemed to acquire an airy lightnesshis perception
brightened in a remarkable mannerhis senses seemed to
redouble their powerthe horizon continued to expand; but
it was not the gloomy horizon of vague alarmsand which he
had seen before he sleptbut a bluetransparentunbounded
horizonwith all the blue of the oceanall the spangles of
the sunall the perfumes of the summer breeze; thenin the
midst of the songs of his sailors-- songs so clear and
sonorousthat they would have made a divine harmony had
their notes been taken down-- he saw the Island of Monte
Cristono longer as a threatening rock in the midst of the
wavesbut as an oasis in the desert; thenas his boat drew
nearerthe songs became louderfor an enchanting and
mysterious harmony rose to heavenas if some Loreley had


decreed to attract a soul thitheror Amphionthe
enchanterintended there to build a city.

At length the boat touched the shorebut without effort
without shockas lips touch lips; and he entered the grotto
amidst continued strains of most delicious melody. He
descendedor rather seemed to descendseveral steps
inhaling the fresh and balmy airlike that which may be
supposed to reign around the grotto of Circeformed from
such perfumes as set the mind a dreamingand such fires as
burn the very senses; and he saw again all he had seen
before his sleepfrom Sinbadhis singular hostto Ali
the mute attendant; then all seemed to fade away and become
confused before his eyeslike the last shadows of the magic
lantern before it is extinguishedand he was again in the
chamber of statueslighted only by one of those pale and
antique lamps which watch in the dead of the night over the
sleep of pleasure. They were the same statuesrich in form
in attraction. and poesywith eyes of fascinationsmiles
of loveand bright and flowing hair. They were Phryne
CleopatraMessalinathose three celebrated courtesans.
Then among them glided like a pure raylike a Christian
angel in the midst of Olympusone of those chaste figures
those calm shadowsthose soft visionswhich seemed to veil
its virgin brow before these marble wantons. Then the three
statues advanced towards him with looks of loveand
approached the couch on which he was reposingtheir feet
hidden in their long white tunicstheir throats barehair
flowing like wavesand assuming attitudes which the gods
could not resistbut which saints withstoodand looks
inflexible and ardent like those with which the serpent
charms the bird; and then he gave way before looks that held
him in a torturing grasp and delighted his senses as with a
voluptuous kiss. It seemed to Franz that he closed his eyes
and in a last look about him saw the vision of modesty
completely veiled; and then followed a dream of passion like
that promised by the Prophet to the elect. Lips of stone
turned to flamebreasts of ice became like heated lavaso
that to Franzyielding for the first time to the sway of
the druglove was a sorrow and voluptuousness a tortureas
burning mouths were pressed to his thirsty lipsand he was
held in cool serpent-like embraces. The more he strove
against this unhallowed passion the more his senses yielded
to its thralland at lengthweary of a struggle that taxed
his very soulhe gave way and sank back breathless and
exhausted beneath the kisses of these marble goddessesand
the enchantment of his marvellous dream.

Chapter 32
The Waking.

When Franz returned to himselfhe seemed still to be in a
dream. He thought himself in a sepulchreinto which a ray
of sunlight in pity scarcely penetrated. He stretched forth
his handand touched stone; he rose to his seatand found
himself lying on his bournous in a bed of dry heathervery
soft and odoriferous. The vision had fled; and as if the
statues had been but shadows from the tombthey had
vanished at his waking. He advanced several paces towards
the point whence the light cameand to all the excitement
of his dream succeeded the calmness of reality. He found
that he was in a grottowent towards the openingand


through a kind of fanlight saw a blue sea and an azure sky.
The air and water were shining in the beams of the morning
sun; on the shore the sailors were sittingchatting and
laughing; and at ten yards from them the boat was at anchor
undulating gracefully on the water. There for some time he
enjoyed the fresh breeze which played on his browand
listened to the dash of the waves on the beachthat left
against the rocks a lace of foam as white as silver. He was
for some time without reflection or thought for the divine
charm which is in the things of naturespecially after a
fantastic dream; then gradually this view of the outer
worldso calmso pureso grandreminded him of the
illusiveness of his visionand once more awakened memory.
He recalled his arrival on the islandhis presentation to a
smuggler chiefa subterranean palace full of splendoran
excellent supperand a spoonful of hashish. It seemed
howevereven in the very face of open daythat at least a
year had elapsed since all these things had passedso deep
was the impression made in his mind by the dreamand so
strong a hold had it taken of his imagination. Thus every
now and then he saw in fancy amid the sailorsseated on a
rockor undulating in the vesselone of the shadows which
had shared his dream with looks and kisses. Otherwisehis
head was perfectly clearand his body refreshed; he was
free from the slightest headache; on the contraryhe felt a
certain degree of lightnessa faculty for absorbing the
pure airand enjoying the bright sunshine more vividly than
ever.

He went gayly up to the sailorswho rose as soon as they
perceived him; and the patronaccosting himsaidThe
Signor Sinbad has left his compliments for your excellency,
and desires us to express the regret he feels at not being
able to take his leave in person; but he trusts you will
excuse him, as very important business calls him to Malaga.

So, then, Gaetano,said Franzthis is, then, all
reality; there exists a man who has received me in this
island, entertained me right royally, and his departed while
I was asleep?

He exists as certainly as that you may see his small yacht
with all her sails spread; and if you will use your glass,
you will, in all probability, recognize your host in the
midst of his crew.So sayingGaetano pointed in a
direction in which a small vessel was making sail towards
the southern point of Corsica. Franz adjusted his telescope
and directed it towards the yacht. Gaetano was not mistaken.
At the stern the mysterious stranger was standing up looking
towards the shoreand holding a spy-glass in his hand. He
was attired as he had been on the previous eveningand
waved his pocket-handkerchief to his guest in token of
adieu. Franz returned the salute by shaking his handkerchief
as an exchange of signals. After a seconda slight cloud of
smoke was seen at the stern of the vesselwhich rose
gracefully as it expanded in the airand then Franz heard a
slight report. "Theredo you hear?" observed Gaetano; "he
is bidding you adieu." The young man took his carbine and
fired it in the airbut without any idea that the noise
could be heard at the distance which separated the yacht
from the shore.

What are your excellency's orders?inquired Gaetano.


In the first place, light me a torch.

Ah, yes, I understand,replied the patronto find the
entrance to the enchanted apartment. With much pleasure,
your excellency, if it would amuse you; and I will get you
the torch you ask for. But I too have had the idea you have,
and two or three times the same fancy has come over me; but
I have always given it up. Giovanni, light a torch,he
addedand give it to his excellency.

Giovanni obeyed. Franz took the lampand entered the
subterranean grottofollowed by Gaetano. He recognized the
place where he had awaked by the bed of heather that was
there; but it was in vain that he carried his torch all
round the exterior surface of the grotto. He saw nothing
unless thatby traces of smokeothers had before him
attempted the same thingandlike himin vain. Yet he did
not leave a foot of this granite wallas impenetrable as
futuritywithout strict scrutiny; he did not see a fissure
without introducing the blade of his hunting sword into it
or a projecting point on which he did not lean and press in
the hopes it would give way. All was vain; and he lost two
hours in his attemptswhich were at last utterly useless.
At the end of this time he gave up his searchand Gaetano
smiled.

When Franz appeared again on the shorethe yacht only
seemed like a small white speck on the horizon. He looked
again through his glassbut even then he could not
distinguish anything. Gaetano reminded him that he had come
for the purpose of shooting goatswhich he had utterly
forgotten. He took his fowling-pieceand began to hunt over
the island with the air of a man who is fulfilling a duty
rather than enjoying a pleasure; and at the end of a quarter
of an hour he had killed a goat and two kids. These animals
though wild and agile as chamoiswere too much like
domestic goatsand Franz could not consider them as game.
Moreoverother ideasmuch more enthrallingoccupied his
mind. Sincethe evening beforehe had really been the hero
of one of the tales of the "Thousand and One Nights and he
was irresistibly attracted towards the grotto. Then, in
spite of the failure of his first search, he began a second,
after having told Gaetano to roast one of the two kids. The
second visit was a long one, and when he returned the kid
was roasted and the repast ready. Franz was sitting on the
spot where he was on the previous evening when his
mysterious host had invited him to supper; and he saw the
little yacht, now like a sea-gull on the wave, continuing
her flight towards Corsica. Why he remarked to Gaetano,
you told me that Signor Sinbad was going to Malagawhile
it seems he is in the direction of Porto-Vecchio."

Don't you remember,said the patronI told you that
among the crew there were two Corsican brigands?

True; and he is going to land them,added Franz.

Precisely so,replied Gaetano. "Ahhe is one who fears
neither God nor Satanthey sayand would at any time run
fifty leagues out of his course to do a poor devil a
service."

But such services as these might involve him with the
authorities of the country in which he practices this kind


of philanthropy,said Franz.

And what cares he for that,replied Gaetano with a laugh
or any authorities? He smiles at them. Let them try to
pursue him! Why, in the first place, his yacht is not a
ship, but a bird, and he would beat any frigate three knots
in every nine; and if he were to throw himself on the coast,
why, is he not certain of finding friends everywhere?

It was perfectly clear that the Signor SinbadFranz's host
had the honor of being on excellent terms with the smugglers
and bandits along the whole coast of the Mediterraneanand
so enjoyed exceptional privileges. As to Franzhe had no
longer any inducement to remain at Monte Cristo. He had lost
all hope of detecting the secret of the grotto; he
consequently despatched his breakfastandhis boat being
readyhe hastened on boardand they were soon under way.
At the moment the boat began her course they lost sight of
the yachtas it disappeared in the gulf of Porto-Vecchio.
With it was effaced the last trace of the preceding night;
and then supperSinbadhashishstatues-- all became a
dream for Franz. The boat sailed on all day and all night
and next morningwhen the sun rosethey had lost sight of
Monte Cristo. When Franz had once again set foot on shore
he forgotfor the moment at leastthe events which had
just passedwhile he finished his affairs of pleasure at
Florenceand then thought of nothing but how he should
rejoin his companionwho was awaiting him at Rome.

He set outand on the Saturday evening reached the Eternal
City by the mail-coach. An apartmentas we have saidhad
been retained beforehandand thus he had but to go to
Signor Pastrini's hotel. But this was not so easy a matter
for the streets were thronged with peopleand Rome was
already a prey to that low and feverish murmur which
precedes all great events; and at Rome there are four great
events in every year-- the CarnivalHoly WeekCorpus
Christiand the Feast of St. Peter. All the rest of the
year the city is in that state of dull apathybetween life
and deathwhich renders it similar to a kind of station
between this world and the next -- a sublime spota
resting-place full of poetry and characterand at which
Franz had already halted five or six timesand at each time
found it more marvellous and striking. At last he made his
way through the mobwhich was continually increasing and
getting more and more turbulentand reached the hotel. On
his first inquiry he was toldwith the impertinence
peculiar to hired hackney-coachmen and inn-keepers with
their houses fullthat there was no room for him at the
Hotel de Londres. Then he sent his card to Signor Pastrini
and asked for Albert de Morcerf. This plan succeeded; and
Signor Pastrini himself ran to himexcusing himself for
having made his excellency waitscolding the waiters
taking the candlestick from the porterwho was ready to
pounce on the traveller and was about to lead him to Albert
when Morcerf himself appeared.

The apartment consisted of two small rooms and a parlor. The
two rooms looked onto the street -- a fact which Signor
Pastrini commented upon as an inappreciable advantage. The
rest of the floor was hired by a very rich gentleman who was
supposed to be a Sicilian or Maltese; but the host was
unable to decide to which of the two nations the traveller
belonged. "Very goodsignor Pastrini said Franz; but we


must have some supper instantlyand a carriage for tomorrow
and the following days."

As to supper,replied the landlordyou shall be served
immediately; but as for the carriage-


What as to the carriage?exclaimed Albert. "Comecome
Signor Pastrinino joking; we must have a carriage."

Sir,replied the hostwe will do all in our power to
procure you one -- this is all I can say.

And when shall we know?inquired Franz.

To-morrow morning,answered the inn-keeper.

Oh, the deuce! then we shall pay the more, that's all, I
see plainly enough. At Drake's or Aaron's one pays
twenty-five lire for common days, and thirty or thirty-five
lire a day more for Sundays and feast days; add five lire a
day more for extras, that will make forty, and there's an
end of it.

I am afraid if we offer them double that we shall not
procure a carriage.

Then they must put horses to mine. It is a little worse for
the journey, but that's no matter.

There are no horses.Albert looked at Franz like a man who
hears a reply he does not understand.

Do you understand that, my dear Franz -- no horses?he
saidbut can't we have post-horses?

They have been all hired this fortnight, and there are none
left but those absolutely requisite for posting.

What are we to say to this?asked Franz.

I say, that when a thing completely surpasses my
comprehension, I am accustomed not to dwell on that thing,
but to pass to another. Is supper ready, Signor Pastrini?

Yes, your excellency.

Well, then, let us sup.

But the carriage and horses?said Franz.

Be easy, my dear boy; they will come in due season; it is
only a question of how much shall be charged for them.
Morcerf thenwith that delighted philosophy which believes
that nothing is impossible to a full purse or well-lined
pocketbooksuppedwent to bedslept soundlyand dreamed
he was racing all over Rome at Carnival time in a coach with
six horses.

Chapter 33
Roman Bandits.

The next morning Franz woke firstand instantly rang the


bell. The sound had not yet died away when Signor Pastrini
himself entered.

Well, excellency,said the landlord triumphantlyand
without waiting for Franz to question himI feared
yesterday, when I would not promise you anything, that you
were too late -- there is not a single carriage to be had -that
is, for the last three days of the carnival.

Yes,returned Franzfor the very three days it is most
needed.

What is the matter?said Albertentering; "no carriage to
be had?"

Just so,returned Franzyou have guessed it.

Well, your Eternal City is a nice sort of place.

That is to say, excellency,replied Pastriniwho was
desirous of keeping up the dignity of the capital of the
Christian world in the eyes of his guestthat there are no
carriages to be had from Sunday to Tuesday evening, but from
now till Sunday you can have fifty if you please.

Ah, that is something,said Albert; "to-day is Thursday
and who knows what may arrive between this and Sunday?"

Ten or twelve thousand travellers will arrive,replied
Franzwhich will make it still more difficult.

My friend,said Morcerflet us enjoy the present without
gloomy forebodings for the future.

At least we can have a window?

Where?

In the Corso.

Ah, a window!exclaimed Signor Pastrini-- "utterly
impossible; there was only one left on the fifth floor of
the Doria Palaceand that has been let to a Russian prince
for twenty sequins a day."

The two young men looked at each other with an air of
stupefaction.

Well,said Franz to Albertdo you know what is the best
thing we can do? It is to pass the Carnival at Venice; there
we are sure of obtaining gondolas if we cannot have
carriages.

Ah, the devil, no,cried Albert; "I came to Rome to see
the Carnivaland I willthough I see it on stilts."

Bravo! an excellent idea. We will disguise ourselves as
monster pulchinellos or shepherds of the Landes, and we
shall have complete success.

Do your excellencies still wish for a carriage from now to
Sunday morning?

Parbleu!said Albertdo you think we are going to run


about on foot in the streets of Rome, like lawyer's clerks?

I hasten to comply with your excellencies' wishes; only, I
tell you beforehand, the carriage will cost you six piastres
a day.

And, as I am not a millionaire, like the gentleman in the
next apartments,said FranzI warn you, that as I have
been four times before at Rome, I know the prices of all the
carriages; we will give you twelve piastres for to-day,
tomorrow, and the day after, and then you will make a good
profit.

But, excellency-- said Pastrinistill striving to gain
his point.

Now go,returned Franzor I shall go myself and bargain
with your affettatore, who is mine also; he is an old friend
of mine, who has plundered me pretty well already, and, in
the hope of making more out of me, he will take a less price
than the one I offer you; you will lose the preference, and
that will be your fault.

Do not give yourselves the trouble, excellency,returned
Signor Pastriniwith the smile peculiar to the Italian
speculator when he confesses defeat; "I will do all I can
and I hope you will be satisfied."

And now we understand each other.

When do you wish the carriage to be here?

In an hour.

In an hour it will be at the door.

An hour after the vehicle was at the door; it was a hack
conveyance which was elevated to the rank of a private
carriage in honor of the occasionbutin spite of its
humble exteriorthe young men would have thought themselves
happy to have secured it for the last three days of the
Carnival. "Excellency cried the cicerone, seeing Franz
approach the window, shall I bring the carriage nearer to
the palace?"

Accustomed as Franz was to the Italian phraseologyhis
first impulse was to look round himbut these words were
addressed to him. Franz was the "excellency the vehicle
was the carriage and the Hotel de Londres was the
palace." The genius for laudation characteristic of the
race was in that phrase.

Franz and Albert descendedthe carriage approached the
palace; their excellencies stretched their legs along the
seats; the cicerone sprang into the seat behind. "Where do
your excellencies wish to go?" asked he.

To Saint Peter's first, and then to the Colosseum,
returned Albert. But Albert did not know that it takes a day
to see Saint Peter'sand a month to study it. The day was
passed at Saint Peter's alone. Suddenly the daylight began
to fade away; Franz took out his watch -- it was half-past
four. They returned to the hotel; at the door Franz ordered
the coachman to be ready at eight. He wished to show Albert


the Colosseum by moonlightas he had shown him Saint
Peter's by daylight. When we show a friend a city one has
already visitedwe feel the same pride as when we point out
a woman whose lover we have been. He was to leave the city
by the Porta del Popoloskirt the outer walland re-enter
by the Porta San Giovanni; thus they would behold the
Colosseum without finding their impressions dulled by first
looking on the Capitolthe Forumthe Arch of Septimus
Severusthe Temple of Antoninus and Faustinaand the Via
Sacra. They sat down to dinner. Signor Pastrini had promised
them a banquet; he gave them a tolerable repast. At the end
of the dinner he entered in person. Franz thought that he
came to hear his dinner praisedand began accordinglybut
at the first words he was interrupted. "Excellency said
Pastrini, I am delighted to have your approbationbut it
was not for that I came."

Did you come to tell us you have procured a carriage?
asked Albertlighting his cigar.

No; and your excellencies will do well not to think of that
any longer; at Rome things can or cannot be done; when you
are told anything cannot he done, there is an end of it.

It is much more convenient at Paris, -- when anything
cannot be done, you pay double, and it is done directly.

That is what all the French say,returned Signor Pastrini
somewhat piqued; "for that reasonI do not understand why
they travel."

But,said Albertemitting a volume of smoke and balancing
his chair on its hind legsonly madmen, or blockheads like
us, ever do travel. Men in their senses do not quit their
hotel in the Rue du Helder, their walk on the Boulevard de
Gand, and the Cafe de Paris.It is of course understood
that Albert resided in the aforesaid streetappeared every
day on the fashionable walkand dined frequently at the
only restaurant where you can really dinethat isif you
are on good terms with its frequenters. Signor Pastrini
remained silent a short time; it was evident that he was
musing over this answerwhich did not seem very clear.
But,said Franzin his turn interrupting his host's
meditationsyou had some motive for coming here, may I beg
to know what it was?

Ah, yes; you have ordered your carriage at eight o'clock
precisely?

I have.

You intend visiting Il Colosseo.

You mean the Colosseum?

It is the same thing. You have told your coachman to leave
the city by the Porta del Popolo, to drive round the walls,
and re-enter by the Porta San Giovanni?

These are my words exactly.

Well, this route is impossible.

Impossible!


Very dangerous, to say the least.

Dangerous! -- and why?

On account of the famous Luigi Vampa.

Pray, who may this famous Luigi Vampa be?inquired Albert;
he may be very famous at Rome, but I can assure you he is
quite unknown at Paris.

What! do you not know him?

I have not that honor.

You have never heard his name?

Never.

Well, then, he is a bandit, compared to whom the Decesaris
and the Gasparones were mere children.

Now then, Albert,cried Franzhere is a bandit for you
at last.

I forewarn you, Signor Pastrini, that I shall not believe
one word of what you are going to tell us; having told you
this, begin.

Once upon a time-


Well, go on.Signor Pastrini turned toward Franzwho
seemed to him the more reasonable of the two; we must do him
justice-- he had had a great many Frenchmen in his house
but had never been able to comprehend them. "Excellency
said he gravely, addressing Franz, if you look upon me as a
liarit is useless for me to say anything; it was for your
interest I" -


Albert does not say you are a liar, Signor Pastrini,said
Franzbut that he will not believe what you are going to
tell us, -- but I will believe all you say; so proceed.

But if your excellency doubt my veracity-


Signor Pastrini,returned Franzyou are more susceptible
than Cassandra, who was a prophetess, and yet no one
believed her; while you, at least, are sure of the credence
of half your audience. Come, sit down, and tell us all about
this Signor Vampa.

I had told your excellency he is the most famous bandit we
have had since the days of Mastrilla.

Well, what has this bandit to do with the order I have
given the coachman to leave the city by the Porta del
Popolo, and to re-enter by the Porta San Giovanni?

This,replied Signor Pastrinithat you will go out by
one, but I very much doubt your returning by the other.

Why?asked Franz.

Because, after nightfall, you are not safe fifty yards from


the gates.

On your honor is that true?cried Albert.

Count,returned Signor Pastrinihurt at Albert's repeated
doubts of the truth of his assertionsI do not say this to
you, but to your companion, who knows Rome, and knows, too,
that these things are not to be laughed at.

My dear fellow,said Albertturning to Franzhere is an
admirable adventure; we will fill our carriage with pistols,
blunderbusses, and double-barrelled guns. Luigi Vampa comes
to take us, and we take him -- we bring him back to Rome,
and present him to his holiness the Pope, who asks how he
can repay so great a service; then we merely ask for a
carriage and a pair of horses, and we see the Carnival in
the carriage, and doubtless the Roman people will crown us
at the Capitol, and proclaim us, like Curtius and the veiled
Horatius, the preservers of their country.Whilst Albert
proposed this schemeSignor Pastrini's face assumed an
expression impossible to describe.

And pray,asked Franzwhere are these pistols,
blunderbusses, and other deadly weapons with which you
intend filling the carriage?

Not out of my armory, for at Terracina I was plundered even
of my hunting-knife.

I shared the same fate at Aquapendente.

Do you know, Signor Pastrini,said Albertlighting a
second cigar at the firstthat this practice is very
convenient for bandits, and that it seems to be due to an
arrangement of their own.Doubtless Signor Pastrini found
this pleasantry compromisingfor he only answered half the
questionand then he spoke to Franzas the only one likely
to listen with attention. "Your excellency knows that it is
not customary to defend yourself when attacked by bandits."

What!cried Albertwhose courage revolted at the idea of
being plundered tamelynot make any resistance!

No, for it would be useless. What could you do against a
dozen bandits who spring out of some pit, ruin, or aqueduct,
and level their pieces at you?

Eh, parbleu! -- they should kill me.

The inn-keeper turned to Franz with an air that seemed to
sayYour friend is decidedly mad.

My dear Albert,returned Franzyour answer is sublime,
and worthy the `Let him die,' of Corneille, only, when
Horace made that answer, the safety of Rome was concerned;
but, as for us, it is only to gratify a whim, and it would
be ridiculous to risk our lives for so foolish a motive.
Albert poured himself out a glass of lacryma Christiwhich
he sipped at intervalsmuttering some unintelligible words.

Well, Signor Pastrini,said Franznow that my companion
is quieted, and you have seen how peaceful my intentions
are, tell me who is this Luigi Vampa. Is he a shepherd or a
nobleman? -- young or old? -- tall or short? Describe him,


in order that, if we meet him by chance, like Bugaboo John
or Lara, we may recognize him.

You could not apply to any one better able to inform you on
all these points, for I knew him when he was a child, and
one day that I fell into his hands, going from Ferentino to
Alatri, he, fortunately for me, recollected me, and set me
free, not only without ransom, but made me a present of a
very splendid watch, and related his history to me.

Let us see the watch,said Albert.

Signor Pastrini drew from his fob a magnificent Breguet
bearing the name of its makerof Parisian manufactureand
a count's coronet.

Here it is,said he.

Peste,returned AlbertI compliment you on it; I have
its fellow-- he took his watch from his waistcoat pocket
-- "and it cost me 3000 francs."

Let us hear the history,said Franzmotioning Signor
Pastrini to seat himself.

Your excellencies permit it?asked the host.

Pardieu!cried Albertyou are not a preacher, to remain
standing!

The host sat downafter having made each of them a
respectful bowwhich meant that he was ready to tell them
all they wished to know concerning Luigi Vampa. "You tell
me said Franz, at the moment Signor Pastrini was about to
open his mouth, that you knew Luigi Vampa when he was a
child -- he is still a young manthen?"

A young man? he is only two and twenty; -- he will gain
himself a reputation.

What do you think of that, Albert? -- at two and twenty to
be thus famous?

Yes, and at his age, Alexander, Caesar, and Napoleon, who
have all made some noise in the world, were quite behind
him.

So,continued Franzthe hero of this history is only two
and twenty?

Scarcely so much.

Is he tall or short?

Of the middle height -- about the same stature as his
excellency,returned the hostpointing to Albert.

Thanks for the comparison,said Albertwith a bow.

Go on, Signor Pastrini,continued Franzsmiling at his
friend's susceptibility. "To what class of society does he
belong?"

He was a shepherd-boy attached to the farm of the Count of


San-Felice, situated between Palestrina and the lake of
Gabri; he was born at Pampinara, and entered the count's
service when he was five years old; his father was also a
shepherd, who owned a small flock, and lived by the wool and
the milk, which he sold at Rome. When quite a child, the
little Vampa displayed a most extraordinary precocity. One
day, when he was seven years old, he came to the curate of
Palestrina, and asked to be taught to read; it was somewhat
difficult, for he could not quit his flock; but the good
curate went every day to say mass at a little hamlet too
poor to pay a priest and which, having no other name, was
called Borgo; he told Luigi that he might meet him on his
return, and that then he would give him a lesson, warning
him that it would be short, and that he must profit as much
as possible by it. The child accepted joyfully. Every day
Luigi led his flock to graze on the road that leads from
Palestrina to Borgo; every day, at nine o'clock in the
morning, the priest and the boy sat down on a bank by the
wayside, and the little shepherd took his lesson out of the
priest's breviary. At the end of three months he had learned
to read. This was not enough -- he must now learn to write.
The priest had a writing teacher at Rome make three
alphabets -- one large, one middling, and one small; and
pointed out to him that by the help of a sharp instrument he
could trace the letters on a slate, and thus learn to write.
The same evening, when the flock was safe at the farm, the
little Luigi hastened to the smith at Palestrina, took a
large nail, heated and sharpened it, and formed a sort of
stylus. The next morning he gathered an armful of pieces of
slate and began. At the end of three months he had learned
to write. The curate, astonished at his quickness and
intelligence, made him a present of pens, paper, and a
penknife. This demanded new effort, but nothing compared to
the first; at the end of a week he wrote as well with this
pen as with the stylus. The curate related the incident to
the Count of San-Felice, who sent for the little shepherd,
made him read and write before him, ordered his attendant to
let him eat with the domestics, and to give him two piastres
a month. With this, Luigi purchased books and pencils. He
applied his imitative powers to everything, and, like
Giotto, when young, he drew on his slate sheep, houses, and
trees. Then, with his knife, he began to carve all sorts of
objects in wood; it was thus that Pinelli, the famous
sculptor, had commenced.

A girl of six or seven -- that isa little younger than
Vampa -- tended sheep on a farm near Palestrina; she was an
orphanborn at Valmontone and was named Teresa. The two
children metsat down near each otherlet their flocks
mingle togetherplayedlaughedand conversed together; in
the evening they separated the Count of San-Felice's flock
from those of Baron Cervetriand the children returned to
their respective farmspromising to meet the next morning.
The next day they kept their wordand thus they grew up
together. Vampa was twelveand Teresa eleven. And yet their
natural disposition revealed itself. Beside his taste for
the fine artswhich Luigi had carried as far as he could in
his solitudehe was given to alternating fits of sadness
and enthusiasmwas often angry and capriciousand always
sarcastic. None of the lads of PampinaraPalestrinaor
Valmontone had been able to gain any influence over him or
even to become his companion. His disposition (always
inclined to exact concessions rather than to make them) kept
him aloof from all friendships. Teresa alone ruled by a


looka worda gesturethis impetuous characterwhich
yielded beneath the hand of a womanand which beneath the
hand of a man might have brokenbut could never have been
bended. Teresa was lively and gaybut coquettish to excess.
The two piastres that Luigi received every month from the
Count of San-Felice's stewardand the price of all the
little carvings in wood he sold at Romewere expended in
ear-ringsnecklacesand gold hairpins. So thatthanks to
her friend's generosityTeresa was the most beautiful and
the best-attired peasant near Rome. The two children grew up
togetherpassing all their time with each otherand giving
themselves up to the wild ideas of their different
characters. Thusin all their dreamstheir wishesand
their conversationsVampa saw himself the captain of a
vesselgeneral of an armyor governor of a province.
Teresa saw herself richsuperbly attiredand attended by a
train of liveried domestics. Thenwhen they had thus passed
the day in building castles in the airthey separated their
flocksand descended from the elevation of their dreams to
the reality of their humble position.

One day the young shepherd told the count's steward that he
had seen a wolf come out of the Sabine mountains, and prowl
around his flock. The steward gave him a gun; this was what
Vampa longed for. This gun had an excellent barrel, made at
Breschia, and carrying a ball with the precision of an
English rifle; but one day the count broke the stock, and
had then cast the gun aside. This, however, was nothing to a
sculptor like Vampa; he examined the broken stock,
calculated what change it would require to adapt the gun to
his shoulder, and made a fresh stock, so beautifully carved
that it would have fetched fifteen or twenty piastres, had
he chosen to sell it. But nothing could be farther from his
thoughts. For a long time a gun had been the young man's
greatest ambition. In every country where independence has
taken the place of liberty, the first desire of a manly
heart is to possess a weapon, which at once renders him
capable of defence or attack, and, by rendering its owner
terrible, often makes him feared. From this moment Vampa
devoted all his leisure time to perfecting himself in the
use of his precious weapon; he purchased powder and ball,
and everything served him for a mark -- the trunk of some
old and moss-grown olive-tree, that grew on the Sabine
mountains; the fox, as he quitted his earth on some
marauding excursion; the eagle that soared above their
heads: and thus he soon became so expert, that Teresa
overcame the terror she at first felt at the report, and
amused herself by watching him direct the ball wherever he
pleased, with as much accuracy as if he placed it by hand.

One evening a wolf emerged from a pine-wood hear which they
were usually stationedbut the wolf had scarcely advanced
ten yards ere he was dead. Proud of this exploitVampa took
the dead animal on his shouldersand carried him to the
farm. These exploits had gained Luigi considerable
reputation. The man of superior abilities always finds
admirersgo where he will. He was spoken of as the most
adroitthe strongestand the most courageous contadino for
ten leagues around; and although Teresa was universally
allowed to be the most beautiful girl of the Sabinesno one
had ever spoken to her of lovebecause it was known that
she was beloved by Vampa. And yet the two young people had
never declared their affection; they had grown together like
two trees whose roots are mingledwhose branches


intertwinedand whose intermingled perfume rises to the
heavens. Only their wish to see each other had become a
necessityand they would have preferred death to a day's
separation. Teresa was sixteenand Vampa seventeen. About
this timea band of brigands that had established itself in
the Lepini mountains began to be much spoken of. The
brigands have never been really extirpated from the
neighborhood of Rome. Sometimes a chief is wantedbut when
a chief presents himself he rarely has to wait long for a
band of followers.

The celebrated Cucumetto, pursued in the Abruzzo, driven
out of the kingdom of Naples, where he had carried on a
regular war, had crossed the Garigliano, like Manfred, and
had taken refuge on the banks of the Amasine between Sonnino
and Juperno. He strove to collect a band of followers, and
followed the footsteps of Decesaris and Gasperone, whom he
hoped to surpass. Many young men of Palestrina, Frascati,
and Pampinara had disappeared. Their disappearance at first
caused much disquietude; but it was soon known that they had
joined Cucumetto. After some time Cucumetto became the
object of universal attention; the most extraordinary traits
of ferocious daring and brutality were related of him. One
day he carried off a young girl, the daughter of a surveyor
of Frosinone. The bandit's laws are positive; a young girl
belongs first to him who carries her off, then the rest draw
lots for her, and she is abandoned to their brutality until
death relieves her sufferings. When their parents are
sufficiently rich to pay a ransom, a messenger is sent to
negotiate; the prisoner is hostage for the security of the
messenger; should the ransom be refused, the prisoner is
irrevocably lost. The young girl's lover was in Cucumetto's
troop; his name was Carlini. When she recognized her lover,
the poor girl extended her arms to him, and believed herself
safe; but Carlini felt his heart sink, for he but too well
knew the fate that awaited her. However, as he was a
favorite with Cucumetto, as he had for three years
faithfully served him, and as he had saved his life by
shooting a dragoon who was about to cut him down, he hoped
the chief would have pity on him. He took Cucumetto one
side, while the young girl, seated at the foot of a huge
pine that stood in the centre of the forest, made a veil of
her picturesque head-dress to hide her face from the
lascivious gaze of the bandits. There he told the chief all
-- his affection for the prisoner, their promises of mutual
fidelity, and how every night, since he had been near, they
had met in some neighboring ruins.

It so happened that night that Cucumetto had sent Carlini
to a villageso that he had been unable to go to the place
of meeting. Cucumetto had been therehoweverby accident
as he saidand had carried the maiden off. Carlini besought
his chief to make an exception in Rita's favoras her
father was richand could pay a large ransom. Cucumetto
seemed to yield to his friend's entreatiesand bade him
find a shepherd to send to Rita's father at Frosinone.
Carlini flew joyfully to Ritatelling her she was saved
and bidding her write to her fatherto inform him what had
occurredand that her ransom was fixed at three hundred
piastres. Twelve hours' delay was all that was granted -that
isuntil nine the next morning. The instant the letter
was writtenCarlini seized itand hastened to the plain to
find a messenger. He found a young shepherd watching his
flock. The natural messengers of the bandits are the


shepherds who live between the city and the mountains
between civilized and savage life. The boy undertook the
commissionpromising to be in Frosinone in less than an
hour. Carlini returnedanxious to see his mistressand
announce the joyful intelligence. He found the troop in the
gladesupping off the provisions exacted as contributions
from the peasants; but his eye vainly sought Rita and
Cucumetto among them. He inquired where they wereand was
answered by a burst of laughter. A cold perspiration burst
from every poreand his hair stood on end. He repeated his
question. One of the bandits roseand offered him a glass
filled with Orviettosaying`To the health of the brave
Cucumetto and the fair Rita.' At this moment Carlini heard a
woman's cry; he divined the truthseized the glassbroke
it across the face of him who presented itand rushed
towards the spot whence the cry came. After a hundred yards
he turned the corner of the thicket; he found Rita senseless
in the arms of Cucumetto. At the sight of CarliniCucumetto
rosea pistol in each hand. The two brigands looked at each
other for a moment -- the one with a smile of lasciviousness
on his lipsthe other with the pallor of death on his brow.
A terrible battle between the two men seemed imminent; but
by degrees Carlini's features relaxedhis handwhich had
grasped one of the pistols in his beltfell to his side.
Rita lay between them. The moon lighted the group.

`Well,' said Cucumetto, `have you executed your
commission?'

`Yescaptain' returned Carlini. `At nine o'clock
to-morrow Rita's father will be here with the money.' -- `It
is well; in the meantimewe will have a merry night; this
young girl is charmingand does credit to your taste. Now
as I am not egotisticalwe will return to our comrades and
draw lots for her.' -- `You have determinedthento
abandon her to the common law?" said Carlini.

`Why should an exception be made in her favor?'

`I thought that my entreaties' -


`What right have you, any more than the rest, to ask for an
exception?' -- `It is true.' -- `But never mind,' continued
Cucumetto, laughing, `sooner or later your turn will come.'
Carlini's teeth clinched convulsively.

`Nowthen' said Cucumettoadvancing towards the other
bandits`are you coming?' -- `I follow you.'

Cucumetto departed, without losing sight of Carlini, for,
doubtless, he feared lest he should strike him unawares; but
nothing betrayed a hostile design on Carlini's part. He was
standing, his arms folded, near Rita, who was still
insensible. Cucumetto fancied for a moment the young man was
about to take her in his arms and fly; but this mattered
little to him now Rita had been his; and as for the money,
three hundred piastres distributed among the band was so
small a sum that he cared little about it. He continued to
follow the path to the glade; but, to his great surprise,
Carlini arrived almost as soon as himself. `Let us draw
lots! let us draw lots!' cried all the brigands, when they
saw the chief.

Their demand was fairand the chief inclined his head in


sign of acquiescence. The eyes of all shone fiercely as they
made their demandand the red light of the fire made them
look like demons. The names of allincluding Carliniwere
placed in a hatand the youngest of the band drew forth a
ticket; the ticket bore the name of Diovolaccio. He was the
man who had proposed to Carlini the health of their chief
and to whom Carlini replied by breaking the glass across his
face. A large woundextending from the temple to the mouth
was bleeding profusely. Diovalaccioseeing himself thus
favored by fortuneburst into a loud laugh. `Captain' said
he`just now Carlini would not drink your health when I
proposed it to him; propose mine to himand let us see if
he will be more condescending to you than to me.' Every one
expected an explosion on Carlini's part; but to their great
surprisehe took a glass in one hand and a flask in the
otherand filling it-- `Your healthDiavolaccio' said
he calmlyand he drank it offwithout his hand trembling
in the least. Then sitting down by the fire`My supper'
said he; `my expedition has given me an appetite.' -- `Well
doneCarlini!' cried the brigands; `that is acting like a
good fellow;' and they all formed a circle round the fire
while Diavolaccio disappeared. Carlini ate and drank as if
nothing had happened. The bandits looked on with
astonishment at this singular conduct until they heard
footsteps. They turned roundand saw Diavolaccio bearing
the young girl in his arms. Her head hung backand her long
hair swept the ground. As they entered the circlethe
bandits could perceiveby the firelightthe unearthly
pallor of the young girl and of Diavolaccio. This apparition
was so strange and so solemnthat every one rosewith the
exception of Carliniwho remained seatedand ate and drank
calmly. Diavolaccio advanced amidst the most profound
silenceand laid Rita at the captain's feet. Then every one
could understand the cause of the unearthly pallor in the
young girl and the bandit. A knife was plunged up to the
hilt in Rita's left breast. Every one looked at Carlini; the
sheath at his belt was empty. `Ahah' said the chief`I
now understand why Carlini stayed behind.' All savage
natures appreciate a desperate deed. No other of the bandits
wouldperhapshave done the same; but they all understood
what Carlini had done. `Nowthen' cried Carlinirising in
his turnand approaching the corpsehis hand on the butt
of one of his pistols`does any one dispute the possession
of this woman with me?' -- `No' returned the chief`she is
thine.' Carlini raised her in his armsand carried her out
of the circle of firelight. Cucumetto placed his sentinels
for the nightand the bandits wrapped themselves in their
cloaksand lay down before the fire. At midnight the
sentinel gave the alarmand in an instant all were on the
alert. It was Rita's fatherwho brought his daughter's
ransom in person. `Here' said heto Cucumetto`here are
three hundred piastres; give me back my child. But the
chiefwithout taking the moneymade a sign to him to
follow. The old man obeyed. They both advanced beneath the
treesthrough whose branches streamed the moonlight.
Cucumetto stopped at lastand pointed to two persons
grouped at the foot of a tree.

`There,' said he, `demand thy child of Carlini; he will
tell thee what has become of her;' and he returned to his
companions. The old man remained motionless; he felt that
some great and unforeseen misfortune hung over his head. At
length he advanced toward the group, the meaning of which he
could not comprehend. As he approached, Carlini raised his


head, and the forms of two persons became visible to the old
man's eyes. A woman lay on the ground, her head resting on
the knees of a man, who was seated by her; as he raised his
head, the woman's face became visible. The old man
recognized his child, and Carlini recognized the old man. `I
expected thee,' said the bandit to Rita's father. -`
Wretch!' returned the old man, `what hast thou done?' and
he gazed with terror on Rita, pale and bloody, a knife
buried in her bosom. A ray of moonlight poured through the
trees, and lighted up the face of the dead. -- `Cucumetto
had violated thy daughter,' said the bandit; `I loved her,
therefore I slew her; for she would have served as the sport
of the whole band.' The old man spoke not, and grew pale as
death. `Now,' continued Carlini, `if I have done wrongly,
avenge her;' and withdrawing the knife from the wound in
Rita's bosom, he held it out to the old man with one hand,
while with the other he tore open his vest. -- `Thou hast
done well!' returned the old man in a hoarse voice; `embrace
me, my son.' Carlini threw himself, sobbing like a child,
into the arms of his mistress's father. These were the first
tears the man of blood had ever wept. `Now,' said the old
man, `aid me to bury my child.' Carlini fetched two
pickaxes; and the father and the lover began to dig at the
foot of a huge oak, beneath which the young girl was to
repose. When the grave was formed, the father kissed her
first, and then the lover; afterwards, one taking the head,
the other the feet, they placed her in the grave. Then they
knelt on each side of the grave, and said the prayers of the
dead. Then, when they had finished, they cast the earth over
the corpse, until the grave was filled. Then, extending his
hand, the old man said; `I thank you, my son; and now leave
me alone.' -- `Yet' -- replied Carlini. -- `Leave me, I
command you.' Carlini obeyed, rejoined his comrades, folded
himself in his cloak, and soon appeared to sleep as soundly
as the rest. It had been resolved the night before to change
their encampment. An hour before daybreak, Cucumetto aroused
his men, and gave the word to march. But Carlini would not
quit the forest, without knowing what had become of Rita's
father. He went toward the place where he had left him. He
found the old man suspended from one of the branches of the
oak which shaded his daughter's grave. He then took an oath
of bitter vengeance over the dead body of the one and the
tomb of the other. But he was unable to complete this oath,
for two days afterwards, in an encounter with the Roman
carbineers, Carlini was killed. There was some surprise,
however, that, as he was with his face to the enemy, he
should have received a ball between his shoulders. That
astonishment ceased when one of the brigands remarked to his
comrades that Cucumetto was stationed ten paces in Carlini's
rear when he fell. On the morning of the departure from the
forest of Frosinone he had followed Carlini in the darkness,
and heard this oath of vengeance, and, like a wise man,
anticipated it. They told ten other stories of this bandit
chief, each more singular than the other. Thus, from Fondi
to Perusia, every one trembles at the name of Cucumetto.

These narratives were frequently the theme of conversation
between Luigi and Teresa. The young girl trembled very much
at hearing the stories; but Vampa reassured her with a
smiletapping the butt of his good fowling-piecewhich
threw its ball so well; and if that did not restore her
couragehe pointed to a crowperched on some dead branch
took aimtouched the triggerand the bird fell dead at the
foot of the tree. Time passed onand the two young people


had agreed to be married when Vampa should be twenty and
Teresa nineteen years of age. They were both orphansand
had only their employers' leave to askwhich had been
already sought and obtained. One day when they were talking
over their plans for the futurethey heard two or three
reports of firearmsand then suddenly a man came out of the
woodnear which the two young persons used to graze their
flocksand hurried towards them. When he came within
hearinghe exclaimed. `I am pursued; can you conceal me?'
They knew full well that this fugitive must be a bandit; but
there is an innate sympathy between the Roman brigand and
the Roman peasant and the latter is always ready to aid the
former. Vampawithout saying a wordhastened to the stone
that closed up the entrance to their grottodrew it away
made a sign to the fugitive to take refuge therein a
retreat unknown to every oneclosed the stone upon himand
then went and resumed his seat by Teresa. Instantly
afterwards four carbineerson horsebackappeared on the
edge of the wood; three of them appeared to be looking for
the fugitivewhile the fourth dragged a brigand prisoner by
the neck. The three carbineers looked about carefully on
every sidesaw the young peasantsand galloping upbegan
to question them. They had seen no one. `That is very
annoying' said the brigadier; for the man we are looking
for is the chief.' -- `Cucumetto?' cried Luigi and Teresa at
the same moment.

`Yes,' replied the brigadier; `and as his head is valued at
a thousand Roman crowns, there would have been five hundred
for you, if you had helped us to catch him.' The two young
persons exchanged looks. The brigadier had a moment's hope.
Five hundred Roman crowns are three thousand lire, and three
thousand lire are a fortune for two poor orphans who are
going to be married.

`Yesit is very annoying' said Vampa; `but we have not
seen him.'

Then the carbineers scoured the country in different
directions, but in vain; then, after a time, they
disappeared. Vampa then removed the stone, and Cucumetto
came out. Through the crevices in the granite he had seen
the two young peasants talking with the carbineers, and
guessed the subject of their parley. He had read in the
countenances of Luigi and Teresa their steadfast resolution
not to surrender him, and he drew from his pocket a purse
full of gold, which he offered to them. But Vampa raised his
head proudly; as to Teresa, her eyes sparkled when she
thought of all the fine gowns and gay jewellery she could
buy with this purse of gold.

Cucumetto was a cunning fiendand had assumed the form of
a brigand instead of a serpentand this look from Teresa
showed to him that she was a worthy daughter of Eveand he
returned to the forestpausing several times on his way
under the pretext of saluting his protectors. Several days
elapsedand they neither saw nor heard of Cucumetto. The
time of the Carnival was at hand. The Count of San-Felice
announced a grand masked ballto which all that were
distinguished in Rome were invited. Teresa had a great
desire to see this ball. Luigi asked permission of his
protectorthe stewardthat she and he might be present
amongst the servants of the house. This was granted. The
ball was given by the Count for the particular pleasure of


his daughter Carmelawhom he adored. Carmela was precisely
the age and figure of Teresaand Teresa was as handsome as
Carmela. On the evening of the ball Teresa was attired in
her besther most brilliant ornaments in her hairand
gayest glass beads-- she was in the costume of the women
of Frascati. Luigi wore the very picturesque garb of the
Roman peasant at holiday time. They both mingledas they
had leave to dowith the servants and peasants.

The festa was magnificent; not only was the villa
brilliantly illuminated, but thousands of colored lanterns
were suspended from the trees in the garden; and very soon
the palace overflowed to the terraces, and the terraces to
the garden-walks. At each cross-path was an orchestra, and
tables spread with refreshments; the guests stopped, formed
quadrilles, and danced in any part of the grounds they
pleased. Carmela was attired like a woman of Sonnino. Her
cap was embroidered with pearls, the pins in her hair were
of gold and diamonds, her girdle was of Turkey silk, with
large embroidered flowers, her bodice and skirt were of
cashmere, her apron of Indian muslin, and the buttons of her
corset were of jewels. Two of her companions were dressed,
the one as a woman of Nettuno, and the other as a woman of
La Riccia. Four young men of the richest and noblest
families of Rome accompanied them with that Italian freedom
which has not its parallel in any other country in the
world. They were attired as peasants of Albano, Velletri,
Civita-Castellana, and Sora. We need hardly add that these
peasant costumes, like those of the young women, were
brilliant with gold and jewels.

Carmela wished to form a quadrillebut there was one lady
wanting. Carmela looked all around herbut not one of the
guests had a costume similar to her ownor those of her
companions. The Count of San-Felice pointed out Teresawho
was hanging on Luigi's arm in a group of peasants. `Will you
allow mefather?' said Carmela. -- `Certainly' replied the
count`are we not in Carnival time?' -- Carmela turned
towards the young man who was talking with herand saying a
few words to himpointed with her finger to Teresa. The
young man lookedbowed in obedienceand then went to
Teresaand invited her to dance in a quadrille directed by
the count's daughter. Teresa felt a flush pass over her
face; she looked at Luigiwho could not refuse his assent.
Luigi slowly relinquished Teresa's armwhich he had held
beneath his ownand Teresaaccompanied by her elegant
cavaliertook her appointed place with much agitation in
the aristocratic quadrille. Certainlyin the eyes of an
artistthe exact and strict costume of Teresa had a very
different character from that of Carmela and her companions;
and Teresa was frivolous and coquettishand thus the
embroidery and muslinsthe cashmere waist-girdlesall
dazzled herand the reflection of sapphires and diamonds
almost turned her giddy brain.

Luigi felt a sensation hitherto unknown arising in his
mind. It was like an acute pain which gnawed at his heart,
and then thrilled through his whole body. He followed with
his eye each movement of Teresa and her cavalier; when their
hands touched, he felt as though he should swoon; every
pulse beat with violence, and it seemed as though a bell
were ringing in his ears. When they spoke, although Teresa
listened timidly and with downcast eyes to the conversation
of her cavalier, as Luigi could read in the ardent looks of


the good-looking young man that his language was that of
praise, it seemed as if the whole world was turning round
with him, and all the voices of hell were whispering in his
ears ideas of murder and assassination. Then fearing that
his paroxysm might get the better of him, he clutched with
one hand the branch of a tree against which he was leaning,
and with the other convulsively grasped the dagger with a
carved handle which was in his belt, and which, unwittingly,
he drew from the scabbard from time to time. Luigi was
jealous! He felt that, influenced by her ambitions and
coquettish disposition, Teresa might escape him.

The young peasant girlat first timid and scaredsoon
recovered herself. We have said that Teresa was handsome
but this is not all; Teresa was endowed with all those wild
graces which are so much more potent than our affected and
studied elegancies. She had almost all the honors of the
quadrilleand if she were envious of the Count of
San-Felice's daughterwe will not undertake to say that
Carmela was not jealous of her. And with overpowering
compliments her handsome cavalier led her back to the place
whence he had taken herand where Luigi awaited her. Twice
or thrice during the dance the young girl had glanced at
Luigiand each time she saw that he was pale and that his
features were agitatedonce even the blade of his knife
half drawn from its sheathhad dazzled her eyes with its
sinister glare. Thusit was almost tremblingly that she
resumed her lover's arm. The quadrille had been most
perfectand it was evident there was a great demand for a
repetitionCarmela alone objecting to itbut the Count of
San-Felice besought his daughter so earnestlythat she
acceded. One of the cavaliers then hastened to invite
Teresawithout whom it was impossible for the quadrille to
be formedbut the young girl had disappeared. The truth
wasthat Luigi had not felt the strength to support another
such trialandhalf by persuasion and half by forcehe
had removed Teresa toward another part of the garden. Teresa
had yielded in spite of herselfbut when she looked at the
agitated countenance of the young manshe understood by his
silence and trembling voice that something strange was
passing within him. She herself was not exempt from internal
emotionand without having done anything wrongyet fully
comprehended that Luigi was right in reproaching her. Why
she did not knowbut yet she did not the less feel that
these reproaches were merited. Howeverto Teresa's great
astonishmentLuigi remained muteand not a word escaped
his lips the rest of the evening. When the chill of the
night had driven away the guests from the gardensand the
gates of the villa were closed on them for the festa
in-doorshe took Teresa quite awayand as he left her at
her homehe said-


`Teresa, what were you thinking of as you danced opposite
the young Countess of San-Felice?' -- `I thought,' replied
the young girl, with all the frankness of her nature, `that
I would give half my life for a costume such as she wore.'

`And what said your cavalier to you?' -- `He said it only
depended on myself to have itand I had only one word to
say.'

`He was right,' said Luigi. `Do you desire it as ardently
as you say?' -- `Yes.' -- `Well, then, you shall have it!'


The young girlmuch astonishedraised her head to look at
himbut his face was so gloomy and terrible that her words
froze to her lips. As Luigi spoke thushe left her. Teresa
followed him with her eyes into the darkness as long as she
couldand when he had quite disappearedshe went into the
house with a sigh.

That night a memorable event occurred, due, no doubt, to
the imprudence of some servant who had neglected to
extinguish the lights. The Villa of San-Felice took fire in
the rooms adjoining the very apartment of the lovely
Carmela. Awakened in the night by the light of the flames,
she sprang out of bed, wrapped herself in a dressing-gown,
and attempted to escape by the door, but the corridor by
which she hoped to fly was already a prey to the flames. She
then returned to her room, calling for help as loudly as she
could, when suddenly her window, which was twenty feet from
the ground, was opened, a young peasant jumped into the
chamber, seized her in his arms, and with superhuman skill
and strength conveyed her to the turf of the grass-plot,
where she fainted. When she recovered, her father was by her
side. All the servants surrounded her, offering her
assistance. An entire wing of the villa was burnt down; but
what of that, as long as Carmela was safe and uninjured? Her
preserver was everywhere sought for, but he did not appear;
he was inquired after, but no one had seen him. Carmela was
greatly troubled that she had not recognized him. As the
count was immensely rich, excepting the danger Carmela had
run, -- and the marvellous manner in which she had escaped,
made that appear to him rather a favor of providence than a
real misfortune, -- the loss occasioned by the conflagration
was to him but a trifle.

The next dayat the usual hourthe two young peasants
were on the borders of the forest. Luigi arrived first. He
came toward Teresa in high spiritsand seemed to have
completely forgotten the events of the previous evening. The
young girl was very pensivebut seeing Luigi so cheerful
she on her part assumed a smiling airwhich was natural to
her when she was not excited or in a passion. Luigi took her
arm beneath his ownand led her to the door of the grotto.
Then he paused. The young girlperceiving that there was
something extraordinarylooked at him steadfastly.
`Teresa' said Luigi`yesterday evening you told me you
would give all the world to have a costume similar to that
of the count's daughter.' -- `Yes' replied Teresa with
astonishment; `but I was mad to utter such a wish.' -- `And
I repliedVery well, you shall have it.' -- `Yes'
replied the young girlwhose astonishment increased at
every word uttered by Luigi`but of course your reply was
only to please me.'

`I have promised no more than I have given you, Teresa,'
said Luigi proudly. `Go into the grotto and dress yourself.'
At these words he drew away the stone, and showed Teresa the
grotto, lighted up by two wax lights, which burnt on each
side of a splendid mirror; on a rustic table, made by Luigi,
were spread out the pearl necklace and the diamond pins, and
on a chair at the side was laid the rest of the costume.

Teresa uttered a cry of joyandwithout inquiring whence
this attire cameor even thanking Luigidarted into the
grottotransformed into a dressing-room. Luigi pushed the
stone behind herfor on the crest of a small adjacent hill


which cut off the view toward Palestrinahe saw a traveller
on horsebackstopping a momentas if uncertain of his
roadand thus presenting against the blue sky that perfect
outline which is peculiar to distant objects in southern
climes. When he saw Luigihe put his horse into a gallop
and advanced toward him. Luigi was not mistaken. The
travellerwho was going from Palestrina to Tivolihad
mistaken his way; the young man directed him; but as at a
distance of a quarter of a mile the road again divided into
three waysand on reaching these the traveller might again
stray from his routehe begged Luigi to be his guide. Luigi
threw his cloak on the groundplaced his carbine on his
shoulderand freed from his heavy coveringpreceded the
traveller with the rapid step of a mountaineerwhich a
horse can scarcely keep up with. In ten minutes Luigi and
the traveller reached the cross-roads. On arriving there
with an air as majestic as that of an emperorhe stretched
his hand towards that one of the roads which the traveller
was to follow. -- "That is your roadexcellencyand now
you cannot again mistake.' -- `And here is your recompense'
said the travelleroffering the young herdsman some small
pieces of money.

`Thank you,' said Luigi, drawing back his hand; `I render a
service, I do not sell it.' -- `Well,' replied the
traveller, who seemed used to this difference between the
servility of a man of the cities and the pride of the
mountaineer, `if you refuse wages, you will, perhaps, accept
a gift.' -- `Ah, yes, that is another thing.' -- `Then,'
said the traveller, `take these two Venetian sequins and
give them to your bride, to make herself a pair of
earrings.'

`And then do you take this poniard' said the young
herdsman; `you will not find one better carved between
Albano and Civita-Castellana.'

`I accept it,' answered the traveller, `but then the
obligation will be on my side, for this poniard is worth
more than two sequins.' -- `For a dealer perhaps; but for
me, who engraved it myself, it is hardly worth a piastre.'

`What is your name?' inquired the traveller. -- `Luigi
Vampa' replied the shepherdwith the same air as he would
have repliedAlexanderKing of Macedon. -- `And yours?' -`
I' said the traveller`am called Sinbad the Sailor.'"
Franz d'Epinay started with surprise.

Sinbad the Sailor.he said.

Yes,replied the narrator; "that was the name which the
traveller gave to Vampa as his own."

Well, and what may you have to say against this name?
inquired Albert; "it is a very pretty nameand the
adventures of the gentleman of that name amused me very much
in my youthI must confess." -- Franz said no more. The
name of Sinbad the Sailoras may well be supposedawakened
in him a world of recollectionsas had the name of the
Count of Monte Cristo on the previous evening.

Proceed!said he to the host.

Vampa put the two sequins haughtily into his pocket, and


slowly returned by the way he had gone. As he came within
two or three hundred paces of the grotto, he thought he
heard a cry. He listened to know whence this sound could
proceed. A moment afterwards he thought he heard his own
name pronounced distinctly. The cry proceeded from the
grotto. He bounded like a chamois, cocking his carbine as he
went, and in a moment reached the summit of a hill opposite
to that on which he had perceived the traveller. Three cries
for help came more distinctly to his ear. He cast his eyes
around him and saw a man carrying off Teresa, as Nessus, the
centaur, carried Dejanira. This man, who was hastening
towards the wood, was already three-quarters of the way on
the road from the grotto to the forest. Vampa measured the
distance; the man was at least two hundred paces in advance
of him, and there was not a chance of overtaking him. The
young shepherd stopped, as if his feet had been rooted to
the ground; then he put the butt of his carbine to his
shoulder, took aim at the ravisher, followed him for a
second in his track, and then fired. The ravisher stopped
suddenly, his knees bent under him, and he fell with Teresa
in his arms. The young girl rose instantly, but the man lay
on the earth struggling in the agonies of death. Vampa then
rushed towards Teresa; for at ten paces from the dying man
her legs had failed her, and she had dropped on her knees,
so that the young man feared that the ball that had brought
down his enemy, had also wounded his betrothed. Fortunately,
she was unscathed, and it was fright alone that had overcome
Teresa. When Luigi had assured himself that she was safe and
unharmed, he turned towards the wounded man. He had just
expired, with clinched hands, his mouth in a spasm of agony,
and his hair on end in the sweat of death. His eyes remained
open and menacing. Vampa approached the corpse, and
recognized Cucumetto. From the day on which the bandit had
been saved by the two young peasants, he had been enamoured
of Teresa, and had sworn she should be his. From that time
he had watched them, and profiting by the moment when her
lover had left her alone, had carried her off, and believed
he at length had her in his power, when the ball, directed
by the unerring skill of the young herdsman, had pierced his
heart. Vampa gazed on him for a moment without betraying the
slightest emotion; while, on the contrary, Teresa,
shuddering in every limb, dared not approach the slain
ruffian but by degrees, and threw a hesitating glance at the
dead body over the shoulder of her lover. Suddenly Vampa
turned toward his mistress: -- `Ah,' said he -- `good, good!
You are dressed; it is now my turn to dress myself.'

Teresa was clothed from head to foot in the garb of the
Count of San-Felice's daughter. Vampa took Cucumetto's body
in his arms and conveyed it to the grottowhile in her turn
Teresa remained outside. If a second traveller had passed
he would have seen a strange thing-- a shepherdess
watching her flockclad in a cashmere grownwith ear-rings
and necklace of pearlsdiamond pinsand buttons of
sapphiresemeraldsand rubies. He wouldno doubthave
believed that he had returned to the times of Florianand
would have declaredon reaching Paristhat he had met an
Alpine shepherdess seated at the foot of the Sabine Hill. At
the end of a quarter of an hour Vampa quitted the grotto;
his costume was no less elegant than that of Teresa. He wore
a vest of garnet-colored velvetwith buttons of cut gold; a
silk waistcoat covered with embroidery; a Roman scarf tied
round his neck; a cartridge-box worked with goldand red
and green silk; sky-blue velvet breechesfastened above the


knee with diamond buckles; garters of deerskinworked with
a thousand arabesquesand a hat whereon hung ribbons of all
colors; two watches hung from his girdleand a splendid
poniard was in his belt. Teresa uttered a cry of admiration.
Vampa in this attire resembled a painting by Leopold Robert
or Schnetz. He had assumed the entire costume of Cucumetto.
The young man saw the effect produced on his betrothedand
a smile of pride passed over his lips. -- `Now' he said to
Teresa`are you ready to share my fortunewhatever it may
be?' -- `Ohyes!' exclaimed the young girl
enthusiastically. -- `And follow me wherever I go?' -- `To
the world's end.' -- `Then take my armand let us on; we
have no time to lose.' -- The young girl did so without
questioning her lover as to where he was conducting herfor
he appeared to her at this moment as handsomeproudand
powerful as a god. They went towards the forestand soon
entered it. We need scarcely say that all the paths of the
mountain were known to Vampa; he therefore went forward
without a moment's hesitationalthough there was no beaten
trackbut he knew his path by looking at the trees and
bushesand thus they kept on advancing for nearly an hour
and a half. At the end of this time they had reached the
thickest of the forest. A torrentwhose bed was dryled
into a deep gorge. Vampa took this wild roadwhich
enclosed between two ridgesand shadowed by the tufted
umbrage of the pinesseemedbut for the difficulties of
its descentthat path to Avernus of which Virgil speaks.
Teresa had become alarmed at the wild and deserted look of
the plain around herand pressed closely against her guide
not uttering a syllable; but as she saw him advance with
even step and composed countenanceshe endeavored to
repress her emotion. Suddenlyabout ten paces from thema
man advanced from behind a tree and aimed at Vampa. -- `Not
another step' he said`or you are a dead man.' -- `What
then' said Vamparaising his hand with a gesture of
disdainwhile Teresano longer able to restrain her alarm
clung closely to him`do wolves rend each other?' -- `Who
are you?' inquired the sentinel. -- `I am Luigi Vampa
shepherd of the San-Felice farm.' -- `What do you want?' -`
I would speak with your companions who are in the glade at
Rocca Bianca.' -- `Follow methen' said the sentinel; `or
as you know your waygo first.' -- Vampa smiled
disdainfully at this precaution on the part of the bandit
went before Teresaand continued to advance with the same
firm and easy step as before. At the end of ten minutes the
bandit made them a sign to stop. The two young persons
obeyed. Then the bandit thrice imitated the cry of a crow; a
croak answered this signal. -- `Good!' said the sentry`you
may now go on.' -- Luigi and Teresa again set forward; as
they went on Teresa clung tremblingly to her lover at the
sight of weapons and the glistening of carbines through the
trees. The retreat of Rocca Bianca was at the top of a small
mountainwhich no doubt in former days had been a volcano
-- an extinct volcano before the days when Remus and Romulus
had deserted Alba to come and found the city of Rome. Teresa
and Luigi reached the summitand all at once found
themselves in the presence of twenty bandits. `Here is a
young man who seeks and wishes to speak to you' said the
sentinel. -- `What has he to say?' inquired the young man
who was in command in the chief's absence. -- `I wish to say
that I am tired of a shepherd's life' was Vampa's reply. -`
AhI understand' said the lieutenant; `and you seek
admittance into our ranks?' -- `Welcome!' cried several
bandits from FerrusinoPampinaraand Anagniwho had


recognized Luigi Vampa. -- `Yesbut I came to ask something
more than to be your companion.' -- `And what may that be?'
inquired the bandits with astonishment. -- `I come to ask to
be your captain' said the young man. The bandits shouted
with laughter. `And what have you done to aspire to this
honor?' demanded the lieutenant. -- `I have killed your
chiefCucumettowhose dress I now wear; and I set fire to
the villa San-Felice to procure a wedding-dress for my
betrothed.' An hour afterwards Luigi Vampa was chosen
captainvice Cucumetto deceased."

Well, my dear Albert,said Franzturning towards his
friend; "what think you of citizen Luigi Vampa?"

I say he is a myth,replied Albertand never had an
existence.

And what may a myth be?inquired Pastrini.

The explanation would be too long, my dear landlord,
replied Franz.

And you say that Signor Vampa exercises his profession at
this moment in the environs of Rome?

And with a boldness of which no bandit before him ever gave
an example.

Then the police have vainly tried to lay hands on him?

Why, you see, he has a good understanding with the
shepherds in the plains, the fishermen of the Tiber, and the
smugglers of the coast. They seek for him in the mountains,
and he is on the waters; they follow him on the waters, and
he is on the open sea; then they pursue him, and he has
suddenly taken refuge in the islands, at Giglio, Guanouti,
or Monte Cristo; and when they hunt for him there, he
reappears suddenly at Albano, Tivoli, or La Riccia.

And how does he behave towards travellers?

Alas! his plan is very simple. It depends on the distance
he may be from the city, whether he gives eight hours,
twelve hours, or a day wherein to pay their ransom; and when
that time has elapsed he allows another hour's grace. At the
sixtieth minute of this hour, if the money is not
forthcoming, he blows out the prisoner's brains with a
pistol-shot, or plants his dagger in his heart, and that
settles the account.

Well, Albert,inquired Franz of his companionare you
still disposed to go to the Colosseum by the outer wall?

Quite so,said Albertif the way be picturesque.The
clock struck nine as the door openedand a coachman
appeared. "Excellencies said he, the coach is ready."

Well, then,said Franzlet us to the Colosseum.

By the Porta del Popolo or by the streets, your
excellencies?

By the streets, morbleu, by the streets!cried Franz.


Ah, my dear fellow,said Albertrisingand lighting his
third cigarreally, I thought you had more courage.So
sayingthe two young men went down the staircaseand got
into the carriage.

Chapter 34
The Colosseum.

Franz had so managed his routethat during the ride to the
Colosseum they passed not a single ancient ruinso that no
preliminary impression interfered to mitigate the colossal
proportions of the gigantic building they came to admire.
The road selected was a continuation of the Via Sistina;
then by cutting off the right angle of the street in which
stands Santa Maria Maggiore and proceeding by the Via Urbana
and San Pietro in Vincolithe travellers would find
themselves directly opposite the Colosseum. This itinerary
possessed another great advantage-- that of leaving Franz
at full liberty to indulge his deep reverie upon the subject
of Signor Pastrini's storyin which his mysterious host of
Monte Cristo was so strangely mixed up. Seated with folded
arms in a corner of the carriagehe continued to ponder
over the singular history he had so lately listened toand
to ask himself an interminable number of questions touching
its various circumstances withouthoweverarriving at a
satisfactory reply to any of them. One fact more than the
rest brought his friend "Sinbad the Sailor" back to his
recollectionand that was the mysterious sort of intimacy
that seemed to exist between the brigands and the sailors;
and Pastrini's account of Vampa's having found refuge on
board the vessels of smugglers and fishermenreminded Franz
of the two Corsican bandits he had found supping so amicably
with the crew of the little yachtwhich had even deviated
from its course and touched at Porto-Vecchio for the sole
purpose of landing them. The very name assumed by his host
of Monte Cristo and again repeated by the landlord of the
Hotel de Londresabundantly proved to him that his island
friend was playing his philanthropic part on the shores of
PiombinoCivita-VecchioOstiaand Gaetaas on those of
CorsicaTuscanyand Spain; and furtherFranz bethought
him of having heard his singular entertainer speak both of
Tunis and Palermoproving thereby how largely his circle of
acquaintances extended.

But however the mind of the young man might he absorbed in
these reflectionsthey were at once dispersed at the sight
of the dark frowning ruins of the stupendous Colosseum
through the various openings of which the pale moonlight
played and flickered like the unearthly gleam from the eyes
of the wandering dead. The carriage stopped near the Meta
Sudans; the door was openedand the young meneagerly
alightingfound themselves opposite a ciceronewho
appeared to have sprung up from the groundso unexpected
was his appearance.

The usual guide from the hotel having followed themthey
had paid two conductorsnor is it possibleat Rometo
avoid this abundant supply of guides; besides the ordinary
ciceronewho seizes upon you directly you set foot in your
hoteland never quits you while you remain in the city
there is also a special cicerone belonging to each monument
-- nayalmost to each part of a monument. It may


thereforebe easily imagined there is no scarcity of guides
at the Colosseumthat wonder of all ageswhich Martial
thus eulogizes: "Let Memphis cease to boast the barbarous
miracles of her pyramidsand the wonders of Babylon be
talked of no more among us; all must bow to the superiority
of the gigantic labor of the Caesarsand the many voices of
Fame spread far and wide the surpassing merits of this
incomparable monument."

As for Albert and Franzthey essayed not to escape from
their ciceronian tyrants; andindeedit would have been so
much the more difficult to break their bondageas the
guides alone are permitted to visit these monuments with
torches in their hands. Thusthenthe young men made no
attempt at resistancebut blindly and confidingly
surrendered themselves into the care and custody of their
conductors. Albert had already made seven or eight similar
excursions to the Colosseumwhile his less favored
companion trod for the first time in his life the classic
ground forming the monument of Flavius Vespasian; andto
his credit be it spokenhis mindeven amid the glib
loquacity of the guideswas duly and deeply touched with
awe and enthusiastic admiration of all he saw; and certainly
no adequate notion of these stupendous ruins can be formed
save by such as have visited themand more especially by
moonlightat which time the vast proportions of the
building appear twice as large when viewed by the mysterious
beams of a southern moonlit skywhose rays are sufficiently
clear and vivid to light the horizon with a glow equal to
the soft twilight of an eastern clime. Scarcelytherefore
had the reflective Franz walked a hundred steps beneath the
interior porticoes of the ruinthanabandoning Albert to
the guides (who would by no means yield their prescriptive
right of carrying their victims through the routine
regularly laid downand as regularly followed by thembut
dragged the unconscious visitor to the various objects with
a pertinacity that admitted of no appealbeginningas a
matter of coursewith the Lions' Denand finishing with
Caesar's "Podium), to escape a jargon and mechanical
survey of the wonders by which he was surrounded, Franz
ascended a half-dilapidated staircase, and, leaving them to
follow their monotonous round, seated himself at the foot of
a column, and immediately opposite a large aperture, which
permitted him to enjoy a full and undisturbed view of the
gigantic dimensions of the majestic ruin.

Franz had remained for nearly a quarter of an hour perfectly
hidden by the shadow of the vast column at whose base he had
found a resting-place, and from whence his eyes followed the
motions of Albert and his guides, who, holding torches in
their hands, had emerged from a vomitarium at the opposite
extremity of the Colosseum, and then again disappeared down
the steps conducting to the seats reserved for the Vestal
virgins, resembling, as they glided along, some restless
shades following the flickering glare of so many
ignes-fatui. All at once his ear caught a sound resembling
that of a stone rolling down the staircase opposite the one
by which he had himself ascended. There was nothing
remarkable in the circumstance of a fragment of granite
giving way and falling heavily below; but it seemed to him
that the substance that fell gave way beneath the pressure
of a foot, and also that some one, who endeavored as much as
possible to prevent his footsteps from being heard, was
approaching the spot where he sat. Conjecture soon became


certainty, for the figure of a man was distinctly visible to
Franz, gradually emerging from the staircase opposite, upon
which the moon was at that moment pouring a full tide of
silvery brightness.

The stranger thus presenting himself was probably a person
who, like Franz, preferred the enjoyment of solitude and his
own thoughts to the frivolous gabble of the guides. And his
appearance had nothing extraordinary in it; but the
hesitation with which he proceeded, stopping and listening
with anxious attention at every step he took, convinced
Franz that he expected the arrival of some person. By a sort
of instinctive impulse, Franz withdrew as much as possible
behind his pillar. About ten feet from the spot where he and
the stranger were, the roof had given way, leaving a large
round opening, through which might be seen the blue vault of
heaven, thickly studded with stars. Around this opening,
which had, possibly, for ages permitted a free entrance to
the brilliant moonbeams that now illumined the vast pile,
grew a quantity of creeping plants, whose delicate green
branches stood out in bold relief against the clear azure of
the firmament, while large masses of thick, strong fibrous
shoots forced their way through the chasm, and hung floating
to and fro, like so many waving strings. The person whose
mysterious arrival had attracted the attention of Franz
stood in a kind of half-light, that rendered it impossible
to distinguish his features, although his dress was easily
made out. He wore a large brown mantle, one fold of which,
thrown over his left shoulder, served likewise to mask the
lower part of his countenance, while the upper part was
completely hidden by his broad-brimmed hat. The lower part
of his dress was more distinctly visible by the bright rays
of the moon, which, entering through the broken ceiling,
shed their refulgent beams on feet cased in elegantly made
boots of polished leather, over which descended fashionably
cut trousers of black cloth.

From the imperfect means Franz had of judging, he could only
come to one conclusion, -- that the person whom he was thus
watching certainly belonged to no inferior station of life.
Some few minutes had elapsed, and the stranger began to show
manifest signs of impatience, when a slight noise was heard
outside the aperture in the roof, and almost immediately a
dark shadow seemed to obstruct the flood of light that had
entered it, and the figure of a man was clearly seen gazing
with eager scrutiny on the immense space beneath him; then,
as his eye caught sight of him in the mantle, he grasped a
floating mass of thickly matted boughs, and glided down by
their help to within three or four feet of the ground, and
then leaped lightly on his feet. The man who had performed
this daring act with so much indifference wore the
Transtevere costume. I beg your excellency's pardon for
keeping you waiting said the man, in the Roman dialect,
but I don't think I'm many minutes after my timeten
o'clock his just struck on the Lateran."

Say not a word about being late,replied the stranger in
purest Tuscan; "'tis I who am too soon. But even if you had
caused me to wait a little whileI should have felt quite
sure that the delay was not occasioned by any fault of
yours."

Your excellency is perfectly right in so thinking,said
the man; "I came here direct from the Castle of St. Angelo


and I had an immense deal of trouble before I could get a
chance to speak to Beppo."

And who is Beppo?

Oh, Beppo is employed in the prison, and I give him so much
a year to let me know what is going on within his holiness's
castle.

Indeed! You are a provident person, I see.

Why, you see, no one knows what may happen. Perhaps some of
these days I may be entrapped, like poor Peppino and may be
very glad to have some little nibbling mouse to gnaw the
meshes of my net, and so help me out of prison.

Briefly, what did you glean?

That two executions of considerable interest will take
place the day after to-morrow at two o'clock, as is
customary at Rome at the commencement of all great
festivals. One of the culprits will be mazzolato;* he is an
atrocious villain, who murdered the priest who brought him
up, and deserves not the smallest pity. The other sufferer
is sentenced to be decapitato;** and he, your excellency, is
poor Peppino.

* Knocked on the head.
** Beheaded.
The fact is, that you have inspired not only the pontifical
government, but also the neighboring states, with such
extreme fear, that they are glad of all opportunity of
making an example.

But Peppino did not even belong to my band: he was merely a
poor shepherd, whose only crime consisted in furnishing us
with provisions.

Which makes him your accomplice to all intents and
purposes. But mark the distinction with which he is treated;
instead of being knocked on the head as you would be if once
they caught hold of you, he is simply sentenced to be
guillotined, by which means, too, the amusements of the day
are diversified, and there is a spectacle to please every
spectator.

Without reckoning the wholly unexpected one I am preparing
to surprise them with.

My good friend,said the man in the cloakexcuse me for
saying that you seem to me precisely in the mood to commit
some wild or extravagant act.

Perhaps I am; but one thing I have resolved on, and that
is, to stop at nothing to restore a poor devil to liberty,
who has got into this scrape solely from having served me. I
should hate and despise myself as a coward did I desert the
brave fellow in his present extremity.

And what do you mean to do?

To surround the scaffold with twenty of my best men, who,
at a signal from me, will rush forward directly Peppino is


brought for execution, and, by the assistance of their
stilettos, drive back the guard, and carry off the
prisoner.

That seems to me as hazardous as uncertain, and convinces
me that my scheme is far better than yours.

And what is your excellency's project?

Just this. I will so advantageously bestow 2,000 piastres,
that the person receiving them shall obtain a respite till
next year for Peppino; and during that year, another
skilfully placed 1,000 piastres will afford him the means of
escaping from his prison.

And do you feel sure of succeeding?

Pardieu!exclaimed the man in the cloaksuddenly
expressing himself in French.

What did your excellency say?inquired the other.

I said, my good fellow, that I would do more single-handed
by the means of gold than you and all your troop could
effect with stilettos, pistols, carbines, and blunderbusses
included. Leave me, then, to act, and have no fears for the
result.

At least, there can be no harm in myself and party being in
readiness, in case your excellency should fail.

None whatever. Take what precautions you please, if it is
any satisfaction to you to do so; but rely upon my obtaining
the reprieve I seek.

Remember, the execution is fixed for the day after
tomorrow, and that you have but one day to work in.

And what of that? Is not a day divided into twenty-four
hours, each hour into sixty minutes, and every minute
sub-divided into sixty seconds? Now in 86,400 seconds very
many things can be done.

And how shall I know whether your excellency has succeeded
or not.

Oh, that is very easily arranged. I have engaged the three
lower windows at the Cafe Rospoli; should I have obtained
the requisite pardon for Peppino, the two outside windows
will be hung with yellow damasks, and the centre with white,
having a large cross in red marked on it.

And whom will you employ to carry the reprieve to the
officer directing the execution?

Send one of your men, disguised as a penitent friar, and I
will give it to him. His dress will procure him the means of
approaching the scaffold itself, and he will deliver the
official order to the officer, who, in his turn, will hand
it to the executioner; in the meantime, it will be as well
to acquaint Peppino with what we have determined on, if it
be only to prevent his dying of fear or losing his senses,
because in either case a very useless expense will have been
incurred.


Your excellency,said the manyou are fully persuaded of
my entire devotion to you, are you not?

Nay, I flatter myself that there can be no doubt of it,
replied the cavalier in the cloak.

Well, then, only fulfil your promise of rescuing Peppino,
and henceforward you shall receive not only devotion, but
the most absolute obedience from myself and those under me
that one human being can render to another.

Have a care how far you pledge yourself, my good friend,
for I may remind you of your promise at some, perhaps, not
very distant period, when I, in my turn, may require your
aid and influence.

Let that day come sooner or later, your excellency will
find me what I have found you in this my heavy trouble; and
if from the other end of the world you but write me word to
do such or such a thing, you may regard it as done, for done
it shall be, on the word and faith of-


Hush!interrupted the stranger; "I hear a noise."

'Tis some travellers, who are visiting the Colosseum by
torchlight.

'Twere better we should not be seen together; those guides
are nothing but spies, and might possibly recognize you;
and, however I may be honored by your friendship, my worthy
friend, if once the extent of our intimacy were known, I am
sadly afraid both my reputation and credit would suffer
thereby.

Well, then, if you obtain the reprieve?

The middle window at the Cafe Rospoli will be hung with
white damask, bearing a red cross.

And if you fail?

Then all three windows will have yellow draperies.

And then?

And then, my good fellow, use your daggers in any way you
please, and I further promise you to be there as a spectator
of your prowess.

We understand each other perfectly, then. Adieu, your
excellency; depend upon me as firmly as I do upon you.

Saying these wordsthe Transteverin disappeared down the
staircasewhile his companionmuffling his features more
closely than before in the folds of his mantlepassed
almost close to Franzand descended to the arena by an
outward flight of steps. The next minute Franz heard himself
called by Albertwho made the lofty building re-echo with
the sound of his friend's name. Franzhoweverdid not obey
the summons till he had satisfied himself that the two men
whose conversation he had overheard were at a sufficient
distance to prevent his encountering them in his descent. In
ten minutes after the strangers had departedFranz was on


the road to the Piazza de Spagnilistening with studied
indifference to the learned dissertation delivered by
Albertafter the manner of Pliny and Calpurniustouching
the iron-pointed nets used to prevent the ferocious beasts
from springing on the spectators. Franz let him proceed
without interruptionandin factdid not hear what was
said; he longed to be aloneand free to ponder over all
that had occurred. One of the two menwhose mysterious
meeting in the Colosseum he had so unintentionally
witnessedwas an entire stranger to himbut not so the
other; and though Franz had been unable to distinguish his
featuresfrom his being either wrapped in his mantle or
obscured by the shadowthe tones of his voice had made too
powerful an impression on him the first time he had heard
them for him ever again to forget themhear them when or
where he might. It was more especially when this man was
speaking in a manner half jestinghalf bitterthat Franz's
ear recalled most vividly the deep sonorousyet
well-pitched voice that had addressed him in the grotto of
Monte Cristoand which he heard for the second time amid
the darkness and ruined grandeur of the Colosseum. And the
more he thoughtthe more entire was his convictionthat
the person who wore the mantle was no other than his former
host and entertainerSinbad the Sailor.

Under any other circumstancesFranz would have found it
impossible to resist his extreme curiosity to know more of
so singular a personageand with that intent have sought to
renew their short acquaintance; but in the present instance
the confidential nature of the conversation he had overheard
made himwith proprietyjudge that his appearance at such
a time would be anything but agreeable. As we have seen
thereforehe permitted his former host to retire without
attempting a recognitionbut fully promising himself a rich
indemnity for his present forbearance should chance afford
him another opportunity. In vain did Franz endeavor to
forget the many perplexing thoughts which assailed him; in
vain did he court the refreshment of sleep. Slumber refused
to visit his eyelids and the night was passed in feverish
contemplation of the chain of circumstances tending to prove
the identity of the mysterious visitant to the Colosseum
with the inhabitant of the grotto of Monte Cristo; and the
more he thoughtthe firmer grew his opinion on the subject.
Worn out at lengthhe fell asleep at daybreakand did not
awake till late. Like a genuine FrenchmanAlbert had
employed his time in arranging for the evening's diversion;
he had sent to engage a box at the Teatro Argentino; and
Franzhaving a number of letters to writerelinquished the
carriage to Albert for the whole of the day. At five o'clock
Albert returneddelighted with his day's work; he had been
occupied in leaving his letters of introductionand had
received in return more invitations to balls and routs than
it would be possible for him to accept; besides thishe had
seen (as he called it) all the remarkable sights at Rome.
Yesin a single day he had accomplished what his more
serious-minded companion would have taken weeks to effect.
Neither had he neglected to ascertain the name of the piece
to be played that night at the Teatro Argentinoand also
what performers appeared in it.

The opera of "Parisina" was announced for representation
and the principal actors were CoselliMorianiand La
Specchia. The young menthereforehad reason to consider
themselves fortunate in having the opportunity of hearing


one of the best works by the composer of "Lucia di
Lammermoor supported by three of the most renowned
vocalists of Italy. Albert had never been able to endure the
Italian theatres, with their orchestras from which it is
impossible to see, and the absence of balconies, or open
boxes; all these defects pressed hard on a man who had had
his stall at the Bouffes, and had shared a lower box at the
Opera. Still, in spite of this, Albert displayed his most
dazzling and effective costumes each time he visited the
theatres; but, alas, his elegant toilet was wholly thrown
away, and one of the most worthy representatives of Parisian
fashion had to carry with him the mortifying reflection that
he had nearly overrun Italy without meeting with a single
adventure.

Sometimes Albert would affect to make a joke of his want of
success; but internally he was deeply wounded, and his
self-love immensely piqued, to think that Albert de Morcerf,
the most admired and most sought after of any young person
of his day, should thus be passed over, and merely have his
labor for his pains. And the thing was so much the more
annoying, as, according to the characteristic modesty of a
Frenchman, Albert had quitted Paris with the full conviction
that he had only to show himself in Italy to carry all
before him, and that upon his return he should astonish the
Parisian world with the recital of his numerous
love-affairs. Alas, poor Albert! none of those interesting
adventures fell in his way; the lovely Genoese, Florentines,
and Neapolitans were all faithful, if not to their husbands,
at least to their lovers, and thought not of changing even
for the splendid appearance of Albert de Morcerf; and all he
gained was the painful conviction that the ladies of Italy
have this advantage over those of France, that they are
faithful even in their infidelity. Yet he could not restrain
a hope that in Italy, as elsewhere, there might be an
exception to the general rule. Albert, besides being an
elegant, well-looking young man, was also possessed of
considerable talent and ability; moreover, he was a viscount
-- a recently created one, certainly, but in the present day
it is not necessary to go as far back as Noah in tracing a
descent, and a genealogical tree is equally estimated,
whether dated from 1399 or merely 1815; but to crown all
these advantages, Albert de Morcerf commanded an income of
50,000 livres, a more than sufficient sum to render him a
personage of considerable importance in Paris. It was
therefore no small mortification to him to have visited most
of the principal cities in Italy without having excited the
most trifling observation. Albert, however, hoped to
indemnify himself for all these slights and indifferences
during the Carnival, knowing full well that among the
different states and kingdoms in which this festivity is
celebrated, Rome is the spot where even the wisest and
gravest throw off the usual rigidity of their lives, and
deign to mingle in the follies of this time of liberty and
relaxation.

The Carnival was to commence on the morrow; therefore Albert
had not an instant to lose in setting forth the programme of
his hopes, expectations, and claims to notice. With this
design he had engaged a box in the most conspicuous part of
the theatre, and exerted himself to set off his personal
attractions by the aid of the most rich and elaborate
toilet. The box taken by Albert was in the first circle;
although each of the three tiers of boxes is deemed equally


aristocratic, and is, for this reason, generally styled the
nobility's boxes and although the box engaged for the two
friends was sufficiently capacious to contain at least a
dozen persons, it had cost less than would be paid at some
of the French theatres for one admitting merely four
occupants. Another motive had influenced Albert's selection
of his seat, -- who knew but that, thus advantageously
placed, he might not in truth attract the notice of some
fair Roman, and an introduction might ensue that would
procure him the offer of a seat in a carriage, or a place in
a princely balcony, from which he might behold the gayeties
of the Carnival? These united considerations made Albert
more lively and anxious to please than he had hitherto been.
Totally disregarding the business of the stage, he leaned
from his box and began attentively scrutinizing the beauty
of each pretty woman, aided by a powerful opera-glass; but,
alas, this attempt to attract notice wholly failed; not even
curiosity had been excited, and it was but too apparent that
the lovely creatures, into whose good graces he was desirous
of stealing, were all so much engrossed with themselves,
their lovers, or their own thoughts, that they had not so
much as noticed him or the manipulation of his glass.

The truth was, that the anticipated pleasures of the
Carnival, with the holy week" that was to succeed itso
filled every fair breastas to prevent the least attention
being bestowed even on the business of the stage. The actors
made their entries and exits unobserved or unthought of; at
certain conventional momentsthe spectators would suddenly
cease their conversationor rouse themselves from their
musingsto listen to some brilliant effort of Moriani'sa
well-executed recitative by Cosellior to join in loud
applause at the wonderful powers of La Specchia; but that
momentary excitement overthey quickly relapsed into their
former state of preoccupation or interesting conversation.
Towards the close of the first actthe door of a box which
had been hitherto vacant was opened; a lady entered to whom
Franz had been introduced in Pariswhere indeedhe had
imagined she still was. The quick eye of Albert caught the
involuntary start with which his friend beheld the new
arrivalandturning to himhe said hastilyDo you know
the woman who has just entered that box?

Yes; what do you think of her?

Oh, she is perfectly lovely -- what a complexion! And such
magnificent hair! Is she French?

No; a Venetian.

And her name is --

Countess G---- .

Ah, I know her by name!exclaimed Albert; "she is said to
possess as much wit and cleverness as beauty. I was to have
been presented to her when I met her at Madame Villefort's
ball."

Shall I assist you in repairing your negligence?asked
Franz.

My dear fellow, are you really on such good terms with her
as to venture to take me to her box?


Why, I have only had the honor of being in her society and
conversing with her three or four times in my life; but you
know that even such an acquaintance as that might warrant my
doing what you ask.At that instantthe countess perceived
Franzand graciously waved her hand to himto which he
replied by a respectful inclination of the head. "Upon my
word said Albert, you seem to be on excellent terms with
the beautiful countess."

You are mistaken in thinking so,returned Franz calmly;
but you merely fall into the same error which leads so many
of our countrymen to commit the most egregious blunders, -I
mean that of judging the habits and customs of Italy and
Spain by our Parisian notions; believe me, nothing is more
fallacious than to form any estimate of the degree of
intimacy you may suppose existing among persons by the
familiar terms they seem upon; there is a similarity of
feeling at this instant between ourselves and the countess
-- nothing more.

Is there, indeed, my good fellow? Pray tell me, is it
sympathy of heart?

No; of taste,continued Franz gravely.

And in what manner has this congeniality of mind been
evinced?

By the countess's visiting the Colosseum, as we did last
night, by moonlight, and nearly alone.

You were with her, then?

I was.

And what did you say to her?

Oh, we talked of the illustrious dead of whom that
magnificent ruin is a glorious monument!

Upon my word,cried Albertyou must have been a very
entertaining companion alone, or all but alone, with a
beautiful woman in such a place of sentiment as the
Colosseum, and yet to find nothing better a talk about than
the dead! All I can say is, if ever I should get such a
chance, the living should be my theme.

And you will probably find your theme ill-chosen.

But,said Albertbreaking in upon his discoursenever
mind the past; let us only remember the present. Are you not
going to keep your promise of introducing me to the fair
subject of our remarks?

Certainly, directly the curtain falls on the stage.

What a confounded time this first act takes. I believe, on
my soul, that they never mean to finish it.

Oh, yes, they will; only listen to that charming finale.
How exquisitely Coselli sings his part.

But what an awkward, inelegant fellow he is.


Well, then, what do you say to La Specchia? Did you ever
see anything more perfect than her acting?

Why, you know, my dear fellow, when one has been accustomed
to Malibran and Sontag, such singers as these don't make the
same impression on you they perhaps do on others.

At least, you must admire Moriani's style and execution.

I never fancied men of his dark, ponderous appearance
singing with a voice like a woman's.

My good friend,said Franzturning to himwhile Albert
continued to point his glass at every box in the theatre
you seem determined not to approve; you are really too
difficult to please.The curtain at length fell on the
performancesto the infinite satisfaction of the Viscount
of Morcerfwho seized his hatrapidly passed his fingers
through his hairarranged his cravat and wristbandsand
signified to Franz that he was waiting for him to lead the
way. Franzwho had mutely interrogated the countessand
received from her a gracious smile in token that he would be
welcomesought not to retard the gratification of Albert's
eager impatiencebut began at once the tour of the house
closely followed by Albertwho availed himself of the few
minutes required to reach the opposite side of the theatre
to settle the height and smoothness of his collarand to
arrange the lappets of his coat. This important task was
just completed as they arrived at the countess's box. At the
knockthe door was immediately openedand the young man
who was seated beside the countessin obedience to the
Italian custominstantly rose and surrendered his place to
the strangerswhoin turnwould be expected to retire
upon the arrival of other visitors.

Franz presented Albert as one of the most distinguished
young men of the dayboth as regarded his position in
society and extraordinary talents; nor did he say more than
the truthfor in Paris and the circle in which the viscount
movedhe was looked upon and cited as a model of
perfection. Franz added that his companiondeeply grieved
at having been prevented the honor of being presented to the
countess during her sojourn in Pariswas most anxious to
make up for itand had requested him (Franz) to remedy the
past misfortune by conducting him to her boxand concluded
by asking pardon for his presumption in having taken it upon
himself to do so. The countessin replybowed gracefully
to Albertand extended her hand with cordial kindness to
Franz; theninviting Albert to take the vacant seat beside
hershe recommended Franz to take the next bestif he
wished to view the balletand pointed to the one behind her
own chair. Albert was soon deeply engrossed in discoursing
upon Paris and Parisian mattersspeaking to the countess of
the various persons they both knew there. Franz perceived
how completely he was in his element; andunwilling to
interfere with the pleasure he so evidently felttook up
Albert's glassand began in his turn to survey the
audience. Sitting alonein the front of a box immediately
oppositebut situated on the third rowwas a woman of
exquisite beautydressed in a Greek costumewhich
evidentlyfrom the ease and grace with which she wore it
was her national attire. Behind herbut in deep shadowwas
the outline of a masculine figure; but the features of this


latter personage it was not possible to distinguish. Franz
could not forbear breaking in upon the apparently
interesting conversation passing between the countess and
Albertto inquire of the former if she knew who was the
fair Albanian oppositesince beauty such as hers was well
worthy of being observed by either sex. "All I can tell
about her replied the countess, isthat she has been at
Rome since the beginning of the season; for I saw her where
she now sits the very first night of the seasonand since
then she has never missed a performance. Sometimes she is
accompanied by the person who is now with herand at others
she is merely attended by a black servant."

And what do you think of her personal appearance?

Oh, I consider her perfectly lovely -- she is just my idea
of what Medora must have been.

Franz and the countess exchanged a smileand then the
latter resumed her conversation with Albertwhile Franz
returned to his previous survey of the house and company.
The curtain rose on the balletwhich was one of those
excellent specimens of the Italian schooladmirably
arranged and put on the stage by Henriwho has established
for himself a great reputation throughout Italy for his
taste and skill in the choreographic art -- one of those
masterly productions of gracemethodand elegance in which
the whole corps de balletfrom the principal dancers to the
humblest supernumeraryare all engaged on the stage at the
same time; and a hundred and fifty persons may be seen
exhibiting the same attitudeor elevating the same arm or
leg with a simultaneous movementthat would lead you to
suppose that but one mindone act of volitioninfluenced
the moving mass -- the ballet was called "Poliska." However
much the ballet might have claimed his attentionFranz was
too deeply occupied with the beautiful Greek to take any
note of it; while she seemed to experience an almost
childlike delight in watching ither eageranimated looks
contrasting strongly with the utter indifference of her
companionwhoduring the whole time the piece lasted
never even movednot even when the furiouscrashing din
produced by the trumpetscymbalsand Chinese bells sounded
their loudest from the orchestra. Of this he took no heed
but wasas far as appearances might be trustedenjoying
soft repose and bright celestial dreams. The ballet at
length came to a closeand the curtain fell amid the loud
unanimous plaudits of an enthusiastic and delighted
audience.

Owing to the very judicious plan of dividing the two acts of
the opera with a balletthe pauses between the performances
are very shortthe singers in the opera having time to
repose themselves and change their costumewhen necessary
while the dancers are executing their pirouettes and
exhibiting their graceful steps. The overture to the second
act began; andat the first sound of the leader's bow
across his violinFranz observed the sleeper slowly arise
and approach the Greek girlwho turned around to say a few
words to himand thenleaning forward again on the railing
of her boxshe became as absorbed as before in what was
going on. The countenance of the person who had addressed
her remained so completely in the shadethatthough Franz
tried his utmosthe could not distinguish a single feature.
The curtain roseand the attention of Franz was attracted


by the actors; and his eyes turned from the box containing
the Greek girl and her strange companion to watch the
business of the stage.

Most of my readers are aware that the second act of
Parisinaopens with the celebrated and effective duet in
which Parisinawhile sleepingbetrays to Azzo the secret
of her love for Ugo. The injured husband goes through all
the emotions of jealousyuntil conviction seizes on his
mindand thenin a frenzy of rage and indignationhe
awakens his guilty wife to tell her that he knows her guilt
and to threaten her with his vengeance. This duet is one of
the most beautifulexpressive and terrible conceptions that
has ever emanated from the fruitful pen of Donizetti. Franz
now listened to it for the third time; yet it's notesso
tenderly expressive and fearfully grand as the wretched
husband and wife give vent to their different griefs and
passionsthrilled through the soul of Franz with an effect
equal to his first emotions upon hearing it. Excited beyond
his usual calm demeanorFranz rose with the audienceand
was about to join the loudenthusiastic applause that
followed; but suddenly his purpose was arrestedhis hands
fell by his sidesand the half-uttered "bravos" expired on
his lips. The occupant of the box in which the Greek girl
sat appeared to share the universal admiration that
prevailed; for he left his seat to stand up in frontso
thathis countenance being fully revealedFranz had no
difficulty in recognizing him as the mysterious inhabitant
of Monte Cristoand the very same person he had encountered
the preceding evening in the ruins of the Colosseumand
whose voice and figure had seemed so familiar to him. All
doubt of his identity was now at an end; his singular host
evidently resided at Rome. The surprise and agitation
occasioned by this full confirmation of Franz's former
suspicion had no doubt imparted a corresponding expression
to his features; for the countessafter gazing with a
puzzled look at his faceburst into a fit of laughterand
begged to know what had happened. "Countess returned
Franz, totally unheeding her raillery, I asked you a short
time since if you knew any particulars respecting the
Albanian lady opposite; I must now beseech you to inform me
who and what is her husband?"

Nay,answered the countessI know no more of him than
yourself.

Perhaps you never before noticed him?

What a question -- so truly French! Do you not know that we
Italians have eyes only for the man we love?

True,replied Franz.

All I call say is,continued the countesstaking up the
lorgnetteand directing it toward the box in question
that the gentleman, whose history I am unable to furnish,
seems to me as though he had just been dug up; he looks more
like a corpse permitted by some friendly grave-digger to
quit his tomb for a while, and revisit this earth of ours,
than anything human. How ghastly pale he is!

Oh, he is always as colorless as you now see him,said
Franz.


Then you know him?almost screamed the countess. "Ohpray
dofor heaven's saketell us all about -- is he a vampire
or a resuscitated corpseor what?"

I fancy I have seen him before; and I even think he
recognizes me.

And I can well understand,said the countessshrugging up
her beautiful shouldersas though an involuntary shudder
passed through her veinsthat those who have once seen
that man will never be likely to forget him.The sensation
experienced by Franz was evidently not peculiar to himself;
anotherand wholly uninterested personfelt the same
unaccountable awe and misgiving. "Well." inquired Franz
after the countess had a second time directed her lorgnette
at the boxwhat do you think of our opposite neighbor?

Why, that he is no other than Lord Ruthven himself in a
living form.This fresh allusion to Byron* drew a smile to
Franz's countenance; although he could but allow that if
anything was likely to induce belief in the existence of
vampiresit would be the presence of such a man as the
mysterious personage before him.

I must positively find out who and what he is,said Franz
rising from his seat.

No, no,cried the countess; "you must not leave me. I
depend upon you to escort me home. OhindeedI cannot
permit you to go."

* Scottof course: "The son of an ill-fated sireand the
father of a yet more unfortunate familybore in his looks
that cast of inauspicious melancholy by which the
physiognomists of that time pretended to distinguish those
who were predestined to a violent and unhappy death." -- The
Abbotch. xxii.
Is it possible,whispered Franzthat you entertain any
fear?

I'll tell you,answered the countess. "Byron had the most
perfect belief in the existence of vampiresand even
assured me that he had seen them. The description he gave me
perfectly corresponds with the features and character of the
man before us. Ohhe is the exact personification of what I
have been led to expect! The coal-black hairlarge bright
glittering eyesin which a wildunearthly fire seems
burning-- the same ghastly paleness. Then observetoo
that the woman with him is altogether unlike all others of
her sex. She is a foreigner -- a stranger. Nobody knows who
she isor where she comes from. No doubt she belongs to the
same horrible race he doesand islike himselfa dealer
in magical arts. I entreat of you not to go near him -- at
least to-night; and if to-morrow your curiosity still
continues as greatpursue your researches if you will; but
to-night you neither can nor shall. For that purpose I mean
to keep you all to myself." Franz protested he could not
defer his pursuit till the following dayfor many reasons.
Listen to me,said the countessand do not be so very
headstrong. I am going home. I have a party at my house
to-night, and therefore cannot possibly remain till the end
of the opera. Now, I cannot for one instant believe you so
devoid of gallantry as to refuse a lady your escort when she


even condescends to ask you for it.

There was nothing else left for Franz to do but to take up
his hatopen the door of the boxand offer the countess
his arm. It was quite evidentby her mannerthat her
uneasiness was not feigned; and Franz himself could not
resist a feeling of superstitious dread -- so much the
stronger in himas it arose from a variety of corroborative
recollectionswhile the terror of the countess sprang from
an instinctive belieforiginally created in her mind by the
wild tales she had listened to till she believed them
truths. Franz could even feel her arm tremble as he assisted
her into the carriage. Upon arriving at her hotelFranz
perceived that she had deceived him when she spoke of
expecting company; on the contraryher own return before
the appointed hour seemed greatly to astonish the servants.
Excuse my little subterfuge,said the countessin reply
to her companion's half-reproachful observation on the
subject; "but that horrid man had made me feel quite
uncomfortableand I longed to be alonethat I might
compose my startled mind." Franz essayed to smile. "Nay
said she, do not smile; it ill accords with the expression
of your countenanceand I am sure it does not spring from
your heart. howeverpromise me one thing."

What is it?

Promise me, I say.

I will do anything you desire, except relinquish my
determination of finding out who this man is. I have more
reasons than you can imagine for desiring to know who he is,
from whence he came, and whither he is going.

Where he comes from I am ignorant; but I can readily tell
you where he is going to, and that is down below, without
the least doubt.

Let us only speak of the promise you wished me to make,
said Franz.

Well, then, you must give me your word to return
immediately to your hotel, and make no attempt to follow
this man to-night. There are certain affinities between the
persons we quit and those we meet afterwards. For heaven's
sake, do not serve as a conductor between that man and me.
Pursue your chase after him to-morrow as eagerly as you
please; but never bring him near me, if you would not see me
die of terror. And now, good-night; go to your rooms, and
try to sleep away all recollections of this evening. For my
own part, I am quite sure I shall not be able to close my
eyes.So sayingthe countess quitted Franzleaving him
unable to decide whether she were merely amusing herself at
his expenseor whether her fears and agitations were
genuine.

Upon his return to the hotelFranz found Albert in his
dressing-gown and slipperslistlessly extended on a sofa
smoking a cigar. "My dear fellow." cried hespringing up
is it really you? Why, I did not expect to see you before
to-morrow.

My dear Albert,replied FranzI am glad of this
opportunity to tell you, once and forever, that you


entertain a most erroneous notion concerning Italian women.
I should have thought the continual failures you have met
with in all your own love affairs might have taught you
better by this time.

Upon my soul, these women would puzzle the very Devil to
read them aright. Why, here -- they give you their hand -they
press yours in return -- they keep up a whispering
conversation -- permit you to accompany them home. Why, if a
Parisian were to indulge in a quarter of these marks of
flattering attention, her reputation would be gone forever.

And the very reason why the women of this fine country put
so little restraint on their words and actions, is because
they live so much in public, and have really nothing to
conceal. Besides, you must have perceived that the countess
was really alarmed.

At what? At the sight of that respectable gentleman sitting
opposite to us in the same box with the lovely Greek girl?
Now, for my part, I met them in the lobby after the
conclusion of the piece; and hang me, if I can guess where
you took your notions of the other world from. I can assure
you that this hobgoblin of yours is a deuced fine-looking
fellow -- admirably dressed. Indeed, I feel quite sure, from
the cut of his clothes, they are made by a first-rate Paris
tailor -- probably Blin or Humann. He was rather too pale,
certainly; but then, you know, paleness is always looked
upon as a strong proof of aristocratic descent and
distinguished breeding.Franz smiled; for he well
remembered that Albert particularly prided himself on the
entire absence of color in his own complexion.

Well, that tends to confirm my own ideas,said Franz
that the countess's suspicions were destitute alike of
sense and reason. Did he speak in your hearing? and did you
catch any of his words?

I did; but they were uttered in the Romaic dialect. I knew
that from the mixture of Greek words. I don't know whether I
ever told you that when I was at college I was rather -rather
strong in Greek.

He spoke the Romaic language, did he?

I think so.

That settles it,murmured Franz. "'Tis hepast all
doubt."

What do you say?

Nothing, nothing. But tell me, what were you thinking about
when I came in?

Oh, I was arranging a little surprise for you.

Indeed. Of what nature?

Why, you know it is quite impossible to procure a
carriage.

Certainly; and I also know that we have done all that human
means afforded to endeavor to get one.


Now, then, in this difficulty a bright idea has flashed
across my brain.Franz looked at Albert as though he had
not much confidence in the suggestions of his imagination.
I tell you what, Sir Franz,cried Albertyou deserve to
be called out for such a misgiving and incredulous glance as
that you were pleased to bestow on me just now.

And I promise to give you the satisfaction of a gentleman
if your scheme turns out as ingenious as you assert.

Well, then, hearken to me.

I listen.

You agree, do you not, that obtaining a carriage is out of
the question?

I do.

Neither can we procure horses?

True; we have offered any sum, but have failed.

Well, now, what do you say to a cart? I dare say such a
thing might be had.

Very possibly.

And a pair of oxen?

As easily found as the cart.

Then you see, my good fellow, with a cart and a couple of
oxen our business can be managed. The cart must be
tastefully ornamented; and if you and I dress ourselves as
Neapolitan reapers, we may get up a striking tableau, after
the manner of that splendid picture by Leopold Robert. It
would add greatly to the effect if the countess would join
us in the costume of a peasant from Puzzoli or Sorrento. Our
group would then be quite complete, more especially as the
countess is quite beautiful enough to represent a madonna.

Well,said Franzthis time, Albert, I am bound to give
you credit for having hit upon a most capital idea.

And quite a national one, too,replied Albert with
gratified pride. "A mere masque borrowed from our own
festivities. Hahaye Romans! you thought to make us
unhappy strangerstrot at the heels of your processions
like so many lazzaronibecause no carriages or horses are
to be had in your beggarly city. But you don't know us; when
we can't have one thing we invent another."

And have you communicated your triumphant idea to anybody?

Only to our host. Upon my return home I sent for him, and I
then explained to him what I wished to procure. He assured
me that nothing would be easier than to furnish all I
desired. One thing I was sorry for; when I bade him have the
horns of the oxen gilded, he told me there would not be
time, as it would require three days to do that; so you see
we must do without this little superfluity.


And where is he now?

Who?

Our host.

Gone out in search of our equipage, by to-morrow it might
be too late.

Then he will be able to give us an answer to-night.

Oh, I expect him every minute.At this instant the door
openedand the head of Signor Pastrini appeared.
Permesso?inquired he.

Certainly -- certainly,cried Franz. "Come inmine host."

Now, then,asked Albert eagerlyhave you found the
desired cart and oxen?

Better than that!replied Signor Pastriniwith the air of
a man perfectly well satisfied with himself.

Take care, my worthy host,said Albertbetter is a sure
enemy to well.

Let your excellencies only leave the matter to me,
returned Signor Pastrini in a tone indicative of unbounded
self-confidence.

But what have you done?asked Franz. "Speak outthere's a
worthy fellow."

Your excellencies are aware,responded the landlord
swelling with importancethat the Count of Monte Cristo is
living on the same floor with yourselves!

I should think we did know it,exclaimed Albertsince it
is owing to that circumstance that we are packed into these
small rooms, like two poor students in the back streets of
Paris.

When, then, the Count of Monte Cristo, hearing of the
dilemma in which you are placed, has sent to offer you seats
in his carriage and two places at his windows in the Palazzo
Rospoli.The friends looked at each other with unutterable
surprise.

But do you think,asked Albertthat we ought to accept
such offers from a perfect stranger?

What sort of person is this Count of Monte Cristo?asked
Franz of his host. "A very great noblemanbut whether
Maltese or Sicilian I cannot exactly say; but this I know
that he is noble as a Borghese and rich as a gold-mine."

It seems to me,said Franzspeaking in an undertone to
Albertthat if this person merited the high panegyrics of
our landlord, he would have conveyed his invitation through
another channel, and not permitted it to be brought to us in
this unceremonious way. He would have written -- or--

At this instant some one knocked at the door. "Come in
said Franz. A servant, wearing a livery of considerable


style and richness, appeared at the threshold, and, placing
two cards in the landlord's hands, who forthwith presented
them to the two young men, he said, Please to deliver
thesefrom the Count of Monte Cristo to Viscomte Albert de
Morcerf and M. Franz d'Epinay. The Count of Monte Cristo
continued the servant, begs these gentlemen's permission to
wait upon them as their neighborand he will be honored by
an intimation of what time they will please to receive him."

Faith, Franz,whispered Albertthere is not much to find
fault with here.

Tell the count,replied Franzthat we will do ourselves
the pleasure of calling on him.The servant bowed and
retired.

That is what I call an elegant mode of attack,said
AlbertYou were quite correct in what you said, Signor
Pastrini. The Count of Monte Cristo is unquestionably a man
of first-rate breeding and knowledge of the world.

Then you accept his offer?said the host.

Of course we do,replied Albert. "StillI must own I am
sorry to be obliged to give up the cart and the group of
reapers -- it would have produced such an effect! And were
it not for the windows at the Palazzo Rospoliby way of
recompense for the loss of our beautiful schemeI don't
know but what I should have held on by my original plan.
What say youFranz?"

Oh, I agree with you; the windows in the Palazzo Rospoli
alone decided me.The truth wasthat the mention of two
places in the Palazzo Rospoli had recalled to Franz the
conversation he had overheard the preceding evening in the
ruins of the Colosseum between the mysterious unknown and
the Transteverinin which the stranger in the cloak had
undertaken to obtain the freedom of a condemned criminal;
and if this muffled-up individual proved (as Franz felt sure
he would) the same as the person he had just seen in the
Teatro Argentinothen he should be able to establish his
identityand also to prosecute his researches respecting
him with perfect facility and freedom. Franz passed the
night in confused dreams respecting the two meetings he had
already had with his mysterious tormentorand in waking
speculations as to what the morrow would produce. The next
day must clear up every doubt; and unless his near neighbor
and would-be friendthe Count of Monte Cristopossessed
the ring of Gygesand by its power was able to render
himself invisibleit was very certain he could not escape
this time. Eight o'clock found Franz up and dressedwhile
Albertwho had not the same motives for early risingwas
still soundly asleep. The first act of Franz was to summon
his landlordwho presented himself with his accustomed
obsequiousness.

Pray, Signor Pastrini,asked Franzis not some execution
appointed to take place to-day?

Yes, your excellency; but if your reason for inquiry is
that you may procure a window to view it from, you are much
too late.

Oh, no,answered FranzI had no such intention; and even


if I had felt a wish to witness the spectacle, I might have
done so from Monte Pincio -- could I not?

Ah!exclaimed mine hostI did not think it likely your
excellency would have chosen to mingle with such a rabble as
are always collected on that hill, which, indeed, they
consider as exclusively belonging to themselves.

Very possibly I may not go,answered Franz; "but in case I
feel disposedgive me some particulars of to-day's
executions."

What particulars would your excellency like to hear?

Why, the number of persons condemned to suffer, their
names, and description of the death they are to die.

That happens just lucky, your excellency! Only a few
minutes ago they brought me the tavolettas.

What are they?

Sort of wooden tablets hung up at the corners of streets
the evening before an execution, on which is pasted up a
paper containing the names of the condemned persons, their
crimes, and mode of punishment. The reason for so publicly
announcing all this is, that all good and faithful Catholics
may offer up their prayers for the unfortunate culprits,
and, above all, beseech of heaven to grant them a sincere
repentance.

And these tablets are brought to you that you may add your
prayers to those of the faithful, are they?asked Franz
somewhat incredulously.

Oh, dear, no, your excellency! I have not time for
anybody's affairs but my own and those of my honorable
guests; but I make an agreement with the man who pastes up
the papers, and he brings them to me as he would the
playbills, that in case any person staying at my hotel
should like to witness an execution, he may obtain every
requisite information concerning the time and place etc.

Upon my word, that is a most delicate attention on your
part, Signor Pastrini,cried Franz.

Why, your excellency,returned the landlordchuckling and
rubbing his hands with infinite complacencyI think I may
take upon myself to say I neglect nothing to deserve the
support and patronage of the noble visitors to this poor
hotel.

I see that plainly enough, my most excellent host, and you
may rely upon me to proclaim so striking a proof of your
attention to your guests wherever I go. Meanwhile, oblige me
by a sight of one of these tavolettas.

Nothing can be easier than to comply with your excellency's
wish,said the landlordopening the door of the chamber;
I have caused one to be placed on the landing, close by
your apartment.Thentaking the tablet from the wallhe
handed it to Franzwho read as follows: -


`The public is informed that on Wednesday, February 23d,


being the first day of the Carnival, executions will take
place in the Piazza del Popolo, by order of the Tribunal of
the Rota, of two persons, named Andrea Rondola, and Peppino,
otherwise called Rocca Priori; the former found guilty of
the murder of a venerable and exemplary priest, named Don
Cesare Torlini, canon of the church of St. John Lateran; and
the latter convicted of being an accomplice of the atrocious
and sanguinary bandit, Luigi Vampa, and his band. The
first-named malefactor will be subjected to the mazzuola,
the second culprit beheaded. The prayers of all good
Christians are entreated for these unfortunate men, that it
may please God to awaken them to a sense of their guilt, and
to grant them a hearty and sincere repentance for their
crimes.'

This was precisely what Franz had heard the evening before
in the ruins of the Colosseum. No part of the programme
differed-- the names of the condemned personstheir
crimesand mode of punishmentall agreed with his previous
information. In all probabilitythereforethe Transteverin
was no other than the bandit Luigi Vampa himselfand the
man shrouded in the mantle the same he had known as "Sinbad
the Sailor but who, no doubt, was still pursuing his
philanthropic expedition in Rome, as he had already done at
Porto-Vecchio and Tunis. Time was getting on, however, and
Franz deemed it advisable to awaken Albert; but at the
moment he prepared to proceed to his chamber, his friend
entered the room in perfect costume for the day. The
anticipated delights of the Carnival had so run in his head
as to make him leave his pillow long before his usual hour.
Nowmy excellent Signor Pastrini said Franz, addressing
his landlord, since we are both readydo you think we may
proceed at once to visit the Count of Monte Cristo?"

Most assuredly,replied he. "The Count of Monte Cristo is
always an early riser; and I can answer for his having been
up these two hours."

Then you really consider we shall not be intruding if we
pay our respects to him directly?

Oh, I am quite sure. I will take all the blame on myself if
you find I have led you into an error.

Well, then, if it be so, are you ready, Albert?

Perfectly.

Let us go and return our best thanks for his courtesy.

Yes, let us do so.The landlord preceded the friends
across the landingwhich was all that separated them from
the apartments of the countrang at the bellandupon the
door being opened by a servantsaidI signori Francesi.

The domestic bowed respectfullyand invited them to enter.
They passed through two roomsfurnished in a luxurious
manner they had not expected to see under the roof of Signor
Pastriniand were shown into an elegantly fitted-up
drawing-room. The richest Turkey carpets covered the floor
and the softest and most inviting coucheseasy-chairsand
sofasoffered their high-piled and yielding cushions to
such as desired repose or refreshment. Splendid paintings by
the first masters were ranged against the walls


intermingled with magnificent trophies of warwhile heavy
curtains of costly tapestry were suspended before the
different doors of the room. "If your excellencies will
please to be seated said the man, I will let the count
know that you are here."

And with these words he disappeared behind one of the
tapestried portieres. As the door openedthe sound of a
guzla reached the ears of the young menbut was almost
immediately lostfor the rapid closing of the door merely
allowed one rich swell of harmony to enter. Franz and Albert
looked inquiringly at each otherthen at the gorgeous
furnishings of the apartment. Everything seemed more
magnificent at a second view than it had done at their first
rapid survey.

Well,said Franz to his friendwhat think you of all
this?

Why, upon my soul, my dear fellow, it strikes me that our
elegant and attentive neighbor must either be some
successful stock-jobber who has speculated in the fall of
the Spanish funds, or some prince travelling incog.

Hush, hush!replied Franz; "we shall ascertain who and
what he is -- he comes!" As Franz spokehe heard the sound
of a door turning on its hingesand almost immediately
afterwards the tapestry was drawn asideand the owner of
all these riches stood before the two young men. Albert
instantly rose to meet himbut Franz remainedin a manner
spellbound on his chair; for in the person of him who had
just entered he recognized not only the mysterious visitant
to the Colosseumand the occupant of the box at the Teatro
Argentinobut also his extraordinary host of Monte Cristo.

Chapter 35
La Mazzolata.

Gentlemen,said the Count of Monte Cristo as he entered
I pray you excuse me for suffering my visit to be
anticipated; but I feared to disturb you by presenting
myself earlier at your apartments; besides, you sent me word
that you would come to me, and I have held myself at your
disposal.

Franz and I have to thank you a thousand times, count,
returned Albert; "you extricated us from a great dilemma
and we were on the point of inventing a very fantastic
vehicle when your friendly invitation reached us."

Indeed,returned the countmotioning the two young men to
sit down. "It was the fault of that blockhead Pastrinithat
I did not sooner assist you in your distress. He did not
mention a syllable of your embarrassment to mewhen he
knows thatalone and isolated as I amI seek every
opportunity of making the acquaintance of my neighbors. As
soon as I learned I could in any way assist youI most
eagerly seized the opportunity of offering my services." The
two young men bowed. Franz hadas yetfound nothing to
say; he had come to no determinationand as nothing in the
count's manner manifested the wish that he should recognize
himhe did not know whether to make any allusion to the


pastor wait until he had more proof; besidesalthough
sure it was he who had been in the box the previous evening
he could not be equally positive that this was the man he
had seen at the Colosseum. He resolvedthereforeto let
things take their course without making any direct overture
to the count. Moreoverhe had this advantagehe was master
of the count's secretwhile the count had no hold on Franz
who had nothing to conceal. Howeverhe resolved to lead the
conversation to a subject which might possibly clear up his
doubts.

Count,said heyou have offered us places in your
carriage, and at your windows in the Rospoli Palace. Can you
tell us where we can obtain a sight of the Piazza del
Popolo?

Ah,said the count negligentlylooking attentively at
Morcerfis there not something like an execution upon the
Piazza del Popolo?

Yes,returned Franzfinding that the count was coming to
the point he wished.

Stay, I think I told my steward yesterday to attend to
this; perhaps I can render you this slight service also.He
extended his handand rang the bell thrice. "Did you ever
occupy yourself said he to Franz, with the employment of
time and the means of simplifying the summoning your
servants? I have. When I ring onceit is for my valet;
twicefor my majordomo; thricefor my steward-- thus I
do not waste a minute or a word. Here he is." A man of about
forty-five or fifty enteredexactly resembling the smuggler
who had introduced Franz into the cavern; but he did not
appear to recognize him. It was evident he had his orders.
Monsieur Bertuccio,said the countyou have procured me
windows looking on the Piazza del Popolo, as I ordered you
yesterday

Yes, excellency,returned the steward; "but it was very
late."

Did I not tell you I wished for one?replied the count
frowning.

And your excellency has one, which was let to Prince
Lobanieff; but I was obliged to pay a hundred-


That will do -- that will do, Monsieur Bertuccio; spare
these gentlemen all such domestic arrangements. You have the
window, that is sufficient. Give orders to the coachman; and
be in readiness on the stairs to conduct us to it.The
steward bowedand was about to quit the room. "Ah
continued the count, be good enough to ask Pastrini if he
has received the tavolettaand if he can send us an account
of the execution."

There is no need to do that,said Franztaking out his
tablets; "for I saw the accountand copied it down."

Very well, you can retire, M. Bertuccio; but let us know
when breakfast is ready. These gentlemen,added heturning
to the two friendswill, I trust, do me the honor to
breakfast with me?


But, my dear count,said Albertwe shall abuse your
kindness.

Not at all; on the contrary, you will give me great
pleasure. You will, one or other of you, perhaps both,
return it to me at Paris. M. Bertuccio, lay covers for
three.He then took Franz's tablets out of his hand. "`We
announce' he readin the same tone with which he would
have read a newspaper`that to-daythe 23d of February
will be executed Andrea Rondologuilty of murder on the
person of the respected and venerated Don Cesare Torlini
canon of the church of St. John Lateranand Peppinocalled
Rocca Prioriconvicted of complicity with the detestable
bandit Luigi Vampaand the men of his band.' Hum! `The
first will be mazzolatothe second decapitato.' Yes
continued the count, it was at first arranged in this way;
but I think since yesterday some change has taken place in
the order of the ceremony."

Really?said Franz.

Yes, I passed the evening at the Cardinal Rospigliosi's,
and there mention was made of something like a pardon for
one of the two men.

For Andrea Rondolo?asked Franz.

No,replied the countcarelessly; "for the other (he
glanced at the tablets as if to recall the name)for
Peppinocalled Rocca Priori. You are thus deprived of
seeing a man guillotined; but the mazzuola still remains
which is a very curious punishment when seen for the first
timeand even the secondwhile the otheras you must
knowis very simple. The mandaia* never failsnever
tremblesnever strikes thirty times ineffectuallylike the
soldier who beheaded the Count of Chalaisand to whose
tender mercy Richelieu had doubtless recommended the
sufferer. Ah added the count, in a contemptuous tone, do
not tell me of European punishmentsthey are in the
infancyor rather the old ageof cruelty."

* Guillotine.
Really, count,replied Franzone would think that you
had studied the different tortures of all the nations of the
world.

There are, at least, few that I have not seen,said the
count coldly.

And you took pleasure in beholding these dreadful
spectacles?

My first sentiment was horror, the second indifference, the
third curiosity.

Curiosity -- that is a terrible word.

Why so? In life, our greatest preoccupation is death; is it
not then, curious to study the different ways by which the
soul and body can part; and how, according to their
different characters, temperaments, and even the different
customs of their countries, different persons bear the
transition from life to death, from existence to


annihilation? As for myself, I can assure you of one thing,
-- the more men you see die, the easier it becomes to die
yourself; and in my opinion, death may be a torture, but it
is not an expiation.

I do not quite understand you,replied Franz; "pray
explain your meaningfor you excite my curiosity to the
highest pitch."

Listen,said the countand deep hatred mounted to his
faceas the blood would to the face of any other. "If a man
had by unheard-of and excruciating tortures destroyed your
fatheryour motheryour betrothed-- a being whowhen
torn from youleft a desolationa wound that never closes
in your breast-- do you think the reparation that society
gives you is sufficient when it interposes the knife of the
guillotine between the base of the occiput and the trapezal
muscles of the murdererand allows him who has caused us
years of moral sufferings to escape with a few moments of
physical pain?"

Yes, I know,said Franzthat human justice is
insufficient to console us; she can give blood in return for
blood, that is all; but you must demand from her only what
it is in her power to grant.

I will put another case to you,continued the count; "that
where societyattacked by the death of a personavenges
death by death. But are there not a thousand tortures by
which a man may be made to suffer without society taking the
least cognizance of themor offering him even the
insufficient means of vengeanceof which we have just
spoken? Are there not crimes for which the impalement of the
Turksthe augers of the Persiansthe stake and the brand
of the Iroquois Indiansare inadequate torturesand which
are unpunished by society? Answer medo not these crimes
exist?"

Yes,answered Franz; "and it is to punish them that
duelling is tolerated."

Ah, duelling,cried the count; "a pleasant mannerupon my
soulof arriving at your end when that end is vengeance! A
man has carried off your mistressa man has seduced your
wifea man has dishonored your daughter; he has rendered
the whole life of one who had the right to expect from
heaven that portion of happiness God his promised to every
one of his creaturesan existence of misery and infamy; and
you think you are avenged because you send a ball through
the heador pass a sword through the breastof that man
who has planted madness in your brainand despair in your
heart. And remembermoreoverthat it is often he who comes
off victorious from the strifeabsolved of all crime in the
eyes of the world. Nono continued the count, had I to
avenge myselfit is not thus I would take revenge."

Then you disapprove of duelling? You would not fight a
duel?asked Albert in his turnastonished at this strange
theory.

Oh, yes,replied the count; "understand meI would fight
a duel for a triflefor an insultfor a blow; and the more
so thatthanks to my skill in all bodily exercisesand the
indifference to danger I have gradually acquiredI should


be almost certain to kill my man. OhI would fight for such
a cause; but in return for a slowprofoundeternal
tortureI would give back the samewere it possible; an
eye for an eyea tooth for a toothas the Orientalists
say-- our masters in everything-- those favored
creatures who have formed for themselves a life of dreams
and a paradise of realities."

But,said Franz to the countwith this theory, which
renders you at once judge and executioner of your own cause,
it would be difficult to adopt a course that would forever
prevent your falling under the power of the law. Hatred is
blind, rage carries you away; and he who pours out vengeance
runs the risk of tasting a bitter draught.

Yes, if he be poor and inexperienced, not if he be rich and
skilful; besides, the worst that could happen to him would
be the punishment of which we have already spoken, and which
the philanthropic French Revolution has substituted for
being torn to pieces by horses or broken on the wheel. What
matters this punishment, as long as he is avenged? On my
word, I almost regret that in all probability this miserable
Peppino will not be beheaded, as you might have had an
opportunity then of seeing how short a time the punishment
lasts, and whether it is worth even mentioning; but, really
this is a most singular conversation for the Carnival,
gentlemen; how did it arise? Ah, I recollect, you asked for
a place at my window; you shall have it; but let us first
sit down to table, for here comes the servant to inform us
that breakfast is ready.As he spokea servant opened one
of the four doors of the apartmentsaying -- "Al suo
commodo!" The two young men arose and entered the
breakfast-room.

During the mealwhich was excellentand admirably served
Franz looked repeatedly at Albertin order to observe the
impressions which he doubted not had been made on him by the
words of their entertainer; but whether with his usual
carelessness he had paid but little attention to him
whether the explanation of the Count of Monte Cristo with
regard to duelling had satisfied himor whether the events
which Franz knew of had had their effect on him alonehe
remarked that his companion did not pay the least regard to
thembut on the contrary ate like a man who for the last
four or five months had been condemned to partake of Italian
cookery -- that isthe worst in the world. As for the
counthe just touched the dishes; he seemed to fulfil the
duties of a host by sitting down with his guestsand
awaited their departure to be served with some strange or
more delicate food. This brought back to Franzin spite of
himselfthe recollection of the terror with which the count
had inspired the Countess G----and her firm conviction
that the man in the opposite box was a vampire. At the end
of the breakfast Franz took out his watch. "Well said the
count, what are you doing?"

You must excuse us, count,returned Franzbut we have
still much to do.

What may that be?

We have no masks, and it is absolutely necessary to procure
them.


Do not concern yourself about that; we have, I think, a
private room in the Piazza del Popolo; I will have whatever
costumes you choose brought to us, and you can dress there.

After the execution?cried Franz.

Before or after, whichever you please.

Opposite the scaffold?

The scaffold forms part of the fete.

Count, I have reflected on the matter,said FranzI
thank you for your courtesy, but I shall content myself with
accepting a place in your carriage and at your window at the
Rospoli Palace, and I leave you at liberty to dispose of my
place at the Piazza del Popolo.

But I warn you, you will lose a very curious sight,
returned the count.

You will describe it to me,replied Franzand the
recital from your lips will make as great an impression on
me as if I had witnessed it. I have more than once intended
witnessing an execution, but I have never been able to make
up my mind; and you, Albert?

I,replied the viscount-- "I saw Castaing executedbut
I think I was rather intoxicated that dayfor I had quitted
college the same morningand we had passed the previous
night at a tavern."

Besides, it is no reason because you have not seen an
execution at Paris, that you should not see one anywhere
else; when you travel, it is to see everything. Think what a
figure you will make when you are asked, `How do they
execute at Rome?' and you reply, `I do not know'! And,
besides, they say that the culprit is an infamous scoundrel,
who killed with a log of wood a worthy canon who had brought
him up like his own son. Diable, when a churchman is killed,
it should be with a different weapon than a log, especially
when he has behaved like a father. If you went to Spain,
would you not see the bull-fight? Well, suppose it is a
bull-fight you are going to see? Recollect the ancient
Romans of the Circus, and the sports where they killed three
hundred lions and a hundred men. Think of the eighty
thousand applauding spectators, the sage matrons who took
their daughters, and the charming Vestals who made with the
thumb of their white hands the fatal sign that said, `Come,
despatch the dying.'

Shall you go, then, Albert?asked Franz.

Ma foi, yes; like you, I hesitated, but the count's
eloquence decides me.

Let us go, then,said Franzsince you wish it; but on
our way to the Piazza del Popolo, I wish to pass through the
Corso. Is this possible, count?

On foot, yes, in a carriage, no.

I will go on foot, then.


Is it important that you should go that way?

Yes, there is something I wish to see.

Well, we will go by the Corso. We will send the carriage to
wait for us on the Piazza del Popolo, by the Strada del
Babuino, for I shall be glad to pass, myself, through the
Corso, to see if some orders I have given have been
executed.

Excellency,said a servantopening the doora man in
the dress of a penitent wishes to speak to you.

Ah, yesreturned the countI know who he is, gentlemen;
will you return to the salon? you will find good cigars on
the centre table. I will be with you directly.The young
men rose and returned into the salonwhile the countagain
apologizingleft by another door. Albertwho was a great
smokerand who had considered it no small sacrifice to be
deprived of the cigars of the Cafe de Parisapproached the
tableand uttered a cry of joy at perceiving some veritable
puros.

Well,asked Franzwhat think you of the Count of Monte
Cristo?

What do I think?said Albertevidently surprised at such
a question from his companion; "I think he is a delightful
fellowwho does the honors of his table admirably; who has
travelled muchread muchislike Brutusof the Stoic
schooland moreover added he, sending a volume of smoke
up towards the ceiling, that he has excellent cigars." Such
was Albert's opinion of the countand as Franz well knew
that Albert professed never to form an opinion except upon
long reflectionhe made no attempt to change it. "But
said he, did you observe one very singular thing?"

What?

How attentively he looked at you.

At me?

Yes.-- Albert reflected. "Ah replied he, sighing, that
is not very surprising; I have been more than a year absent
from Parisand my clothes are of a most antiquated cut; the
count takes me for a provincial. The first opportunity you
haveundeceive himI begand tell him I am nothing of the
kind." Franz smiled; an instant after the count entered.

I am now quite at your service, gentlemen,said he. "The
carriage is going one way to the Piazza del Popoloand we
will go another; andif you pleaseby the Corso. Take some
more of these cigarsM. de Morcerf."

With all my heart,returned Albert; "Italian cigars are
horrible. When you come to ParisI will return all this."

I will not refuse; I intend going there soon, and since you
allow me, I will pay you a visit. Come, we have not any time
to lose, it is half-past twelve -- let us set off.All
three descended; the coachman received his master's orders
and drove down the Via del Babuino. While the three
gentlemen walked along the Piazza de Spagni and the Via


Frattinawhich led directly between the Fiano and Rospoli
palacesFranz's attention was directed towards the windows
of that last palacefor he had not forgotten the signal
agreed upon between the man in the mantle and the
Transtevere peasant. "Which are your windows?" asked he of
the countwith as much indifference as he could assume.
The three last,returned hewith a negligence evidently
unaffectedfor he could not imagine with what intention the
question was put. Franz glanced rapidly towards the three
windows. The side windows were hung with yellow damaskand
the centre one with white damask and a red cross. The man in
the mantle had kept his promise to the Transteverinand
there could now be no doubt that he was the count. The three
windows were still untenanted. Preparations were making on
every side; chairs were placedscaffolds were raisedand
windows were hung with flags. The masks could not appear;
the carriages could not move about; but the masks were
visible behind the windowsthe carriagesand the doors.

FranzAlbertand the count continued to descend the Corso.
As they approached the Piazza del Popolothe crowd became
more denseand above the heads of the multitude two objects
were visible: the obelisksurmounted by a crosswhich
marks the centre of the squareand in front of the obelisk
at the point where the three streetsdel Babuinodel
Corsoand di Ripettameetthe two uprights of the
scaffoldbetween which glittered the curved knife of the
mandaia. At the corner of the street they met the count's
stewardwho was awaiting his master. The windowlet at an
exorbitant pricewhich the count had doubtless wished to
conceal from his guestswas on the second floor of the
great palacesituated between the Via del Babuino and the
Monte Pincio. It consistedas we have saidof a small
dressing-roomopening into a bedroomandwhen the door of
communication was shutthe inmates were quite alone. On
chairs were laid elegant masquerade costumes of blue and
white satin. "As you left the choice of your costumes to
me said the count to the two friends, I have had these
broughtas they will be the most worn this year; and they
are most suitableon account of the confetti (sweetmeats)
as they do not show the flour."

Franz heard the words of the count but imperfectlyand he
perhaps did not fully appreciate this new attention to their
wishes; for he was wholly absorbed by the spectacle that the
Piazza del Popolo presentedand by the terrible instrument
that was in the centre. It was the first time Franz had ever
seen a guillotine-- we say guillotinebecause the Roman
mandaia is formed on almost the same model as the French
instrument.* The knifewhich is shaped like a crescent
that cuts with the convex sidefalls from a less height
and that is all the difference. Two menseated on the
movable plank on which the victim is laidwere eating their
breakfastswhile waiting for the criminal. Their repast
consisted apparently of bread and sausages. One of them
lifted the planktook out a flask of winedrank someand
then passed it to his companion. These two men were the
executioner's assistants. At this sight Franz felt the
perspiration start forth upon his brow. The prisoners
transported the previous evening from the Carcere Nuovo to
the little church of Santa Maria del Popolohad passed the
nighteach accompanied by two priestsin a chapel closed
by a gratingbefore which were two sentinelswho were
relieved at intervals. A double line of carbineersplaced


on each side of the door of the churchreached to the
scaffoldand formed a circle around itleaving a path
about ten feet wideand around the guillotine a space of
nearly a hundred feet. All the rest of the square was paved
with heads. Many women held their infants on their
shouldersand thus the children had the best view. The
Monte Pincio seemed a vast amphitheatre filled with
spectators; the balconies of the two churches at the corner
of the Via del Babuino and the Via di Ripetta were crammed;
the steps even seemed a parti-colored seathat was impelled
towards the portico; every niche in the wall held its living
statue. What the count said was true -- the most curious
spectacle in life is that of death. And yetinstead of the
silence and the solemnity demanded by the occasionlaughter
and jests arose from the crowd. It was evident that the
execution wasin the eyes of the peopleonly the
commencement of the Carnival. Suddenly the tumult ceasedas
if by magicand the doors of the church opened. A
brotherhood of penitentsclothed from head to foot in robes
of gray sackclothwith holes for the eyesand holding in
their hands lighted tapersappeared first; the chief
marched at the head. Behind the penitents came a man of vast
stature and proportions. He was nakedwith the exception of
cloth drawers at the left side of which hung a large knife
in a sheathand he bore on his right shoulder a heavy iron
sledge-hammer. This man was the executioner. He had
moreoversandals bound on his feet by cords. Behind the
executioner camein the order in which they were to die
first Peppino and then Andrea. Each was accompanied by two
priests. Neither had his eyes bandaged. Peppino walked with
a firm stepdoubtless aware of what awaited him. Andrea was
supported by two priests. Each of themfrom time to time
kissed the crucifix a confessor held out to them. At this
sight alone Franz felt his legs tremble under him. He looked
at Albert -- he was as white as his shirtand mechanically
cast away his cigaralthough he had not half smoked it. The
count alone seemed unmoved -- naymorea slight color
seemed striving to rise in his pale cheeks. His nostrils
dilated like those of a wild beast that scents its preyand
his lipshalf openeddisclosed his white teethsmall and
sharp like those of a jackal. And yet his features wore an
expression of smiling tendernesssuch as Franz had never
before witnessed in them; his black eyes especially were
full of kindness and pity. Howeverthe two culprits
advancedand as they approached their faces became visible.
Peppino was a handsome young man of four or five and twenty
bronzed by the sun; he carried his head erectand seemed on
the watch to see on which side his liberator would appear.
Andrea was short and fat; his visagemarked with brutal
crueltydid not indicate age; he might be thirty. In prison
he had suffered his beard to grow; his head fell on his
shoulderhis legs bent beneath himand his movements were
apparently automatic and unconscious.

* Dr. Guillotin got the idea of his famous machine from
witnessing an execution in Italy.
I thought,said Franz to the countthat you told me
there would be but one execution.

I told you true,replied he coldly.

And yet here are two culprits.


Yes; but only one of these two is about to die; the other
has many years to live.

If the pardon is to come, there is no time to lose.

And see, here it is,said the count. At the moment when
Peppino reached the foot of the mandaiaa priest arrived in
some hasteforced his way through the soldiersand
advancing to the chief of the brotherhoodgave him a folded
paper. The piercing eye of Peppino had noticed all. The
chief took the paperunfolded itandraising his hand
Heaven be praised, and his holiness also,said he in a
loud voice; "here is a pardon for one of the prisoners!"

A pardon!cried the people with one voice -- "a pardon!"
At this cry Andrea raised his head. "Pardon for whom?" cried
he.

Peppino remained breathless. "A pardon for Peppinocalled
Rocca Priori said the principal friar. And he passed the
paper to the officer commanding the carbineers, who read and
returned it to him.

For Peppino!" cried Andreawho seemed roused from the
torpor in which he had been plunged. "Why for him and not
for me? We ought to die together. I was promised he should
die with me. You have no right to put me to death alone. I
will not die alone -- I will not!" And he broke from the
priests struggling and raving like a wild beastand
striving desperately to break the cords that bound his
hands. The executioner made a signand his two assistants
leaped from the scaffold and seized him. "What is going on?"
asked Franz of the count; foras all the talk was in the
Roman dialecthe had not perfectly understood it. "Do you
not see?" returned the countthat this human creature who
is about to die is furious that his fellow-sufferer does not
perish with him? and, were he able, he would rather tear him
to pieces with his teeth and nails than let him enjoy the
life he himself is about to be deprived of. Oh, man, man -race
of crocodiles,cried the countextending his clinched
hands towards the crowdhow well do I recognize you there,
and that at all times you are worthy of yourselves!
Meanwhile Andrea and the two executioners were struggling on
the groundand he kept exclaimingHe ought to die! -- he
shall die! -- I will not die alone!

Look, look,cried the count. seizing the young men's hands
-- "lookfor on my soul it is curious. Here is a man who
had resigned himself to his fatewho was going to the
scaffold to die -- like a cowardit is truebut he was
about to die without resistance. Do you know what gave him
strength? -- do you know what consoled him? It wasthat
another partook of his punishment -- that another partook of
his anguish -- that another was to die before him. Lead two
sheep to the butcher'stwo oxen to the slaughterhouseand
make one of them understand that his companion will not die;
the sheep will bleat for pleasurethe ox will bellow with
joy. But man -- manwhom God created in his own image -man
upon whom God has laid his firsthis sole commandment
to love his neighbor -- manto whom God has given a voice
to express his thoughts -- what is his first cry when he
hears his fellow-man is saved? A blasphemy. Honor to man
this masterpiece of naturethis king of the creation!" And
the count burst into a laugh; a terrible laughthat showed


he must have suffered horribly to be able thus to laugh.
Howeverthe struggle still continuedand it was dreadful
to witness. The people all took part against Andreaand
twenty thousand voices criedPut him to death! put him to
death!Franz sprang backbut the count seized his armand
held him before the window. "What are you doing?" said he.
Do you pity him? If you heard the cry of `Mad dog!' you
would take your gun -- you would unhesitatingly shoot the
poor beast, who, after all, was only guilty of having been
bitten by another dog. And yet you pity a man who, without
being bitten by one of his race, has yet murdered his
benefactor; and who, now unable to kill any one, because his
hands are bound, wishes to see his companion in captivity
perish. No, no -- look, look!


The command was needless. Franz was fascinated by the
horribly spectacle. The two assistants had borne Andrea to
the scaffoldand therein spite of his struggleshis
bitesand his crieshad forced him to his knees. During
this time the executioner had raised his maceand signed to
them to get out of the way; the criminal strove to rise
butere he had timethe mace fell on his left temple. A
dull and heavy sound was heardand the man dropped like an
ox on his faceand then turned over on his back. The
executioner let fall his macedrew his knifeand with one
stroke opened his throatand mounting on his stomach
stamped violently on it with his feet. At every stroke a jet
of blood sprang from the wound.


This time Franz could contain himself no longerbut sank
half faintinginto a seat. Albertwith his eyes closed
was standing grasping the window-curtains. The count was
erect and triumphantlike the Avenging Angel!


Chapter 36
The Carnival at Rome.


When Franz recovered his senseshe saw Albert drinking a
glass of waterof whichto judge from his pallorhe stood
in great need; and the countwho was assuming his
masquerade costume. He glanced mechanically towards the
square -- the scene was wholly changed; scaffold
executionersvictimsall had disappeared; only the people
remainedfull of noise and excitement. The bell of Monte
Citoriowhich only sounds on the pope's decease and the
opening of the Carnivalwas ringing a joyous peal. "Well
asked he of the count, what hasthenhappened?"


Nothing,replied the count; "onlyas you seethe
Carnival his commenced. Make haste and dress yourself."


In fact,said Franzthis horrible scene has passed away
like a dream.


It is but a dream, a nightmare, that has disturbed you.


Yes, that I have suffered; but the culprit?


That is a dream also; only he has remained asleep, while
you have awakened; and who knows which of you is the most
fortunate?



But Peppino -- what has become of him?

Peppino is a lad of sense, who, unlike most men, who are
happy in proportion as they are noticed, was delighted to
see that the general attention was directed towards his
companion. He profited by this distraction to slip away
among the crowd, without even thanking the worthy priests
who accompanied him. Decidedly man is an ungrateful and
egotistical animal. But dress yourself; see, M. de Morcerf
sets you the example.Albert was drawing on the satin
pantaloon over his black trousers and varnished boots.
Well, Albert,said Franzdo you feel much inclined to
join the revels? Come, answer frankly.

Ma foi, no,returned Albert. "But I am really glad to have
seen such a sight; and I understand what the count said -that
when you have once habituated yourself to a similar
spectacleit is the only one that causes you any emotion."

Without reflecting that this is the only moment in which
you can study character,said the count; "on the steps of
the scaffold death tears off the mask that has been worn
through lifeand the real visage is disclosed. It must be
allowed that Andrea was not very handsomethe hideous
scoundrel! Comedress yourselvesgentlemendress
yourselves." Franz felt it would be ridiculous not to follow
his two companions' example. He assumed his costumeand
fastened on the mask that scarcely equalled the pallor of
his own face. Their toilet finishedthey descended; the
carriage awaited them at the doorfilled with sweetmeats
and bouquets. They fell into the line of carriages. It is
difficult to form an idea of the perfect change that had
taken place. Instead of the spectacle of gloomy and silent
deaththe Piazza del Popolo presented a spectacle of gay
and noisy mirth and revelry. A crowd of masks flowed in from
all sidesemerging from the doorsdescending from the
windows. From every street and every corner drove carriages
filled with clownsharlequinsdominoesmummers
pantomimistsTransteverinsknightsand peasants
screamingfightinggesticulatingthrowing eggs filled
with flourconfettinosegaysattackingwith their
sarcasms and their missilesfriends and foescompanions
and strangersindiscriminatelyand no one took offenceor
did anything but laugh. Franz and Albert were like men who
to drive away a violent sorrowhave recourse to wineand
whoas they drink and become intoxicatedfeel a thick veil
drawn between the past and the present. They sawor rather
continued to seethe image of what they had witnessed; but
little by little the general vertigo seized themand they
felt themselves obliged to take part in the noise and
confusion. A handful of confetti that came from a
neighboring carriageand whichwhile it covered Morcerf
and his two companions with dustpricked his neck and that
portion of his face uncovered by his mask like a hundred
pinsincited him to join in the general combatin which
all the masks around him were engaged. He rose in his turn
and seizing handfuls of confetti and sweetmeatswith which
the carriage was filledcast them with all the force and
skill he was master of.

The strife had fairly begunand the recollection of what
they had seen half an hour before was gradually effaced from
the young men's mindsso much were they occupied by the gay
and glittering procession they now beheld. As for the Count


of Monte Cristohe had never for an instant shown any
appearance of having been moved. Imagine the large and
splendid Corsobordered from one end to the other with
lofty palaceswith their balconies hung with carpetsand
their windows with flags. At these balconies are three
hundred thousand spectators -- RomansItaliansstrangers
from all parts of the worldthe united aristocracy of
birthwealthand genius. Lovely womenyielding to the
influence of the scenebend over their balconiesor lean
from their windowsand shower down confettiwhich are
returned by bouquets; the air seems darkened with the
falling confetti and flying flowers. In the streets the
lively crowd is dressed in the most fantastic costumes -gigantic
cabbages walk gravely aboutbuffaloes' heads below
from men's shouldersdogs walk on their hind legs; in the
midst of all this a mask is liftedandas in Callot's
Temptation of St. Anthonya lovely face is exhibitedwhich
we would fain followbut from which we are separated by
troops of fiends. This will give a faint idea of the
Carnival at Rome. At the second turn the Count stopped the
carriageand requested permission to withdrawleaving the
vehicle at their disposal. Franz looked up -- they were
opposite the Rospoli Palace. At the centre windowthe one
hung with white damask with a red crosswas a blue domino
beneath which Franz's imagination easily pictured the
beautiful Greek of the Argentina. "Gentlemen said the
count, springing out, when you are tired of being actors
and wish to become spectators of this sceneyou know you
have places at my windows. In the meantimedispose of my
coachmanmy carriageand my servants." We have forgotten
to mentionthat the count's coachman was attired in a
bear-skinexactly resembling Odry's in "The Bear and the
Pasha;" and the two footmen behind were dressed up as green
monkeyswith spring maskswith which they made grimaces at
every one who passed. Franz thanked the count for his
attention. As for Alberthe was busily occupied throwing
bouquets at a carriage full of Roman peasants that was
passing near him. Unfortunately for himthe line of
carriages moved on againand while he descended the Piazza
del Popolothe other ascended towards the Palazzo di
Venezia. "Ahmy dear fellow said he to Franz; you did
not see?"

What?

There, -- that calash filled with Roman peasants.

No.

Well, I am convinced they are all charming women.

How unfortunate that you were masked, Albert,said Franz;
here was an opportunity of making up for past
disappointments.

Oh,replied hehalf laughinghalf serious; "I hope the
Carnival will not pass without some amends in one shape or
the other."

Butin spite of Albert's hopethe day passed unmarked by
any incidentexcepting two or three encounters with the
carriage full of Roman peasants. At one of these encounters
accidentally or purposelyAlbert's mask fell off. He
instantly rose and cast the remainder of the bouquets into


the carriage. Doubtless one of the charming females Albert
had detected beneath their coquettish disguise was touched
by his gallantry; foras the carriage of the two friends
passed hershe threw a bunch of violets. Albert seized it
and as Franz had no reason to suppose it was meant for him
he suffered Albert to retain it. Albert placed it in his
button-holeand the carriage went triumphantly on.

Well,said Franz to him; "there is the beginning of an
adventure."

Laugh if you please -- I really think so. So I will not
abandon this bouquet.

Pardieu,returned Franzlaughingin token of your
ingratitude.The jesthoweversoon appeared to become
earnest; for when Albert and Franz again encountered the
carriage with the contadinithe one who had thrown the
violets to Albertclapped her hands when she beheld them in
his button-hole. "Bravobravo said Franz; things go
wonderfully. Shall I leave you? Perhaps you would prefer
being alone?"

No,replied he; "I will not be caught like a fool at a
first disclosure by a rendezvous under the clockas they
say at the opera-balls. If the fair peasant wishes to carry
matters any furtherwe shall find heror rathershe will
find us to-morrow; then she will give me some sign or other
and I shall know what I have to do."

On my word,said Franzyou are wise as Nestor and
prudent as Ulysses, and your fair Circe must be very skilful
or very powerful if she succeed in changing you into a beast
of any kind.Albert was right; the fair unknown had
resolveddoubtlessto carry the intrigue no farther; for
although the young men made several more turnsthey did not
again see the calashwhich had turned up one of the
neighboring streets. Then they returned to the Rospoli
Palace; but the count and the blue domino had also
disappeared; the two windowshung with yellow damaskwere
still occupied by the persons whom the count had invited. At
this moment the same bell that had proclaimed the beginning
of the mascherata sounded the retreat. The file on the Corso
broke the lineand in a second all the carriages had
disappeared. Franz and Albert were opposite the Via delle
Maratte; the coachmanwithout saying a worddrove up it
passed along the Piazza di Spagni and the Rospoli Palace and
stopped at the door of the hotel. Signor Pastrini came to
the door to receive his guests. Franz hastened to inquire
after the countand to express regret that he had not
returned in sufficient time; but Pastrini reassured him by
saying that the Count of Monte Cristo had ordered a second
carriage for himselfand that it had gone at four o'clock
to fetch him from the Rospoli Palace. The count had
moreovercharged him to offer the two friends the key of
his box at the Argentina. Franz questioned Albert as to his
intentions; but Albert had great projects to put into
execution before going to the theatre; and instead of making
any answerhe inquired if Signor Pastrini could procure him
a tailor. "A tailor said the host; and for what?"

To make us between now and to-morrow two Roman peasant
costumes,returned Albert. The host shook his head. "To
make you two costumes between now and to-morrow? I ask your


excellencies' pardonbut this is quite a French demand; for
the next week you will not find a single tailor who would
consent to sew six buttons on a waistcoat if you paid him a
crown a piece for each button."

Then I must give up the idea?

No; we have them ready-made. Leave all to me; and
to-morrow, when you awake, you shall find a collection of
costumes with which you will be satisfied.

My dear Albert,said Franzleave all to our host; he has
already proved himself full of resources; let us dine
quietly, and afterwards go and see `The Algerian Captive.'

Agreed,returned Albert; "but rememberSignor Pastrini
that both my friend and myself attach the greatest
importance to having to-morrow the costumes we have asked
for." The host again assured them they might rely on him
and that their wishes should be attended to; upon which
Franz and Albert mounted to their apartmentsand proceeded
to disencumber themselves of their costumes. Albertas he
took off his dresscarefully preserved the bunch of
violets; it was his token reserved for the morrow. The two
friends sat down to table; but they could not refrain from
remarking the difference between the Count of Monte Cristo's
table and that of Signor Pastrini. Truth compelled Franzin
spite of the dislike he seemed to have taken to the count
to confess that the advantage was not on Pastrini's side.
During dessertthe servant inquired at what time they
wished for the carriage. Albert and Franz looked at each
otherfearing really to abuse the count's kindness. The
servant understood them. "His excellency the Count of Monte
Cristo had he said, given positive orders that the
carriage was to remain at their lordships' orders all day
and they could therefore dispose of it without fear of
indiscretion."

They resolved to profit by the count's courtesyand ordered
the horses to be harnessedwhile they substituted evening
dress for that which they had onand which was somewhat the
worse for the numerous combats they had sustained. This
precaution takenthey went to the theatreand installed
themselves in the count's box. During the first actthe
Countess G---- entered. Her first look was at the box where
she had seen the count the previous eveningso that she
perceived Franz and Albert in the place of the very person
concerning whom she had expressed so strange an opinion to
Franz. Her opera-glass was so fixedly directed towards them
that Franz saw it would be cruel not to satisfy her
curiosity; andavailing himself of one of the privileges of
the spectators of the Italian theatreswho use their boxes
to hold receptionsthe two friends went to pay their
respects to the countess. Scarcely had they enteredwhen
she motioned to Franz to assume the seat of honor. Albert
in his turnsat behind.

Well,said shehardly giving Franz time to sit downit
seems you have nothing better to do than to make the
acquaintance of this new Lord Ruthven, and you are already
the best friends in the world.

Without being so far advanced as that, my dear countess,
returned FranzI cannot deny that we have abused his good


nature all day.
All day?
Yes; this morning we breakfasted with him; we rode in his


carriage all day, and now we have taken possession of his


box.


You know him, then?


Yes, and no.


How so?


It is a long story.


'Tell it to me."


It would frighten you too much.


So much the more reason.


At least wait until the story has a conclusion.
Very well; I prefer complete histories; but tell me how you
made his acquaintance? Did any one introduce you to him?


No; it was he who introduced himself to us.


When?


Last night, after we left you.


Through what medium?


The very prosaic one of our landlord.


He is staying, then, at the Hotel de Londres with you?


Not only in the same hotel, but on the same floor.


What is his name -- for, of course, you know?


The Count of Monte Cristo.


That is not a family name?


No, it is the name of the island he has purchased.


And he is a count?


A Tuscan count.


Well, we must put up with that,said the countesswho was

herself from one of the oldest Venetian families. "What sort

of a man is he?"

Ask the Vicomte de Morcerf.
You hear, M. de Morcerf, I am referred to you,said the
countess.


We should be very hard to please, madam,returned Albert
did we not think him delightful. A friend of ten years'


standing could not have done more for us, or with a more
perfect courtesy.

Come,observed the countesssmilingI see my vampire is
only some millionaire, who has taken the appearance of Lara
in order to avoid being confounded with M. de Rothschild;
and you have seen her?

Her?

The beautiful Greek of yesterday.

No; we heard, I think, the sound of her guzla, but she
remained perfectly invisible.

When you say invisible,interrupted Albertit is only to
keep up the mystery; for whom do you take the blue domino at
the window with the white curtains?

Where was this window with white hangings?asked the
countess.

At the Rospoli Palace.

The count had three windows at the Rospoli Palace?

Yes. Did you pass through the Corso?

Yes.

Well, did you notice two windows hung with yellow damask,
and one with white damask with a red cross? Those were the
count's windows?

Why, he must be a nabob. Do you know what those three
windows were worth?

Two or three hundred Roman crowns?

Two or three thousand.

The deuce.

Does his island produce him such a revenue?

It does not bring him a baiocco.

Then why did he purchase it?

For a whim.

He is an original, then?

In reality,observed Alberthe seemed to me somewhat
eccentric; were he at Paris, and a frequenter of the
theatres, I should say he was a poor devil literally mad.
This morning he made two or three exits worthy of Didier or
Anthony.At this moment a fresh visitor enteredand
according to customFranz gave up his seat to him. This
circumstance hadmoreoverthe effect of changing the
conversation; an hour afterwards the two friends returned to
their hotel. Signor Pastrini had already set about procuring
their disguises for the morrow; and he assured them that
they would be perfectly satisfied. The next morningat nine


o'clockhe entered Franz's roomfollowed by a tailorwho
had eight or ten Roman peasant costumes on his arm; they
selected two exactly alikeand charged the tailor to sew on
each of their hats about twenty yards of ribbonand to
procure them two of the long silk sashes of different colors
with which the lower orders decorate themselves on
fete-days. Albert was impatient to see how he looked in his
new dress -- a jacket and breeches of blue velvetsilk
stockings with clocksshoes with bucklesand a silk
waistcoat. This picturesque attire set him off to great
advantage; and when he had bound the scarf around his waist
and when his hatplaced coquettishly on one sidelet fall
on his shoulder a stream of ribbonsFranz was forced to
confess that costume has much to do with the physical
superiority we accord to certain nations. The Turks used to
be so picturesque with their long and flowing robesbut are
they not now hideous with their blue frocks buttoned up to
the chinand their red capswhich make them look like a
bottle of wine with a red seal? Franz complimented Albert
who looked at himself in the glass with an unequivocal smile
of satisfaction. They were thus engaged when the Count of
Monte Cristo entered.

Gentlemen,said healthough a companion is agreeable,
perfect freedom is sometimes still more agreeable. I come to
say that to-day, and for the remainder of the Carnival, I
leave the carriage entirely at your disposal. The host will
tell you I have three or four more, so that you will not
inconvenience me in any way. Make use of it, I pray you, for
your pleasure or your business.

The young men wished to declinebut they could find no good
reason for refusing an offer which was so agreeable to them.
The Count of Monte Cristo remained a quarter of an hour with
themconversing on all subjects with the greatest ease. He
wasas we have already saidperfectly well acquainted with
the literature of all countries. A glance at the walls of
his salon proved to Franz and Albert that he was a
connoisseur of pictures. A few words he let fall showed them
that he was no stranger to the sciencesand he seemed much
occupied with chemistry. The two friends did not venture to
return the count the breakfast he had given them; it would
have been too absurd to offer him in exchange for his
excellent table the very inferior one of Signor Pastrini.
They told him so franklyand he received their excuses with
the air of a man who appreciated their delicacy. Albert was
charmed with the count's mannersand he was only prevented
from recognizing him for a perfect gentleman by reason of
his varied knowledge. The permission to do what he liked
with the carriage pleased him above allfor the fair
peasants had appeared in a most elegant carriage the
preceding eveningand Albert was not sorry to be upon an
equal footing with them. At half-past one they descended
the coachman and footman had put on their livery over their
disguiseswhich gave them a more ridiculous appearance than
everand which gained them the applause of Franz and
Albert. Albert had fastened the faded bunch of violets to
his button-hole. At the first sound of the bell they
hastened into the Corso by the Via Vittoria. At the second
turna bunch of fresh violetsthrown from a carriage
filled with harlequinsindicated to Albert thatlike
himself and his friendthe peasants had changed their
costumealso; and whether it was the result of chanceor
whether a similar feeling had possessed them bothwhile he


had changed his costume they had assumed his.

Albert placed the fresh bouquet in his button-holebut he
kept the faded one in his hand; and when he again met the
calashhe raised it to his lipsan action which seemed
greatly to amuse not only the fair lady who had thrown it
but her joyous companions also. The day was as gay as the
preceding oneperhaps even more animated and noisy; the
count appeared for an instant at his window. but when they
again passed he had disappeared. It is almost needless to
say that the flirtation between Albert and the fair peasant
continued all day. In the eveningon his returnFranz
found a letter from the embassyinforming him that he would
have the honor of being received by his holiness the next
day. At each previous visit he had made to Romehe had
solicited and obtained the same favor; and incited as much
by a religious feeling as by gratitudehe was unwilling to
quit the capital of the Christian world without laying his
respectful homage at the feet of one of St. Peter's
successors who has set the rare example of all the virtues.
He did not then think of the Carnivalfor in spite of his
condescension and touching kindnessone cannot incline
one's self without awe before the venerable and noble old
man called Gregory XVI. On his return from the Vatican
Franz carefully avoided the Corso; he brought away with him
a treasure of pious thoughtsto which the mad gayety of the
maskers would have been profanation. At ten minutes past
five Albert entered overjoyed. The harlequin had reassumed
her peasant's costumeand as she passed she raised her
mask. She was charming. Franz congratulated Albertwho
received his congratulations with the air of a man conscious
that they are merited. He had recognized by certain
unmistakable signsthat his fair incognita belonged to the
aristocracy. He had made up his mind to write to her the
next day. Franz remarkedwhile he gave these detailsthat
Albert seemed to have something to ask of himbut that he
was unwilling to ask it. He insisted upon itdeclaring
beforehand that he was willing to make any sacrifice the
other wished. Albert let himself be pressed just as long as
friendship requiredand then avowed to Franz that he would
do him a great favor by allowing him to occupy the carriage
alone the next day. Albert attributed to Franz's absence the
extreme kindness of the fair peasant in raising her mask.
Franz was not sufficiently egotistical to stop Albert in the
middle of an adventure that promised to prove so agreeable
to his curiosity and so flattering to his vanity. He felt
assured that the perfect indiscretion of his friend would
duly inform him of all that happened; and asduring three
years that he had travelled all over Italya similar piece
of good fortune had never fallen to his shareFranz was by
no means sorry to learn how to act on such an occasion. He
therefore promised Albert that he would content himself the
morrow with witnessing the Carnival from the windows of the
Rospoli Palace.

The next morning he saw Albert pass and repassholding an
enormous bouquetwhich he doubtless meant to make the
bearer of his amorous epistle. This belief was changed into
certainty when Franz saw the bouquet (conspicuous by a
circle of white camellias) in the hand of a charming
harlequin dressed in rose-colored satin. The evening was no
longer joybut delirium. Albert nothing doubted but that
the fair unknown would reply in the same manner. Franz
anticipated his wishes by saying that the noise fatigued


himand that he should pass the next day in writing and
looking over his journal. Albert was not deceivedfor the
next evening Franz saw him enter triumphantly shaking a
folded paper which he held by one corner. "Well said he,
was I mistaken?"

She has answered you!cried Franz.

Read.This word was pronounced in a manner impossible to
describe. Franz took the letterand read: --

Tuesday eveningat seven o'clockdescend from your
carriage opposite the Via dei Ponteficiand follow the
Roman peasant who snatches your torch from you. When you
arrive at the first step of the church of San Giacomobe
sure to fasten a knot of rose-colored ribbons to the
shoulder of your harlequin costumein order that you may be
recognized. Until then you will not see me.

Constancy and Discretion.

Well,asked hewhen Franz had finishedwhat do you
think of that?

I think that the adventure is assuming a very agreeable
appearance.

I think so, also,replied Albert; "and I very much fear
you will go alone to the Duke of Bracciano's ball." Franz
and Albert had received that morning an invitation from the
celebrated Roman banker. "Take careAlbert said Franz.
All the nobility of Rome will be presentand if your fair
incognita belong to the higher class of societyshe must go
there."

Whether she goes there or not, my opinion is still the
same,returned Albert. "You have read the letter?"

Yes.

You know how imperfectly the women of the mezzo cito are
educated in Italy?(This is the name of the lower class.)

Yes.

Well, read the letter again. Look at the writing, and find
if you can, any blemish in the language or orthography.
(The writing wasin realitycharmingand the orthography
irreproachable.) "You are born to good fortune said Franz,
as he returned the letter.

Laugh as much as you will replied Albert, I am in love."

You alarm me,cried Franz. "I see that I shall not only go
alone to the Duke of Bracciano'sbut also return to
Florence alone."

If my unknown be as amiable as she is beautiful,said
AlbertI shall fix myself at Rome for six weeks, at least.
I adore Rome, and I have always had a great taste for
archaeology.

Come, two or three more such adventures, and I do not
despair of seeing you a member of the Academy.Doubtless


Albert was about to discuss seriously his right to the
academic chair when they were informed that dinner was
ready. Albert's love had not taken away his appetite. He
hastened with Franz to seat himselffree to recommence the
discussion after dinner. After dinnerthe Count of Monte
Cristo was announced. They had not seen him for two days.
Signor Pastrini informed them that business had called him
to Civita Vecchia. He had started the previous eveningand
had only returned an hour since. He was charming. Whether he
kept a watch over himselfor whether by accident he did not
sound the acrimonious chords that in other circumstances had
been touchedhe was to-night like everybody else. The man
was an enigma to Franz. The count must feel sure that Franz
recognized him; and yet he had not let fall a single word
indicating any previous acquaintance between them. On his
sidehowever great Franz's desire was to allude to their
former interviewthe fear of being disagreeable to the man
who had loaded him and his friend with kindness prevented
him from mentioning it. The count had learned that the two
friends had sent to secure a box at the Argentina Theatre
and were told they were all let. In consequencehe brought
them the key of his own -- at least such was the apparent
motive of his visit. Franz and Albert made some difficulty
alleging their fear of depriving him of it; but the count
replied thatas he was going to the Palli Theatrethe box
at the Argentina Theatre would he lost if they did not
profit by it. This assurance determined the two friends to
accept it.

Franz had by degrees become accustomed to the count's
pallorwhich had so forcibly struck him at their first
meeting. He could not refrain from admiring the severe
beauty of his featuresthe only defector rather the
principal quality of which was the pallor. Trulya Byronic
hero! Franz could notwe will not say see himbut even
think of him without imagining his stern head upon Manfred's
shouldersor beneath Lara's helmet. His forehead was marked
with the line that indicates the constant presence of bitter
thoughts; he had the fiery eyes that seem to penetrate to
the very souland the haughty and disdainful upper lip that
gives to the words it utters a peculiar character that
impresses them on the minds of those to whom they are
addressed. The count was no longer young. He was at least
forty; and yet it was easy to understand that he was formed
to rule the young men with whom he associated at present.
Andto complete his resemblance with the fantastic heroes
of the English poetthe count seemed to have the power of
fascination. Albert was constantly expatiating on their good
fortune in meeting such a man. Franz was less enthusiastic;
but the count exercised over him also the ascendency a
strong mind always acquires over a mind less domineering. He
thought several times of the project the count had of
visiting Paris; and he had no doubt but thatwith his
eccentric characterhis characteristic faceand his
colossal fortunehe would produce a great effect there. And
yet he did not wish to be at Paris when the count was there.
The evening passed as evenings mostly pass at Italian
theatres; that isnot in listening to the musicbut in
paying visits and conversing. The Countess G---- wished to
revive the subject of the countbut Franz announced he had
something far newer to tell herandin spite of Albert's
demonstrations of false modestyhe informed the countess of
the great event which had preoccupied them for the last
three days. As similar intrigues are not uncommon in Italy


if we may credit travellersthe comtess did not manifest
the least incredulitybut congratulated Albert on his
success. They promisedupon separatingto meet at the Duke
of Bracciano's ballto which all Rome was invited. The
heroine of the bouquet kept her word; she gave Albert no
sign of her existence the morrow or the day after.

At length Tuesday camethe last and most tumultuous day of
the Carnival. On Tuesdaythe theatres open at ten o'clock
in the morningas Lent begins after eight at night. On
Tuesdayall those who through want of moneytimeor
enthusiasmhave not been to see the Carnival beforemingle
in the gayetyand contribute to the noise and excitement.
From two o'clock till five Franz and Albert followed in the
feteexchanging handfuls of confetti with the other
carriages and the pedestrianswho crowded amongst the
horses' feet and the carriage wheels without a single
accidenta single disputeor a single fight. The fetes are
veritable pleasure days to the Italians. The author of this
historywho has resided five or six years in Italydoes
not recollect to have ever seen a ceremony interrupted by
one of those events so common in other countries. Albert was
triumphant in his harlequin costume. A knot of rose-colored
ribbons fell from his shoulder almost to the ground. In
order that there might be no confusionFranz wore his
peasant's costume.

As the day advancedthe tumult became greater. There was
not on the pavementin the carriagesat the windowsa
single tongue that was silenta single arm that did not
move. It was a human stormmade up of a thunder of cries
and a hail of sweetmeatsflowerseggsorangesand
nosegays. At three o'clock the sound of fireworkslet off
on the Piazza del Popolo and the Piazza di Venezia (heard
with difficulty amid the din and confusion) announced that
the races were about to begin. The raceslike the moccoli
are one of the episodes peculiar to the last days of the
Carnival. At the sound of the fireworks the carriages
instantly broke ranksand retired by the adjacent streets.
All these evolutions are executed with an inconceivable
address and marvellous rapiditywithout the police
interfering in the matter. The pedestrians ranged themselves
against the walls; then the trampling of horses and the
clashing of steel were heard. A detachment of carbineers
fifteen abreastgalloped up the Corso in order to clear it
for the barberi. When the detachment arrived at the Piazza
di Veneziaa second volley of fireworks was dischargedto
announce that the street was clear. Almost instantlyin the
midst of a tremendous and general outcryseven or eight
horsesexcited by the shouts of three hundred thousand
spectatorspassed by like lightning. Then the Castle of
Saint Angelo fired three cannon to indicate that number
three had won. Immediatelywithout any other signalthe
carriages moved onflowing on towards the Corsodown all
the streetslike torrents pent up for a whilewhich again
flow into the parent river; and the immense stream again
continued its course between its two granite banks.

A new source of noise and movement was added to the crowd.
The sellers of moccoletti entered on the scene. The moccoli
or moccolettiare candles which vary in size from the
pascal taper to the rushlightand which give to each actor
in the great final scene of the Carnival two very serious
problems to grapple with-- firsthow to keep his own


moccoletto alight; and secondlyhow to extinguish the
moccoletti of others. The moccoletto is like life: man has
found but one means of transmitting itand that one comes
from God. But he has discovered a thousand means of taking
it awayand the devil has somewhat aided him. The
moccoletto is kindled by approaching it to a light. But who
can describe the thousand means of extinguishing the
moccoletto? -- the gigantic bellowsthe monstrous
extinguishersthe superhuman fans. Every one hastened to
purchase moccoletti -- Franz and Albert among the rest.


The night was rapidly approaching; and alreadyat the cry
of "Moccoletti!" repeated by the shrill voices of a thousand
vendorstwo or three stars began to burn among the crowd.
It was a signal. At the end of ten minutes fifty thousand
lights glittereddescending from the Palazzo di Venezia to
the Piazza del Popoloand mounting from the Piazzo del
Popolo to the Palazzo di Venezia. It seemed like the fete of
jack-o'-lanterns. It is impossible to form any idea of it
without having seen it. Suppose that all the stars had
descended from the sky and mingled in a wild dance on the
face of the earth; the whole accompanied by cries that were
never heard in any other part of the world. The facchino
follows the princethe Transteverin the citizenevery one
blowingextinguishingrelighting. Had old AEolus appeared
at this momenthe would have been proclaimed king of the
moccoliand Aquilo the heir-presumptive to the throne. This
battle of folly and flame continued for two hours; the Corso
was light as day; the features of the spectators on the
third and fourth stories were visible. Every five minutes
Albert took out his watch; at length it pointed to seven.
The two friends were in the Via dei Pontefici. Albert sprang
outbearing his moccoletto in his hand. Two or three masks
strove to knock his moccoletto out of his hand; but Albert
a first-rate pugilistsent them rolling in the streetone
after the otherand continued his course towards the church
of San Giacomo. The steps were crowded with maskswho
strove to snatch each other's torches. Franz followed Albert
with his eyesand saw him mount the first step. Instantly a
maskwearing the well-known costume of a peasant woman
snatched his moccoletto from him without his offering any
resistance. Franz was too far off to hear what they said;
butwithout doubtnothing hostile passedfor he saw
Albert disappear arm-in-arm with the peasant girl. He
watched them pass through the crowd for some timebut at
length he lost sight of them in the Via Macello. Suddenly
the bell that gives the signal for the end of the carnival
soundedand at the same instant all the moccoletti were
extinguished as if by enchantment. It seemed as though one
immense blast of the wind had extinguished every one. Franz
found himself in utter darkness. No sound was audible save
that of the carriages that were carrying the maskers home;
nothing was visible save a few lights that burnt behind the
windows. The Carnival was over.


Chapter 37
The Catacombs of Saint Sebastian.


In his whole lifeperhapsFranz had never before
experienced so sudden an impressionso rapid a transition
from gayety to sadnessas in this moment. It seemed as
though Romeunder the magic breath of some demon of the



nighthad suddenly changed into a vast tomb. By a chance
which added yet more to the intensity of the darknessthe
moonwhich was on the wanedid not rise until eleven
o'clockand the streets which the young man traversed were
plunged in the deepest obscurity. The distance was short
and at the end of ten minutes his carriageor rather the
count'sstopped before the Hotel de Londres. Dinner was
waitingbut as Albert had told him that he should not
return so soonFranz sat down without him. Signor Pastrini
who had been accustomed to see them dine togetherinquired
into the cause of his absencebut Franz merely replied that
Albert had received on the previous evening an invitation
which he had accepted. The sudden extinction of the
moccolettithe darkness which had replaced the lightand
the silence which had succeeded the turmoilhad left in
Franz's mind a certain depression which was not free from
uneasiness. He therefore dined very silentlyin spite of
the officious attention of his hostwho presented himself
two or three times to inquire if he wanted anything.

Franz resolved to wait for Albert as late as possible. He
ordered the carriagethereforefor eleven o'clock
desiring Signor Pastrini to inform him the moment that
Albert returned to the hotel. At eleven o'clock Albert had
not come back. Franz dressed himselfand went outtelling
his host that he was going to pass the night at the Duke of
Bracciano's. The house of the Duke of Bracciano is one of
the most delightful in Romethe duchessone of the last
heiresses of the Colonnasdoes its honors with the most
consummate graceand thus their fetes have a European
celebrity. Franz and Albert had brought to Rome letters of
introduction to themand their first question on his
arrival was to inquire the whereabouts of his travelling
companion. Franz replied that he had left him at the moment
they were about to extinguish the moccoliand that he had
lost sight of him in the Via Macello. "Then he has not
returned?" said the duke.

I waited for him until this hour,replied Franz.

And do you know whither he went?

No, not precisely; however, I think it was something very
like a rendezvous.

Diavolo!said the dukethis is a bad day, or rather a
bad night, to be out late; is it not, countess!These words
were addressed to the Countess G----who had just
arrivedand was leaning on the arm of Signor Torloniathe
duke's brother.

I think, on the contrary, that it is a charming night,
replied the countessand those who are here will complain
of but one thing -- its too rapid flight.

I am not speaking,said the duke with a smileof the
persons who are here; the men run no other danger than that
of falling in love with you, and the women of falling ill of
jealousy at seeing you so lovely; I meant persons who were
out in the streets of Rome.

Ah,asked the countesswho is out in the streets of Rome
at this hour, unless it be to go to a ball?


Our friend, Albert de Morcerf, countess, whom I left in
pursuit of his unknown about seven o'clock this evening,
said Franzand whom I have not seen since.

And don't you know where he is?

Not at all.

Is he armed?

He is in masquerade.

You should not have allowed him to go,said the duke to
Franz; "youwho know Rome better than he does."

You might as well have tried to stop number three of the
barberi, who gained the prize in the race to-day,replied
Franz; "and then moreoverwhat could happen to him?"

Who can tell? The night is gloomy, and the Tiber is very
near the Via Macello.Franz felt a shudder run through his
veins at observing that the feeling of the duke and the
countess was so much in unison with his own personal
disquietude. "I informed them at the hotel that I had the
honor of passing the night hereduke said Franz, and
desired them to come and inform me of his return."

Ah,replied the dukehere I think, is one of my servants
who is seeking you.

The duke was not mistaken; when he saw Franzthe servant
came up to him. "Your excellency he said, the master of
the Hotel de Londres has sent to let you know that a man is
waiting for you with a letter from the Viscount of Morcerf."

A letter from the viscount!exclaimed Franz.

Yes.

And who is the man?

I do not know.

Why did he not bring it to me here?

The messenger did not say.

And where is the messenger?

He went away directly he saw me enter the ball-room to find
you.

Oh,said the countess to Franzgo with all speed -- poor
young man! Perhaps some accident has happened to him.

I will hasten,replied Franz.

Shall we see you again to give us any information?
inquired the countess.

Yes, if it is not any serious affair, otherwise I cannot
answer as to what I may do myself.

Be prudent, in any event,said the countess.


Oh, pray be assured of that.Franz took his hat and went
away in haste. He had sent away his carriage with orders for
it to fetch him at two o'clock; fortunately the Palazzo
Braccianowhich is on one side in the Corsoand on the
other in the Square of the Holy Apostlesis hardly ten
minutes' walk from the Hotel de Londres. As he came near the
hotelFranz saw a man in the middle of the street. He had
no doubt that it was the messenger from Albert. The man was
wrapped up in a large cloak. He went up to himbutto his
extreme astonishmentthe stranger first addressed him.
What wants your excellency of me?inquired the man
retreating a step or twoas if to keep on his guard.

Are not you the person who brought me a letter,inquired
Franzfrom the Viscount of Morcerf?

Your excellency lodges at Pastrini's hotel?

I do.

Your excellency is the travelling companion of the
viscount?

I am.

Your excellency's name-


Is the Baron Franz d'Epinay.

Then it is to your excellency that this letter is
addressed.

Is there any answer?inquired Franztaking the letter
from him.

Yes -- your friend at least hopes so.

Come up-stairs with me, and I will give it to you.

I prefer waiting here,said the messengerwith a smile.

And why?

Your excellency will know when you have read the letter.

Shall I find you here, then?

Certainly.

Franz entered the hotel. On the staircase he met Signor
Pastrini. "Well?" said the landlord.

Well -- what?responded Franz.

You have seen the man who desired to speak with you from
your friend?he asked of Franz.

Yes, I have seen him,he repliedand he has handed this
letter to me. Light the candles in my apartment, if you
please.The inn-keeper gave orders to a servant to go
before Franz with a light. The young man had found Signor
Pastrini looking very much alarmedand this had only made
him the more anxious to read Albert's letter; and so he went


instantly towards the waxlightand unfolded it. It was
written and signed by Albert. Franz read it twice before he
could comprehend what it contained. It was thus worded: --

My Dear Fellow-- The moment you have received thishave
the kindness to take the letter of credit from my
pocket-bookwhich you will find in the square drawer of the
secretary; add your own to itif it be not sufficient. Run
to Torloniadraw from him instantly four thousand piastres
and give them to the bearer. It is urgent that I should have
this money without delay. I do not say morerelying on you
as you may rely on me. Your friend

Albert de Morcerf.

P.S. -- I now believe in Italian banditti.
Below these lines were writtenin a strange handthe
following in Italian: -


Se alle sei della mattina le quattro mile piastre non sono
nelle mie manialla sette il conte Alberto avra cessato di
vivere.

Luigi Vampa.

If by six in the morning the four thousand piastres are not
in my hands, by seven o'clock the Count Albert will have
ceased to live.

This second signature explained everything to Franzwho now
understood the objection of the messenger to coming up into
the apartment; the street was safer for him. Albertthen
had fallen into the hands of the famous bandit chiefin
whose existence he had for so long a time refused to
believe. There was no time to lose. He hastened to open the
secretaryand found the pocket-book in the drawerand in
it the letter of credit. There were in all six thousand
piastresbut of these six thousand Albert had already
expended three thousand. As to Franzhe had no letter of
creditas he lived at Florenceand had only come to Rome
to pass seven or eight days; he had brought but a hundred
louisand of these he had not more than fifty left. Thus
seven or eight hundred piastres were wanting to them both to
make up the sum that Albert required. Truehe might in such
a case rely on the kindness of Signor Torlonia. He was
thereforeabout to return to the Palazzo Bracciano without
loss of timewhen suddenly a luminous idea crossed his
mind. He remembered the Count of Monte Cristo. Franz was
about to ring for Signor Pastriniwhen that worthy
presented himself. "My dear sir he said, hastily, do you
know if the count is within?"

Yes, your excellency; he has this moment returned.

Is he in bed?

I should say no.

Then ring at his door, if you please, and request him to be
so kind as to give me an audience.Signor Pastrini did as
he was desiredand returning five minutes afterhe said
-- "The count awaits your excellency." Franz went along the
corridorand a servant introduced him to the count. He was


in a small room which Franz had not yet seenand which was
surrounded with divans. The count came towards him. "Well
what good wind blows you hither at this hour?" said he;
have you come to sup with me? It would be very kind of
you.

No; I have come to speak to you of a very serious matter.

A serious matter,said the countlooking at Franz with
the earnestness usual to him; "and what may it be?"

Are we alone?

Yes,replied the countgoing to the doorand returning.
Franz gave him Albert's letter. "Read that he said. The
count read it.

Wellwell!" said he.

Did you see the postscript?

I did, indeed.

`Se alle sei della mattina le quattro mile piastre non sono
nelle mie manialla sette il conte Alberto avra cessato di
vivere.

`Luigi Vampa.'

What think you of that?inquired Franz.

Have you the money he demands?

Yes, all but eight hundred piastres.The count went to his
secretaryopened itand pulling out a drawer filled with
goldsaid to Franz-- "I hope you will not offend me by
applying to any one but myself."

You see, on the contrary, I come to you first and
instantly,replied Franz.

And I thank you; have what you will; and he made a sign to
Franz to take what he pleased.

Is it absolutely necessary, then, to send the money to
Luigi Vampa?asked the young manlooking fixedly in his
turn at the count.

Judge for yourself,replied he. "The postscript is
explicit."

I think that if you would take the trouble of reflecting,
you could find a way of simplifying the negotiation,said
Franz.

How so?returned the countwith surprise.

If we were to go together to Luigi Vampa, I am sure he
would not refuse you Albert's freedom.

What influence can I possibly have over a bandit?

Have you not just rendered him a service that can never be
forgotten?


What is that?

Have you not saved Peppino's life?

Well, well, said the count, who told you that?"

No matter; I know it.The count knit his browsand
remained silent an instant. "And if I went to seek Vampa
would you accompany me?"

If my society would not be disagreeable.

Be it so. It is a lovely night, and a walk without Rome
will do us both good.

Shall I take any arms?

For what purpose?

Any money?

It is useless. Where is the man who brought the letter?

In the street.

He awaits the answer?

Yes.

I must learn where we are going. I will summon him hither.

It is useless; he would not come up.

To your apartments, perhaps; but he will not make any
difficulty at entering mine.The count went to the window
of the apartment that looked on to the streetand whistled
in a peculiar manner. The man in the mantle quitted the
walland advanced into the middle of the street. "Salite!"
said the countin the same tone in which he would have
given an order to his servant. The messenger obeyed without
the least hesitationbut rather with alacrityand
mounting the steps at a boundentered the hotel; five
seconds afterwards he was at the door of the room. "Ahit
is youPeppino said the count. But Peppino, instead of
answering, threw himself on his knees, seized the count's
hand, and covered it with kisses. Ah said the count, you
havethennot forgotten that I saved your life; that is
strangefor it is a week ago."

No, excellency; and never shall I forget it,returned
Peppinowith an accent of profound gratitude.

Never? That is a long time; but it is something that you
believe so. Rise and answer.Peppino glanced anxiously at
Franz. "Ohyou may speak before his excellency said he;
he is one of my friends. You allow me to give you this
title?" continued the count in Frenchit is necessary to
excite this man's confidence.

You can speak before me,said Franz; "I am a friend of the
count's."

Good!returned Peppino. "I am ready to answer any


questions your excellency may address to me."

How did the Viscount Albert fall into Luigi's hands?

Excellency, the Frenchman's carriage passed several times
the one in which was Teresa.

The chief's mistress?

Yes. The Frenchman threw her a bouquet; Teresa returned it
-- all this with the consent of the chief, who was in the
carriage.

What?cried Franzwas Luigi Vampa in the carriage with
the Roman peasants?

It was he who drove, disguised as the coachman,replied
Peppino.

Well?said the count.

Well, then, the Frenchman took off his mask; Teresa, with
the chief's consent, did the same. The Frenchman asked for a
rendezvous; Teresa gave him one -- only, instead of Teresa,
it was Beppo who was on the steps of the church of San
Giacomo.

What!exclaimed Franzthe peasant girl who snatched his
mocoletto from him-


Was a lad of fifteen,replied Peppino. "But it was no
disgrace to your friend to have been deceived; Beppo has
taken in plenty of others."

And Beppo led him outside the walls?said the count.

Exactly so; a carriage was waiting at the end of the Via
Macello. Beppo got in, inviting the Frenchman to follow him,
and he did not wait to be asked twice. He gallantly offered
the right-hand seat to Beppo, and sat by him. Beppo told him
he was going to take him to a villa a league from Rome; the
Frenchman assured him he would follow him to the end of the
world. The coachman went up the Via di Ripetta and the Porta
San Paola; and when they were two hundred yards outside, as
the Frenchman became somewhat too forward, Beppo put a brace
of pistols to his head, the coachman pulled up and did the
same. At the same time, four of the band, who were concealed
on the banks of the Almo, surrounded the carriage. The
Frenchman made some resistance, and nearly strangled Beppo;
but he could not resist five armed men. and was forced to
yield. They made him get out, walk along the banks of the
river, and then brought him to Teresa and Luigi, who were
waiting for him in the catacombs of St. Sebastian.

Well,said the countturning towards Franzit seems to
me that this is a very likely story. What do you say to it?

Why, that I should think it very amusing,replied Franz
if it had happened to any one but poor Albert.

And, in truth, if you had not found me here,said the
countit might have proved a gallant adventure which would
have cost your friend dear; but now, be assured, his alarm
will be the only serious consequence.


And shall we go and find him?inquired Franz.

Oh, decidedly, sir. He is in a very picturesque place -- do
you know the catacombs of St. Sebastian?

I was never in them; but I have often resolved to visit
them.

Well, here is an opportunity made to your hand, and it
would be difficult to contrive a better. Have you a
carriage?

No.

That is of no consequence; I always have one ready, day and
night.

Always ready?

Yes. I am a very capricious being, and I should tell you
that sometimes when I rise, or after my dinner, or in the
middle of the night, I resolve on starting for some
particular point, and away I go.The count rangand a
footman appeared. "Order out the carriage he said, and
remove the pistols which are in the holsters. You need not
awaken the coachman; Ali will drive." In a very short time
the noise of wheels was heardand the carriage stopped at
the door. The count took out his watch. "Half-past twelve
he said. We might start at five o'clock and be in timebut
the delay may cause your friend to pass an uneasy nightand
therefore we had better go with all speed to extricate him
from the hands of the infidels. Are you still resolved to
accompany me?"

More determined than ever.

Well, then, come along.

Franz and the count went downstairsaccompanied by Peppino.
At the door they found the carriage. Ali was on the boxin
whom Franz recognized the dumb slave of the grotto of Monte
Cristo. Franz and the count got into the carriage. Peppino
placed himself beside Aliand they set off at a rapid pace.
Ali had received his instructionsand went down the Corso
crossed the Campo Vaccinowent up the Strada San Gregorio
and reached the gates of St. Sebastian. Then the porter
raised some difficultiesbut the Count of Monte Cristo
produced a permit from the governor of Romeallowing him to
leave or enter the city at any hour of the day or night; the
portcullis was therefore raisedthe porter had a louis for
his troubleand they went on their way. The road which the
carriage now traversed was the ancient Appian Wayand
bordered with tombs. From time to timeby the light of the
moonwhich began to riseFranz imagined that he saw
something like a sentinel appear at various points among the
ruinsand suddenly retreat into the darkness on a signal
from Peppino. A short time before they reached the Baths of
Caracalla the carriage stoppedPeppino opened the doorand
the count and Franz alighted.

In ten minutes,said the count to his companionwe shall
be there.


He then took Peppino asidegave him an order in a low
voiceand Peppino went awaytaking with him a torch
brought with them in the carriage. Five minutes elapsed
during which Franz saw the shepherd going along a narrow
path that led over the irregular and broken surface of the
Campagna; and finally he disappeared in the midst of the
tall red herbagewhich seemed like the bristling mane of an
enormous lion. "Now said the count, let us follow him."
Franz and the count in their turn then advanced along the
same pathwhichat the distance of a hundred pacesled
them over a declivity to the bottom of a small valley. They
then perceived two men conversing in the obscurity. "Ought
we to go on?" asked Franz of the count; "or shall we wait
awhile?"

Let us go on; Peppino will have warned the sentry of our
coming.One of the two men was Peppinoand the other a
bandit on the lookout. Franz and the count advancedand the
bandit saluted them. "Your excellency said Peppino,
addressing the count, if you will follow methe opening of
the catacombs is close at hand."

Go on, then,replied the count. They came to an opening
behind a clump of bushes and in the midst of a pile of
rocksby which a man could scarcely pass. Peppino glided
first into this crevice; after they got along a few paces
the passage widened. Peppino passedlighted his torchand
turned to see if they came after him. The count first
reached an open space and Franz followed him closely. The
passageway sloped in a gentle descentenlarging as they
proceeded; still Franz and the count were compelled to
advance in a stooping postureand were scarcely able to
proceed abreast of one another. They went on a hundred and
fifty paces in this wayand then were stopped byWho
comes there?At the same time they saw the reflection of a
torch on a carbine barrel.

A friend!responded Peppino; andadvancing alone towards
the sentryhe said a few words to him in a low tone; and
then helike the firstsaluted the nocturnal visitors
making a sign that they might proceed.

Behind the sentinel was a staircase with twenty steps. Franz
and the count descended theseand found themselves in a
mortuary chamber. Five corridors diverged like the rays of a
starand the wallsdug into nicheswhich were arranged
one above the other in the shape of coffinsshowed that
they were at last in the catacombs. Down one of the
corridorswhose extent it was impossible to determinerays
of light were visible. The count laid his hand on Franz's
shoulder. "Would you like to see a camp of bandits in
repose?" he inquired.

Exceedingly,replied Franz.

Come with me, then. Peppino, put out the torch.Peppino
obeyedand Franz and the count were in utter darkness
except that fifty paces in advance of them a reddish glare
more evident since Peppino had put out his torchwas
visible along the wall. They advanced silentlythe count
guiding Franz as if he had the singular faculty of seeing in
the dark. Franz himselfhoweversaw his way more plainly
in proportion as he went on towards the lightwhich served
in some manner as a guide. Three arcades were before them


and the middle one was used as a door. These arcades opened
on one side into the corridor where the count and Franz
wereand on the other into a large square chamberentirely
surrounded by niches similar to those of which we have
spoken. In the midst of this chamber were four stoneswhich
had formerly served as an altaras was evident from the
cross which still surmounted them. A lampplaced at the
base of a pillarlighted up with its pale and flickering
flame the singular scene which presented itself to the eyes
of the two visitors concealed in the shadow. A man was
seated with his elbow leaning on the columnand was reading
with his back turned to the arcadesthrough the openings of
which the newcomers contemplated him. This was the chief of
the bandLuigi Vampa. Around himand in groupsaccording
to their fancylying in their mantlesor with their backs
against a sort of stone benchwhich went all round the
columbariumwere to be seen twenty brigands or moreeach
having his carbine within reach. At the other endsilent
scarcely visibleand like a shadowwas a sentinelwho was
walking up and down before a grottowhich was only
distinguishable because in that spot the darkness seemed
more dense than elsewhere. When the count thought Franz had
gazed sufficiently on this picturesque tableauhe raised
his finger to his lipsto warn him to be silentand
ascending the three steps which led to the corridor of the
columbariumentered the chamber by the middle arcadeand
advanced towards Vampawho was so intent on the book before
him that he did not hear the noise of his footsteps.

Who comes there?cried the sentinelwho was less
abstractedand who saw by the lamp-light a shadow
approaching his chief. At this challengeVampa rose
quicklydrawing at the same moment a pistol from his
girdle. In a moment all the bandits were on their feetand
twenty carbines were levelled at the count. "Well said he
in a voice perfectly calm, and no muscle of his countenance
disturbed, wellmy dear Vampait appears to me that you
receive a friend with a great deal of ceremony."

Ground arms,exclaimed the chiefwith an imperative sign
of the handwhile with the other he took off his hat
respectfully; thenturning to the singular personage who
had caused this scenehe saidYour pardon, your
excellency, but I was so far from expecting the honor of a
visit, that I did not really recognize you.

It seems that your memory is equally short in everything,
Vampa,said the countand that not only do you forget
people's faces, but also the conditions you make with them.

What conditions have I forgotten, your excellency?
inquired the banditwith the air of a man whohaving
committed an erroris anxious to repair it.

Was it not agreed,asked the countthat not only my
person, but also that of my friends, should be respected by
you?

And how have I broken that treaty, your excellency?

You have this evening carried off and conveyed hither the
Vicomte Albert de Morcerf. Well,continued the countin a
tone that made Franz shudderthis young gentleman is one
of my friends -- this young gentleman lodges in the same


hotel as myself -- this young gentleman has been up and down
the Corso for eight hours in my private carriage, and yet, I
repeat to you, you have carried him off, and conveyed him
hither, and,added the counttaking the letter from his
pocketyou have set a ransom on him, as if he were an
utter stranger.

Why did you not tell me all this -- you?inquired the
brigand chiefturning towards his menwho all retreated
before his look. "Why have you caused me thus to fail in my
word towards a gentleman like the countwho has all our
lives in his hands? By heavensif I thought one of you knew
that the young gentleman was the friend of his excellencyI
would blow his brains out with my own hand!"

Well,said the countturning towards FranzI told you
there was some mistake in this.

Are you not alone?asked Vampa with uneasiness.

I am with the person to whom this letter was addressed, and
to whom I desired to prove that Luigi Vampa was a man of his
word. Come, your excellency,the count addedturning to
Franzhere is Luigi Vampa, who will himself express to you
his deep regret at the mistake he has committed.Franz
approachedthe chief advancing several steps to meet him.
Welcome among us, your excellency,he said to him; "you
heard what the count just saidand also my reply; let me
add that I would not for the four thousand piastres at which
I had fixed your friend's ransomthat this had happened."

But,said Franzlooking round him uneasilywhere is the
Viscount? -- I do not see him.

Nothing has happened to him, I hope,said the count
frowningly.

The prisoner is there,replied Vampapointing to the
hollow space in front of which the bandit was on guardand
I will go myself and tell him he is free.The chief went
towards the place he had pointed out as Albert's prisonand
Franz and the count followed him. "What is the prisoner
doing?" inquired Vampa of the sentinel.

Ma foi, captain,replied the sentryI do not know; for
the last hour I have not heard him stir.

Come in, your excellency,said Vampa. The count and Franz
ascended seven or eight steps after the chiefwho drew back
a bolt and opened a door. Thenby the gleam of a lamp
similar to that which lighted the columbariumAlbert was to
be seen wrapped up in a cloak which one of the bandits had
lent himlying in a corner in profound slumber. "Come
said the count, smiling with his own peculiar smile, not so
bad for a man who is to be shot at seven o'clock to-morrow
morning." Vampa looked at Albert with a kind of admiration;
he was not insensible to such a proof of courage.

You are right, your excellency,he said; "this must be one
of your friends." Then going to Alberthe touched him on
the shouldersayingWill your excellency please to
awaken?Albert stretched out his armsrubbed his eyelids
and opened his eyes. "Oh said he, is it youcaptain? You
should have allowed me to sleep. I had such a delightful


dream. I was dancing the galop at Torlonia's with the
Countess G---- ." Then he drew his watch from his pocket
that he might see how time sped.

Half-past one only?said he. "Why the devil do you rouse
me at this hour?"

To tell you that you are free, your excellency.

My dear fellow,replied Albertwith perfect ease of mind
remember, for the future, Napoleon's maxim, `Never awaken
me but for bad news;' if you had let me sleep on, I should
have finished my galop, and have been grateful to you all my
life. So, then, they have paid my ransom?

No, your excellency.

Well, then, how am I free?

A person to whom I can refuse nothing has come to demand
you.

Come hither?

Yes, hither.

Really? Then that person is a most amiable person.Albert
looked around and perceived Franz. "What said he, is it
youmy dear Franzwhose devotion and friendship are thus
displayed?"

No, not I,replied Franzbut our neighbor, the Count of
Monte Cristo.

Oh. my dear count.said Albert gaylyarranging his cravat
and wristbandsyou are really most kind, and I hope you
will consider me as under eternal obligations to you, in the
first place for the carriage, and in the next for this
visit,and he put out his hand to the Countwho shuddered
as he gave his ownbut who nevertheless did give it. The
bandit gazed on this scene with amazement; he was evidently
accustomed to see his prisoners tremble before himand yet
here was one whose gay temperament was not for a moment
altered; as for Franzhe was enchanted at the way in which
Albert had sustained the national honor in the presence of
the bandit. "My dear Albert he said, if you will make
hastewe shall yet have time to finish the night at
Torlonia's. You may conclude your interrupted galopso that
you will owe no ill-will to Signor Luigiwho hasindeed
throughout this whole affair acted like a gentleman."

You are decidedly right, and we may reach the Palazzo by
two o'clock. Signor Luigi,continued Albertis there any
formality to fulfil before I take leave of your excellency?

None, sir,replied the bandityou are as free as air.

Well, then, a happy and merry life to you. Come, gentlemen,
come.

And Albertfollowed by Franz and the countdescended the
staircasecrossed the square chamberwhere stood all the
banditshat in hand. "Peppino said the brigand chief,
give me the torch."


What are you going to do?inquired the count.

l will show you the way back myself,said the captain;
that is the least honor that I can render to your
excellency.And taking the lighted torch from the hands of
the herdsmanhe preceded his guestsnot as a servant who
performs an act of civilitybut like a king who precedes
ambassadors. On reaching the doorhe bowed. "And nowyour
excellency added he, allow me to repeat my apologiesand
I hope you will not entertain any resentment at what has
occurred."

No, my dear Vampa,replied the count; "besidesyou
compensate for your mistakes in so gentlemanly a waythat
one almost feels obliged to you for having committed them."

Gentlemen,added the chiefturning towards the young men
perhaps the offer may not appear very tempting to you; but
if you should ever feel inclined to pay me a second visit,
wherever I may be, you shall be welcome.Franz and Albert
bowed. The count went out firstthen Albert. Franz paused
for a moment. "Has your excellency anything to ask me?" said
Vampa with a smile.

Yes, I have,replied Franz; "I am curious to know what
work you were perusing with so much attention as we
entered."

Caesar's `Commentaries,'said the banditit is my
favorite work.

Well, are you coming?asked Albert.

Yes,replied Franzhere I am,and hein his turnleft
the caves. They advanced to the plain. "Ahyour pardon
said Albert, turning round; will you allow mecaptain?"
And he lighted his cigar at Vampa's torch. "Nowmy dear
count he said, let us on with all the speed we may. I am
enormously anxious to finish my night at the Duke of
Bracciano's." They found the carriage where they had left
it. The count said a word in Arabic to Aliand the horses
went on at great speed. It was just two o'clock by Albert's
watch when the two friends entered into the dancing-room.
Their return was quite an eventbut as they entered
togetherall uneasiness on Albert's account ceased
instantly. "Madame said the Viscount of Morcerf, advancing
towards the countess, yesterday you were so condescending
as to promise me a galop; I am rather late in claiming this
gracious promisebut here is my friendwhose character for
veracity you well knowand he will assure you the delay
arose from no fault of mine." And as at this moment the
orchestra gave the signal for the waltzAlbert put his arm
round the waist of the countessand disappeared with her in
the whirl of dancers. In the meanwhile Franz was considering
the singular shudder that had passed over the Count of Monte
Cristo at the moment when he had beenin some sortforced
to give his hand to Albert.

Chapter 38
The Compact.


The first words that Albert uttered to his friendon the
following morningcontained a request that Franz would
accompany him on a visit to the count; truethe young man
had warmly and energetically thanked the count on the
previous evening; but services such as he had rendered could
never be too often acknowledged. Franzwho seemed attracted
by some invisible influence towards the countin which
terror was strangely mingledfelt an extreme reluctance to
permit his friend to be exposed alone to the singular
fascination that this mysterious personage seemed to
exercise over himand therefore made no objection to
Albert's requestbut at once accompanied him to the desired
spotandafter a short delaythe count joined them in the
salon. "My dear count said Albert, advancing to meet him,
permit me to repeat the poor thanks I offered last night
and to assure you that the remembrance of all I owe to you
will never be effaced from my memory; believe meas long as
I liveI shall never cease to dwell with grateful
recollection on the prompt and important service you
rendered me; and also to remember that to you I am indebted
even for my life."

My very good friend and excellent neighbor,replied the
countwith a smileyou really exaggerate my trifling
exertions. You owe me nothing but some trifle of 20,000
francs, which you have been saved out of your travelling
expenses, so that there is not much of a score between us;
-- but you must really permit me to congratulate you on the
ease and unconcern with which you resigned yourself to your
fate, and the perfect indifference you manifested as to the
turn events might take.

Upon my word,said AlbertI deserve no credit for what I
could not help, namely, a determination to take everything
as I found it, and to let those bandits see, that although
men get into troublesome scrapes all over the world, there
is no nation but the French that can smile even in the face
of grim Death himself. All that, however, has nothing to do
with my obligations to you, and I now come to ask you
whether, in my own person, my family, or connections, I can
in any way serve you? My father, the Comte de Morcerf,
although of Spanish origin, possesses considerable
influence, both at the court of France and Madrid, and I
unhesitatingly place the best services of myself, and all to
whom my life is dear, at your disposal.

Monsieur de Morcerf,replied the countyour offer, far
from surprising me, is precisely what I expected from you,
and I accept it in the same spirit of hearty sincerity with
which it is made; -- nay, I will go still further, and say
that I had previously made up my mind to ask a great favor
at your hands.

Oh, pray name it.

I am wholly a stranger to Paris -- it is a city I have
never yet seen.

Is it possible,exclaimed Albertthat you have reached
your present age without visiting the finest capital in the
world? I can scarcely credit it.

Nevertheless, it is quite true; still, I agree with you in
thinking that my present ignorance of the first city in


Europe is a reproach to me in every way, and calls for
immediate correction; but, in all probability, I should have
performed so important, so necessary a duty, as that of
making myself acquainted with the wonders and beauties of
your justly celebrated capital, had I known any person who
would have introduced me into the fashionable world, but
unfortunately I possessed no acquaintance there, and, of
necessity, was compelled to abandon the idea.

So distinguished an individual as yourself,cried Albert
could scarcely have required an introduction.

You are most kind; but as regards myself, I can find no
merit I possess, save that, as a millionaire, I might have
become a partner in the speculations of M. Aguado and M.
Rothschild; but as my motive in travelling to your capital
would not have been for the pleasure of dabbling in stocks,
I stayed away till some favorable chance should present
itself of carrying my wish into execution. Your offer,
however, smooths all difficulties, and I have only to ask
you, my dear M. de Morcerf(these words were accompanied by
a most peculiar smile)whether you undertake, upon my
arrival in France, to open to me the doors of that
fashionable world of which I know no more than a Huron or a
native of Cochin-China?

Oh, that I do, and with infinite pleasure,answered
Albert; "and so much the more readily as a letter received
this morning from my father summons me to Parisin
consequence of a treaty of marriage (my dear Franzdo not
smileI beg of you) with a family of high standingand
connected with the very cream of Parisian society."

Connected by marriage, you mean,said Franzlaughingly.

Well, never mind how it is,answered Albertit comes to
the same thing in the end. Perhaps by the time you return to
Paris, I shall be quite a sober, staid father of a family! A
most edifying representative I shall make of all the
domestic virtues -- don't you think so? But as regards your
wish to visit our fine city, my dear count, I can only say
that you may command me and mine to any extent you please.

Then it is settled,said the countand I give you my
solemn assurance that I only waited an opportunity like the
present to realize plans that I have long meditated.Franz
did not doubt that these plans were the same concerning
which the count had dropped a few words in the grotto of
Monte Cristoand while the Count was speaking the young man
watched him closelyhoping to read something of his purpose
in his facebut his countenance was inscrutable especially
whenas in the present caseit was veiled in a sphinx-like
smile. "But tell me nowcount exclaimed Albert, delighted
at the idea of having to chaperon so distinguished a person
as Monte Cristo; tell me truly whether you are in earnest
or if this project of visiting Paris is merely one of the
chimerical and uncertain air castles of which we make so
many in the course of our livesbut whichlike a house
built on the sandis liable to be blown over by the first
puff of wind?"

I pledge you my honor,returned the countthat I mean to
do as I have said; both inclination and positive necessity
compel me to visit Paris.


When do you propose going thither?

Have you made up your mind when you shall be there
yourself?

Certainly I have; in a fortnight or three weeks' time, that
is to say, as fast as I can get there!

Nay,said the Count; "I will give you three months ere I
join you; you see I make an ample allowance for all delays
and difficulties.

And in three months' time,said Albertyou will be at my
house?

Shall we make a positive appointment for a particular day
and hour?inquired the count; "only let me warn you that I
am proverbial for my punctilious exactitude in keeping my
engagements."

Day for day, hour for hour,said Albert; "that will suit
me to a dot."

So be it, then,replied the countand extending his hand
towards a calendarsuspended near the chimney-piecehe
saidto-day is the 21st of February;and drawing out his
watchaddedit is exactly half-past ten o'clock. Now
promise me to remember this, and expect me the 21st of May
at the same hour in the forenoon.

Capital,exclaimed Albert; "your breakfast shall be
waiting."

Where do you live?

No. 27, Rue du Helder.

Have you bachelor's apartments there? I hope my coming will
not put you to any inconvenience.

I reside in my father's house, but occupy a pavilion at the
farther side of the court-yard, entirely separated from the
main building.

Quite sufficient,replied the countastaking out his
tabletshe wrote down "No. 27Rue du Helder21st May
half-past ten in the morning."

Now then,said the countreturning his tablets to his
pocketmake yourself perfectly easy; the hand of your
time-piece will not be more accurate in marking the time
than myself.

Shall I see you again ere my departure?asked Albert.

That depends; when do you leave?

To-morrow evening, at five o'clock.

In that case I must say adieu to you, as I am compelled to
go to Naples, and shall not return hither before Saturday
evening or Sunday morning. And you, baron,pursued the
countaddressing Franzdo you also depart to-morrow?


Yes.

For France?

No, for Venice; I shall remain in Italy for another year or
two.

Then we shall not meet in Paris?

I fear I shall not have that honor.

Well, since we must part,said the countholding out a
hand to each of the young menallow me to wish you both a
safe and pleasant journey.It was the first time the hand
of Franz had come in contact with that of the mysterious
individual before himand unconsciously he shuddered at its
touchfor it felt cold and icy as that of a corpse. "Let us
understand each other said Albert; it is agreed -- is it
not? -- that you are to be at No. 27in the Rue du Helder
on the 21st of Mayat half-past ten in the morningand
your word of honor passed for your punctuality?"

The 21st of May, at half-past ten in the morning, Rue du
Helder, No. 27,replied the Count. The young men then rose
and bowing to the countquitted the room. "What is the
matter?" asked Albert of Franzwhen they had returned to
their own apartments; "you seem more than commonly
thoughtful."

I will confess to you, Albert,replied Franzthe count
is a very singular person, and the appointment you have made
to meet him in Paris fills me with a thousand
apprehensions.

My dear fellow,exclaimed Albertwhat can there possibly
be in that to excite uneasiness? Why, you must have lost
your senses.

Whether I am in my senses or not,answered Franzthat is
the way I feel.

Listen to me, Franz,said Albert; "I am glad that the
occasion has presented itself for saying this to youfor I
have noticed how cold you are in your bearing towards the
countwhile heon the other handhas always been courtesy
itself to us. Have you anything particular against him?"

Possibly.

Did you ever meet him previously to coming hither?

I have.

And where?

Will you promise me not to repeat a single word of what I
am about to tell you?

I promise.

Upon your honor?

Upon my honor.


Then listen to me.Franz then related to his friend the
history of his excursion to the Island of Monte Cristo and
of his finding a party of smugglers thereand the two
Corsican bandits with them. He dwelt with considerable force
and energy on the almost magical hospitality he had received
from the countand the magnificence of his entertainment in
the grotto of the "Thousand and One Nights." He recounted
with circumstantial exactitudeall the particulars of the
supperthe hashishthe statuesthe dreamand howat his
awakeningthere remained no proof or trace of all these
eventssave the small yachtseen in the distant horizon
driving under full sail toward Porto-Vecchio. Then he
detailed the conversation overheard by him at the Colosseum
between the count and Vampain which the count had promised
to obtain the release of the bandit Peppino-- an
engagement whichas our readers are awarehe most
faithfully fulfilled. At last he arrived at the adventure of
the preceding nightand the embarrassment in which he found
himself placed by not having sufficient cash by six or seven
hundred piastres to make up the sum requiredand finally of
his application to the count and the picturesque and
satisfactory result that followed. Albert listened with the
most profound attention. "Well said he, when Franz had
concluded, what do you find to object to in all you have
related? The count is fond of travellingandbeing rich
possesses a vessel of his own. Go but to Portsmouth or
Southamptonand you will find the harbors crowded with the
yachts belonging to such of the English as can afford the
expenseand have the same liking for this amusement. Now
by way of having a resting-place during his excursions
avoiding the wretched cookery -- which has been trying its
best to poison me during the last four monthswhile you
have manfully resisted its effects for as many years-- and
obtaining a bed on which it is possible to slumberMonte
Cristo has furnished for himself a temporary abode where you
first found him; butto prevent the possibility of the
Tuscan government taking a fancy to his enchanted palace
and thereby depriving him of the advantages naturally
expected from so large an outlay of capitalhe has wisely
enough purchased the islandand taken its name. Just ask
yourselfmy good fellowwhether there are not many persons
of our acquaintance who assume the names of lands and
properties they never in their lives were masters of?"

But,said Franzthe Corsican bandits that were among the
crew of his vessel?

Why, really the thing seems to me simple enough. Nobody
knows better than yourself that the bandits of Corsica are
not rogues or thieves, but purely and simply fugitives,
driven by some sinister motive from their native town or
village, and that their fellowship involves no disgrace or
stigma; for my own part, I protest that, should I ever go to
Corsica, my first visit, ere even I presented myself to the
mayor or prefect, should be to the bandits of Colomba, if I
could only manage to find them; for, on my conscience, they
are a race of men I admire greatly.

Still,persisted FranzI suppose you will allow that
such men as Vampa and his band are regular villains, who
have no other motive than plunder when they seize your
person. How do you explain the influence the count evidently
possessed over those ruffians?


My good friend, as in all probability I own my present
safety to that influence, it would ill become me to search
too closely into its source; therefore, instead of
condemning him for his intimacy with outlaws, you must give
me leave to excuse any little irregularity there may be in
such a connection; not altogether for preserving my life,
for my own idea was that it never was in much danger, but
certainly for saving me 4,000 piastres, which, being
translated, means neither more nor less than 24,000 livres
of our money -- a sum at which, most assuredly, I should
never have been estimated in France, proving most
indisputably,added Albert with a laughthat no prophet
is honored in his own country.

Talking of countries,replied Franzof what country is
the count, what is his native tongue, whence does he derive
his immense fortune, and what were those events of his early
life -- a life as marvellous as unknown -- that have
tinctured his succeeding years with so dark and gloomy a
misanthropy? Certainly these are questions that, in your
place, I should like to have answered.

My dear Franz,replied Albertwhen, upon receipt of my
letter, you found the necessity of asking the count's
assistance, you promptly went to him, saying, `My friend
Albert de Morcerf is in danger; help me to deliver him.' Was
not that nearly what you said?

It was.

Well, then, did he ask you, `Who is M. Albert de Morcerf?
how does he come by his name -- his fortune? what are his
means of existence? what is his birthplace! of what country
is he a native?' Tell me, did he put all these questions to
you?

I confess he asked me none.

No; he merely came and freed me from the hands of Signor
Vampa, where, I can assure you, in spite of all my outward
appearance of ease and unconcern, I did not very
particularly care to remain. Now, then, Franz, when, for
services so promptly and unhesitatingly rendered, he but
asks me in return to do for him what is done daily for any
Russian prince or Italian nobleman who may pass through
Paris -- merely to introduce him into society -- would you
have me refuse? My good fellow, you must have lost your
senses to think it possible I could act with such
cold-blooded policy.And this time it must be confessed
thatcontrary to the usual state of affairs in discussions
between the young menthe effective arguments were all on
Albert's side.

Well,said Franz with a sighdo as you please my dear
viscount, for your arguments are beyond my powers of
refutation. Still, in spite of all, you must admit that this
Count of Monte Cristo is a most singular personage.

He is a philanthropist,answered the other; "and no doubt
his motive in visiting Paris is to compete for the Monthyon
prizegivenas you are awareto whoever shall be proved
to have most materially advanced the interests of virtue and
humanity. If my vote and interest can obtain it for himI


will readily give him the one and promise the other. And
nowmy dear Franzlet us talk of something else. Come
shall we take our luncheonand then pay a last visit to St.
Peter's?" Franz silently assented; and the following
afternoonat half-past five o'clockthe young men parted.
Albert de Morcerf to return to Parisand Franz d'Epinay to
pass a fortnight at Venice. Butere he entered his
travelling carriageAlbertfearing that his expected guest
might forget the engagement he had entered intoplaced in
the care of a waiter at the hotel a card to be delivered to
the Count of Monte Cristoon whichbeneath the name of
Vicomte Albert de Morcerfhe had written in pencil -- "27
Rue du Helderon the 21st Mayhalf-past ten A.M."

Chapter 39
The Guests.

In the house in the Rue du Helderwhere Albert had invited
the Count of Monte Cristoeverything was being prepared on
the morning of the 21st of May to do honor to the occasion.
Albert de Morcerf inhabited a pavilion situated at the
corner of a large courtand directly opposite another
buildingin which were the servants' apartments. Two
windows only of the pavilion faced the street; three other
windows looked into the courtand two at the back into the
garden. Between the court and the gardenbuilt in the heavy
style of the imperial architecturewas the large and
fashionable dwelling of the Count and Countess of Morcerf. A
high wall surrounded the whole of the hotelsurmounted at
intervals by vases filled with flowersand broken in the
centre by a large gate of gilded ironwhich served as the
carriage entrance. A small doorclose to the lodge of the
conciergegave ingress and egress to the servants and
masters when they were on foot.

It was easy to discover that the delicate care of a mother
unwilling to part from her sonand yet aware that a young
man of the viscount's age required the full exercise of his
libertyhad chosen this habitation for Albert. There were
not lackinghoweverevidences of what we may call the
intelligent egoism of a youth who is charmed with the
indolentcareless life of an only sonand who lives as it
were in a gilded cage. By means of the two windows looking
into the streetAlbert could see all that passed; the sight
of what is going on is necessary to young menwho always
want to see the world traverse their horizoneven if that
horizon is only a public thoroughfare. Thenshould anything
appear to merit a more minute examinationAlbert de Morcerf
could follow up his researches by means of a small gate
similar to that close to the concierge's doorand which
merits a particular description. It was a little entrance
that seemed never to have been opened since the house was
builtso entirely was it covered with dust and dirt; but
the well-oiled hinges and locks told quite another story.
This door was a mockery to the conciergefrom whose
vigilance and jurisdiction it was freeandlike that
famous portal in the "Arabian Nights opening at the
Sesame" of Ali Babait was wont to swing backward at a
cabalistic word or a concerted tap from without from the
sweetest voices or whitest fingers in the world. At the end
of a long corridorwith which the door communicatedand
which formed the ante-chamberwason the rightAlbert's


breakfast-roomlooking into the courtand on the left the
salonlooking into the garden. Shrubs and creeping plants
covered the windowsand hid from the garden and court these
two apartmentsthe only rooms into whichas they were on
the ground-floorthe prying eyes of the curious could
penetrate. On the floor above were similar roomswith the
addition of a thirdformed out of the ante-chamber; these
three rooms were a salona boudoirand a bedroom. The
salon down-stairs was only an Algerian divanfor the use of
smokers. The boudoir up-stairs communicated with the
bed-chamber by an invisible door on the staircase; it was
evident that every precaution had been taken. Above this
floor was a large atelierwhich had been increased in size
by pulling down the partitions -- a pandemoniumin which
the artist and the dandy strove for preeminence. There were
collected and piled up all Albert's successive caprices
hunting-hornsbass-violsflutes -- a whole orchestrafor
Albert had had not a taste but a fancy for music; easels
palettesbrushespencils -- for music had been succeeded
by painting; foilsboxing-glovesbroadswordsand
single-sticks -- forfollowing the example of the
fashionable young men of the timeAlbert de Morcerf
cultivatedwith far more perseverance than music and
drawingthe three arts that complete a dandy's education
i.e.fencingboxingand single-stick; and it was here
that he received GrisierCookand Charles Leboucher. The
rest of the furniture of this privileged apartment consisted
of old cabinetsfilled with Chinese porcelain and Japanese
vasesLucca della Robbia faienceand Palissy platters; of
old arm-chairsin which perhaps had sat Henry IV. or Sully
Louis XIII. or Richelieu -- for two of these arm-chairs
adorned with a carved shieldon which were engraved the
fleur-de-lis of France on an azure field evidently came from
the Louvreorat leastsome royal residence. Over these
dark and sombre chairs were thrown splendid stuffsdyed
beneath Persia's sunor woven by the fingers of the women
of Calcutta or of Chandernagor. What these stuffs did there
it was impossible to say; they awaitedwhile gratifying the
eyesa destination unknown to their owner himself; in the
meantime they filled the place with their golden and silky
reflections. In the centre of the room was a Roller and
Blanchet "baby grand" piano in rosewoodbut holding the
potentialities of an orchestra in its narrow and sonorous
cavityand groaning beneath the weight of the
chefs-d'oeuvre of BeethovenWeberMozartHaydnGretry
and Porpora. On the wallsover the doorson the ceiling
were swordsdaggersMalay creesesmacesbattle-axes;
gildeddamaskedand inlaid suits of armor; dried plants
mineralsand stuffed birdstheir flame-colored wings
outspread in motionless flightand their beaks forever
open. This was Albert's favorite lounging place.

Howeverthe morning of the appointmentthe young man had
established himself in the small salon down-stairs. There
on a tablesurrounded at some distance by a large and
luxurious divanevery species of tobacco known-- from the
yellow tobacco of Petersburg to the black of Sinaiand so
on along the scale from Maryland and Porto-Ricoto Latakia
-- was exposed in pots of crackled earthenware of which the
Dutch are so fond; beside themin boxes of fragrant wood
were rangedaccording to their size and qualitypueros
regaliashavanasand manillas; andin an open cabineta
collection of German pipesof chibouqueswith their amber
mouth-pieces ornamented with coraland of narghileswith


their long tubes of moroccoawaiting the caprice or the
sympathy of the smokers. Albert had himself presided at the
arrangementorratherthe symmetrical derangementwhich
after coffeethe guests at a breakfast of modern days love
to contemplate through the vapor that escapes from their
mouthsand ascends in long and fanciful wreaths to the
ceiling. At a quarter to tena valet entered; he composed
with a little groom named Johnand who only spoke English
all Albert's establishmentalthough the cook of the hotel
was always at his serviceand on great occasions the
count's chasseur also. This valetwhose name was Germain
and who enjoyed the entire confidence of his young master
held in one hand a number of papersand in the other a
packet of letterswhich he gave to Albert. Albert glanced
carelessly at the different missivesselected two written
in a small and delicate handand enclosed in scented
envelopesopened them and perused their contents with some
attention. "How did these letters come?" said he.

One by the post, Madame Danglars' footman left the other.

Let Madame Danglars know that I accept the place she offers
me in her box. Wait; then, during the day, tell Rosa that
when I leave the Opera I will sup with her as she wishes.
Take her six bottles of different wine -- Cyprus, sherry,
and Malaga, and a barrel of Ostend oysters; get them at
Borel's, and be sure you say they are for me.

At what o'clock, sir, do you breakfast?

What time is it now?

A quarter to ten.

Very well, at half past ten. Debray will, perhaps, be
obliged to go to the minister -- and besides(Albert looked
at his tablets)it is the hour I told the count, 21st May,
at half past ten; and though I do not much rely upon his
promise, I wish to be punctual. Is the countess up yet?

If you wish, I will inquire.

Yes, ask her for one of her liqueur cellarets, mine is
incomplete; and tell her I shall have the honor of seeing
her about three o'clock, and that I request permission to
introduce some one to her.The valet left the room. Albert
threw himself on the divantore off the cover of two or
three of the paperslooked at the theatre announcements
made a face seeing they gave an operaand not a ballet;
hunted vainly amongst the advertisements for a new
tooth-powder of which he had heardand threw downone
after the otherthe three leading papers of Paris
mutteringThese papers become more and more stupid every
day.A moment aftera carriage stopped before the door
and the servant announced M. Lucien Debray. A tall young
manwith light hairclear gray eyesand thin and
compressed lipsdressed in a blue coat with beautifully
carved gold buttonsa white neckclothand a tortoiseshell
eye-glass suspended by a silken threadand whichby an
effort of the superciliary and zygomatic muscleshe fixed
in his eyeenteredwith a half-official airwithout
smiling or speaking. "Good-morningLuciengood-morning
said Albert; your punctuality really alarms me. What do I
say? punctuality! Youwhom I expected lastyou arrive at


five minutes to tenwhen the time fixed was half-past! Has
the ministry resigned?"

No, my dear fellow,returned the young manseating
himself on the divan; "reassure yourself; we are tottering
alwaysbut we never falland I begin to believe that we
shall pass into a state of immobilityand then the affairs
of the Peninsula will completely consolidate us."

Ah, true; you drive Don Carlos out of Spain.

No, no, my dear fellow, do not confound our plans. We take
him to the other side of the French frontier, and offer him
hospitality at Bourges.

At Bourges?

Yes, he has not much to complain of; Bourges is the capital
of Charles VII. Do you not know that all Paris knew it
yesterday, and the day before it had already transpired on
the Bourse, and M. Danglars (I do not know by what means
that man contrives to obtain intelligence as soon as we do)
made a million!

And you another order, for I see you have a blue ribbon at
your button-hole.

Yes; they sent me the order of Charles III.,returned
Debraycarelessly.

Come, do not affect indifference, but confess you were
pleased to have it.

Oh, it is very well as a finish to the toilet. It looks
very neat on a black coat buttoned up.

And makes you resemble the Prince of Wales or the Duke of
Reichstadt.

It is for that reason you see me so early.

Because you have the order of Charles III., and you wish to
announce the good news to me?

No, because I passed the night writing letters, -- five and
twenty despatches. I returned home at daybreak, and strove
to sleep; but my head ached and I got up to have a ride for
an hour. At the Bois de Boulogne, ennui and hunger attacked
me at once, -- two enemies who rarely accompany each other,
and who are yet leagued against me, a sort of
Carlo-republican alliance. I then recollected you gave a
breakfast this morning, and here I am. I am hungry, feed me;
I am bored, amuse me.

It is my duty as your host,returned Albertringing the
bellwhile Lucien turned overwith his gold-mounted cane
the papers that lay on the table. "Germaina glass of
sherry and a biscuit. In the meantime. my dear Lucienhere
are cigars -- contrabandof course -- try themand
persuade the minister to sell us such instead of poisoning
us with cabbage leaves."

Peste, I will do nothing of the kind; the moment they come
from government you would find them execrable. Besides, that


does not concern the home but the financial department.
Address yourself to M. Humann, section of the indirect
contributions, corridor A., No. 26.

On my word,said Albertyou astonish me by the extent of
your knowledge. Take a cigar.

Really, my dear Albert,replied Lucienlighting a manilla
at a rose-colored taper that burnt in a be beautifully
enamelled stand -- "how happy you are to have nothing to do.
You do not know your own good fortune!"

And what would you do, my dear diplomatist,replied
Morcerfwith a slight degree of irony in his voiceif you
did nothing? What? private secretary to a minister, plunged
at once into European cabals and Parisian intrigues; having
kings, and, better still, queens, to protect, parties to
unite, elections to direct; making more use of your cabinet
with your pen and your telegraph than Napoleon did of his
battle-fields with his sword and his victories; possessing
five and twenty thousand francs a year, besides your place;
a horse, for which Chateau-Renaud offered you four hundred
louis, and which you would not part with; a tailor who never
disappoints you; with the opera, the jockey-club, and other
diversions, can you not amuse yourself? Well, I will amuse
you.

How?

By introducing to you a new acquaintance.

A man or a woman?

A man.

I know so many men already.

But you do not know this man.

Where does he come from -- the end of the world?

Farther still, perhaps.

The deuce! I hope he does not bring our breakfast with
him.

Oh, no; our breakfast comes from my father's kitchen. Are
you hungry?

Humiliating as such a confession is, I am. But I dined at

M. de Villefort's, and lawyers always give you very bad
dinners. You would think they felt some remorse; did you
ever remark that?
Ah, depreciate other persons' dinners; you ministers give
such splendid ones.

Yes; but we do not invite people of fashion. If we were not
forced to entertain a parcel of country boobies because they
think and vote with us, we should never dream of dining at
home, I assure you.

Well, take another glass of sherry and another biscuit.


Willingly. Your Spanish wine is excellent. You see we were
quite right to pacify that country.

Yes; but Don Carlos?

Well, Don Carlos will drink Bordeaux, and in ten years we
will marry his son to the little queen.

You will then obtain the Golden Fleece, if you are still in
the ministry.

I think, Albert, you have adopted the system of feeding me
on smoke this morning.

Well, you must allow it is the best thing for the stomach;
but I hear Beauchamp in the next room; you can dispute
together, and that will pass away the time.

About what?

About the papers.

My dear friend,said Lucien with an air of sovereign
contemptdo I ever read the papers?

Then you will dispute the more.

M. Beauchamp,announced the servant. "Come income in
said Albert, rising and advancing to meet the young man.
Here is Debraywho detests you without reading youso he
says."

He is quite right,returned Beauchamp; "for I criticise
him without knowing what he does. Good-daycommander!"

Ah, you know that already,said the private secretary
smiling and shaking hands with him.

Pardieu?

And what do they say of it in the world?

In which world? we have so many worlds in the year of grace
1838.

In the entire political world, of which you are one of the
leaders.

They say that it is quite fair, and that sowing so much
red, you ought to reap a little blue.

Come, come, that is not bad!said Lucien. "Why do you not
join our partymy dear Beauchamp? With your talents you
would make your fortune in three or four years."

I only await one thing before following your advice; that
is, a minister who will hold office for six months. My dear
Albert, one word, for I must give poor Lucien a respite. Do
we breakfast or dine? I must go to the Chamber, for our life
is not an idle one.

You only breakfast; I await two persons, and the instant
they arrive we shall sit down to table.


Chapter 40
The Breakfast.

And what sort of persons do you expect to breakfast?said
Beauchamp.

A gentleman, and a diplomatist.

Then we shall have to wait two hours for the gentleman, and
three for the diplomatist. I shall come back to dessert;
keep me some strawberries, coffee, and cigars. I shall take
a cutlet on my way to the Chamber.

Do not do anything of the sort; for were the gentleman a
Montmorency, and the diplomatist a Metternich, we will
breakfast at eleven; in the meantime, follow Debray's
example, and take a glass of sherry and a biscuit.

Be it so; I will stay; I must do something to distract my
thoughts.

You are like Debray, and yet it seems to me that when the
minister is out of spirits, the opposition ought to be
joyous.

Ah, you do not know with what I am threatened. I shall hear
this morning that M. Danglars make a speech at the Chamber
of Deputies, and at his wife's this evening I shall hear the
tragedy of a peer of France. The devil take the
constitutional government, and since we had our choice, as
they say, at least, how could we choose that?

I understand; you must lay in a stock of hilarity.

Do not run down M. Danglars' speeches,said Debray; "he
votes for youfor he belongs to the opposition."

Pardieu, that is exactly the worst of all. I am waiting
until you send him to speak at the Luxembourg, to laugh at
my ease.

My dear friend,said Albert to Beauchampit is plain
that the affairs of Spain are settled, for you are most
desperately out of humor this morning. Recollect that
Parisian gossip has spoken of a marriage between myself and
Mlle. Eugenie Danglars; I cannot in conscience, therefore,
let you run down the speeches of a man who will one day say
to me, `Vicomte, you know I give my daughter two millions.'

Ah, this marriage will never take place,said Beauchamp.
The king has made him a baron, and can make him a peer, but
he cannot make him a gentleman, and the Count of Morcerf is
too aristocratic to consent, for the paltry sum of two
million francs, to a mesalliance. The Viscount of Morcerf
can only wed a marchioness.

But two million francs make a nice little sum,replied
Morcerf.

It is the social capital of a theatre on the boulevard, or
a railroad from the Jardin des Plantes to La Rapee.


Never mind what he says, Morcerf,said Debraydo you
marry her. You marry a money-bag label, it is true; well,
but what does that matter? It is better to have a blazon
less and a figure more on it. You have seven martlets on
your arms; give three to your wife, and you will still have
four; that is one more than M. de Guise had, who so nearly
became King of France, and whose cousin was Emperor of
Germany.

On my word, I think you are right, Lucien,said Albert
absently.

To be sure; besides, every millionaire is as noble as a
bastard -- that is, he can be.

Do not say that, Debray,returned Beauchamplaughing
for here is Chateau-Renaud, who, to cure you of your mania
for paradoxes, will pass the sword of Renaud de Montauban,
his ancestor, through your body.

He will sully it then,returned Lucien; "for I am low -very
low."

Oh, heavens,cried Beauchampthe minister quotes
Beranger, what shall we come to next?

M. de Chateau-Renaud -- M. Maximilian Morrel,said the
servantannouncing two fresh guests.

Now, then, to breakfast,said Beauchamp; "forif I
rememberyou told me you only expected two persons
Albert."

Morrel,muttered Albert -- "Morrel -- who is he?" But
before he had finishedM. de Chateau-Renauda handsome
young man of thirtygentleman all over-- that iswith
the figure of a Guiche and the wit of a Mortemart-- took
Albert's hand. "My dear Albert said he, let me introduce
to you M. Maximilian Morrelcaptain of Spahismy friend;
and what is more -- however the man speaks for himself ---my
preserver. Salute my heroviscount." And he stepped on one
side to give place to a young man of refined and dignified
bearingwith large and open browpiercing eyesand black
mustachewhom our readers have already seen at Marseilles
under circumstances sufficiently dramatic not to be
forgotten. A rich uniformhalf Frenchhalf Orientalset
off his graceful and stalwart figureand his broad chest
was decorated with the order of the Legion of Honor. The
young officer bowed with easy and elegant politeness.
Monsieur,said Albert with affectionate courtesythe
count of Chateau-Renaud knew how much pleasure this
introduction would give me; you are his friend, be ours
also.

Well said,interrupted Chateau-Renaud; "and pray thatif
you should ever be in a similar predicamenthe may do as
much for you as he did for me."

What has he done?asked Albert.

Oh, nothing worth speaking of,said Morrel; "M. de
Chateau-Renaud exaggerates."

Not worth speaking of?cried Chateau-Renaud; "life is not


worth speaking of! -- that is rather too philosophicalon
my wordMorrel. It is very well for youwho risk your life
every daybut for mewho only did so once" -


We gather from all this, baron, that Captain Morrel saved
your life.

Exactly so.

On what occasion?asked Beauchamp.

Beauchamp, my good fellow, you know I am starving,said
Debray: "do not set him off on some long story."

Well, I do not prevent your sitting down to table,replied
BeauchampChateau-Renaud can tell us while we eat our
breakfast.

Gentlemen,said Morcerfit is only a quarter past ten,
and I expect some one else.

Ah, true, a diplomatist!observed Debray.

Diplomat or not, I don't know; I only know that he charged
himself on my account with a mission, which he terminated so
entirely to my satisfaction, that had I been king, I should
have instantly created him knight of all my orders, even had
I been able to offer him the Golden Fleece and the Garter.

Well, since we are not to sit down to table,said Debray
take a glass of sherry, and tell us all about it.

You all know that I had the fancy of going to Africa.

It is a road your ancestors have traced for you,said
Albert gallantly.

Yes? but I doubt that your object was like theirs -- to
rescue the Holy Sepulchre.

You are quite right, Beauchamp,observed the young
aristocrat. "It was only to fight as an amateur. I cannot
bear duelling since two secondswhom I had chosen to
arrange an affairforced me to break the arm of one of my
best friendsone whom you all know -- poor Franz d'Epinay."

Ah, true,said Debrayyou did fight some time ago; about
what?

The devil take me, if I remember,returned Chateau-Renaud.
But I recollect perfectly one thing, that, being unwilling
to let such talents as mine sleep, I wished to try upon the
Arabs the new pistols that had been given to me. In
consequence I embarked for Oran, and went from thence to
Constantine, where I arrived just in time to witness the
raising of the siege. I retreated with the rest, for eight
and forty hours. I endured the rain during the day, and the
cold during the night tolerably well, but the third morning
my horse died of cold. Poor brute -- accustomed to be
covered up and to have a stove in the stable, the Arabian
finds himself unable to bear ten degrees of cold in Arabia.

That's why you want to purchase my English horse,said
Debrayyou think he will bear the cold better.


You are mistaken, for I have made a vow never to return to
Africa.

You were very much frightened, then?asked Beauchamp.

Well, yes, and I had good reason to be so,replied
Chateau-Renaud. "I was retreating on footfor my horse was
dead. Six Arabs came upfull gallopto cut off my head. I
shot two with my double-barrelled gunand two more with my
pistolsbut I was then disarmedand two were still left;
one seized me by the hair (that is why I now wear it so
shortfor no one knows what may happen)the other swung a
yataghanand I already felt the cold steel on my neckwhen
this gentleman whom you see here charged themshot the one
who held me by the hairand cleft the skull of the other
with his sabre. He had assigned himself the task of saving a
man's life that day; chance caused that man to be myself.
When I am rich I will order a statue of Chance from Klagmann
or Marochetti."

Yes,said Morrelsmilingit was the 5th of September,
the anniversary of the day on which my father was
miraculously preserved; therefore, as far as it lies in my
power, I endeavor to celebrate it by some-


Heroic action,interrupted Chateau-Renaud. "I was chosen.
But that is not all -- after rescuing me from the swordhe
rescued me from the coldnot by sharing his cloak with me
like St. Martinbut by giving me the whole; then from
hunger by sharing with me -- guess what?"

A Strasbourg pie?asked Beauchamp.

No, his horse; of which we each of us ate a slice with a
hearty appetite. It was very hard.

The horse?said Morcerflaughing.

No, the sacrifice,returned Chateau-Renaud; "ask Debray if
he would sacrifice his English steed for a stranger?"

Not for a stranger,said Debraybut for a friend I
might, perhaps.

I divined that you would become mine, count,replied
Morrel; "besidesas I had the honor to tell youheroism or
notsacrifice or notthat day I owed an offering to bad
fortune in recompense for the favors good fortune had on
other days granted to us."

The history to which M. Morrel alludes,continued
Chateau-Renaudis an admirable one, which he will tell you
some day when you are better acquainted with him; to-day let
us fill our stomachs, and not our memories. What time do you
breakfast, Albert?

At half-past ten.

Precisely?asked Debraytaking out his watch.

Oh, you will give me five minutes' grace,replied Morcerf
for I also expect a preserver.


Of whom?

Of myself,cried Morcerf; "parbleudo you think I cannot
be saved as well as any one elseand that there are only
Arabs who cut off heads? Our breakfast is a philanthropic
oneand we shall have at table -- at leastI hope so -two
benefactors of humanity."

What shall we do?said Debray; "we have only one Monthyon
prize."

Well, it will be given to some one who has done nothing to
deserve it,said Beauchamp; "that is the way the Academy
mostly escapes from the dilemma."

And where does he come from?asked Debray. "You have
already answered the question oncebut so vaguely that I
venture to put it a second time."

Really,said AlbertI do not know; when I invited him
three months ago, he was then at Rome, but since that time
who knows where he may have gone?

And you think him capable of being exact?demanded Debray.

I think him capable of everything.

Well, with the five minutes' grace, we have only ten left.

I will profit by them to tell you something about my
guest.

I beg pardon,interrupted Beauchamp; "are there any
materials for an article in what you are going to tell us?"

Yes, and for a most curious one.

Go on, then, for I see I shall not get to the Chamber this
morning, and I must make up for it.

I was at Rome during the last Carnival.

We know that,said Beauchamp.

Yes, but what you do not know is that I was carried off by
bandits.

There are no bandits,cried Debray.

Yes there are, and most hideous, or rather most admirable
ones, for I found them ugly enough to frighten me.

Come, my dear Albert,said Debrayconfess that your cook
is behindhand, that the oysters have not arrived from Ostend
or Marennes, and that, like Madame de Maintenon, you are
going to replace the dish by a story. Say so at once; we are
sufficiently well-bred to excuse you, and to listen to your
history, fabulous as it promises to be.

And I say to you, fabulous as it may seem, I tell it as a
true one from beginning to end. The brigands had carried me
off, and conducted me to a gloomy spot, called the Catacombs
of Saint Sebastian.


I know it,said Chateau-Renaud; "I narrowly escaped
catching a fever there."

And I did more than that,replied Morcerffor I caught
one. I was informed that I was prisoner until I paid the sum
of 4,000 Roman crowns -- about 24,000 francs. Unfortunately,
I had not above 1,500. I was at the end of my journey and of
my credit. I wrote to Franz -- and were he here he would
confirm every word -- I wrote then to Franz that if he did
not come with the four thousand crowns before six, at ten
minutes past I should have gone to join the blessed saints
and glorious martyrs in whose company I had the honor of
being; and Signor Luigi Vampa, such was the name of the
chief of these bandits, would have scrupulously kept his
word.

But Franz did come with the four thousand crowns,said
Chateau-Renaud. "A man whose name is Franz d'Epinay or
Albert de Morcerf has not much difficulty in procuring
them."

No, he arrived accompanied simply by the guest I am going
to present to you.

Ah, this gentleman is a Hercules killing Cacus, a Perseus
freeing Andromeda.

No, he is a man about my own size.

Armed to the teeth?

He had not even a knitting-needle.

But he paid your ransom?

He said two words to the chief and I was free.

And they apologized to him for having carried you off?
said Beauchamp.

Just so.

Why, he is a second Ariosto.

No, his name is the Count of Monte Cristo.

There is no Count of Monte Cristosaid Debray.

I do not think so,added Chateau-Renaudwith the air of a
man who knows the whole of the European nobility perfectly.

Does any one know anything of a Count of Monte Cristo?

He comes possibly from the Holy Land, and one of his
ancestors possessed Calvary, as the Mortemarts did the Dead
Sea.

I think I can assist your researches,said Maximilian.
Monte Cristo is a little island I have often heard spoken
of by the old sailors my father employed -- a grain of sand
in the centre of the Mediterranean, an atom in the
infinite.

Precisely!cried Albert. "Wellhe of whom I speak is the


lord and master of this grain of sandof this atom; he has
purchased the title of count somewhere in Tuscany."

He is rich, then?

I believe so.

But that ought to be visible.

That is what deceives you, Debray.

I do not understand you.

Have you read the `Arabian Nights'?

What a question!

Well, do you know if the persons you see there are rich or
poor, if their sacks of wheat are not rubies or diamonds?
They seem like poor fishermen, and suddenly they open some
mysterious cavern filled with the wealth of the Indies.

Which means?

Which means that my Count of Monte Cristo is one of those
fishermen. He has even a name taken from the book, since he
calls himself Sinbad the Sailor, and has a cave filled with
gold.

And you have seen this cavern, Morcerf?asked Beauchamp.

No, but Franz has; for heaven's sake, not a word of this
before him. Franz went in with his eyes blindfolded, and was
waited on by mutes and by women to whom Cleopatra was a
painted strumpet. Only he is not quite sure about the women,
for they did not come in until after he had taken hashish,
so that what he took for women might have been simply a row
of statues.

The two young men looked at Morcerf as if to say-- "Are
you mador are you laughing at us?"

And I also,said Morrel thoughtfullyhave heard
something like this from an old sailor named Penelon.

Ah,cried Albertit is very lucky that M. Morrel comes
to aid me; you are vexed, are you not, that he thus gives a
clew to the labyrinth?

My dear Albert,said Debraywhat you tell us is so
extraordinary.

Ah, because your ambassadors and your consuls do not tell
you of them -- they have no time. They are too much taken up
with interfering in the affairs of their countrymen who
travel.

Now you get angry, and attack our poor agents. How will you
have them protect you? The Chamber cuts down their salaries
every day, so that now they have scarcely any. Will you be
ambassador, Albert? I will send you to Constantinople.

No, lest on the first demonstration I make in favor of
Mehemet Ali, the Sultan send me the bowstring, and make my


secretaries strangle me.

You say very true,responded Debray.

Yes,said Albertbut this has nothing to do with the
existence of the Count of Monte Cristo.

Pardieu, every one exists.

Doubtless, but not in the same way; every one has not black
slaves, a princely retinue, an arsenal of weapons that would
do credit to an Arabian fortress, horses that cost six
thousand francs apiece, and Greek mistresses.

Have you seen the Greek mistress?

I have both seen and heard her. I saw her at the theatre,
and heard her one morning when I breakfasted with the
count.

He eats, then?

Yes; but so little, it can hardly be called eating.

He must be a vampire.

Laugh, if you will; the Countess G---- , who knew Lord
Ruthven, declared that the count was a vampire.

Ah, capital,said Beauchamp. "For a man not connected with
newspapershere is the pendant to the famous sea-serpent of
the Constitutionnel."

Wild eyes, the iris of which contracts or dilates at
pleasure,said Debray; "facial angle strongly developed
magnificent foreheadlivid complexionblack beardsharp
and white teethpoliteness unexceptionable."

Just so, Lucien,returned Morcerf; "you have described him
feature for feature. Yeskeen and cutting politeness. This
man has often made me shudder; and one day that we were
viewing an executionI thought I should faintmore from
hearing the cold and calm manner in which he spoke of every
description of torturethan from the sight of the
executioner and the culprit."

Did he not conduct you to the ruins of the Colosseum and
suck your blood?asked Beauchamp.

Or, having delivered you, make you sign a flaming
parchment, surrendering your soul to him as Esau did his
birth-right?

Rail on, rail on at your ease, gentlemen,said Morcerf
somewhat piqued. "When I look at you Parisiansidlers on
the Boulevard de Gand or the Bois de Boulogneand think of
this manit seems to me we are not of the same race."

I am highly flattered,returned Beauchamp. "At the same
time added Chateau-Renaud, your Count of Monte Cristo is
a very fine fellowalways excepting his little arrangements
with the Italian banditti."

There are no Italian banditti,said Debray.


No vampire,cried Beauchamp. "No Count of Monte Cristo"
added Debray. "There is half-past ten strikingAlbert."

Confess you have dreamed this, and let us sit down to
breakfast,continued Beauchamp. But the sound of the clock
had not died away when Germain announcedHis excellency
the Count of Monte Cristo.The involuntary start every one
gave proved how much Morcerf's narrative had impressed them
and Albert himself could not wholly refrain from manifesting
sudden emotion. He had not heard a carriage stop in the
streetor steps in the ante-chamber; the door had itself
opened noiselessly. The count appeareddressed with the
greatest simplicitybut the most fastidious dandy could
have found nothing to cavil at in his toilet. Every article
of dress -- hatcoatglovesand boots -- was from the
first makers. He seemed scarcely five and thirty. But what
struck everybody was his extreme resemblance to the portrait
Debray had drawn. The count advancedsmilinginto the
centre of the roomand approached Albertwho hastened
towards him holding out his hand in a ceremonial manner.
Punctuality,said Monte Cristois the politeness of
kings, according to one of your sovereigns, I think; but it
is not the same with travellers. However, I hope you will
excuse the two or three seconds I am behindhand; five
hundred leagues are not to be accomplished without some
trouble, and especially in France, where, it seems, it is
forbidden to beat the postilions.

My dear count,replied AlbertI was announcing your
visit to some of my friends, whom I had invited in
consequence of the promise you did me the honor to make, and
whom I now present to you. They are the Count of
Chateau-Renaud, whose nobility goes back to the twelve
peers, and whose ancestors had a place at the Round Table;

M. Lucien Debray, private secretary to the minister of the
interior; M. Beauchamp, an editor of a paper, and the terror
of the French government, but of whom, in spite of his
national celebrity, you perhaps have not heard in Italy,
since his paper is prohibited there; and M. Maximilian
Morrel, captain of Spahis.
At this name the countwho had hitherto saluted every one
with courtesybut at the same time with coldness and
formalitystepped a pace forwardand a slight tinge of red
colored his pale cheeks. "You wear the uniform of the new
French conquerorsmonsieur said he; it is a handsome
uniform." No one could have said what caused the count's
voice to vibrate so deeplyand what made his eye flash
which was in general so clearlustrousand limpid when he
pleased. "You have never seen our Africanscount?" said
Albert. "Never replied the count, who was by this time
perfectly master of himself again.

Wellbeneath this uniform beats one of the bravest and
noblest hearts in the whole army."

Oh, M. de Morcerf,interrupted Morrel.

Let me go on, captain. And we have just heard,continued
Albertof a new deed of his, and so heroic a one, that,
although I have seen him to-day for the first time, I
request you to allow me to introduce him as my friend.At
these words it was still possible to observe in Monte Cristo


the concentrated lookchanging colorand slight trembling
of the eyelid that show emotion. "Ahyou have a noble
heart said the count; so much the better." This
exclamationwhich corresponded to the count's own thought
rather than to what Albert was sayingsurprised everybody
and especially Morrelwho looked at Monte Cristo with
wonder. Butat the same timethe intonation was so soft
thathowever strange the speech might seemit was
impossible to be offended at it. "Why should he doubt it?"
said Beauchamp to Chateau-Renaud.

In reality,replied the latterwhowith his aristocratic
glance and his knowledge of the worldhad penetrated at
once all that was penetrable in Monte CristoAlbert has
not deceived us, for the count is a most singular being.
What say you, Morrel!

Ma foi, he has an open look about him that pleases me, in
spite of the singular remark he has made about me.

Gentlemen,said AlbertGermain informs me that breakfast
is ready. My dear count, allow me to show you the way.They
passed silently into the breakfast-roomand every one took
his place. "Gentleman said the count, seating himself,
permit me to make a confession which must form my excuse
for any improprieties I may commit. I am a strangerand a
stranger to such a degreethat this is the first time I
have ever been at Paris. The French way of living is utterly
unknown to meand up to the present time I have followed
the Eastern customswhich are entirely in contrast to the
Parisian. I beg youthereforeto excuse if you find
anything in me too Turkishtoo Italianor too Arabian.
Nowthenlet us breakfast."

With what an air he says all this,muttered Beauchamp;
decidedly he is a great man.

A great man in his own country,added Debray.

A great man in every country, M. Debray,said
Chateau-Renaud. The count wasit may be remembereda most
temperate guest. Albert remarked thisexpressing his fears
lestat the outsetthe Parisian mode of life should
displease the traveller in the most essential point. "My
dear count said he, I fear one thingand that isthat
the fare of the Rue du Helder is not so much to your taste
as that of the Piazza di Spagni. I ought to have consulted
you on the pointand have had some dishes prepared
expressly."

Did you know me better,returned the countsmilingyou
would not give one thought of such a thing for a traveller
like myself, who has successively lived on maccaroni at
Naples, polenta at Milan, olla podrida at Valencia, pilau at
Constantinople, karrick in India, and swallows' nests in
China. I eat everywhere, and of everything, only I eat but
little; and to-day, that you reproach me with my want of
appetite, is my day of appetite, for I have not eaten since
yesterday morning.

What,cried all the guestsyou have not eaten for four
and twenty hours?

No,replied the count; "I was forced to go out of my road


to obtain some information near Nimesso that I was
somewhat lateand therefore I did not choose to stop."

And you ate in your carriage?asked Morcerf.

No, I slept, as I generally do when I am weary without
having the courage to amuse myself, or when I am hungry
without feeling inclined to eat.

But you can sleep when you please, monsieur?said Morrel.

Yes.

You have a recipe for it?

An infallible one.

That would be invaluable to us in Africa, who have not
always any food to eat, and rarely anything to drink.

Yes,said Monte Cristo; "butunfortunatelya recipe
excellent for a man like myself would be very dangerous
applied to an armywhich might not awake when it was
needed."

May we inquire what is this recipe?asked Debray.

Oh, yes,returned Monte Cristo; "I make no secret of it.
It is a mixture of excellent opiumwhich I fetched myself
from Canton in order to have it pureand the best hashish
which grows in the East -- that isbetween the Tigris and
the Euphrates. These two ingredients are mixed in equal
proportionsand formed into pills. Ten minutes after one is
takenthe effect is produced. Ask Baron Franz d'Epinay; I
think he tasted them one day."

Yes,replied Morcerfhe said something about it to me.

But,said Beauchampwhoas became a journalistwas very
incredulousyou always carry this drug about you?

Always.

Would it be an indiscretion to ask to see those precious
pills?continued Beauchamphoping to take him at a
disadvantage.

No, monsieur,returned the count; and he drew from his
pocket a marvellous casketformed out of a single emerald
and closed by a golden lid which unscrewed and gave passage
to a small greenish colored pellet about the size of a pea.
This ball had an acrid and penetrating odor. There were four
or five more in the emeraldwhich would contain about a
dozen. The casket passed around the tablebut it was more
to examine the admirable emerald than to see the pills that
it passed from hand to hand. "And is it your cook who
prepares these pills?" asked Beauchamp.

Oh, no, monsieur,replied Monte Cristo; "I do not thus
betray my enjoyments to the vulgar. I am a tolerable
chemistand prepare my pills myself."

This is a magnificent emerald, and the largest I have ever
seen,said Chateau-Renaudalthough my mother has some


remarkable family jewels.

I had three similar ones,returned Monte Cristo. "I gave
one to the Sultanwho mounted it in his sabre; another to
our holy father the Popewho had it set in his tiara
opposite to one nearly as largethough not so finegiven
by the Emperor Napoleon to his predecessorPius VII. I kept
the third for myselfand I had it hollowed outwhich
reduced its valuebut rendered it more commodious for the
purpose I intended." Every one looked at Monte Cristo with
astonishment; he spoke with so much simplicity that it was
evident he spoke the truthor that he was mad. Howeverthe
sight of the emerald made them naturally incline to the
former belief. "And what did these two sovereigns give you
in exchange for these magnificent presents?" asked Debray.

The Sultan, the liberty of a woman,replied the Count;
the Pope, the life of a man; so that once in my life I have
been as powerful as if heaven had brought me into the world
on the steps of a throne.

And it was Peppino you saved, was it not?cried Morcerf;
it was for him that you obtained pardon?

Perhaps,returned the countsmiling.

My dear count, you have no idea what pleasure it gives me
to hear you speak thus,said Morcerf. "I had announced you
beforehand to my friends as an enchanter of the `Arabian
Nights' a wizard of the Middle Ages; but the Parisians are
so subtle in paradoxes that they mistake for caprices of the
imagination the most incontestable truthswhen these truths
do not form a part of their daily existence. For example
here is Debray who readsand Beauchamp who printsevery
day`A member of the Jockey Club has been stopped and
robbed on the Boulevard;' `four persons have been
assassinated in the Rue St. Denis' or `the Faubourg St.
Germain;' `tenfifteenor twenty thieveshave been
arrested in a cafe on the Boulevard du Templeor in the
Thermes de Julien' -- and yet these same men deny the
existence of the bandits in the Maremmathe Campagna di
Romanaor the Pontine Marshes. Tell them yourself that I
was taken by banditsand that without your generous
intercession I should now have been sleeping in the
Catacombs of St. Sebastianinstead of receiving them in my
humble abode in the Rue du Helder."

Ah,said Monte Cristo "you promised me never to mention
that circumstance."

It was not I who made that promise,cried Morcerf; "it
must have been some one else whom you have rescued in the
same mannerand whom you have forgotten. Pray speak of it
for I shall not onlyI trustrelate the little I do know
but also a great deal I do not know."

It seems to me,returned the countsmilingthat you
played a sufficiently important part to know as well as
myself what happened.

Well, you promise me, if I tell all I know, to relate, in
your turn, all that I do not know?

That is but fair,replied Monte Cristo.


Well,said Morcerffor three days I believed myself the
object of the attentions of a masque, whom I took for a
descendant of Tullia or Poppoea, while I was simply the
object of the attentions of a contadina, and I say contadina
to avoid saying peasant girl. What I know is, that, like a
fool, a greater fool than he of whom I spoke just now, I
mistook for this peasant girl a young bandit of fifteen or
sixteen, with a beardless chin and slim waist, and who, just
as I was about to imprint a chaste salute on his lips,
placed a pistol to my head, and, aided by seven or eight
others, led, or rather dragged me, to the Catacombs of St.
Sebastian, where I found a highly educated brigand chief
perusing Caesar's `Commentaries,' and who deigned to leave
off reading to inform me, that unless the next morning,
before six o'clock, four thousand piastres were paid into
his account at his banker's, at a quarter past six I should
have ceased to exist. The letter is still to be seen, for it
is in Franz d'Epinay's possession, signed by me, and with a
postscript of M. Luigi Vampa. This is all I know, but I know
not, count, how you contrived to inspire so much respect in
the bandits of Rome who ordinarily have so little respect
for anything. I assure you, Franz and I were lost in
admiration.

Nothing more simple,returned the count. "I had known the
famous Vampa for more than ten years. When he was quite a
childand only a shepherdI gave him a few gold pieces for
showing me my wayand hein order to repay megave me a
poniardthe hilt of which he had carved with his own hand
and which you may have seen in my collection of arms. In
after yearswhether he had forgotten this interchange of
presentswhich ought to have cemented our friendshipor
whether he did not recollect mehe sought to take mebut
on the contraryit was I who captured him and a dozen of
his band. I might have handed him over to Roman justice
which is somewhat expeditiousand which would have been
particularly so with him; but I did nothing of the sort -- I
suffered him and his band to depart."

With the condition that they should sin no more,said
Beauchamplaughing. "I see they kept their promise."

No, monsieur,returned Monte Cristo "upon the simple
condition that they should respect myself and my friends.
Perhaps what I am about to say may seem strange to youwho
are socialistsand vaunt humanity and your duty to your
neighborbut I never seek to protect a society which does
not protect meand which I will even saygenerally
occupies itself about me only to injure me; and thus by
giving them a low place in my esteemand preserving a
neutrality towards themit is society and my neighbor who
are indebted to me."

Bravo,cried Chateau-Renaud; "you are the first man I ever
met sufficiently courageous to preach egotism. Bravocount
bravo!"

It is frank, at least,said Morrel. "But I am sure that
the count does not regret having once deviated from the
principles he has so boldly avowed."

How have I deviated from those principles, monsieur?asked
Monte Cristowho could not help looking at Morrel with so


much intensitythat two or three times the young man had
been unable to sustain that clear and piercing glance.

Why, it seems to me,replied Morrelthat in delivering

M. de Morcerf, whom you did not know, you did good to your
neighbor and to society.
Of which he is the brightest ornament,said Beauchamp
drinking off a glass of champagne.

My dear count,cried Morcerfyou are at fault -- you,
one of the most formidable logicians I know -- and you must
see it clearly proved that instead of being an egotist, you
are a philanthropist. Ah, you call yourself Oriental, a
Levantine, Maltese, Indian, Chinese; your family name is
Monte Cristo; Sinbad the Sailor is your baptismal
appellation, and yet the first day you set foot in Paris you
instinctively display the greatest virtue, or rather the
chief defect, of us eccentric Parisians, -- that is, you
assume the vices you have not, and conceal the virtues you
possess.

My dear vicomte,returned Monte CristoI do not see, in
all I have done, anything that merits, either from you or
these gentlemen, the pretended eulogies I have received. You
were no stranger to me, for I knew you from the time I gave
up two rooms to you, invited you to breakfast with me, lent
you one of my carriages, witnessed the Carnival in your
company, and saw with you from a window in the Piazza del
Popolo the execution that affected you so much that you
nearly fainted. I will appeal to any of these gentlemen,
could I leave my guest in the hands of a hideous bandit, as
you term him? Besides, you know, I had the idea that you
could introduce me into some of the Paris salons when I came
to France. You might some time ago have looked upon this
resolution as a vague project, but to-day you see it was a
reality, and you must submit to it under penalty of breaking
your word.

I will keep it,returned Morcerf; "but I fear that you
will be much disappointedaccustomed as you are to
picturesque events and fantastic horizons. Amongst us you
will not meet with any of those episodes with which your
adventurous existence has so familiarized you; our
Chimborazo is Mortmartreour Himalaya is Mount Valerien
our Great Desert is the plain of Grenellewhere they are
now boring an artesian well to water the caravans. We have
plenty of thievesthough not so many as is said; but these
thieves stand in far more dread of a policeman than a lord.
France is so prosaicand Paris so civilized a citythat
you will not find in its eighty-five departments -- I say
eighty-fivebecause I do not include Corsica -- you will
not findthenin these eighty-five departments a single
hill on which there is not a telegraphor a grotto in which
the commissary of police has not put up a gaslamp. There is
but one service I can render youand for that I place
myself entirely at your ordersthat isto presentor make
my friends presentyou everywhere; besidesyou have no
need of any one to introduce you -- with your nameand your
fortuneand your talent" (Monte Cristo bowed with a
somewhat ironical smile) "you can present yourself
everywhereand be well received. I can be useful in one way
only -- if knowledge of Parisian habitsof the means of
rendering yourself comfortableor of the bazaarscan


assistyou may depend upon me to find you a fitting
dwelling here. I do not dare offer to share my apartments
with youas I shared yours at Rome -- Iwho do not profess
egotismbut am yet egotist par excellence; forexcept
myselfthese rooms would not hold a shadow moreunless
that shadow were feminine."

Ah,said the countthat is a most conjugal reservation;
I recollect that at Rome you said something of a projected
marriage. May I congratulate you?

The affair is still in projection.

And he who says in `projection,' means already decided,
said Debray.

No,replied Morcerfmy father is most anxious about it;
and I hope, ere long, to introduce you, if not to my wife,
at least to my betrothed -- Mademoiselle Eugenie Danglars.

Eugenie Danglars,said Monte Cristo; "tell meis not her
father Baron Danglars?"

Yes,returned Morcerfa baron of a new creation.

What matter,said Monte Cristo "if he has rendered the
State services which merit this distinction?"

Enormous ones,answered Beauchamp. "Although in reality a
Liberalhe negotiated a loan of six millions for Charles
X.in 1829who made him a baron and chevalier of the
Legion of Honor; so that he wears the ribbonnotas you
would thinkin his waistcoat-pocketbut at his
button-hole."

Ah,interrupted MorcerflaughingBeauchamp, Beauchamp,
keep that for the Corsaire or the Charivari, but spare my
future father-in-law before me.Thenturning to Monte
CristoYou just now spoke his name as if you knew the
baron?

I do not know him,returned Monte Cristo; "but I shall
probably soon make his acquaintancefor I have a credit
opened with him by the house of Richard & Blountof London
Arstein & Eskeles of Viennaand Thomson & French at Rome."
As he pronounced the two last namesthe count glanced at
Maximilian Morrel. If the stranger expected to produce an
effect on Morrelhe was not mistaken -- Maximilian started
as if he had been electrified. "Thomson & French said he;
do you know this housemonsieur?"

They are my bankers in the capital of the Christian world,
returned the count quietly. "Can my influence with them be
of any service to you?"

Oh, count, you could assist me perhaps in researches which
have been, up to the present, fruitless. This house, in past
years, did ours a great service, and has, I know not for
what reason, always denied having rendered us this service.

I shall be at your orders,said Monte Cristo bowing.

But,continued Morcerfa propos of Danglars, -- we have
strangely wandered from the subject. We were speaking of a


suitable habitation for the Count of Monte Cristo. Come,
gentlemen, let us all propose some place. Where shall we
lodge this new guest in our great capital?

Faubourg Saint-Germain,said Chateau-Renaud. "The count
will find there a charming hotelwith a court and garden."

Bah, Chateau-Renaud,returned Debrayyou only know your
dull and gloomy Faubourg Saint-Germain; do not pay any
attention to him, count -- live in the Chaussee d'Antin,
that's the real centre of Paris.

Boulevard de l'Opera,said Beauchamp; "the second floor -a
house with a balcony. The count will have his cushions of
silver cloth brought thereand as he smokes his chibouque
see all Paris pass before him."

You have no idea, then, Morrel?asked Chateau-Renaud; "you
do not propose anything."

Oh, yes,returned the young mansmiling; "on the
contraryI have onebut I expected the count would be
tempted by one of the brilliant proposals made himyet as
he has not replied to any of themI will venture to offer
him a suite of apartments in a charming hotelin the
Pompadour stylethat my sister has inhabited for a yearin
the Rue Meslay."

You have a sister?asked the count.

Yes, monsieur, a most excellent sister.

Married?

Nearly nine years.

Happy?asked the count again.

As happy as it is permitted to a human creature to be,
replied Maximilian. "She married the man she lovedwho
remained faithful to us in our fallen fortunes -- Emmanuel
Herbaut." Monte Cristo smiled imperceptibly. "I live there
during my leave of absence continued Maximilian; and I
shall betogether with my brother-in-law Emmanuelat the
disposition of the Countwhenever he thinks fit to honor
us."

One minute,cried Albertwithout giving Monte Cristo the
time to reply. "Take careyou are going to immure a
travellerSinbad the Sailora man who comes to see Paris;
you are going to make a patriarch of him."

Oh, no,said Morrel; "my sister is five and twentymy
brother-in-law is thirtythey are gayyoungand happy.
Besidesthe count will be in his own houseand only see
them when he thinks fit to do so."

Thanks, monsieur,said Monte Cristo; "I shall content
myself with being presented to your sister and her husband
if you will do me the honor to introduce me; but I cannot
accept the offer of any one of these gentlemensince my
habitation is already prepared."

What,cried Morcerf; "you arethengoing to an hotel -



that will be very dull for you."

Was I so badly lodged at Rome?said Monte Cristo smiling.

Parbleu, at Rome you spent fifty thousand piastres in
furnishing your apartments, but I presume that you are not
disposed to spend a similar sum every day.

It is not that which deterred me,replied Monte Cristo;
but as I determined to have a house to myself, I sent on my
valet de chambre, and he ought by this time to have bought
the house and furnished it.

But you have, then, a valet de chambre who knows Paris?
said Beauchamp.

It is the first time he has ever been in Paris. He is
black, and cannot speak,returned Monte Cristo.

It is Ali!cried Albertin the midst of the general
surprise.

Yes, Ali himself, my Nubian mute, whom you saw, I think, at
Rome.

Certainly,said Morcerf; "I recollect him perfectly. But
how could you charge a Nubian to purchase a houseand a
mute to furnish it? -- he will do everything wrong."

Undeceive yourself, monsieur,replied Monte Cristo; "I am
quite surethaton the contraryhe will choose everything
as I wish. He knows my tastesmy capricesmy wants. He has
been here a weekwith the instinct of a houndhunting by
himself. He will arrange everything for me. He knewthat I
should arrive to-day at ten o'clock; he was waiting for me
at nine at the Barriere de Fontainebleau. He gave me this
paper; it contains the number of my new abode; read it
yourself and Monte Cristo passed a paper to Albert. Ah
that is really original said Beauchamp.

And very princely added Chateau-Renaud.

Whatdo you not know your house?" asked Debray.

No,said Monte Cristo; "I told you I did not wish to be
behind my time; I dressed myself in the carriageand
descended at the viscount's door." The young men looked at
each other; they did not know if it was a comedy Monte
Cristo was playingbut every word he uttered had such an
air of simplicitythat it was impossible to suppose what he
said was false -- besideswhy should he tell a falsehood?
We must content ourselves, then,said Beauchampwith
rendering the count all the little services in our power. I,
in my quality of journalist, open all the theatres to him.

Thanks, monsieur,returned Monte Cristomy steward has
orders to take a box at each theatre.

Is your steward also a Nubian?asked Debray.

No, he is a countryman of yours, if a Corsican is a
countryman of any one's. But you know him, M. de Morcerf.

Is it that excellent M. Bertuccio, who understands hiring


windows so well?

Yes, you saw him the day I had the honor of receiving you;
he has been a soldier, a smuggler -- in fact, everything. I
would not be quite sure that he has not been mixed up with
the police for some trifle -- a stab with a knife, for
instance.

And you have chosen this honest citizen for your steward,
said Debray. "Of how much does he rob you every year?"

On my word,replied the countnot more than another. I
am sure he answers my purpose, knows no impossibility, and
so I keep him.

Then,continued Chateau-Renaudsince you have an
establishment, a steward, and a hotel in the Champs Elysees,
you only want a mistress.Albert smiled. He thought of the
fair Greek he had seen in the count's box at the Argentina
and Valle theatres. "I have something better than that
said Monte Cristo; I have a slave. You procure your
mistresses from the operathe Vaudevilleor the Varietes;
I purchased mine at Constantinople; it cost me morebut I
have nothing to fear."

But you forget,replied Debraylaughingthat we are
Franks by name and franks by nature, as King Charles said,
and that the moment she puts her foot in France your slave
becomes free.

Who will tell her?

The first person who sees her.

She only speaks Romaic.

That is different.

But at least we shall see her,said Beauchampor do you
keep eunuchs as well as mutes?

Oh, no,replied Monte Cristo; "I do not carry brutalism so
far. Every one who surrounds me is free to quit meand when
they leave me will no longer have any need of me or any one
else; it is for that reasonperhapsthat they do not quit
me." They had long since passed to dessert and cigars.

My dear Albert,said Debrayrisingit is half-past two.
Your guest is charming, but you leave the best company to go
into the worst sometimes. I must return to the minister's. I
will tell him of the count, and we shall soon know who he
is.

Take care,returned Albert; "no one has been able to
accomplish that."

Oh, we have three millions for our police; it is true they
are almost always spent beforehand, but, no matter, we shall
still have fifty thousand francs to spend for this purpose.

And when you know, will you tell me?

I promise you. Au revoir, Albert. Gentlemen, good morning.


As he left the roomDebray called out loudlyMy
carriage.


Bravo,said Beauchamp to Albert; "I shall not go to the
Chamberbut I have something better to offer my readers
than a speech of M. Danglars."


For heaven's sake, Beauchamp,returned Morcerfdo not
deprive me of the merit of introducing him everywhere. Is he
not peculiar?


He is more than that,replied Chateau-Renaud; "he is one
of the most extraordinary men I ever saw in my life. Are you
comingMorrel?"


Directly I have given my card to the count, who has
promised to pay us a visit at Rue Meslay, No. 14.


Be sure I shall not fail to do so,returned the count
bowing. And Maximilian Morrel left the room with the Baron
de Chateau-Renaudleaving Monte Cristo alone with Morcerf.


Chapter 41
The Presentation.


When Albert found himself alone with Monte CristoMy dear
count,said heallow me to commence my services as
cicerone by showing you a specimen of a bachelor's
apartment. You, who are accustomed to the palaces of Italy,
can amuse yourself by calculating in how many square feet a
young man who is not the worst lodged in Paris can live. As
we pass from one room to another, I will open the windows to
let you breathe.Monte Cristo had already seen the
breakfast-room and the salon on the ground-floor. Albert led
him first to his atelierwhich wasas we have saidhis
favorite apartment. Monte Cristo quickly appreciated all
that Albert had collected here -- old cabinetsJapanese
porcelainOriental stuffsVenetian glassarms from all
parts of the world -- everything was familiar to him; and at
the first glance he recognized their datetheir country
and their origin. Morcerf had expected he should be the
guide; on the contraryit was he whounder the count's
guidancefollowed a course of archaeologymineralogyand
natural history. They descended to the first floor; Albert
led his guest into the salon. The salon was filled with the
works of modern artists; there were landscapes by Dupre
with their long reeds and tall treestheir lowing oxen and
marvellous skies; Delacroix's Arabian cavalierswith their
long white burnousestheir shining beltstheir damasked
armstheir horseswho tore each other with their teeth
while their riders contended fiercely with their maces;
aquarelles of Boulangerrepresenting Notre Dame de Paris
with that vigor that makes the artist the rival of the poet;
there were paintings by Diazwho makes his flowers more
beautiful than flowershis suns more brilliant than the
sun; designs by Decampas vividly colored as those of
Salvator Rosabut more poetic; pastels by Giraud and
Mullerrepresenting children like angels and women with the
features of a virgin; sketches torn from the album of
Dauzats' "Travels in the East that had been made in a few
seconds on the saddle of a camel, or beneath the dome of a
mosque -- in a word, all that modern art can give in



exchange and as recompense for the art lost and gone with
ages long since past.

Albert expected to have something new this time to show to
the traveller, but, to his great surprise, the latter,
without seeking for the signatures, many of which, indeed,
were only initials, named instantly the author of every
picture in such a manner that it was easy to see that each
name was not only known to him, but that each style
associated with it had been appreciated and studied by him.
From the salon they passed into the bed-chamber; it was a
model of taste and simple elegance. A single portrait,
signed by Leopold Robert, shone in its carved and gilded
frame. This portrait attracted the Count of Monte Cristo's
attention, for he made three rapid steps in the chamber, and
stopped suddenly before it. It was the portrait of a young
woman of five or six and twenty, with a dark complexion, and
light and lustrous eyes, veiled beneath long lashes. She
wore the picturesque costume of the Catalan fisherwomen, a
red and black bodice, and golden pins in her hair. She was
looking at the sea, and her form was outlined on the blue
ocean and sky. The light was so faint in the room that
Albert did not perceive the pallor that spread itself over
the count's visage, or the nervous heaving of his chest and
shoulders. Silence prevailed for an instant, during which
Monte Cristo gazed intently on the picture.

You have there a most charming mistressviscount said
the count in a perfectly calm tone; and this costume -- a
ball costumedoubtless -- becomes her admirably."

Ah, monsieur,returned AlbertI would never forgive you
this mistake if you had seen another picture beside this.
You do not know my mother; she it is whom you see here. She
had her portrait painted thus six or eight years ago. This
costume is a fancy one, it appears, and the resemblance is
so great that I think I still see my mother the same as she
was in 1830. The countess had this portrait painted during
the count's absence. She doubtless intended giving him an
agreeable surprise; but, strange to say, this portrait
seemed to displease my father, and the value of the picture,
which is, as you see, one of the best works of Leopold
Robert, could not overcome his dislike to it. It is true,
between ourselves, that M. de Morcerf is one of the most
assiduous peers at the Luxembourg, a general renowned for
theory, but a most mediocre amateur of art. It is different
with my mother, who paints exceedingly well, and who,
unwilling to part with so valuable a picture, gave it to me
to put here, where it would be less likely to displease M.
de Morcerf, whose portrait, by Gros, I will also show you.
Excuse my talking of family matters, but as I shall have the
honor of introducing you to the count, I tell you this to
prevent you making any allusions to this picture. The
picture seems to have a malign influence, for my mother
rarely comes here without looking at it, and still more
rarely does she look at it without weeping. This
disagreement is the only one that has ever taken place
between the count and countess, who are still as much
united, although married more than twenty years, as on the
first day of their wedding.

Monte Cristo glanced rapidly at Albertas if to seek a
hidden meaning in his wordsbut it was evident the young
man uttered them in the simplicity of his heart. "Now said


Albert, that you have seen all my treasuresallow me to
offer them to youunworthy as they are. Consider yourself
as in your own houseand to put yourself still more at your
easepray accompany me to the apartments of M. de Morcerf
he whom I wrote from Rome an account of the services you
rendered meand to whom I announced your promised visit
and I may say that both the count and countess anxiously
desire to thank you in person. You are somewhat blase I
knowand family scenes have not much effect on Sinbad the
Sailorwho has seen so many others. Howeveraccept what I
propose to you as an initiation into Parisian life -- a life
of politenessvisitingand introductions." Monte Cristo
bowed without making any answer; he accepted the offer
without enthusiasm and without regretas one of those
conventions of society which every gentleman looks upon as a
duty. Albert summoned his servantand ordered him to
acquaint M. and Madame de Morcerf of the arrival of the
Count of Monte Cristo. Albert followed him with the count.
When they arrived at the ante-chamberabove the door was
visible a shieldwhichby its rich ornaments and its
harmony with the rest of the furnitureindicated the
importance the owner attached to this blazon. Monte Cristo
stopped and examined it attentively.

Azure seven merlets, or, placed bender,said he. "These
aredoubtlessyour family arms? Except the knowledge of
blazonsthat enables me to decipher themI am very
ignorant of heraldry -- Ia count of a fresh creation
fabricated in Tuscany by the aid of a commandery of St.
Stephenand who would not have taken the trouble had I not
been told that when you travel much it is necessary.
Besidesyou must have something on the panels of your
carriageto escape being searched by the custom-house
officers. Excuse my putting such a question to you."

It is not indiscreet,returned Morcerfwith the
simplicity of conviction. "You have guessed rightly. These
are our armsthat isthose of my fatherbut they areas
you seejoined to another shieldwhich has gulesa silver
towerwhich are my mother's. By her side I am Spanishbut
the family of Morcerf is FrenchandI have heardone of
the oldest of the south of France."

Yes,replied Monte Cristo "these blazons prove that.
Almost all the armed pilgrims that went to the Holy Land
took for their arms either a crossin honor of their
missionor birds of passagein sign of the long voyage
they were about to undertakeand which they hoped to
accomplish on the wings of faith. One of your ancestors had
joined the Crusadesand supposing it to be only that of St.
Louisthat makes you mount to the thirteenth centurywhich
is tolerably ancient."

It is possible,said Morcerf; "my father has in his study
a genealogical tree which will tell you all thatand on
which I made commentaries that would have greatly edified
Hozier and Jaucourt. At present I no longer think of itand
yet I must tell you that we are beginning to occupy
ourselves greatly with these things under our popular
government."

Well, then, your government would do well to choose from
the past something better than the things that I have
noticed on your monuments, and which have no heraldic


meaning whatever. As for you, viscount,continued Monte
Cristo to Morcerfyou are more fortunate than the
government, for your arms are really beautiful, and speak to
the imagination. Yes, you are at once from Provence and
Spain; that explains, if the portrait you showed me be like,
the dark hue I so much admired on the visage of the noble
Catalan.It would have required the penetration of Oedipus
or the Sphinx to have divined the irony the count concealed
beneath these wordsapparently uttered with the greatest
politeness. Morcerf thanked him with a smileand pushed
open the door above which were his armsand whichas we
have saidopened into the salon. In the most conspicuous
part of the salon was another portrait. It was that of a
manfrom five to eight and thirtyin the uniform of a
general officerwearing the double epaulet of heavy
bullionthat indicates superior rankthe ribbon of the
Legion of Honor around his neckwhich showed he was a
commanderand on the right breastthe star of a grand
officer of the order of the Saviourand on the left that of
the grand cross of Charles III.which proved that the
person represented by the picture had served in the wars of
Greece and Spainorwhat was just the same thing as
regarded decorationshad fulfilled some diplomatic mission
in the two countries.

Monte Cristo was engaged in examining this portrait with no
less care than he had bestowed upon the otherwhen another
door openedand he found himself opposite to the Count of
Morcerf in person. He was a man of forty to forty-five
yearsbut he seemed at least fiftyand his black mustache
and eyebrows contrasted strangely with his almost white
hairwhich was cut shortin the military fashion. He was
dressed in plain clothesand wore at his button-hole the
ribbons of the different orders to which he belonged. He
entered with a tolerably dignified stepand some little
haste. Monte Cristo saw him advance towards him without
making a single step. It seemed as if his feet were rooted
to the groundand his eyes on the Count of Morcerf.
Father,said the young manI have the honor of
presenting to you the Count of Monte Cristo, the generous
friend whom I had the good fortune to meet in the critical
situation of which I have told you.

You are most welcome, monsieur,said the Count of Morcerf
saluting Monte Cristo with a smileand monsieur has
rendered our house, in preserving its only heir, a service
which insures him our eternal gratitude.As he said these
wordsthe count of Morcerf pointed to a chairwhile he
seated himself in another opposite the window.

Monte Cristoin taking the seat Morcerf offered himplaced
himself in such a manner as to remain concealed in the
shadow of the large velvet curtainsand read on the
careworn and livid features of the count a whole history of
secret griefs written in each wrinkle time had planted
there. "The countess said Morcerf, was at her toilet when
she was informed of the visit she was about to receive. She
willhoweverbe in the salon in ten minutes."

It is a great honor to me,returned Monte Cristoto be
thus, on the first day of my arrival in Paris, brought in
contact with a man whose merit equals his reputation, and to
whom fortune has for once been equitable, but has she not
still on the plains of Metidja, or in the mountains of


Atlas, a marshal's staff to offer you?

Oh,replied Morcerfreddening slightlyI have left the
service, monsieur. Made a peer at the Restoration, I served
through the first campaign under the orders of Marshal
Bourmont. I could, therefore, expect a higher rank, and who
knows what might have happened had the elder branch remained
on the throne? But the Revolution of July was, it seems,
sufficiently glorious to allow itself to be ungrateful, and
it was so for all services that did not date from the
imperial period. I tendered my resignation, for when you
have gained your epaulets on the battle-field, you do not
know how to manoeuvre on the slippery grounds of the salons.
I have hung up my sword, and cast myself into politics. I
have devoted myself to industry; I study the useful arts.
During the twenty years I served, I often wished to do so,
but I had not the time.

These are the ideas that render your nation superior to any
other,returned Monte Cristo. "A gentleman of high birth
possessor of an ample fortuneyou have consented to gain
your promotion as an obscure soldierstep by step -- this
is uncommon; then become generalpeer of Francecommander
of the Legion of Honoryou consent to again commence a
second apprenticeshipwithout any other hope or any other
desire than that of one day becoming useful to your
fellow-creatures; thisindeedis praiseworthy-- nay
moreit is sublime." Albert looked on and listened with
astonishment; he was not used to see Monte Cristo give vent
to such bursts of enthusiasm. "Alas continued the
stranger, doubtless to dispel the slight cloud that covered
Morcerf's brow, we do not act thus in Italy; we grow
according to our race and our speciesand we pursue the
same linesand often the same uselessnessall our lives."

But, monsieur,said the Count of Morcerffor a man of
your merit, Italy is not a country, and France opens her
arms to receive you; respond to her call. France will not,
perhaps, be always ungrateful. She treats her children ill,
but she always welcomes strangers.

Ah, father,said Albert with a smileit is evident you
do not know the Count of Monte Cristo; he despises all
honors, and contents himself with those written on his
passport.

That is the most just remark,replied the strangerI
ever heard made concerning myself.

You have been free to choose your career,observed the
Count of Morcerfwith a sigh; "and you have chosen the path
strewed with flowers."

Precisely, monsieur,replied Monte Cristo with one of
those smiles that a painter could never represent or a
physiologist analyze.

If I did not fear to fatigue you,said the general
evidently charmed with the count's mannersI would have
taken you to the Chamber; there is a debate very curious to
those who are strangers to our modern senators.

I shall be most grateful, monsieur, if you will, at some
future time, renew your offer, but I have been flattered


with the hope of being introduced to the countess, and I
will therefore wait.

Ah, here is my mother,cried the viscount. Monte Cristo
turned round hastilyand saw Madame de Morcerf at the
entrance of the salonat the door opposite to that by which
her husband had enteredpale and motionless; when Monte
Cristo turned roundshe let fall her armwhich for some
unknown reason had been resting on the gilded door-post. She
had been there some momentsand had heard the last words of
the visitor. The latter rose and bowed to the countesswho
inclined herself without speaking. "Ahgood heavens
madame said the count, are you illor is it the heat of
the room that affects you?"

Are you ill, mother?cried the viscountspringing towards
her.

She thanked them both with a smile. "No returned she, but
I feel some emotion on seeingfor the first timethe man
without whose intervention we should have been in tears and
desolation. Monsieur continued the countess, advancing
with the majesty of a queen, I owe to you the life of my
sonand for this I bless you. NowI thank you for the
pleasure you give me in thus affording me the opportunity of
thanking you as I have blessed youfrom the bottom of my
heart." The count bowed againbut lower than before; He was
even paler than Mercedes. "Madame said he, the count and
yourself recompense too generously a simple action. To save
a manto spare a father's feelingsor a mother's
sensibilityis not to do a good actionbut a simple deed
of humanity." At these wordsuttered with the most
exquisite sweetness and politenessMadame de Morcerf
replied. "It is very fortunate for my sonmonsieurthat he
found such a friendand I thank God that things are thus."
And Mercedes raised her fine eyes to heaven with so fervent
an expression of gratitudethat the count fancied he saw
tears in them. M. de Morcerf approached her. "Madame said
he. I have already made my excuses to the count for
quitting himand I pray you to do so also. The sitting
commences at two; it is now threeand I am to speak."

Go, then, and monsieur and I will strive our best to forget
your absence,replied the countesswith the same tone of
deep feeling. "Monsieur continued she, turning to Monte
Cristo, will you do us the honor of passing the rest of the
day with us?"

Believe me, madame, I feel most grateful for your kindness,
but I got out of my travelling carriage at your door this
morning, and I am ignorant how I am installed in Paris,
which I scarcely know; this is but a trifling inquietude, I
know, but one that may be appreciated.

We shall have the pleasure another time,said the
countess; "you promise that?" Monte Cristo inclined himself
without answeringbut the gesture might pass for assent. "I
will not detain youmonsieur continued the countess; I
would not have our gratitude become indiscreet or
importunate."

My dear Count,said AlbertI will endeavor to return
your politeness at Rome, and place my coupe at your disposal
until your own be ready.


A thousand thanks for your kindness, viscount,returned
the Count of Monte Cristo "but I suppose that M. Bertuccio
has suitably employed the four hours and a half I have given
himand that I shall find a carriage of some sort ready at
the door." Albert was used to the count's manner of
proceeding; he knew thatlike Nerohe was in search of the
impossibleand nothing astonished himbut wishing to judge
with his own eyes how far the count's orders had been
executedhe accompanied him to the door of the house. Monte
Cristo was not deceived. As soon as he appeared in the Count
of Morcerf's ante-chambera footmanthe same who at Rome
had brought the count's card to the two young menand
announced his visitsprang into the vestibuleand when he
arrived at the door the illustrious traveller found his
carriage awaiting him. It was a coupe of Koller's building
and with horses and harness for which Drake hadto the
knowledge of all the lions of Parisrefused on the previous
day seven hundred guineas. "Monsieur said the count to
Albert, I do not ask you to accompany me to my houseas I
can only show you a habitation fitted up in a hurryand I
haveas you knowa reputation to keep up as regards not
being taken by surprise. Give methereforeone more day
before I invite you; I shall then be certain not to fail in
my hospitality."

If you ask me for a day, count, I know what to anticipate;
it will not be a house I shall see, but a palace. You have
decidedly some genius at your control.

Ma foi, spread that idea,replied the Count of Monte
Cristoputting his foot on the velvet-lined steps of his
splendid carriageand that will be worth something to me
among the ladies.As he spokehe sprang into the vehicle
the door was closedbut not so rapidly that Monte Cristo
failed to perceive the almost imperceptible movement which
stirred the curtains of the apartment in which he had left
Madame de Morcerf. When Albert returned to his motherhe
found her in the boudoir reclining in a large velvet
arm-chairthe whole room so obscure that only the shining
spanglefastened here and there to the draperyand the
angles of the gilded frames of the picturesshowed with
some degree of brightness in the gloom. Albert could not see
the face of the countessas it was covered with a thin veil
she had put on her headand which fell over her features in
misty foldsbut it seemed to him as though her voice had
altered. He could distinguish amid the perfumes of the roses
and heliotropes in the flower-standsthe sharp and fragrant
odor of volatile saltsand he noticed in one of the chased
cups on the mantle-piece the countess's smelling-bottle
taken from its shagreen caseand exclaimed in a tone of
uneasinessas he entered-- "My dear motherhave you been
ill during my absence?"

No, no, Albert, but you know these roses, tuberoses, and
orange-flowers throw out at first, before one is used to
them, such violent perfumes.

Then, my dear mother,said Albertputting his hand to the
bellthey must be taken into the ante-chamber. You are
really ill, and just now were so pale as you came into the
room-


Was I pale, Albert?


Yes; a pallor that suits you admirably, mother, but which
did not the less alarm my father and myself.

Did your father speak of it?inquired Mercedes eagerly.

No, madame; but do you not remember that he spoke of the
fact to you?

Yes, I do remember,replied the countess. A servant
enteredsummoned by Albert's ring of the bell. "Take these
flowers into the anteroom or dressing-room said the
viscount; they make the countess ill." The footman obeyed
his orders. A long pause ensuedwhich lasted until all the
flowers were removed. "What is this name of Monte Cristo?"
inquired the countesswhen the servant had taken away the
last vase of flowersis it a family name, or the name of
the estate, or a simple title?

I believe, mother, it is merely a title. The count
purchased an island in the Tuscan archipelago, and, as he
told you to-day, has founded a commandery. You know the same
thing was done for Saint Stephen of Florence, Saint George,
Constantinian of Parma, and even for the Order of Malta.
Except this, he has no pretension to nobility, and calls
himself a chance count, although the general opinion at Rome
is that the count is a man of very high distinction.

His manners are admirable,said the countessat least,
as far as I could judge in the few minutes he remained
here.

They are perfect mother, so perfect, that they surpass by
far all I have known in the leading aristocracy of the three
proudest nobilities of Europe -- the English, the Spanish,
and the German.The countess paused a moment; thenafter a
slight hesitationshe resumed-- "You have seenmy dear
Albert -- I ask the question as a mother -- you have seen M.
de Monte Cristo in his houseyou are quicksightedhave
much knowledge of the worldmore tact than is usual at your
agedo you think the count is really what he appears to
be?"

What does he appear to be?

Why, you have just said, -- a man of high distinction.

I told you, my dear mother, he was esteemed such.

But what is your own opinion, Albert?

I must tell you that I have not come to any decided opinion
respecting him, but I think him a Maltese.

I do not ask you of his origin but what he is.

Ah, what he is; that is quite another thing. I have seen so
many remarkable things in him, that if you would have me
really say what I think, I shall reply that I really do look
upon him as one of Byron's heroes, whom misery has marked
with a fatal brand; some Manfred, some Lara, some Werner,
one of those wrecks, as it were, of some ancient family,
who, disinherited of their patrimony, have achieved one by
the force of their adventurous genius, which has placed them


above the laws of society.

You say-


I say that Monte Cristo is an island in the midst of the
Mediterranean, without inhabitants or garrison, the resort
of smugglers of all nations, and pirates of every flag. Who
knows whether or not these industrious worthies do not pay
to their feudal lord some dues for his protection?

That is possible,said the countessreflecting.

Never mind,continued the young mansmuggler or not, you
must agree, mother dear, as you have seen him, that the
Count of Monte Cristo is a remarkable man, who will have the
greatest success in the salons of Paris. Why, this very
morning, in my rooms, he made his entree amongst us by
striking every man of us with amazement, not even excepting
Chateau-Renaud.

And what do you suppose is the count's age?inquired
Mercedesevidently attaching great importance to this
question.

Thirty-five or thirty-six, mother.

So young, -- it is impossible,said Mercedesreplying at
the same time to what Albert said as well as to her own
private reflection.

It is the truth, however. Three or four times he has said
to me, and certainly without the slightest premeditation,
`at such a period I was five years old, at another ten years
old, at another twelve,' and I, induced by curiosity, which
kept me alive to these details, have compared the dates, and
never found him inaccurate. The age of this singular man,
who is of no age, is then, I am certain, thirty-five.
Besides, mother, remark how vivid his eye, how raven-black
his hair, and his brow, though so pale, is free from
wrinkles, -- he is not only vigorous, but also young.The
countess bent her headas if beneath a heavy wave of bitter
thoughts. "And has this man displayed a friendship for you
Albert?" she asked with a nervous shudder.

I am inclined to think so.

And -- do -- you -- like -- him?

Why, he pleases me in spite of Franz d'Epinay, who tries to
convince me that he is a being returned from the other
world.The countess shuddered. "Albert she said, in a
voice which was altered by emotion, I have always put you
on your guard against new acquaintances. Now you are a man
and are able to give me advice; yet I repeat to youAlbert
be prudent."

Why, my dear mother, it is necessary, in order to make your
advice turn to account, that I should know beforehand what I
have to distrust. The count never plays, he only drinks pure
water tinged with a little sherry, and is so rich that he
cannot, without intending to laugh at me, try to borrow
money. What, then, have I to fear from him?

You are right,said the countessand my fears are


weakness, especially when directed against a man who has
saved your life. How did your father receive him, Albert? It
is necessary that we should be more than complaisant to the
count. M. de Morcerf is sometimes occupied, his business
makes him reflective, and he might, without intending it-


Nothing could be in better taste than my father's demeanor,
madame,said Albert; "naymorehe seemed greatly
flattered at two or three compliments which the count very
skilfully and agreeably paid him with as much ease as if he
had known him these thirty years. Each of these little
tickling arrows must have pleased my father added Albert
with a laugh. And thus they parted the best possible
friendsand M. de Morcerf even wished to take him to the
Chamber to hear the speakers." The countess made no reply.
She fell into so deep a revery that her eyes gradually
closed. The young manstanding up before hergazed upon
her with that filial affection which is so tender and
endearing with children whose mothers are still young and
handsome. Thenafter seeing her eyes closedand hearing
her breathe gentlyhe believed she had dropped asleepand
left the apartment on tiptoeclosing the door after him
with the utmost precaution. "This devil of a fellow he
muttered, shaking his head; I said at the time he would
create a sensation hereand I measure his effect by an
infallible thermometer. My mother has noticed himand he
must thereforeperforcebe remarkable." He went down to
the stablesnot without some slight annoyancewhen he
remembered that the Count of Monte Cristo had laid his hands
on a "turnout" which sent his bays down to second place in
the opinion of connoisseurs. "Most decidedly said he, men
are not equaland I must beg my father to develop this
theorem in the Chamber of Peers."

Chapter 42
Monsieur Bertuccio.

Meanwhile the count had arrived at his house; it had taken
him six minutes to perform the distancebut these six
minutes were sufficient to induce twenty young men who knew
the price of the equipage they had been unable to purchase
themselvesto put their horses in a gallop in order to see
the rich foreigner who could afford to give 20000 francs
apiece for his horses. The house Ali had chosenand which
was to serve as a town residence to Monte Cristowas
situated on the right hand as you ascend the Champs Elysees.
A thick clump of trees and shrubs rose in the centreand
masked a portion of the front; around this shrubbery two
alleyslike two armsextended right and leftand formed a
carriage-drive from the iron gates to a double porticoon
every step of which stood a porcelain vase. filled with
flowers. This houseisolated from the resthadbesides
the main entranceanother in the Rue Ponthieu. Even before
the coachman had hailed the conciergethe massy gates
rolled on their hinges -- they had seen the Count coming
and at Parisas everywhere elsehe was served with the
rapidity of lightning. The coachman entered and traversed
the half-circle without slackening his speedand the gates
were closed ere the wheels had ceased to sound on the
gravel. The carriage stopped at the left side of the
porticotwo men presented themselves at the
carriage-window; the one was Aliwhosmiling with an


expression of the most sincere joyseemed amply repaid by a
mere look from Monte Cristo. The other bowed respectfully
and offered his arm to assist the count in descending.
Thanks, M. Bertuccio,said the countspringing lightly up
the three steps of the portico; "and the notary?"

He is in the small salon, excellency,returned Bertuccio.

And the cards I ordered to be engraved as soon as you knew
the number of the house?

Your excellency, it is done already. I have been myself to
the best engraver of the Palais Royal, who did the plate in
my presence. The first card struck off was taken, according
to your orders, to the Baron Danglars, Rue de la Chaussee
d'Antin, No. 7; the others are on the mantle-piece of your
excellency's bedroom.

Good; what o'clock is it?

Four o'clock.Monte Cristo gave his hatcaneand gloves
to the same French footman who had called his carriage at
the Count of Morcerf'sand then he passed into the small
salonpreceded by Bertucciowho showed him the way. "These
are but indifferent marbles in this ante-chamber said
Monte Cristo. I trust all this will soon be taken away."
Bertuccio bowed. As the steward had saidthe notary awaited
him in the small salon. He was a simple-looking lawyer's
clerkelevated to the extraordinary dignity of a provincial
scrivener. "You are the notary empowered to sell the country
house that I wish to purchasemonsieur?" asked Monte
Cristo.

Yes, count,returned the notary.

Is the deed of sale ready?

Yes, count.

Have you brought it?

Here it is.

Very well; and where is this house that I purchase?asked
the count carelesslyaddressing himself half to Bertuccio
half to the notary. The steward made a gesture that
signifiedI do not know.The notary looked at the count
with astonishment. "What!" said hedoes not the count know
where the house he purchases is situated?

No,returned the count.

The count does not know?

How should I know? I have arrived from Cadiz this morning.
I have never before been at Paris, and it is the first time
I have ever even set my foot in France.

Ah, that is different; the house you purchase is at
Auteuil.At these words Bertuccio turned pale. "And where
is Auteuil?" asked the count.

Close by here, monsieur,replied the notary -- "a little
beyond Passy; a charming situationin the heart of the Bois


de Boulogne."

So near as that?said the Count; "but that is not in the
country. What made you choose a house at the gates of Paris

M. Bertuccio?"
I,cried the steward with a strange expression. "His
excellency did not charge me to purchase this house. If his
excellency will recollect -- if he will think" -


Ah, true,observed Monte Cristo; "I recollect now. I read
the advertisement in one of the papersand was tempted by
the false title`a country house.'"

It is not yet too late,cried Bertuccioeagerly; "and if
your excellency will intrust me with the commissionI will
find you a better at Enghienat Fontenay-aux-Rosesor at
Bellevue."

Oh, no,returned Monte Cristo negligently; "since I have
thisI will keep it."

And you are quite right,said the notarywho feared to
lose his fee. "It is a charming placewell supplied with
spring-water and fine trees; a comfortable habitation
although abandoned for a long timewithout reckoning the
furniturewhichalthough oldis yet valuablenow that
old things are so much sought after. I suppose the count has
the tastes of the day?"

To be sure,returned Monte Cristo; "it is very convenient
then?"

It is more -- it is magnificent.

Peste, let us not lose such an opportunity,returned Monte
Cristo. "The deedif you pleaseMr. Notary." And he signed
it rapidlyafter having first run his eye over that part of
the deed in which were specified the situation of the house
and the names of the proprietors. "Bertuccio said he,
give fifty-five thousand francs to monsieur." The steward
left the room with a faltering stepand returned with a
bundle of bank-noteswhich the notary counted like a man
who never gives a receipt for money until after he is sure
it is all there. "And now demanded the count, are all the
forms complied with?"

All, sir.

Have you the keys?

They are in the hands of the concierge, who takes care of
the house, but here is the order I have given him to install
the count in his new possessions.

Very well;and Monte Cristo made a sign with his hand to
the notarywhich saidI have no further need of you; you
may go.

But,observed the honest notarythe count is, I think,
mistaken; it is only fifty thousand francs, everything
included.

And your fee?


Is included in this sum.

But have you not come from Auteuil here?

Yes, certainly.

Well, then, it is but fair that you should be paid for your
loss of time and trouble,said the count; and he made a
gesture of polite dismissal. The notary left the room
backwardsand bowing down to the ground; it was the first
time he had ever met a similar client. "See this gentleman
out said the count to Bertuccio. And the steward followed
the notary out of the room. Scarcely was the count alone,
when he drew from his pocket a book closed with a lock, and
opened it with a key which he wore round his neck, and which
never left him. After having sought for a few minutes, he
stopped at a leaf which had several notes, and compared them
with the deed of sale, which lay on the table. `Auteuil
Rue de la FontaineNo. 28;' it is indeed the same said
he; and nowam I to rely upon an avowal extorted by
religious or physical terror? Howeverin an hour I shall
know all. Bertuccio!" cried hestriking a light hammer with
a pliant handle on a small gong. "Bertuccio!" The steward
appeared at the door. "Monsieur Bertuccio said the count,
did you never tell me that you had travelled in France?"

In some parts of France -- yes, excellency.

You know the environs of Paris, then?

No, excellency, no,returned the stewardwith a sort of
nervous tremblingwhich Monte Cristoa connoisseur in all
emotionsrightly attributed to great disquietude.

It is unfortunate,returned hethat you have never
visited the environs, for I wish to see my new property this
evening, and had you gone with me, you could have given me
some useful information.

To Auteuil!cried Bertucciowhose copper complexion
became livid -- "I go to Auteuil?"

Well, what is there surprising in that? When I live at
Auteuil, you must come there, as you belong to my service.
Bertuccio hung down his head before the imperious look of
his masterand remained motionlesswithout making any
answer. "Whywhat has happened to you? -- are you going to
make me ring a second time for the carriage?" asked Monte
Cristoin the same tone that Louis XIV. pronounced the
famousI have been almost obliged to wait.Bertuccio made
but one bound to the ante-chamberand cried in a hoarse
voice -- "His excellency's horses!" Monte Cristo wrote two
or three notesandas he sealed the lastthe steward
appeared. "Your excellency's carriage is at the door said
he.

Welltake your hat and gloves returned Monte Cristo.

Am I to accompany youyour excellency?" cried Bertuccio.

Certainly, you must give the orders, for I intend residing
at the house.It was unexampled for a servant of the
count's to dare to dispute an order of hisso the steward


without saying a wordfollowed his masterwho got into the
carriageand signed to him to followwhich he didtaking
his place respectfully on the front seat.


Chapter 43
The House at Auteuil.


Monte Cristo noticedas they descended the staircasethat
Bertuccio signed himself in the Corsican manner; that is
had formed the sign of the cross in the air with his thumb
and as he seated himself in the carriagemuttered a short
prayer. Any one but a man of exhaustless thirst for
knowledge would have had pity on seeing the steward's
extraordinary repugnance for the count's projected drive
without the walls; but the Count was too curious to let
Bertuccio off from this little journey. In twenty minutes
they were at Auteuil; the steward's emotion had continued to
augment as they entered the village. Bertucciocrouched in
the corner of the carriagebegan to examine with a feverish
anxiety every house they passed. "Tell them to stop at Rue
de la FontaineNo. 28 said the count, fixing his eyes on
the steward, to whom he gave this order. Bertuccio's
forehead was covered with perspiration; however, he obeyed,
and, leaning out of the window, he cried to the coachman, --
Rue de la FontaineNo. 28." No. 28 was situated at the
extremity of the village; during the drive night had set in
and darkness gave the surroundings the artificial appearance
of a scene on the stage. The carriage stoppedthe footman
sprang off the boxand opened the door. "Well said the
count, you do not get outM. Bertuccio -- you are going to
stay in the carriagethen? What are you thinking of this
evening?" Bertuccio sprang outand offered his shoulder to
the countwhothis timeleaned upon it as he descended
the three steps of the carriage. "Knock said the count,
and announce me." Bertuccio knockedthe door openedand
the concierge appeared. "What is it?" asked he.


It is your new master, my good fellow,said the footman.
And he held out to the concierge the notary's order.


The house is sold, then?demanded the concierge; "and this
gentleman is coming to live here?"


Yes, my friend,returned the count; "and I will endeavor
to give you no cause to regret your old master."


Oh, monsieur,said the conciergeI shall not have much
cause to regret him, for he came here but seldom; it is five
years since he was here last, and he did well to sell the
house, for it did not bring him in anything at all.


What was the name of your old master?said Monte Cristo.


The Marquis of Saint-Meran. Ah, I am sure he has not sold
the house for what he gave for it.


The Marquis of Saint-Meran!returned the count. "The name
is not unknown to me; the Marquis of Saint-Meran!" and he
appeared to meditate.


An old gentleman,continued the conciergea stanch
follower of the Bourbons; he had an only daughter, who



married M. de Villefort, who had been the king's attorney at
Nimes, and afterwards at Versailles.Monte Cristo glanced
at Bertucciowho became whiter than the wall against which
he leaned to prevent himself from falling. "And is not this
daughter dead?" demanded Monte Cristo; "I fancy I have heard
so."

Yes, monsieur, one and twenty years ago; and since then we
have not seen the poor marquis three times.

Thanks, thanks,said Monte Cristojudging from the
steward's utter prostration that he could not stretch the
cord further without danger of breaking it. "Give me a
light."

Shall I accompany you, monsieur?

No, it is unnecessary; Bertuccio will show me a light.And
Monte Cristo accompanied these words by the gift of two gold
pieceswhich produced a torrent of thanks and blessings
from the concierge. "Ahmonsieur said he, after having
vainly searched on the mantle-piece and the shelves, I have
not got any candles."

Take one of the carriage-lamps, Bertuccio,said the count
and show me the apartments.The steward obeyed in silence
but it was easy to seefrom the manner in which the hand
that held the light trembledhow much it cost him to obey.
They went over a tolerably large ground-floor; a second
floor consisted of a salona bathroomand two bedrooms;
near one of the bedrooms they came to a winding staircase
that led down to the garden.

Ah, here is a private staircase,said the count; "that is
convenient. Light meM. Bertuccioand go first; we will
see where it leads to."

Monsieur,replied Bertuccioit leads to the garden.

And, pray, how do you know that?

It ought to do so, at least.

Well, let us be sure of that.Bertuccio sighedand went
on first; the stairs didindeedlead to the garden. At the
outer door the steward paused. "Go onMonsieur Bertuccio
said the count. But he who was addressed stood there,
stupefied, bewildered, stunned; his haggard eyes glanced
around, as if in search of the traces of some terrible
event, and with his clinched hands he seemed striving to
shut out horrible recollections. Well insisted the Count.
Nono cried Bertuccio, setting down the lantern at the
angle of the interior wall. Nomonsieurit is impossible;
I can go no farther."

What does this mean?demanded the irresistible voice of
Monte Cristo.

Why, you must see, your excellency,cried the steward
that this is not natural; that, having a house to purchase,
you purchase it exactly at Auteuil, and that, purchasing it
at Auteuil, this house should be No. 28, Rue de la Fontaine.
Oh, why did I not tell you all? I am sure you would not have
forced me to come. I hoped your house would have been some


other one than this; as if there was not another house at
Auteuil than that of the assassination!

What, what!cried Monte Cristostopping suddenlywhat
words do you utter? Devil of a man, Corsican that you are -always
mysteries or superstitions. Come, take the lantern,
and let us visit the garden; you are not afraid of ghosts
with me, I hope?Bertuccio raised the lanternand obeyed.
The dooras it openeddisclosed a gloomy skyin which the
moon strove vainly to struggle through a sea of clouds that
covered her with billows of vapor which she illumined for an
instantonly to sink into obscurity. The steward wished to
turn to the left. "Nonomonsieur said Monte Cristo.
What is the use of following the alleys? Here is a
beautiful lawn; let us go on straight forwards."

Bertuccio wiped the perspiration from his browbut obeyed;
howeverhe continued to take the left hand. Monte Cristo
on the contrarytook the right hand; arrived near a clump
of treeshe stopped. The steward could not restrain
himself. "Movemonsieur -- move awayI entreat you; you
are exactly in the spot!"

What spot?

Where he fell.

My dear Monsieur Bertuccio,said Monte Cristolaughing
control yourself; we are not at Sartena or at Corte. This
is not a Corsican arbor, but an English garden; badly kept,
I own, but still you must not calumniate it for that.

Monsieur, I implore you do not stay there!

I think you are going mad, Bertuccio,said the count
coldly. "If that is the caseI warn youI shall have you
put in a lunatic asylum."

Alas, excellency,returned Bertucciojoining his hands
and shaking his head in a manner that would have excited the
count's laughterhad not thoughts of a superior interest
occupied himand rendered him attentive to the least
revelation of this timorous conscience. "Alasexcellency
the evil has arrived!"

M. Bertuccio,said the countI am very glad to tell you,
that while you gesticulate, you wring your hands and roll
your eyes like a man possessed by a devil who will not leave
him; and I have always observed, that the devil most
obstinate to be expelled is a secret. I knew you were a
Corsican. I knew you were gloomy, and always brooding over
some old history of the vendetta; and I overlooked that in
Italy, because in Italy those things are thought nothing of.
But in France they are considered in very bad taste; there
are gendarmes who occupy themselves with such affairs,
judges who condemn, and scaffolds which avenge.Bertuccio
clasped his handsand asin all these evolutionshe did
not let fall the lanternthe light showed his pale and
altered countenance. Monte Cristo examined him with the same
look thatat Romehe had bent upon the execution of
Andreaand thenin a tone that made a shudder pass through
the veins of the poor steward-- "The Abbe Busonithen
told me an untruth said he, whenafter his journey in
Francein 1829he sent you to mewith a letter of


recommendationin which he enumerated all your valuable
qualities. WellI shall write to the abbe; I shall hold him
responsible for his protege's misconductand I shall soon
know all about this assassination. Only I warn youthat
when I reside in a countryI conform to all its codeand I
have no wish to put myself within the compass of the French
laws for your sake."

Oh, do not do that, excellency; I have always served you
faithfully,cried Bertuccioin despair. "I have always
been an honest manandas far as lay in my powerI have
done good."

I do not deny it,returned the count; "but why are you
thus agitated. It is a bad sign; a quiet conscience does not
occasion such paleness in the cheeksand such fever in the
hands of a man."

But, your excellency,replied Bertuccio hesitatinglydid
not the Abbe Busoni, who heard my confession in the prison
at Nimes, tell you that I had a heavy burden upon my
conscience?

Yes; but as he said you would make an excellent steward, I
concluded you had stolen -- that was all.

Oh, your excellency,returned Bertuccio in deep contempt.

Or, as you are a Corsican, that you had been unable to
resist the desire of making a `stiff,' as you call it.

Yes, my good master,cried Bertucciocasting himself at
the count's feetit was simply vengeance -- nothing else.

I understand that, but I do not understand what it is that
galvanizes you in this manner.

But, monsieur, it is very natural,returned Bertuccio
since it was in this house that my vengeance was
accomplished.

What! my house?

Oh, your excellency, it was not yours, then.

Whose, then? The Marquis de Saint-Meran, I think, the
concierge said. What had you to revenge on the Marquis de
Saint-Meran?

Oh, it was not on him, monsieur; it was on another.

This is strange,returned Monte Cristoseeming to yield
to his reflectionsthat you should find yourself without
any preparation in a house where the event happened that
causes you so much remorse.

Monsieur,said the stewardit is fatality, I am sure.
First, you purchase a house at Auteuil -- this house is the
one where I have committed an assassination; you descend to
the garden by the same staircase by which he descended; you
stop at the spot where he received the blow; and two paces
farther is the grave in which he had just buried his child.
This is not chance, for chance, in this case, is too much
like providence.


Well, amiable Corsican, let us suppose it is providence. I
always suppose anything people please, and, besides, you
must concede something to diseased minds. Come, collect
yourself, and tell me all.

I have related it but once, and that was to the Abbe
Busoni. Such things,continued Bertuccioshaking his head
are only related under the seal of confession.

Then,said the countI refer you to your confessor. Turn
Chartreux or Trappist, and relate your secrets, but, as for
me, I do not like any one who is alarmed by such phantasms,
and I do not choose that my servants should be afraid to
walk in the garden of an evening. I confess I am not very
desirous of a visit from the commissary of police, for, in
Italy, justice is only paid when silent -- in France she is
paid only when she speaks. Peste, I thought you somewhat
Corsican, a great deal smuggler, and an excellent steward;
but I see you have other strings to your bow. You are no
longer in my service, Monsieur Bertuccio.

Oh, your excellency, your excellency!cried the steward
struck with terror at this threatif that is the only
reason I cannot remain in your service, I will tell all, for
if I quit you, it will only be to go to the scaffold.

That is different,replied Monte Cristo; "but if you
intend to tell an untruthreflect it were better not to
speak at all."

No, monsieur, I swear to you, by my hopes of salvation, I
will tell you all, for the Abbe Busoni himself only knew a
part of my secret; but, I pray you, go away from that
plane-tree. The moon is just bursting through the clouds,
and there, standing where you do, and wrapped in that cloak
that conceals your figure, you remind me of M. de
Villefort.

What!cried Monte Cristoit was M. de Villefort?

Your excellency knows him?

The former royal attorney at Nimes?

Yes.

Who married the Marquis of Saint-Meran's daughter?

Yes.

Who enjoyed the reputation of being the most severe, the
most upright, the most rigid magistrate on the bench?

Well, monsieur,said Bertucciothis man with this
spotless reputation-


Well?

Was a villain.

Bah,replied Monte Cristoimpossible!

It is as I tell you.


Ah, really,said Monte Cristo. "Have you proof of this?"

I had it.

And you have lost it; how stupid!

Yes; but by careful search it might be recovered.

Really,returned the countrelate it to me, for it
begins to interest me.And the counthumming an air from
Lucia,went to sit down on a benchwhile Bertuccio
followed himcollecting his thoughts. Bertuccio remained
standing before him.

Chapter 44
The Vendetta.

At what point shall I begin my story, your excellency?
asked Bertuccio.

Where you please,returned Monte Cristosince I know
nothing at all of it.

I thought the Abbe Busoni had told your excellency.

Some particulars, doubtless, but that is seven or eight
years ago, and I have forgotten them.

Then I can speak without fear of tiring your excellency.

Go on, M. Bertuccio; you will supply the want of the
evening papers.

The story begins in 1815.

Ah,said Monte Cristo1815 is not yesterday.

No, monsieur, and yet I recollect all things as clearly as
if they had happened but then. I had a brother, an elder
brother, who was in the service of the emperor; he had
become lieutenant in a regiment composed entirely of
Corsicans. This brother was my only friend; we became
orphans -- I at five, he at eighteen. He brought me up as if
I had been his son, and in 1814 he married. When the emperor
returned from the Island of Elba, my brother instantly
joined the army, was slightly wounded at Waterloo, and
retired with the army beyond the Loire.

But that is the history of the Hundred Days, M. Bertuccio,
said the count; "unless I am mistakenit has been already
written."

Excuse me, excellency, but these details are necessary, and
you promised to be patient.

Go on; I will keep my word.

One day we received a letter. I should tell you that we
lived in the little village of Rogliano, at the extremity of
Cape Corso. This letter was from my brother. He told us that
the army was disbanded, and that he should return by


Chateauroux, Clermont-Ferrand, Le Puy, and Nimes; and, if I
had any money, he prayed me to leave it for him at Nimes,
with an inn-keeper with whom I had dealings.

In the smuggling line?said Monte Cristo.

Eh, your excellency? Every one must live.

Certainly; go on.

I loved my brother tenderly, as I told your excellency, and
I resolved not to send the money, but to take it to him
myself. I possessed a thousand francs. I left five hundred
with Assunta, my sister-in-law, and with the other five
hundred I set off for Nimes. It was easy to do so, and as I
had my boat and a lading to take in at sea, everything
favored my project. But, after we had taken in our cargo,
the wind became contrary, so that we were four or five days
without being able to enter the Rhone. At last, however, we
succeeded, and worked up to Arles. I left the boat between
Bellegarde and Beaucaire, and took the road to Nimes.

We are getting to the story now?

Yes, your excellency; excuse me, but, as you will see, I
only tell you what is absolutely necessary. Just at this
time the famous massacres took place in the south of France.
Three brigands, called Trestaillon, Truphemy, and Graffan,
publicly assassinated everybody whom they suspected of
Bonapartism. You have doubtless heard of these massacres,
your excellency?

Vaguely; I was far from France at that period. Go on.

As I entered Nimes, I literally waded in blood; at every
step you encountered dead bodies and bands of murderers, who
killed, plundered, and burned. At the sight of this
slaughter and devastation I became terrified, not for myself
-- for I, a simple Corsican fisherman, had nothing to fear;
on the contrary, that time was most favorable for us
smugglers -- but for my brother, a soldier of the empire,
returning from the army of the Loire, with his uniform and
his epaulets, there was everything to apprehend. I hastened
to the inn-keeper. My misgivings had been but too true. My
brother had arrived the previous evening at Nimes, and, at
the very door of the house where he was about to demand
hospitality, he had been assassinated. I did all in my power
to discover the murderers, but no one durst tell me their
names, so much were they dreaded. I then thought of that
French justice of which I had heard so much, and which
feared nothing, and I went to the king's attorney.

And this king's attorney was named Villefort?asked Monte
Cristo carelessly.

Yes, your excellency; he came from Marseilles, where he had
been deputy-procureur. His zeal had procured him
advancement, and he was said to be one of the first who had
informed the government of the departure from the Island of
Elba.

Then,said Monte Cristo "you went to him?"

`Monsieur,' I said, `my brother was assassinated yesterday


in the streets of Nimes, I know not by whom, but it is your
duty to find out. You are the representative of justice
here, and it is for justice to avenge those she has been
unable to protect.' -- `Who was your brother?' asked he. -`
A lieutenant in the Corsican battalion.' -- `A soldier of
the usurper, then?' -- `A soldier of the French army.' -`
Well,' replied he, `he has smitten with the sword, and he
has perished by the sword.' -- `You are mistaken, monsieur,'
I replied; `he has perished by the poniard.' -- `What do you
want me to do?' asked the magistrate. -- `I have already
told you -- avenge him.' -- `On whom?' -- `On his
murderers.' -- `How should I know who they are?' -- `Order
them to be sought for.' -- `Why, your brother has been
involved in a quarrel, and killed in a duel. All these old
soldiers commit excesses which were tolerated in the time of
the emperor, but which are not suffered now, for the people
here do not like soldiers of such disorderly conduct.' -`
Monsieur,' I replied, `it is not for myself that I entreat
your interference -- I should grieve for him or avenge him,
but my poor brother had a wife, and were anything to happen
to me, the poor creature would perish from want, for my
brother's pay alone kept her. Pray, try and obtain a small
government pension for her.'

`Every revolution has its catastrophes' returned M. de
Villefort; `your brother has been the victim of this. It is
a misfortuneand government owes nothing to his family. If
we are to judge by all the vengeance that the followers of
the usurper exercised on the partisans of the kingwhenin
their turnthey were in poweryour brother would be
to-dayin all probabilitycondemned to death. What has
happened is quite naturaland in conformity with the law of
reprisals.' -- `What' cried I`do youa magistratespeak
thus to me?' -- `All these Corsicans are madon my honor'
replied M. de Villefort; `they fancy that their countryman
is still emperor. You have mistaken the timeyou should
have told me this two months agoit is too late now. Go
nowat onceor I shall have you put out.'

I looked at him an instant to see if there was anything to
hope from further entreaty. But he was a man of stone. I
approached him, and said in a low voice, `Well, since you
know the Corsicans so well, you know that they always keep
their word. You think that it was a good deed to kill my
brother, who was a Bonapartist, because you are a royalist.
Well, I, who am a Bonapartist also, declare one thing to
you, which is, that I will kill you. From this moment I
declare the vendetta against you, so protect yourself as
well as you can, for the next time we meet your last hour
has come.' And before he had recovered from his surprise, I
opened the door and left the room.

Well, well,said Monte Cristosuch an innocent looking
person as you are to do those things, M. Bertuccio, and to a
king's attorney at that! But did he know what was meant by
the terrible word `vendetta'?

He knew so well, that from that moment he shut himself in
his house, and never went out unattended, seeking me high
and low. Fortunately, I was so well concealed that he could
not find me. Then he became alarmed, and dared not stay any
longer at Nimes, so he solicited a change of residence, and,
as he was in reality very influential, he was nominated to
Versailles. But, as you know, a Corsican who has sworn to


avenge himself cares not for distance, so his carriage, fast
as it went, was never above half a day's journey before me,
who followed him on foot. The most important thing was, not
to kill him only -- for I had an opportunity of doing so a
hundred times -- but to kill him without being discovered -at
least, without being arrested. I no longer belonged to
myself, for I had my sister-in-law to protect and provide
for. For three months I watched M. de Villefort, for three
months he took not a step out-of-doors without my following
him. At length I discovered that he went mysteriously to
Auteuil. I followed him thither, and I saw him enter the
house where we now are, only, instead of entering by the
great door that looks into the street, he came on horseback,
or in his carriage, left the one or the other at the little
inn, and entered by the gate you see there.Monte Cristo
made a sign with his head to show that he could discern in
the darkness the door to which Bertuccio alluded. "As I had
nothing more to do at VersaillesI went to Auteuiland
gained all the information I could. If I wished to surprise
himit was evident this was the spot to lie in wait for
him. The house belongedas the concierge informed your
excellencyto M. de Saint-MeranVillefort's father-in-law.

M. de Saint-Meran lived at Marseillesso that this country
house was useless to himand it was reported to be let to a
young widowknown only by the name of `the baroness.'
One evening, as I was looking over the wall, I saw a young
and handsome woman who was walking alone in that garden,
which was not overlooked by any windows, and I guessed that
she was awaiting M. de Villefort. When she was sufficiently
near for me to distinguish her features, I saw she was from
eighteen to nineteen, tall and very fair. As she had a loose
muslin dress on and as nothing concealed her figure, I saw
she would ere long become a mother. A few moments after, the
little door was opened and a man entered. The young woman
hastened to meet him. They threw themselves into each
other's arms, embraced tenderly, and returned together to
the house. The man was M. de Villefort; I fully believed
that when he went out in the night he would be forced to
traverse the whole of the garden alone.

And,asked the countdid you ever know the name of this
woman?

No, excellency,returned Bertuccio; "you will see that I
had no time to learn it."

Go on.

That evening,continued BertuccioI could have killed
the procureur, but as I was not sufficiently acquainted with
the neighborhood, I was fearful of not killing him on the
spot, and that if his cries were overheard I might be taken;
so I put it off until the next occasion, and in order that
nothing should escape me, I took a chamber looking into the
street bordered by the wall of the garden. Three days after,
about seven o'clock in the evening, I saw a servant on
horseback leave the house at full gallop, and take the road
to Sevres. I concluded that he was going to Versailles, and
I was not deceived. Three hours later, the man returned
covered with dust, his errand was performed, and two minutes
after, another man on foot, muffled in a mantle, opened the
little door of the garden, which he closed after him. I
descended rapidly; although I had not seen Villefort's face,


I recognized him by the beating of my heart. I crossed the
street, and stopped at a post placed at the angle of the
wall, and by means of which I had once before looked into
the garden. This time I did not content myself with looking,
but I took my knife out of my pocket, felt that the point
was sharp, and sprang over the wall. My first care was to
run to the door; he had left the key in it, taking the
simple precaution of turning it twice in the lock. Nothing,
then, preventing my escape by this means, I examined the
grounds. The garden was long and narrow; a stretch of smooth
turf extended down the middle, and at the corners were
clumps of trees with thick and massy foliage, that made a
background for the shrubs and flowers. In order to go from
the door to the house, or from the house to the door, M. de
Villefort would be obliged to pass by one of these clumps of
trees.

It was the end of September; the wind blew violently. The
faint glimpses of the pale moonhidden momentarily by
masses of dark clouds that were sweeping across the sky
whitened the gravel walks that led to the housebut were
unable to pierce the obscurity of the thick shrubberiesin
which a man could conceal himself without any fear of
discovery. I hid myself in the one nearest to the path
Villefort must takeand scarcely was I there whenamidst
the gusts of windI fancied I heard groans; but you know
or rather you do not knowyour excellencythat he who is
about to commit an assassination fancies that he hears low
cries perpetually ringing in his ears. Two hours passed
thusduring which I imagined I heard moans repeatedly.
Midnight struck. As the last stroke died awayI saw a faint
light shine through the windows of the private staircase by
which we have just descended. The door openedand the man
in the mantle reappeared. The terrible moment had comebut
I had so long been prepared for it that my heart did not
fail in the least. I drew my knife from my pocket again
opened itand made ready to strike. The man in the mantle
advanced towards mebut as he drew near I saw that he had a
weapon in his hand. I was afraidnot of a strugglebut of
a failure. When he was only a few paces from meI saw that
what I had taken for a weapon was only a spade. I was still
unable to divine for what reason M. de Villefort had this
spade in his handswhen he stopped close to the thicket
where I wasglanced roundand began to dig a hole in the
earth. I then perceived that he was hiding something under
his mantlewhich he laid on the grass in order to dig more
freely. ThenI confesscuriosity mingled with hatred; I
wished to see what Villefort was going to do thereand I
remained motionlessholding my breath. Then an idea crossed
my mindwhich was confirmed when I saw the procureur lift
from under his mantle a boxtwo feet longand six or eight
inches deep. I let him place the box in the hole he had
madethenwhile he stamped with his feet to remove all
traces of his occupationI rushed on him and plunged my
knife into his breastexclaiming-- `I am Giovanni
Bertuccio; thy death for my brother's; thy treasure for his
widow; thou seest that my vengeance is more complete than I
had hoped.' I know not if he heard these words; I think he
did notfor he fell without a cry. I felt his blood gush
over my facebut I was intoxicatedI was deliriousand
the blood refreshedinstead of burning me. In a second I
had disinterred the box; thenthat it might not be known I
had done soI filled up the holethrew the spade over the
walland rushed through the doorwhich I double-locked


carrying off the key."

Ah,said Monte Cristo "it seems to me this was nothing but
murder and robbery."

No, your excellency,returned Bertuccio; "it was a
vendetta followed by restitution."

And was the sum a large one?

It was not money.

Ah, I recollect,replied the count; "did you not say
something of an infant?"

Yes, excellency; I hastened to the river, sat down on the
bank, and with my knife forced open the lock of the box. In
a fine linen cloth was wrapped a new-born child. Its purple
visage, and its violet-colored hands showed that it had
perished from suffocation, but as it was not yet cold, I
hesitated to throw it into the water that ran at my feet.
After a moment I fancied that I felt a slight pulsation of
the heart, and as I had been assistant at the hospital at
Bastia, I did what a doctor would have done -- I inflated
the lungs by blowing air into them, and at the expiration of
a quarter of an hour, it began to breathe, and cried feebly.
In my turn I uttered a cry, but a cry of joy. `God has not
cursed me then,' I cried, `since he permits me to save the
life of a human creature, in exchange for the life I have
taken away.'

And what did you do with the child?asked Monte Cristo.
It was an embarrassing load for a man seeking to escape.

I had not for a moment the idea of keeping it, but I knew
that at Paris there was an asylum where they receive such
creatures. As I passed the city gates I declared that I had
found the child on the road, and I inquired where the asylum
was; the box confirmed my statement, the linen proved that
the infant belonged to wealthy parents, the blood with which
I was covered might have proceeded from the child as well as
from any one else. No objection was raised, but they pointed
out the asylum, which was situated at the upper end of the
Rue d'Enfer, and after having taken the precaution of
cutting the linen in two pieces, so that one of the two
letters which marked it was on the piece wrapped around the
child, while the other remained in my possession, I rang the
bell, and fled with all speed. A fortnight after I was at
Rogliano, and I said to Assunta, -- `Console thyself,
sister; Israel is dead, but he is avenged.' She demanded
what I meant, and when I had told her all, -- `Giovanni,'
said she, `you should have brought this child with you; we
would have replaced the parents it has lost, have called it
Benedetto, and then, in consequence of this good action, God
would have blessed us.' In reply I gave her the half of the
linen I had kept in order to reclaim him if we became rich.

What letters were marked on the linen?said Monte Cristo.

An H and an N, surmounted by a baron's coronet.

By heaven, M. Bertuccio, you make use of heraldic terms;
where did you study heraldry?


In your service, excellency, where everything is learned.

Go on, I am curious to know two things.

What are they, your excellency ?

What became of this little boy? for I think you told me it
was a boy, M. Bertuccio.

No excellency, I do not recollect telling you that.

I thought you did; I must have been mistaken.

No, you were not, for it was in reality a little boy. But
your excellency wished to know two things; what was the
second?

The second was the crime of which you were accused when you
asked for a confessor, and the Abbe Busoni came to visit you
at your request in the prison at Nimes.

The story will be very long, excellency.

What matter? you know I take but little sleep, and I do not
suppose you are very much inclined for it either.Bertuccio
bowedand resumed his story.

Partly to drown the recollections of the past that haunted
me, partly to supply the wants of the poor widow, I eagerly
returned to my trade of smuggler, which had become more easy
since that relaxation of the laws which always follows a
revolution. The southern districts were ill-watched in
particular, in consequence of the disturbances that were
perpetually breaking out in Avignon, Nimes, or Uzes. We
profited by this respite on the part of the government to
make friends everywhere. Since my brother's assassination in
the streets of Nimes, I had never entered the town; the
result was that the inn-keeper with whom we were connected,
seeing that we would no longer come to him, was forced to
come to us, and had established a branch to his inn, on the
road from Bellegarde to Beaucaire, at the sign of the Pont
du Gard. We had thus, at Aigues-Mortes, Martigues, or Bouc,
a dozen places where we left our goods, and where, in case
of necessity, we concealed ourselves from the gendarmes and
custom-house officers. Smuggling is a profitable trade, when
a certain degree of vigor and intelligence is employed; as
for myself, brought up in the mountains, I had a double
motive for fearing the gendarmes and custom-house officers,
as my appearance before the judges would cause an inquiry,
and an inquiry always looks back into the past. And in my
past life they might find something far more grave than the
selling of smuggled cigars, or barrels of brandy without a
permit. So, preferring death to capture, I accomplished the
most astonishing deeds, and which, more than once, showed me
that the too great care we take of our bodies is the only
obstacle to the success of those projects which require
rapid decision, and vigorous and determined execution. In
reality, when you have once devoted your life to your
enterprises, you are no longer the equal of other men, or,
rather, other men are no longer your equals, and whosoever
has taken this resolution, feels his strength and resources
doubled.

Philosophy, M. Bertuccio,interrupted the Count; "you have


done a little of everything in your life."

Oh, excellency,

No, no; but philosophy at half-past ten at night is
somewhat late; yet I have no other observation to make, for
what you say is correct, which is more than can be said for
all philosophy.

My journeys became more and more extensive and more
productive. Assunta took care of all, and our little fortune
increased. One day as I was setting off on an expedition,
`Go,' said she; `at your return I will give you a surprise.'
I questioned her, but in vain; she would tell me nothing,
and I departed. Our expedition lasted nearly six weeks; we
had been to Lucca to take in oil, to Leghorn for English
cottons, and we ran our cargo without opposition, and
returned home full of joy. When I entered the house, the
first thing I beheld in the middle of Assunta's chamber was
a cradle that might be called sumptuous compared with the
rest of the furniture, and in it a baby seven or eight
months old. I uttered a cry of joy; the only moments of
sadness I had known since the assassination of the procureur
were caused by the recollection that I had abandoned this
child. For the assassination itself I had never felt any
remorse. Poor Assunta had guessed all. She had profited by
my absence, and furnished with the half of the linen, and
having written down the day and hour at which I had
deposited the child at the asylum, had set off for Paris,
and had reclaimed it. No objection was raised, and the
infant was given up to her. Ah, I confess, your excellency,
when I saw this poor creature sleeping peacefully in its
cradle, I felt my eyes filled with tears. `Ah, Assunta,'
cried I, `you are an excellent woman, and heaven will bless
you.'

This,said Monte Cristois less correct than your
philosophy, -- it is only faith.

Alas, your excellency is right,replied Bertuccioand
God made this infant the instrument of our punishment. Never
did a perverse nature declare itself more prematurely, and
yet it was not owing to any fault in his bringing up. He was
a most lovely child, with large blue eyes, of that deep
color that harmonizes so well with the blond complexion;
only his hair, which was too light, gave his face a most
singular expression, and added to the vivacity of his look,
and the malice of his smile. Unfortunately, there is a
proverb which says that `red is either altogether good or
altogether bad.' The proverb was but too correct as regarded
Benedetto, and even in his infancy he manifested the worst
disposition. It is true that the indulgence of his
foster-mother encouraged him. This child, for whom my poor
sister would go to the town, five or six leagues off, to
purchase the earliest fruits and the most tempting
sweetmeats, preferred to Palma grapes or Genoese preserves,
the chestnuts stolen from a neighbor's orchard, or the dried
apples in his loft, when he could eat as well of the nuts
and apples that grew in my garden. One day, when Benedetto
was about five or six, our neighbor Vasilio, who, according
to the custom of the country, never locked up his purse or
his valuables -- for, as your excellency knows, there are no
thieves in Corsica -- complained that he had lost a louis
out of his purse; we thought he must have made a mistake in


counting his money, but he persisted in the accuracy of his
statement. One day, Benedetto, who had been gone from the
house since morning, to our great anxiety, did not return
until late in the evening, dragging a monkey after him,
which he said he had found chained to the foot of a tree.
For more than a month past, the mischievous child, who knew
not what to wish for, had taken it into his head to have a
monkey. A boatman, who had passed by Rogliano, and who had
several of these animals, whose tricks had greatly diverted
him, had, doubtless, suggested this idea to him. `Monkeys
are not found in our woods chained to trees,' said I;
`confess how you obtained this animal.' Benedetto maintained
the truth of what he had said, and accompanied it with
details that did more honor to his imagination than to his
veracity. I became angry; he began to laugh, I threatened to
strike him, and he made two steps backwards. `You cannot
beat me,' said he; `you have no right, for you are not my
father.'

We never knew who had revealed this fatal secretwhich we
had so carefully concealed from him; howeverit was this
answerin which the child's whole character revealed
itselfthat almost terrified meand my arm fell without
touching him. The boy triumphedand this victory rendered
him so audaciousthat all the money of Assuntawhose
affection for him seemed to increase as he became more
unworthy of itwas spent in caprices she knew not how to
contend againstand follies she had not the courage to
prevent. When I was at Rogliano everything went on properly
but no sooner was my back turned than Benedetto became
masterand everything went ill. When he was only elevenhe
chose his companions from among the young men of eighteen or
twentythe worst characters in Bastiaorindeedin
Corsicaand they had alreadyfor some mischievous pranks
been several times threatened with a prosecution. I became
alarmedas any prosecution might be attended with serious
consequences. I was compelledat this periodto leave
Corsica on an important expedition; I reflected for a long
timeand with the hope of averting some impending
misfortuneI resolved that Benedetto should accompany me. I
hoped that the active and laborious life of a smugglerwith
the severe discipline on boardwould have a salutary effect
on his characterwhich was now well-nighif not quite
corrupt. I spoke to Benedetto aloneand proposed to him to
accompany meendeavoring to tempt him by all the promises
most likely to dazzle the imagination of a child of twelve.
He heard me patientlyand when I had finishedburst out
laughing.

`Are you mad, uncle?' (he called me by this name when he
was in good humor); `do you think I am going to change the
life I lead for your mode of existence -- my agreeable
indolence for the hard and precarious toil you impose on
yourself, exposed to the bitter frost at night, and the
scorching heat by day, compelled to conceal yourself, and
when you are perceived, receive a volley of bullets, all to
earn a paltry sum? Why, I have as much money as I want;
mother Assunta always furnishes me when I ask for it! You
see that I should be a fool to accept your offer.' The
arguments, and his audacity, perfectly stupefied me.
Benedetto rejoined his associates, and I saw him from a
distance point me out to them as a fool.

Sweet child,murmured Monte Cristo.


Oh, had he been my own son,replied Bertuccioor even my
nephew, I would have brought him back to the right road, for
the knowledge that you are doing your duty gives you
strength, but the idea that I was striking a child whose
father I had killed, made it impossible for me to punish
him. I gave my sister, who constantly defended the
unfortunate boy, good advice, and as she confessed that she
had several times missed money to a considerable amount, I
showed her a safe place in which to conceal our little
treasure for the future. My mind was already made up.
Benedetto could read, write, and cipher perfectly, for when
the fit seized him, he learned more in a day than others in
a week. My intention was to enter him as a clerk in some
ship, and without letting him know anything of my plan, to
convey him some morning on board; by this means his future
treatment would depend upon his own conduct. I set off for
France, after having fixed upon the plan. Our cargo was to
be landed in the Gulf of Lyons, and this was a difficult
thing to do because it was then the year 1829. The most
perfect tranquillity was restored, and the vigilance of the
custom-house officers was redoubled, and their strictness
was increased at this time, in consequence of the fair at
Beaucaire.

Our expedition made a favorable beginning. We anchored our
vessel -- which had a double holdwhere our goods were
concealed -- amidst a number of other vessels that bordered
the banks of the Rhone from Beaucaire to Arles. On our
arrival we began to discharge our cargo in the nightand to
convey it into the townby the help of the inn-keeper with
whom we were connected. Whether success rendered us
imprudentor whether we were betrayedI know not; but one
eveningabout five o'clockour little cabin-boy came
breathlesslyto inform us that he had seen a detachment of
custom-house officers advancing in our direction. It was not
their proximity that alarmed usfor detachments were
constantly patrolling along the banks of the Rhonebut the
careaccording to the boy's accountthat they took to
avoid being seen. In an instant we were on the alertbut it
was too late; our vessel was surroundedand amongst the
custom-house officers I observed several gendarmesandas
terrified at the sight of their uniforms as I was brave at
the sight of any otherI sprang into the holdopened a
portand dropped into the riverdivedand only rose at
intervals to breatheuntil I reached a ditch that had
recently been made from the Rhone to the canal that runs
from Beaucaire to Aigues-Mortes. I was now safefor I could
swim along the ditch without being seenand I reached the
canal in safety. I had designedly taken this direction. I
have already told your excellency of an inn-keeper from
Nimes who had set up a little tavern on the road from
Bellegarde to Beaucaire."

Yes,said Monte Cristo "I perfectly recollect him; I think
he was your colleague."

Precisely,answered Bertuccio; "but he hadseven or eight
years before this periodsold his establishment to a tailor
at Marseilleswhohaving almost ruined himself in his old
tradewished to make his fortune in another. Of coursewe
made the same arrangements with the new landlord that we had
with the old; and it was of this man that I intended to ask
shelter."


What was his name?inquired the countwho seemed to
become somewhat interested in Bertuccio's story.

Gaspard Caderousse; he had married a woman from the village
of Carconte, and whom we did not know by any other name than
that of her village. She was suffering from malarial fever,
and seemed dying by inches. As for her husband, he was a
strapping fellow of forty, or five and forty, who had more
than once, in time of danger, given ample proof of his
presence of mind and courage.

And you say,interrupted Monte Cristo "that this took
place towards the year" -


1829, your excellency.

In what month?

June.

The beginning or the end?

The evening of the 3d.

Ah,said Monte Cristo "the evening of the 3d of June
1829. Go on."

It was from Caderousse that I intended demanding shelter,
and, as we never entered by the door that opened onto the
road, I resolved not to break through the rule, so climbing
over the garden-hedge, I crept amongst the olive and wild
fig trees, and fearing that Caderousse might have some
guest, I entered a kind of shed in which I had often passed
the night, and which was only separated from the inn by a
partition, in which holes had been made in order to enable
us to watch an opportunity of announcing our presence. My
intention was, if Caderousse was alone, to acquaint him with
my presence, finish the meal the custom-house officers had
interrupted, and profit by the threatened storm to return to
the Rhone, and ascertain the state of our vessel and its
crew. I stepped into the shed, and it was fortunate I did
so, for at that moment Caderousse entered with a stranger.

I waited patientlynot to overhear what they saidbut
because I could do nothing else; besidesthe same thing had
occurred often before. The man who was with Caderousse was
evidently a stranger to the South of France; he was one of
those merchants who come to sell jewellery at the Beaucaire
fairand who during the month the fair lastsand during
which there is so great an influx of merchants and customers
from all parts of Europeoften have dealings to the amount
of 100000 to 150000 francs. Caderousse entered hastily.
Thenseeing that the room wasas usualemptyand only
guarded by the doghe called to his wife`Hello
Carconte' said he`the worthy priest has not deceived us;
the diamond is real.' An exclamation of joy was heardand
the staircase creaked beneath a feeble step. `What do you
say?' asked his wifepale as death.

`I say that the diamond is real, and that this gentleman,
one of the first jewellers of Paris, will give us 50,000
francs for it. Only, in order to satisfy himself that it
really belongs to us, he wishes you to relate to him, as I


have done already, the miraculous manner in which the
diamond came into our possession. In the meantime please to
sit down, monsieur, and I will fetch you some refreshment.'
The jeweller examined attentively the interior of the inn
and the apparent poverty of the persons who were about to
sell him a diamond that seemed to have come from the casket
of a prince. `Relate your story, madame,' said he, wishing,
no doubt, to profit by the absence of the husband, so that
the latter could not influence the wife's story, to see if
the two recitals tallied.

`Oh' returned she`it was a gift of heaven. My husband
was a great friendin 1814 or 1815of a sailor named
Edmond Dantes. This poor fellowwhom Caderousse had
forgottenhad not forgotten himand at his death he
bequeathed this diamond to him.' -- `But how did he obtain
it?' asked the jeweller; `had he it before he was
imprisoned?' -- `Nomonsieur; but it appears that in prison
he made the acquaintance of a rich Englishmanand as in
prison he fell sickand Dantes took the same care of him as
if he had been his brotherthe Englishmanwhen he was set
freegave this stone to Danteswholess fortunatedied
andin his turnleft it to usand charged the excellent
abbewho was here this morningto deliver it.' -- `The
same story' muttered the jeweller; `and improbable as it
seemed at firstit may be true. There's only the price we
are not agreed about.' -- `How not agreed about?' said
Caderousse. `I thought we agreed for the price I asked.' -`
That is' replied the jeweller`I offered 40000 francs.'
-- `Forty thousand' cried La Carconte; `we will not part
with it for that sum. The abbe told us it was worth 50000
without the setting.'

`What was the abbe's name?' asked the indefatigable
questioner. -- `The Abbe Busoni,' said La Carconte. -- `He
was a foreigner?' -- `An Italian, from the neighborhood of
Mantua, I believe.' -- `Let me see this diamond again,'
replied the jeweller; `the first time you are often mistaken
as to the value of a stone.' Caderousse took from his pocket
a small case of black shagreen, opened, and gave it to the
jeweller. At the sight of the diamond, which was as large as
a hazel-nut, La Carconte's eyes sparkled with cupidity.

And what did you think of this fine story, eavesdropper?
said Monte Cristo; "did you credit it?"

Yes, your excellency. I did not look on Caderousse as a bad
man, and I thought him incapable of committing a crime, or
even a theft.

That did more honor to your heart than to your experience,

M. Bertuccio. Had you known this Edmond Dantes, of whom they
spoke?
No, your excellency, I had never heard of him before, and
never but once afterwards, and that was from the Abbe Busoni
himself, when I saw him in the prison at Nimes.

Go on.

The jeweller took the ring, and drawing from his pocket a
pair of steel pliers and a small set of copper scales, he
took the stone out of its setting, and weighed it carefully.
`I will give you 45,000,' said he, `but not a sou more;


besides, as that is the exact value of the stone, I brought
just that sum with me.' -- `Oh, that's no matter,' replied
Caderousse, `I will go back with you to fetch the other
5,000 francs.' -- `No,' returned the jeweller, giving back
the diamond and the ring to Caderousse -- `no, it is worth
no more, and I am sorry I offered so much, for the stone has
a flaw in it, which I had not seen. However, I will not go
back on my word, and I will give 45,000.' -- `At least,
replace the diamond in the ring,' said La Carconte sharply.
-- `Ah, true,' replied the jeweller, and he reset the stone.
-- `No matter,' observed Caderousse, replacing the box in
his pocket, `some one else will purchase it.' -- `Yes,'
continued the jeweller; `but some one else will not be so
easy as I am, or content himself with the same story. It is
not natural that a man like you should possess such a
diamond. He will inform against you. You will have to find
the Abbe Busoni; and abbes who give diamonds worth two
thousand louis are rare. The law would seize it, and put you
in prison; if at the end of three or four months you are set
at liberty, the ring will be lost, or a false stone, worth
three francs, will be given you, instead of a diamond worth
50,000 or perhaps 55,000 francs; from which you must allow
that one runs considerable risk in purchasing.' Caderousse
and his wife looked eagerly at each other. -- `No,' said
Caderousse, `we are not rich enough to lose 5,000 francs.'
-- `As you please, my dear sir,' said the, jeweller; `I had,
however, as you see, brought you the money in bright coin.'
And he drew from his pocket a handful of gold, and held it
sparkling before the dazzled eyes of the innkeeper, and in
the other hand he held a packet of bank-notes.

There was evidently a severe struggle in the mind of
Caderousse; it was plain that the small shagreen casewhich
he turned over and over in his handdid not seem to him
commensurate in value to the enormous sum which fascinated
his gaze. He turned towards his wife. `What do you think of
this?' he asked in a low voice. -- `Let him have it -- let
him have it' she said. `If he returns to Beaucaire without
the diamondhe will inform against usandas he sayswho
knows if we shall ever again see the Abbe Busoni? -- in all
probability we shall never see him.' -- `Wellthenso I
will!' said Caderousse; `so you may have the diamond for
45000 francs. But my wife wants a gold chainand I want a
pair of silver buckles.' The jeweller drew from his pocket a
long flat boxwhich contained several samples of the
articles demanded. `Here' he said`I am very
straightforward in my dealings -- take your choice.' The
woman selected a gold chain worth about five louisand the
husband a pair of buckles. worth perhaps fifteen francs. -`
I hope you will not complain now?' said the jeweller.

`The abbe told me it was worth 50,000 francs,' muttered
Caderousse. `Come, come -- give it to me! What a strange
fellow you are,' said the jeweller, taking the diamond from
his hand. `I give you 45,000 francs -- that is, 2,500 livres
of income, -- a fortune such as I wish I had myself, and you
are not satisfied!' -- `And the five and forty thousand
francs,' inquired Caderousse in a hoarse voice, `where are
they? Come -- let us see them.' -- `Here they are,' replied
the jeweller, and he counted out upon the table 15,000
francs in gold, and 30,000 francs in bank-notes.

`Wait while I light the lamp' said La Carconte; `it is
growing darkand there may be some mistake.' In factnight


had come on during this conversationand with night the
storm which had been threatening for the last half-hour. The
thunder growled in the distance; but it was apparently not
heard by the jewellerCaderousseor La Carconteabsorbed
as they were all three with the demon of gain. I myself
felt; a strange kind of fascination at the sight of all this
gold and all these bank-notes; it seemed to me that I was in
a dreamandas it always happens in a dreamI felt myself
riveted to the spot. Caderousse counted and again counted
the gold and the notesthen handed them to his wifewho
counted and counted them again in her turn. During this
timethe jeweller made the diamond play and sparkle in the
lamplightand the gem threw out jets of light which made
him unmindful of those which -- precursors of the storm -began
to play in at the windows. `Well' inquired the
jeweller`is the cash all right?'

`Yes,' said Caderousse. `Give me the pocket-book, La
Carconte, and find a bag somewhere.'

La Carconte went to a cupboardand returned with an old
leathern pocket-book and a bag. From the former she took
some greasy lettersand put in their place the bank-notes
and from the bag took two or three crowns of six livres
eachwhichin all probabilityformed the entire fortune
of the miserable couple. `There' said Caderousse; `and now
although you have wronged us of perhaps 10000 francswill
you have your supper with us? I invite you with good-will.'
-- `Thank you' replied the jeweller`it must be getting
lateand I must return to Beaucaire -- my wife will be
getting uneasy.' He drew out his watchand exclaimed
`Morbleunearly nine o'clock -- whyI shall not get back
to Beaucaire before midnight! Good-nightmy friends. If the
Abbe Busoni should by any accident returnthink of me.' -`
In another week you will have left Beaucaire.' remarked
Caderousse`for the fair ends in a few days.' -- `Truebut
that makes no difference. Write to me at Paristo M.
Joannesin the Palais Royalarcade PierreNo. 45. I will
make the journey on purpose to see himif it is worth
while.' At this moment there was a tremendous clap of
thunderaccompanied by a flash of lightning so vividthat
it quite eclipsed the light of the lamp.

`See here,' exclaimed Caderousse. `You cannot think of
going out in such weather as this.' -- `Oh, I am not afraid
of thunder,' said the jeweller. -- `And then there are
robbers,' said La Carconte. `The road is never very safe
during fair time.' -- `Oh, as to the robbers,' said Joannes,
`here is something for them,' and he drew from his pocket a
pair of small pistols, loaded to the muzzle. `Here,' said
he, `are dogs who bark and bite at the same time, they are
for the two first who shall have a longing for your diamond,
Friend Caderousse.'

Caderousse and his wife again interchanged a meaning look.
It seemed as though they were both inspired at the same time
with some horrible thought. `Wellthena good journey to
you' said Caderousse. -- `Thanks' replied the jeweller. He
then took his canewhich he had placed against an old
cupboardand went out. At the moment when he opened the
doorsuch a gust of wind came in that the lamp was nearly
extinguished. `Oh' said he`this is very nice weatherand
two leagues to go in such a storm.' -- `Remain' said
Caderousse. `You can sleep here.' -- `Yes; do stay' added


La Carconte in a tremulous voice; `we will take every care
of you.' -- `No; I must sleep at Beaucaire. Soonce more
good-night.' Caderousse followed him slowly to the
threshold. `I can see neither heaven nor earth' said the
jewellerwho was outside the door. `Do I turn to the right
or to the left hand?' -- `To the right' said Caderousse.
`You cannot go wrong -- the road is bordered by trees on
both sides.' -- `Good -- all right' said a voice almost
lost in the distance. `Close the door' said La Carconte; `I
do not like open doors when it thunders.' -- `Particularly
when there is money in the houseeh?' answered Caderousse
double-locking the door.

He came into the room, went to the cupboard, took out the
bag and pocket-book, and both began, for the third time, to
count their gold and bank-notes. I never saw such an
expression of cupidity as the flickering lamp revealed in
those two countenances. The woman, especially, was hideous;
her usual feverish tremulousness was intensified, her
countenance had become livid, and her eyes resembled burning
coals. `Why,' she inquired in a hoarse voice, `did you
invite him to sleep here to-night?' -- `Why?' said
Caderousse with a shudder; `why, that he might not have the
trouble of returning to Beaucaire.' -- `Ah,' responded the
woman, with an expression impossible to describe; `I thought
it was for something else.' -- `Woman, woman -- why do you
have such ideas?' cried Caderousse; `or, if you have them,
why don't you keep them to yourself?' -- `Well,' said La
Carconte, after a moment's pause, `you are not a man.' -`
What do you mean?' added Caderousse. -- `If you had been a
man, you would not have let him go from here.' -- `Woman!'
-- `Or else he should not have reached Beaucaire.' -`
Woman!' -- `The road takes a turn -- he is obliged to
follow it -- while alongside of the canal there is a shorter
road.' -- `Woman! -- you offend the good God. There -listen!'
And at this moment there was a tremendous peal of
thunder, while the livid lightning illumined the room, and
the thunder, rolling away in the distance, seemed to
withdraw unwillingly from the cursed abode. `Mercy!' said
Caderousse, crossing himself.

At the same momentand in the midst of the terrifying
silence which usually follows a clap of thunderthey heard
a knocking at the door. Caderousse and his wife started and
looked aghast at each other. `Who's there?' cried
Caderousserisingand drawing up in a heap the gold and
notes scattered over the tableand which he covered with
his two hands. -- `It is I' shouted a voice. -- `And who
are you?' -- `EhpardieuJoannesthe jeweller.' -- `Well
and you said I offended the good God' said La Carconte with
a horrid smile. `Whythe good God sends him back again.'
Caderousse sank pale and breathless into his chair. La
Carconteon the contraryroseand going with a firm step
towards the dooropened itsayingas she did so -- `Come
indear M. Joannes.' -- `Ma foi' said the jeweller
drenched with rain`I am not destined to return to
Beaucaire to-night. The shortest follies are bestmy dear
Caderousse. You offered me hospitalityand I accept itand
have returned to sleep beneath your friendly roof.'
Caderousse stammered out somethingwhile he wiped away the
sweat that started to his brow. La Carconte doubled-locked
the door behind the jeweller.


Chapter 45
The Rain of Blood.


As the jeweller returned to the apartment, he cast around
him a scrutinizing glance -- but there was nothing to excite
suspicion, if it did not exist, or to confirm it, if it were
already awakened. Caderousse's hands still grasped the gold
and bank-notes, and La Carconte called up her sweetest
smiles while welcoming the reappearance of their guest.
`Well, well,' said the jeweller, `you seem, my good friends,
to have had some fears respecting the accuracy of your
money, by counting it over so carefully directly I was
gone.' -- `Oh, no,' answered Caderousse, `that was not my
reason, I can assure you; but the circumstances by which we
have become possessed of this wealth are so unexpected, as
to make us scarcely credit our good fortune, and it is only
by placing the actual proof of our riches before our eyes
that we can persuade ourselves that the whole affair is not
a dream.' The jeweller smiled. -- `Have you any other guests
in your house?' inquired he. -- `Nobody but ourselves,'
replied Caderousse; `the fact is, we do not lodge travellers
-- indeed, our tavern is so near the town, that nobody would
think of stopping here. -- `Then I am afraid I shall very
much inconvenience you.' -- `Inconvenience us? Not at all,
my dear sir,' said La Carconte in her most gracious manner.
`Not at all, I assure you.' -- `But where will you manage to
stow me?' -- `In the chamber overhead.' -- `Surely that is
where you yourselves sleep?' -- `Never mind that; we have a
second bed in the adjoining room.' Caderousse stared at his
wife with much astonishment.


The jewellermeanwhilewas humming a song as he stood
warming his back at the fire La Carconte had kindled to dry
the wet garments of her guest; and this doneshe next
occupied herself in arranging his supperby spreading a
napkin at the end of the tableand placing on it the
slender remains of their dinnerto which she added three or
four fresh-laid eggs. Caderousse had once more parted with
his treasure -- the banknotes were replaced in the
pocket-bookthe gold put back into the bagand the whole
carefully locked in the cupboard. He then began pacing the
room with a pensive and gloomy airglancing from time to
time at the jewellerwho stood reeking with the steam from
his wet clothesand merely changing his place on the warm
hearthto enable the whole of his garments to be dried.


`There,' said La Carconte, as she placed a bottle of wine
on the table, `supper is ready whenever you are.' -- `And
you?' asked Joannes. -- `I don't want any supper,' said
Caderousse. -- `We dined so very late,' hastily interposed
La Carconte. -- `Then it seems I am to eat alone,' remarked
the jeweller. -- `Oh, we shall have the pleasure of waiting
upon you,' answered La Carconte, with an eager attention she
was not accustomed to manifest even to guests who paid for
what they took.


From time to time Caderousse darted on his wife keen
searching glancesbut rapid as the lightning flash. The
storm still continued. `Therethere' said La Carconte; `do
you hear that? upon my wordyou did well to come back.' --
`Nevertheless' replied the jeweller`if by the time I have
finished my supper the tempest has at all abatedI shall
make another start.' -- `It's the mistral' said Caderousse



`and it will be sure to last till to-morrow morning.' He
sighed heavily. -- `Well' said the jewelleras he placed
himself at table`all I can say isso much the worse for
those who are abroad.' -- `Yes' chimed in La Carconte
`they will have a wretched night of it.'

The jeweller began eating his supper, and the woman, who
was ordinarily so querulous and indifferent to all who
approached her, was suddenly transformed into the most
smiling and attentive hostess. Had the unhappy man on whom
she lavished her assiduities been previously acquainted with
her, so sudden an alteration might well have excited
suspicion in his mind, or at least have greatly astonished
him. Caderousse, meanwhile, continued to pace the room in
gloomy silence, sedulously avoiding the sight of his guest;
but as soon as the stranger had completed his repast, the
agitated inn-keeper went eagerly to the door and opened it.
`I believe the storm is over,' said he. But as if to
contradict his statement, at that instant a violent clap of
thunder seemed to shake the house to its very foundation,
while a sudden gust of wind, mingled with rain, extinguished
the lamp he held in his hand. Trembling and awe-struck,
Caderousse hastily shut the door and returned to his guest,
while La Carconte lighted a candle by the smouldering ashes
that glimmered on the hearth. `You must be tired,' said she
to the jeweller; `I have spread a pair of white sheets on
your bed; go up when you are ready, and sleep well.'

Joannes stayed for a while to see whether the storm seemed
to abate in its furybut a brief space of time sufficed to
assure him thatinstead of diminishingthe violence of the
rain and thunder momentarily increased; resigning himself
thereforeto what seemed inevitablehe bade his host
good-nightand mounted the stairs. He passed over my head
and I heard the flooring creak beneath his footsteps. The
quickeager glance of La Carconte followed him as he
ascendedwhile Caderousseon the contraryturned his
backand seemed most anxiously to avoid even glancing at
him.

All these circumstances did not strike me as painfully at
the time as they have since done; in fact, all that had
happened (with the exception of the story of the diamond,
which certainly did wear an air of improbability), appeared
natural enough, and called for neither apprehension nor
mistrust; but, worn out as I was with fatigue, and fully
purposing to proceed onwards directly the tempest abated, I
determined to obtain a few hours' sleep. Overhead I could
accurately distinguish every movement of the jeweller, who,
after making the best arrangements in his power for passing
a comfortable night, threw himself on his bed, and I could
hear it creak and groan beneath his weight. Insensibly my
eyelids grew heavy, deep sleep stole over me, and having no
suspicion of anything wrong, I sought not to shake it off. I
looked into the kitchen once more and saw Caderousse sitting
by the side of a long table upon one of the low wooden
stools which in country places are frequently used instead
of chairs; his back was turned towards me, so that I could
not see the expression of his countenance -- neither should
I have been able to do so had he been placed differently, as
his head was buried between his two hands. La Carconte
continued to gaze on him for some time, then shrugging her
shoulders, she took her seat immediately opposite to him. At
this moment the expiring embers threw up a fresh flame from


the kindling of a piece of wood that lay near, and a bright
light flashed over the room. La Carconte still kept her eyes
fixed on her husband, but as he made no sign of changing his
position, she extended her hard, bony hand, and touched him
on the forehead.

Caderousse shuddered. The woman's lips seemed to moveas
though she were talking; but because she merely spoke in an
undertoneor my senses were dulled by sleepI did not
catch a word she uttered. Confused sights and sounds seemed
to float before meand gradually I fell into a deepheavy
slumber. How long I had been in this unconscious state I
know notwhen I was suddenly aroused by the report of a
pistolfollowed by a fearful cry. Weak and tottering
footsteps resounded across the chamber above meand the
next instant a dullheavy weight seemed to fall powerless
on the staircase. I had not yet fully recovered
consciousnesswhen again I heard groansmingled with
half-stifled criesas if from persons engaged in a deadly
struggle. A cry more prolonged than the others and ending in
a series of groans effectually roused me from my drowsy
lethargy. Hastily raising myself on one armI looked
aroundbut all was dark; and it seemed to me as if the rain
must have penetrated through the flooring of the room above
for some kind of moisture appeared to falldrop by drop
upon my foreheadand when I passed my hand across my brow
I felt that it was wet and clammy.

To the fearful noises that had awakened me had succeeded
the most perfect silence -- unbroken, save by the footsteps
of a man walking about in the chamber above. The staircase
creaked, he descended into the room below, approached the
fire and lit a candle. The man was Caderousse -- he was pale
and his shirt was all blood. Having obtained the light, he
hurried up-stairs again, and once more I heard his rapid and
uneasy footsteps. A moment later he came down again, holding
in his hand the small shagreen case, which he opened, to
assure himself it contained the diamond, -- seemed to
hesitate as to which pocket he should put it in, then, as if
dissatisfied with the security of either pocket, he
deposited it in his red handkerchief, which he carefully
rolled round his head. After this he took from his cupboard
the bank-notes and gold he had put there, thrust the one
into the pocket of his trousers, and the other into that of
his waistcoat, hastily tied up a small bundle of linen, and
rushing towards the door, disappeared in the darkness of the
night.

Then all became clear and manifest to meand I reproached
myself with what had happenedas though I myself had done
the guilty deed. I fancied that I still heard faint moans
and imagining that the unfortunate jeweller might not be
quite deadI determined to go to his reliefby way of
atoning in some slight degreenot for the crime I had
committedbut for that which I had not endeavored to
prevent. For this purpose I applied all the strength I
possessed to force an entrance from the cramped spot in
which I lay to the adjoining room. The poorly fastened
boards which alone divided me from it yielded to my efforts
and I found myself in the house. Hastily snatching up the
lighted candleI hurried to the staircase; about midway a
body was lying quite across the stairs. It was that of La
Carconte. The pistol I had heard had doubtless been fired at
her. The shot had frightfully lacerated her throatleaving


two gaping wounds from whichas well as the mouththe
blood was pouring in floods. She was stone dead. I strode
past herand ascended to the sleeping chamberwhich
presented an appearance of the wildest disorder. The
furniture had been knocked over in the deadly struggle that
had taken place thereand the sheetsto which the
unfortunate jeweller had doubtless clungwere dragged
across the room. The murdered man lay on the floorhis head
leaning against the walland about him was a pool of blood
which poured forth from three large wounds in his breast;
there was a fourth gashin which a long table knife was
plunged up to the handle.

I stumbled over some object; I stooped to examine -- it was
the second pistol, which had not gone off, probably from the
powder being wet. I approached the jeweller, who was not
quite dead, and at the sound of my footsteps and the
creaking of the floor, he opened his eyes, fixed them on me
with an anxious and inquiring gaze, moved his lips as though
trying to speak, then, overcome by the effort, fell back and
expired. This appalling sight almost bereft me of my senses,
and finding that I could no longer be of service to any one
in the house, my only desire was to fly. I rushed towards
the staircase, clutching my hair, and uttering a groan of
horror. Upon reaching the room below, I found five or six
custom-house officers, and two or three gendarmes -- all
heavily armed. They threw themselves upon me. I made no
resistance; I was no longer master of my senses. When I
strove to speak, a few inarticulate sounds alone escaped my
lips.

As I noticed the significant manner in which the whole
party pointed to my blood-stained garmentsI involuntarily
surveyed myselfand then I discovered that the thick warm
drops that had so bedewed me as I lay beneath the staircase
must have been the blood of La Carconte. I pointed to the
spot where I had concealed myself. `What does he mean?'
asked a gendarme. One of the officers went to the place I
directed. `He means' replied the man upon his return`that
he got in that way;' and he showed the hole I had made when
I broke through.

Then I saw that they took me for the assassin. I recovered
force and energy enough to free myself from the hands of
those who held me, while I managed to stammer forth -- `I
did not do it! Indeed, indeed I did not!' A couple of
gendarmes held the muzzles of their carbines against my
breast. -- `Stir but a step,' said they, `and you are a dead
man.' -- `Why should you threaten me with death,' cried I,
`when I have already declared my innocence?' -- `Tush,
tush,' cried the men; `keep your innocent stories to tell to
the judge at Nimes. Meanwhile, come along with us; and the
best advice we can give you is to do so unresistingly.'
Alas, resistance was far from my thoughts. I was utterly
overpowered by surprise and terror; and without a word I
suffered myself to be handcuffed and tied to a horse's tail,
and thus they took me to Nimes.

I had been tracked by a customs-officerwho had lost sight
of me near the tavern; feeling certain that I intended to
pass the night therehe had returned to summon his
comradeswho just arrived in time to hear the report of the
pistoland to take me in the midst of such circumstantial
proofs of my guilt as rendered all hopes of proving my


innocence utterly futile. One only chance was left methat
of beseeching the magistrate before whom I was taken to
cause every inquiry to be made for the Abbe Busoniwho had
stopped at the inn of the Pont du Gard on that morning. If
Caderousse had invented the story relative to the diamond
and there existed no such person as the Abbe Busonithen
indeedI was lost past redemptionorat leastmy life
hung upon the feeble chance of Caderousse himself being
apprehended and confessing the whole truth. Two months
passed away in hopeless expectation on my partwhile I must
do the magistrate the justice to say that he used every
means to obtain information of the person I declared could
exculpate me if he would. Caderousse still evaded all
pursuitand I had resigned myself to what seemed my
inevitable fate. My trial was to come on at the approaching
assizes; whenon the 8th of September -- that is to say
precisely three months and five days after the events which
had perilled my life -- the Abbe Busoniwhom I never
ventured to believe I should seepresented himself at the
prison doorssaying he understood one of the prisoners
wished to speak to him; he addedthat having learned at
Marseilles the particulars of my imprisonmenthe hastened
to comply with my desire. You may easily imagine with what
eagerness I welcomed himand how minutely I related the
whole of what I had seen and heard. I felt some degree of
nervousness as I entered upon the history of the diamond
butto my inexpressible astonishmenthe confirmed it in
every particularand to my equal surprisehe seemed to
place entire belief in all I said. And then it was thatwon
by his mild charityseeing that he was acquainted with all
the habits and customs of my own countryand considering
also that pardon for the only crime of which I was really
guilty might come with a double power from lips so
benevolent and kindI besought him to receive my
confessionunder the seal of which I recounted the Auteuil
affair in all its detailsas well as every other
transaction of my life. That which I had done by the impulse
of my best feelings produced the same effect as though it
had been the result of calculation. My voluntary confession
of the assassination at Auteuil proved to him that I had not
committed that of which I stood accused. When he quitted me
he bade me be of good courageand to rely upon his doing
all in his power to convince my judges of my innocence.

I had speedy proofs that the excellent abbe was engaged in
my behalf, for the rigors of my imprisonment were alleviated
by many trifling though acceptable indulgences, and I was
told that my trial was to be postponed to the assizes
following those now being held. In the interim it pleased
providence to cause the apprehension of Caderousse, who was
discovered in some distant country, and brought back to
France, where he made a full confession, refusing to make
the fact of his wife's having suggested and arranged the
murder any excuse for his own guilt. The wretched man was
sentenced to the galleys for life, and I was immediately set
at liberty.

And then it was, I presume,said Monte Cristo "that you
came to me as the bearer of a letter from the Abbe Busoni?"

It was, your excellency; the benevolent abbe took an
evident interest in all that concerned me.

`Your mode of life as a smuggler' said he to me one day


`will be the ruin of you; if you get outdon't take it up
again.' -- `But how' inquired I`am I to maintain myself
and my poor sister?'

`A person, whose confessor I am,' replied he, `and who
entertains a high regard for me, applied to me a short time
since to procure him a confidential servant. Would you like
such a post? If so, I will give you a letter of introduction
to him.' -- `Oh, father,' I exclaimed, `you are very good.'

`But you must swear solemnly that I shall never have reason
to repent my recommendation.' I extended my handand was
about to pledge myself by any promise he would dictatebut
he stopped me. `It is unnecessary for you to bind yourself
by any vow' said he; `I know and admire the Corsican nature
too well to fear you. Heretake this' continued heafter
rapidly writing the few lines I brought to your excellency
and upon receipt of which you deigned to receive me into
your serviceand proudly I ask whether your excellency has
ever had cause to repent having done so?"

No,replied the count; "I take pleasure in saying that you
have served me faithfullyBertuccio; but you might have
shown more confidence in me."

I, your excellency?

Yes; you. How comes it, that having both a sister and an
adopted son, you have never spoken to me of either?

Alas, I have still to recount the most distressing period
of my life. Anxious as you may suppose I was to behold and
comfort my dear sister, I lost no time in hastening to
Corsica, but when I arrived at Rogliano I found a house of
mourning, the consequences of a scene so horrible that the
neighbors remember and speak of it to this day. Acting by my
advice, my poor sister had refused to comply with the
unreasonable demands of Benedetto, who was continually
tormenting her for money, as long as he believed there was a
sou left in her possession. One morning that he had demanded
money, threatening her with the severest consequences if she
did not supply him with what he desired, he disappeared and
remained away all day, leaving the kind-hearted Assunta, who
loved him as if he were her own child, to weep over his
conduct and bewail his absence. Evening came, and still,
with all the patient solicitude of a mother, she watched for
his return.

As the eleventh hour struckhe entered with a swaggering
airattended by two of the most dissolute and reckless of
his boon companions. She stretched out her arms to himbut
they seized hold of herand one of the three -- none other
than the accursed Benedetto exclaimed-- `Put her to
torture and she'll soon tell us where her money is.'

It unfortunately happened that our neighbor, Vasilio, was
at Bastia, leaving no person in his house but his wife; no
human creature beside could hear or see anything that took
place within our dwelling. Two held poor Assunta, who,
unable to conceive that any harm was intended to her, smiled
in the face of those who were soon to become her
executioners. The third proceeded to barricade the doors and
windows, then returned, and the three united in stifling the
cries of terror incited by the sight of these preparations,


and then dragged Assunta feet foremost towards the brazier,
expecting to wring from her an avowal of where her supposed
treasure was secreted. In the struggle her clothes caught
fire, and they were obliged to let go their hold in order to
preserve themselves from sharing the same fate. Covered with
flames, Assunta rushed wildly to the door, but it was
fastened; she flew to the windows, but they were also
secured; then the neighbors heard frightful shrieks; it was
Assunta calling for help. The cries died away in groans, and
next morning, as soon as Vasilio's wife could muster up
courage to venture abroad, she caused the door of our
dwelling to be opened by the public authorities, when
Assunta, although dreadfully burnt, was found still
breathing; every drawer and closet in the house had been
forced open, and the money stolen. Benedetto never again
appeared at Rogliano, neither have I since that day either
seen or heard anything concerning him.

It was subsequently to these dreadful events that I waited
on your excellencyto whom it would have been folly to have
mentioned Benedettosince all trace of him seemed entirely
lost; or of my sistersince she was dead."

And in what light did you view the occurrence?inquired
Monte Cristo.

As a punishment for the crime I had committed,answered
Bertuccio. "Ohthose Villeforts are an accursed race!"

Truly they are,murmured the count in a lugubrious tone.

And now,resumed Bertuccioyour excellency may, perhaps,
be able to comprehend that this place, which I revisit for
the first time -- this garden, the actual scene of my crime
-- must have given rise to reflections of no very agreeable
nature, and produced that gloom and depression of spirits
which excited the notice of your excellency, who was pleased
to express a desire to know the cause. At this instant a
shudder passes over me as I reflect that possibly I am now
standing on the very grave in which lies M. de Villefort, by
whose hand the ground was dug to receive the corpse of his
child.

Everything is possible,said Monte Cristorising from the
bench on which he had been sitting; "even he added in an
inaudible voice, even that the procureur be not dead. The
Abbe Busoni did right to send you to me he went on in his
ordinary tone, and you have done well in relating to me the
whole of your historyas it will prevent my forming any
erroneous opinions concerning you in future. As for that
Benedettowho so grossly belied his namehave you never
made any effort to trace out whither he has goneor what
has become of him?"

No; far from wishing to learn whither he has betaken
himself, I should shun the possibility of meeting him as I
would a wild beast. Thank God, I have never heard his name
mentioned by any person, and I hope and believe he is dead.

Do not think so, Bertuccio,replied the count; "for the
wicked are not so easily disposed offor God seems to have
them under his special watch-care to make of them
instruments of his vengeance."


So be it,responded Bertuccioall I ask of heaven is
that I may never see him again. And now, your excellency,
he addedbowing his headyou know everything -- you are
my judge on earth, as the Almighty is in heaven; have you
for me no words of consolation?

My good friend, I can only repeat the words addressed to
you by the Abbe Busoni. Villefort merited punishment for
what he had done to you, and, perhaps, to others. Benedetto,
if still living, will become the instrument of divine
retribution in some way or other, and then be duly punished
in his turn. As far as you yourself are concerned, I see but
one point in which you are really guilty. Ask yourself,
wherefore, after rescuing the infant from its living grave,
you did not restore it to its mother? There was the crime,
Bertuccio -- that was where you became really culpable.

True, excellency, that was the crime, the real crime, for
in that I acted like a coward. My first duty, directly I had
succeeded in recalling the babe to life, was to restore it
to its mother; but, in order to do so, I must have made
close and careful inquiry, which would, in all probability,
have led to my own apprehension; and I clung to life, partly
on my sister's account, and partly from that feeling of
pride inborn in our hearts of desiring to come off untouched
and victorious in the execution of our vengeance. Perhaps,
too, the natural and instinctive love of life made me wish
to avoid endangering my own. And then, again, I am not as
brave and courageous as was my poor brother.Bertuccio hid
his face in his hands as he uttered these wordswhile Monte
Cristo fixed on him a look of inscrutable meaning. After a
brief silencerendered still more solemn by the time and
placethe count saidin a tone of melancholy wholly unlike
his usual mannerIn order to bring this conversation to a
fitting termination (the last we shall ever hold upon this
subject), I will repeat to you some words I have heard from
the lips of the Abbe Busoni. For all evils there are two
remedies -- time and silence. And now leave me, Monsieur
Bertuccio, to walk alone here in the garden. The very
circumstances which inflict on you, as a principal in the
tragic scene enacted here, such painful emotions, are to me,
on the contrary, a source of something like contentment, and
serve but to enhance the value of this dwelling in my
estimation. The chief beauty of trees consists in the deep
shadow of their umbrageous boughs, while fancy pictures a
moving multitude of shapes and forms flitting and passing
beneath that shade. Here I have a garden laid out in such a
way as to afford the fullest scope for the imagination, and
furnished with thickly grown trees, beneath whose leafy
screen a visionary like myself may conjure up phantoms at
will. This to me, who expected but to find a blank enclosure
surrounded by a straight wall, is, I assure you, a most
agreeable surprise. I have no fear of ghosts, and I have
never heard it said that so much harm had been done by the
dead during six thousand years as is wrought by the living
in a single day. Retire within, Bertuccio, and tranquillize
your mind. Should your confessor be less indulgent to you in
your dying moments than you found the Abbe Busoni, send for
me, if I am still on earth, and I will soothe your ears with
words that shall effectually calm and soothe your parting
soul ere it goes forth to traverse the ocean called
eternity.

Bertuccio bowed respectfullyand turned awaysighing


heavily. Monte Cristoleft alonetook three or four steps
onwardsand murmuredHere, beneath this plane-tree, must
have been where the infant's grave was dug. There is the
little door opening into the garden. At this corner is the
private staircase communicating with the sleeping apartment.
There will be no necessity for me to make a note of these
particulars, for there, before my eyes, beneath my feet, all
around me, I have the plan sketched with all the living
reality of truth.After making the tour of the garden a
second timethe count re-entered his carriagewhile
Bertucciowho perceived the thoughtful expression of his
master's featurestook his seat beside the driver without
uttering a word. The carriage proceeded rapidly towards
Paris.

That same eveningupon reaching his abode in the Champs
Elyseesthe Count of Monte Cristo went over the whole
building with the air of one long acquainted with each nook
or corner. Noralthough preceding the partydid he once
mistake one door for anotheror commit the smallest error
when choosing any particular corridor or staircase to
conduct him to a place or suite of rooms he desired to
visit. Ali was his principal attendant during this nocturnal
survey. Having given various orders to Bertuccio relative to
the improvements and alterations he desired to make in the
housethe Countdrawing out his watchsaid to the
attentive NubianIt is half-past eleven o'clock; Haidee
will soon he here. Have the French attendants been summoned
to await her coming?Ali extended his hands towards the
apartments destined for the fair Greekwhich were so
effectually concealed by means of a tapestried entrance
that it would have puzzled the most curious to have divined
their existence. Alihaving pointed to the apartmentsheld
up three fingers of his right handand thenplacing it
beneath his headshut his eyesand feigned to sleep. "I
understand said Monte Cristo, well acquainted with Ali's
pantomime; you mean to tell me that three female attendants
await their new mistress in her sleeping-chamber." Aliwith
considerable animationmade a sign in the affirmative.

Madame will be tired to-night,continued Monte Cristo
and will, no doubt, wish to rest. Desire the French
attendants not to weary her with questions, but merely to
pay their respectful duty and retire. You will also see that
the Greek servants hold no communication with those of this
country.He bowed. Just at that moment voices were heard
hailing the concierge. The gate openeda carriage rolled
down the avenueand stopped at the steps. The count hastily
descendedpresented himself at the already opened carriage
doorand held out his hand to a young womancompletely
enveloped in a green silk mantle heavily embroidered with
gold. She raised the hand extended towards her to her lips
and kissed it with a mixture of love and respect. Some few
words passed between them in that sonorous language in which
Homer makes his gods converse. The young woman spoke with an
expression of deep tendernesswhile the count replied with
an air of gentle gravity. Preceded by Aliwho carried a
rose-colored flambeau in his handthe new-comerwho was no
other than the lovely Greek who had been Monte Cristo's
companion in Italywas conducted to her apartmentswhile
the count retired to the pavilion reserved for himself. In
another hour every light in the house was extinguishedand
it might have been thought that all its inmates slept.


Chapter 46
Unlimited Credit.

About two o'clock the following day a calashdrawn by a
pair of magnificent English horsesstopped at the door of
Monte Cristo and a persondressed in a blue coatwith
buttons of a similar colora white waistcoatover which
was displayed a massive gold chainbrown trousersand a
quantity of black hair descending so low over his eyebrows
as to leave it doubtful whether it were not artificial so
little did its jetty glossiness assimilate with the deep
wrinkles stamped on his features -- a personin a word
whoalthough evidently past fiftydesired to be taken for
not more than fortybent forwards from the carriage door
on the panels of which were emblazoned the armorial bearings
of a baronand directed his groom to inquire at the
porter's lodge whether the Count of Monte Cristo resided
thereand if he were within. While waitingthe occupant of
the carriage surveyed the housethe garden as far as he
could distinguish itand the livery of servants who passed
to and frowith an attention so close as to be somewhat
impertinent. His glance was keen but showed cunning rather
than intelligence; his lips were straightand so thin that
as they closedthey were drawn in over the teeth; his
cheek-bones were broad and projectinga never-failing proof
of audacity and craftiness; while the flatness of his
foreheadand the enlargement of the back of his skull
which rose much higher than his large and coarsely shaped
earscombined to form a physiognomy anything but
prepossessingsave in the eyes of such as considered that
the owner of so splendid an equipage must needs be all that
was admirable and enviablemore especially when they gazed
on the enormous diamond that glittered in his shirtand the
red ribbon that depended from his button-hole.

The groomin obedience to his orderstapped at the window
of the porter's lodgesayingPray, does not the Count of
Monte Cristo live here?

His excellency does reside here,replied the concierge;
but-- added heglancing an inquiring look at Ali. Ali
returned a sign in the negative. "But what?" asked the
groom.

His excellency does not receive visitors to-day.

Then here is my master's card, -- the Baron Danglars. You
will take it to the count, and say that, although in haste
to attend the Chamber, my master came out of his way to have
the honor of calling upon him.

I never speak to his excellency,replied the concierge;
the valet de chambre will carry your message.The groom
returned to the carriage. "Well?" asked Danglars. The man
somewhat crest-fallen by the rebuke he had received
repeated what the concierge had said. "Bless me murmured
Baron Danglars, this must surely be a prince instead of a
count by their styling him `excellency' and only venturing
to address him by the medium of his valet de chambre.
Howeverit does not signify; he has a letter of credit on
meso I must see him when he requires his money."


Thenthrowing himself back in his carriageDanglars called
out to his coachmanin a voice that might be heard across
the roadTo the Chamber of Deputies.

Apprised in time of the visit paid himMonte Cristo had
from behind the blinds of his pavilionas minutely observed
the baronby means of an excellent lorgnetteas Danglars
himself had scrutinized the housegardenand servants.
That fellow has a decidedly bad countenance,said the
count in a tone of disgustas he shut up his glass into its
ivory case. "How comes it that all do not retreat in
aversion at sight of that flatrecedingserpent-like
foreheadroundvulture-shaped headand sharp-hooked nose
like the beak of a buzzard? Ali cried he, striking at the
same time on the brazen gong. Ali appeared. Summon
Bertuccio said the count. Almost immediately Bertuccio
entered the apartment. Did your excellency desire to see
me?" inquired he. "I did replied the count. You no doubt
observed the horses standing a few minutes since at the
door?"

Certainly, your excellency. I noticed them for their
remarkable beauty.

Then how comes it,said Monte Cristo with a frownthat,
when I desired you to purchase for me the finest pair of
horses to be found in Paris, there is another pair, fully as
fine as mine, not in my stables?At the look of
displeasureadded to the angry tone in which the count
spokeAli turned pale and held down his head. "It is not
your faultmy good Ali said the count in the Arabic
language, and with a gentleness none would have thought him
capable of showing, either in voice or face -- it is not
your fault. You do not understand the points of English
horses." The countenance of poor Ali recovered its serenity.
Permit me to assure your excellency,said Bertucciothat
the horses you speak of were not to be sold when I purchased
yours.Monte Cristo shrugged his shoulders. "It seemssir
steward said he, that you have yet to learn that all
things are to be sold to such as care to pay the price."

His excellency is not, perhaps, aware that M. Danglars gave
16,000 francs for his horses?

Very well. Then offer him double that sum; a banker never
loses an opportunity of doubling his capital.

Is your excellency really in earnest?inquired the
steward. Monte Cristo regarded the person who durst presume
to doubt his words with the look of one equally surprised
and displeased. "I have to pay a visit this evening
replied he. I desire that these horseswith completely new
harnessmay be at the door with my carriage." Bertuccio
bowedand was about to retire; but when he reached the
doorhe pausedand then saidAt what o'clock does your
excellency wish the carriage and horses to be ready?

At five o'clock,replied the count.

I beg your excellency's pardon,interposed the steward in
a deprecating mannerfor venturing to observe that it is
already two o'clock.

I am perfectly aware of that fact,answered Monte Cristo


calmly. Thenturning towards Alihe saidLet all the
horses in my stables be led before the windows of your young
lady, that she may select those she prefers for her
carriage. Request her also to oblige me by saying whether it
is her pleasure to dine with me; if so, let dinner be served
in her apartments. Now, leave me, and desire my valet de
chambre to come hither.Scarcely had Ali disappeared when
the valet entered the chamber. "Monsieur Baptistin said
the count, you have been in my service one yearthe time I
generally give myself to judge of the merits or demerits of
those about me. You suit me very well." Baptistin bowed low.
It only remains for me to know whether I also suit you?

Oh, your excellency!exclaimed Baptistin eagerly.

Listen, if you please, till I have finished speaking,
replied Monte Cristo. "You receive 1500 francs per annum
for your services here -- more than many a brave subaltern
who continually risks his life for his countryobtains. You
live in a manner far superior to many clerks who work ten
times harder than you do for their money. Thenthough
yourself a servantyou have other servants to wait upon
youtake care of your clothesand see that your linen is
duly prepared for you. Againyou make a profit upon each
article you purchase for my toiletamounting in the course
of a year to a sum equalling your wages."

Nay, indeed, your excellency.

I am not condemning you for this, Monsieur Baptistin; but
let your profits end here. It would be long indeed ere you
would find so lucrative a post as that you have how the good
fortune to fill. I neither ill-use nor ill-treat my servants
by word or action. An error I readily forgive, but wilful
negligence or forgetfulness, never. My commands are
ordinarily short, clear, and precise; and I would rather be
obliged to repeat my words twice, or even three times, than
they should be misunderstood. I am rich enough to know
whatever I desire to know, and I can promise you I am not
wanting in curiosity. If, then, I should learn that you had
taken upon yourself to speak of me to any one favorably or
unfavorably, to comment on my actions, or watch my conduct,
that very instant you would quit my service. You may now
retire. I never caution my servants a second time -remember
that.Baptistin bowedand was proceeding towards
the door. "I forgot to mention to you said the count,
that I lay yearly aside a certain sum for each servant in
my establishment; those whom I am compelled to dismiss lose
(as a matter of course) all participation in this money
while their portion goes to the fund accumulating for those
domestics who remain with meand among whom it will be
divided at my death. You have been in my service a year
your fund has already begun to accumulate -- let it continue
to do so."

This addressdelivered in the presence of Aliwhonot
understanding one word of the language in which it was
spokenstood wholly unmovedproduced an effect on M.
Baptistin only to be conceived by such as have occasion to
study the character and disposition of French domestics. "I
assure your excellency said he, that at least it shall be
my study to merit your approbation in all thingsand I will
take M. Ali as my model."


By no means,replied the count in the most frigid tones;
Ali has many faults mixed with most excellent qualities. He
cannot possibly serve you as a pattern for your conduct, not
being, as you are, a paid servant, but a mere slave -- a
dog, who, should he fail in his duty towards me, I should
not discharge from my service, but kill.Baptistin opened
his eyes with astonishment.

You seen incredulous,said Monte Cristo who repeated to
Ali in the Arabic language what he had just been saying to
Baptistin in French. The Nubian smiled assentingly to his
master's wordsthenkneeling on one kneerespectfully
kissed the hand of the count. This corroboration of the
lesson he had just received put the finishing stroke to the
wonder and stupefaction of M. Baptistin. The count then
motioned the valet de chambre to retireand to Ali to
follow to his studywhere they conversed long and earnestly
together. As the hand of the clock pointed to five the count
struck thrice upon his gong. When Ali was wanted one stroke
was giventwo summoned Baptistinand three Bertuccio. The
steward entered. "My horses said Monte Cristo.

They are at the door harnessed to the carriage as your
excellency desired. Does your excellency wish me to
accompany him?"

No, the coachman, Ali, and Baptistin will go.The count
descended to the door of his mansionand beheld his
carriage drawn by the very pair of horses he had so much
admired in the morning as the property of Danglars. As he
passed them he said -- "They are extremely handsome
certainlyand you have done well to purchase themalthough
you were somewhat remiss not to have procured them sooner."

Indeed, your excellency, I had very considerable difficulty
in obtaining them, and, as it is, they have cost an enormous
price.

Does the sum you gave for them make the animals less
beautiful,inquired the countshrugging his shoulders.

Nay, if your excellency is satisfied, it is all that I
could wish. Whither does your excellency desire to be
driven?

To the residence of Baron Danglars, Rue de la Chaussee
d'Antin.This conversation had passed as they stood upon
the terracefrom which a flight of stone steps led to the
carriage-drive. As Bertucciowith a respectful bowwas
moving awaythe count called him back. "I have another
commission for youM. Bertuccio said he; I am desirous
of having an estate by the seaside in Normandy -- for
instancebetween Havre and Boulogne. You see I give you a
wide range. It will be absolutely necessary that the place
you may select have a small harborcreekor bayinto
which my corvette can enter and remain at anchor. She draws
only fifteen feet. She must be kept in constant readiness to
sail immediately I think proper to give the signal. Make the
requisite inquiries for a place of this descriptionand
when you have met with an eligible spotvisit itand if it
possess the advantages desiredpurchase it at once in your
own name. The corvette must nowI thinkbe on her way to
Fecampmust she not?"


Certainly, your excellency; I saw her put to sea the same
evening we quitted Marseilles.

And the yacht.

Was ordered to remain at Martigues.

'Tis well. I wish you to write from time to time to the
captains in charge of the two vessels so as to keep them on
the alert.

And the steamboat?

She is at Chalons?

Yes.

The same orders for her as for the two sailing vessels.

Very good.

When you have purchased the estate I desire, I want
constant relays of horses at ten leagues apart along the
northern and southern road.

Your excellency may depend upon me.The Count made a
gesture of satisfactiondescended the terrace stepsand
sprang into his carriagewhich was whirled along swiftly to
the banker's house. Danglars was engaged at that moment
presiding over a railroad committee. But the meeting was
nearly concluded when the name of his visitor was announced.
As the count's title sounded on his ear he roseand
addressing his colleagueswho were members of one or the
other Chamberhe said-- "Gentlemenpardon me for leaving
you so abruptly; but a most ridiculous circumstance has
occurredwhich is this-- Thomson & Frenchthe Roman
bankershave sent to me a certain person calling himself
the Count of Monte Cristoand have given him an unlimited
credit with me. I confess this is the drollest thing I have
ever met with in the course of my extensive foreign
transactionsand you may readily suppose it has greatly
roused my curiosity. I took the trouble this morning to call
on the pretended count -- if he were a real count he
wouldn't be so rich. Butwould you believe it`He was not
receiving.' So the master of Monte Cristo gives himself airs
befitting a great millionaire or a capricious beauty. I made
inquiriesand found that the house in the Champs Elysees is
his own propertyand certainly it was very decently kept
up. But pursued Danglars with one of his sinister smiles,
an order for unlimited credit calls for something like
caution on the part of the banker to whom that order is
given. I am very anxious to see this man. I suspect a hoax
is intendedbut the instigators of it little knew whom they
had to deal with. `They laugh best who laugh last!'"

Having delivered himself of this pompous addressuttered
with a degree of energy that left the baron almost out of
breathhe bowed to the assembled party and withdrew to his
drawing-roomwhose sumptuous furnishings of white and gold
had caused a great sensation in the Chaussee d'Antin. It was
to this apartment he had desired his guest to be shownwith
the purpose of overwhelming him at the sight of so much
luxury. He found the count standing before some copies of
Albano and Fattore that had been passed off to the banker as


originals; but whichmere copies as they wereseemed to
feel their degradation in being brought into juxtaposition
with the gaudy colors that covered the ceiling. The count
turned round as he heard the entrance of Danglars into the
room. With a slight inclination of the headDanglars signed
to the count to be seatedpointing significantly to a
gilded arm-chaircovered with white satin embroidered with
gold. The count sat down. "I have the honorI presumeof
addressing M. de Monte Cristo."

The count bowed. "And I of speaking to Baron Danglars
chevalier of the Legion of Honorand member of the Chamber
of Deputies?"

Monte Cristo repeated all the titles he had read on the
baron's card.

Danglars felt the irony and compressed his lips. "You will
I trustexcuse memonsieurfor not calling you by your
title when I first addressed you he said, but you are
aware that we are living under a popular form of government
and that I am myself a representative of the liberties of
the people."

So much so,replied Monte Cristothat while you call
yourself baron you are not willing to call anybody else
count.

Upon my word, monsieur,said Danglars with affected
carelessnessI attach no sort of value to such empty
distinctions; but the fact is, I was made baron, and also
chevalier of the Legion of Honor, in return for services
rendered, but-


But you have discarded your titles after the example set
you by Messrs. de Montmorency and Lafayette? That was a
noble example to follow, monsieur.

Why,replied Danglarsnot entirely so; with the
servants, -- you understand.

I see; to your domestics you are `my lord,' the journalists
style you `monsieur,' while your constituents call you
`citizen.' These are distinctions very suitable under a
constitutional government. I understand perfectly.Again
Danglars bit his lips; he saw that he was no match for Monte
Cristo in an argument of this sortand he therefore
hastened to turn to subjects more congenial.

Permit me to inform you, Count,said hebowingthat I
have received a letter of advice from Thomson & French, of
Rome.

I am glad to hear it, baron, -- for I must claim the
privilege of addressing you after the manner of your
servants. I have acquired the bad habit of calling persons
by their titles from living in a country where barons are
still barons by right of birth. But as regards the letter of
advice, I am charmed to find that it has reached you; that
will spare me the troublesome and disagreeable task of
coming to you for money myself. You have received a regular
letter of advice?

Yes,said Danglarsbut I confess I didn't quite


comprehend its meaning.

Indeed?

And for that reason I did myself the honor of calling upon
you, in order to beg for an explanation.

Go on, monsieur. Here I am, ready to give you any
explanation you desire.

Why,said Danglersin the letter -- I believe I have it
about me-- here he felt in his breast-pocket -- "yeshere
it is. Wellthis letter gives the Count of Monte Cristo
unlimited credit on our house."

Well, baron, what is there difficult to understand about
that?

Merely the term unlimited -- nothing else, certainly.

Is not that word known in France? The people who wrote are
Anglo-Germans, you know.

Oh, as for the composition of the letter, there is nothing
to be said; but as regards the competency of the document, I
certainly have doubts.

Is it possible?asked the countassuming all air and tone
of the utmost simplicity and candor. "Is it possible that
Thomson & French are not looked upon as safe and solvent
bankers? Pray tell me what you thinkbaronfor I feel
uneasyI can assure youhaving some considerable property
in their hands."

Thomson & French are perfectly solvent,replied Danglars
with an almost mocking smile: "but the word unlimitedin
financial affairsis so extremely vague."

Is, in fact, unlimited,said Monte Cristo.

Precisely what I was about to say,cried Danglars. "Now
what is vague is doubtful; and it was a wise man who said
`when in doubtkeep out.'"

Meaning to say,rejoined Monte Cristothat however
Thomson & French may be inclined to commit acts of
imprudence and folly, the Baron Danglars is not disposed to
follow their example.

Not at all.

Plainly enough. Messrs. Thomson & French set no bounds to
their engagements while those of M. Danglars have their
limits; he is a wise man, according to his own showing.

Monsieur,replied the bankerdrawing himself up with a
haughty airthe extent of my resources has never yet been
questioned.

It seems, then, reserved for me,said Monte Cristo coldly
to be the first to do so.

By what right, sir?


By right of the objections you have raised, and the
explanations you have demanded, which certainly must have
some motive.

Once more Danglars bit his lips. It was the second time he
had been worstedand this time on his own ground. His
forced politeness sat awkwardly upon himand approached
almost to impertinence. Monte Cristo on the contrary
preserved a graceful suavity of demeanoraided by a certain
degree of simplicity he could assume at pleasureand thus
possessed the advantage.

Well, sir,resumed Danglarsafter a brief silenceI
will endeavor to make myself understood, by requesting you
to inform me for what sum you propose to draw upon me?

Why, truly,replied Monte Cristodetermined not to lose
an inch of the ground he had gainedmy reason for desiring
an `unlimited' credit was precisely because I did not know
how much money I might need.

The banker thought the time had come for him to take the
upper hand. So throwing himself back in his arm-chairhe
saidwith an arrogant and purse-proud air-- "Let me beg
of you not to hesitate in naming your wishes; you will then
be convinced that the resources of the house of Danglars
however limitedare still equal to meeting the largest
demands; and were you even to require a million" -


I beg your pardon,interposed Monte Cristo.

I said a million,replied Danglarswith the confidence of
ignorance.

But could I do with a million?retorted the count. "My
dear sirif a trifle like that could suffice meI should
never have given myself the trouble of opening an account. A
million? Excuse my smiling when you speak of a sum I am in
the habit of carrying in my pocket-book or dressing-case."
And with these words Monte Cristo took from his pocket a
small case containing his visiting-cardsand drew forth two
orders on the treasury for 500000 francs eachpayable at
sight to the bearer. A man like Danglars was wholly
inaccessible to any gentler method of correction. The effect
of the present revelation was stunning; he trembled and was
on the verge of apoplexy. The pupils of his eyesas he
gazed at Monte Cristo dilated horribly.

Come, come,said Monte Cristoconfess honestly that you
have not perfect confidence in Thomson & French. I
understand, and foreseeing that such might be the case, I
took, in spite of my ignorance of affairs, certain
precautions. See, here are two similar letters to that you
have yourself received; one from the house of Arstein &
Eskeles of Vienna, to Baron Rothschild, the other drawn by
Baring of London, upon M. Laffitte. Now, sir, you have but
to say the word, and I will spare you all uneasiness by
presenting my letter of credit to one or other of these two
firms.The blow had struck homeand Danglars was entirely
vanquished; with a trembling hand he took the two letters
from the countwho held them carelessly between finger and
thumband proceeded to scrutinize the signatureswith a
minuteness that the count might have regarded as insulting
had it not suited his present purpose to mislead the banker.


Oh, sir,said Danglarsafter he had convinced himself of
the authenticity of the documents he heldand rising as if
to salute the power of gold personified in the man before
him-- "three letters of unlimited credit! I can be no
longer mistrustfulbut you must pardon memy dear count
for confessing to some degree of astonishment."

Nay,answered Monte Cristowith the most gentlemanly air
'tis not for such trifling sums as these that your banking
house is to be incommoded. Then, you can let me have some
money, can you not?

Whatever you say, my dear count; I am at your orders.

Why,replied Monte Cristosince we mutually understand
each other -- for such I presume is the case?Danglars
bowed assentingly. "You are quite sure that not a lurking
doubt or suspicion lingers in your mind?"

Oh, my dear count,exclaimed DanglarsI never for an
instant entertained such a feeling towards you.

No, you merely wished to be convinced, nothing more; but
now that we have come to so clear an understanding, and that
all distrust and suspicion are laid at rest, we may as well
fix a sum as the probable expenditure of the first year,
suppose we say six millions to-


Six millions!gasped Danglars -- "so be it."

Then, if I should require more,continued Monte Cristo in
a careless mannerwhy, of course, I should draw upon you;
but my present intention is not to remain in France more
than a year, and during that period I scarcely think I shall
exceed the sum I mentioned. However, we shall see. Be kind
enough, then, to send me 500,000 francs to-morrow. I shall
be at home till midday, or if not, I will leave a receipt
with my steward.

The money you desire shall be at your house by ten o'clock
to-morrow morning, my dear count,replied Danglars. "How
would you like to have it? in goldsilveror notes?"

Half in gold, and the other half in bank-notes, if you
please,said the countrising from his seat.

I must confess to you, count,said Danglarsthat I have
hitherto imagined myself acquainted with the degree of all
the great fortunes of Europe, and still wealth such as yours
has been wholly unknown to me. May I presume to ask whether
you have long possessed it?

It has been in the family a very long while,returned
Monte Cristoa sort of treasure expressly forbidden to be
touched for a certain period of years, during which the
accumulated interest has doubled the capital. The period
appointed by the testator for the disposal of these riches
occurred only a short time ago, and they have only been
employed by me within the last few years. Your ignorance on
the subject, therefore, is easily accounted for. However,
you will be better informed as to me and my possessions ere
long.And the countwhile pronouncing these latter words
accompanied them with one of those ghastly smiles that used
to strike terror into poor Franz d'Epinay.


With your tastes, and means of gratifying them,continued
Danglarsyou will exhibit a splendor that must effectually
put us poor miserable millionaires quite in the shade. If I
mistake not you are an admirer of paintings, at least I
judged so from the attention you appeared to be bestowing on
mine when I entered the room. If you will permit me, I shall
be happy to show you my picture gallery, composed entirely
of works by the ancient masters -- warranted as such. Not a
modern picture among them. I cannot endure the modern school
of painting.

You are perfectly right in objecting to them, for this one
great fault -- that they have not yet had time to become
old.

Or will you allow me to show you several fine statues by
Thorwaldsen, Bartoloni, and Canova? -- all foreign artists,
for, as you may perceive, I think but very indifferently of
our French sculptors.

You have a right to be unjust to them, monsieur; they are
your compatriots.

But all this may come later, when we shall be better known
to each other. For the present, I will confine myself (if
perfectly agreeable to you) to introducing you to the
Baroness Danglars -- excuse my impatience, my dear count,
but a client like you is almost like a member of the
family.Monte Cristo bowedin sign that he accepted the
proffered honor; Danglars rang and was answered by a servant
in a showy livery. "Is the baroness at home?" inquired
Danglars.

Yes, my lord,answered the man.

And alone?

No, my lord, madame has visitors.

Have you any objection to meet any persons who may be with
madame, or do you desire to preserve a strict incognito?

No, indeed,replied Monte Cristo with a smileI do not
arrogate to myself the right of so doing.

And who is with madame? -- M. Debray?inquired Danglars
with an air of indulgence and good-nature that made Monte
Cristo smileacquainted as he was with the secrets of the
banker's domestic life.

Yes, my lord,replied the servantM. Debray is with
madame.Danglars nodded his head; thenturning to Monte
CristosaidM. Lucien Debray is an old friend of ours,
and private secretary to the Minister of the Interior. As
for my wife, I must tell you, she lowered herself by
marrying me, for she belongs to one of the most ancient
families in France. Her maiden name was De Servieres, and
her first husband was Colonel the Marquis of Nargonne.

I have not the honor of knowing Madame Danglars; but I have
already met M. Lucien Debray.

Ah, indeed?said Danglars; "and where was that?"


At the house of M. de Morcerf.


Ah, ha, you are acquainted with the young viscount, are
you?


We were together a good deal during the Carnival at Rome.


True, true,cried Danglars. "Let me see; have I not heard
talk of some strange adventure with bandits or thieves hid
in ruinsand of his having had a miraculous escape? I
forget howbut I know he used to amuse my wife and daughter
by telling them about it after his return from Italy."


Her ladyship is waiting to receive you, gentlemen,said
the servantwho had gone to inquire the pleasure of his
mistress. "With your permission said Danglars, bowing, I
will precede youto show you the way."


By all means,replied Monte Cristo; "I follow you."


Chapter 47
The Dappled Grays.


The baronfollowed by the counttraversed a long series of
apartmentsin which the prevailing characteristics were
heavy magnificence and the gaudiness of ostentatious wealth
until he reached the boudoir of Madame Danglars -- a small
octagonal-shaped roomhung with pink satincovered with
white Indian muslin. The chairs were of ancient workmanship
and materials; over the doors were painted sketches of
shepherds and shepherdessesafter the style and manner of
Boucher; and at each side pretty medallions in crayons
harmonizing well with the furnishings of this charming
apartmentthe only one throughout the great mansion in
which any distinctive taste prevailed. The truth wasit had
been entirely overlooked in the plan arranged and followed
out by M. Danglars and his architectwho had been selected
to aid the baron in the great work of improvement solely
because he was the most fashionable and celebrated decorator
of the day. The decorations of the boudoir had then been
left entirely to Madame Danglars and Lucien Debray. M.
Danglarshoweverwhile possessing a great admiration for
the antiqueas it was understood during the time of the
Directoryentertained the most sovereign contempt for the
simple elegance of his wife's favorite sitting-roomwhere
by the wayhe was never permitted to intrudeunless
indeedhe excused his own appearance by ushering in some
more agreeable visitor than himself; and even then he had
rather the air and manner of a person who was himself
introducedthan that of being the presenter of anotherhis
reception being cordial or frigidin proportion as the
person who accompanied him chanced to please or displease
the baroness.


Madame Danglars (whoalthough past the first bloom of
youthwas still strikingly handsome) was now seated at the
pianoa most elaborate piece of cabinet and inlaid work
while Lucien Debraystanding before a small work-tablewas
turning over the pages of an album. Lucien had found time
preparatory to the count's arrivalto relate many
particulars respecting him to Madame Danglars. It will be



remembered that Monte Cristo had made a lively impression on
the minds of all the party assembled at the breakfast given
by Albert de Morcerf; and although Debray was not in the
habit of yielding to such feelingshe had never been able
to shake off the powerful influence excited in his mind by
the impressive look and manner of the countconsequently
the description given by Lucien to the baroness bore the
highly-colored tinge of his own heated imagination. Already
excited by the wonderful stories related of the count by De
Morcerfit is no wonder that Madame Danglars eagerly
listened toand fully creditedall the additional
circumstances detailed by Debray. This posing at the piano
and over the album was only a little ruse adopted by way of
precaution. A most gracious welcome and unusual smile were
bestowed on M. Danglars; the countin return for his
gentlemanly bowreceived a formal though graceful courtesy
while Lucien exchanged with the count a sort of distant
recognitionand with Danglars a free and easy nod.

Baroness,said Danglarsgive me leave to present to you
the Count of Monte Cristo, who has been most warmly
recommended to me by my correspondents at Rome. I need but
mention one fact to make all the ladies in Paris court his
notice, and that is, that he has come to take up his abode
in Paris for a year, during which brief period he proposes
to spend six millions of money. That means balls, dinners,
and lawn parties without end, in all of which I trust the
count will remember us, as he may depend upon it we shall
him, in our own humble entertainments.In spite of the
gross flattery and coarseness of this addressMadame
Danglars could not forbear gazing with considerable interest
on a man capable of expending six millions in twelve months
and who had selected Paris for the scene of his princely
extravagance. "And when did you arrive here?" inquired she.

Yesterday morning, madame.

Coming, as usual, I presume, from the extreme end of the
globe? Pardon me -- at least, such I have heard is your
custom.

Nay, madame. This time I have merely come from Cadiz.

You have selected a most unfavorable moment for your first
visit. Paris is a horrible place in summer. Balls, parties,
and fetes are over; the Italian opera is in London; the
French opera everywhere except in Paris. As for the Theatre
Francais, you know, of course, that it is nowhere. The only
amusements left us are the indifferent races at the Champ de
Mars and Satory. Do you propose entering any horses at
either of these races, count?

I shall do whatever they do at Paris, madame, if I have the
good fortune to find some one who will initiate me into the
prevalent ideas of amusement.

Are you fond of horses, count?

I have passed a considerable part of my life in the East,
madame, and you are doubtless aware that the Orientals value
only two things -- the fine breeding of their horses and the
beauty of their women.

Nay, count,said the baronessit would have been


somewhat more gallant to have placed the ladies first.

You see, madame, how rightly I spoke when I said I required
a preceptor to guide me in all my sayings and doings here.
At this instant the favorite attendant of Madame Danglars
entered the boudoir; approaching her mistressshe spoke
some words in an undertone. Madame Danglars turned very
palethen exclaimed-- "I cannot believe it; the thing is
impossible."

I assure you, madame,replied the womanit is as I have
said.Turning impatiently towards her husbandMadame
Danglars demandedIs this true?

Is what true, madame?inquired Danglarsvisibly agitated.

What my maid tells me.

But what does she tell you?

That when my coachman was about to harness the horses to my
carriage, he discovered that they had been removed from the
stables without his knowledge. I desire to know what is the
meaning of this?

Be kind enough, madame, to listen to me,said Danglars.

Oh, yes; I will listen, monsieur, for I am most curious to
hear what explanation you will give. These two gentlemen
shall decide between us; but, first, I will state the case
to them. Gentlemen,continued the baronessamong the ten
horses in the stables of Baron Danglars, are two that belong
exclusively to me -- a pair of the handsomest and most
spirited creatures to be found in Paris. But to you, at
least, M. Debray, I need not give a further description,
because to you my beautiful pair of dappled grays were well
known. Well, I had promised Madame de Villefort the loan of
my carriage to drive to-morrow to the Bois; but when my
coachman goes to fetch the grays from the stables they are
gone -- positively gone. No doubt M. Danglars has sacrificed
them to the selfish consideration of gaining some thousands
of paltry francs. Oh, what a detestable crew they are, these
mercenary speculators!

Madame,replied Danglarsthe horses were not
sufficiently quiet for you; they were scarcely four years
old, and they made me extremely uneasy on your account.

Nonsense,retorted the baroness; "you could not have
entertained any alarm on the subjectbecause you are
perfectly well aware that I have had for a month in my
service the very best coachman in Paris. Butperhapsyou
have disposed of the coachman as well as the horses?"

My dear love, pray do not say any more about them, and I
promise you another pair exactly like them in appearance,
only more quiet and steady.The baroness shrugged her
shoulders with an air of ineffable contemptwhile her
husbandaffecting not to observe this unconjugal gesture
turned towards Monte Cristo and said-- "Upon my word
countI am quite sorry not to have met you sooner. You are
setting up an establishmentof course?"

Why, yes,replied the count.


I should have liked to have made you the offer of these
horses. I have almost given them away, as it is; but, as I
before said, I was anxious to get rid of them upon any
terms. They were only fit for a young man.

I am much obliged by your kind intentions towards me,said
Monte Cristo; "but this morning I purchased a very excellent
pair of carriage-horsesand I do not think they were dear.
There they are. ComeM. Debrayyou are a connoisseurI
believelet me have your opinion upon them." As Debray
walked towards the windowDanglars approached his wife. "I
could not tell you before others said he in a low tone,
the reason of my parting with the horses; but a most
enormous price was offered me this morning for them. Some
madman or foolbent upon ruining himself as fast as he can
actually sent his steward to me to purchase them at any
cost; and the fact isI have gained 16000 francs by the
sale of them. Comedon't look so angryand you shall have
4000 francs of the money to do what you like withand
Eugenie shall have 2000. Therewhat do you think now of
the affair? Wasn't I right to part with the horses?" Madame
Danglars surveyed her husband with a look of withering
contempt.

Great heavens?suddenly exclaimed Debray.

What is it?asked the baroness.

I cannot be mistaken; there are your horses! The very
animals we were speaking of, harnessed to the count's
carriage!

My dappled grays?demanded the baronessspringing to the
window. "'Tis indeed they!" said she. Danglars looked
absolutely stupefied. "How very singular cried Monte
Cristo with well-feigned astonishment.

I cannot believe it murmured the banker. Madame Danglars
whispered a few words in the ear of Debray, who approached
Monte Cristo, saying, The baroness wishes to know what you
paid her husband for the horses."

I scarcely know,replied the count; "it was a little
surprise prepared for me by my stewardand cost me -- well
somewhere about 30000 francs." Debray conveyed the count's
reply to the baroness. Poor Danglars looked so crest-fallen
and discomfited that Monte Cristo assumed a pitying air
towards him. "See said the count, how very ungrateful
women are. Your kind attentionin providing for the safety
of the baroness by disposing of the horsesdoes not seem to
have made the least impression on her. But so it is; a woman
will oftenfrom mere wilfulnessprefer that which is
dangerous to that which is safe. Thereforein my opinion
my dear baronthe best and easiest way is to leave them to
their fanciesand allow them to act as they pleaseand
thenif any mischief followswhyat leastthey have no
one to blame but themselves." Danglars made no reply; he was
occupied in anticipations of the coming scene between
himself and the baronesswhose frowning browlike that of
Olympic Jovepredicted a storm. Debraywho perceived the
gathering cloudsand felt no desire to witness the
explosion of Madame Danglars' ragesuddenly recollected an
appointmentwhich compelled him to take his leave; while


Monte Cristounwilling by prolonging his stay to destroy
the advantages he hoped to obtainmade a farewell bow and
departedleaving Danglars to endure the angry reproaches of
his wife.

Excellent,murmured Monte Cristo to himselfas he came
away. "All his gone according to my wishes. The domestic
peace of this family is henceforth in my hands. Nowthen
to play another master-strokeby which I shall gain the
heart of both husband and wife -- delightful! Still added
he, amid all thisI have not yet been presented to
Mademoiselle Eugenie Danglarswhose acquaintance I should
have been glad to make. But he went on with his peculiar
smile, I am here in Parisand have plenty of time before
me -- by and by will do for that." With these reflections he
entered his carriage and returned home. Two hours
afterwardsMadame Danglars received a most flattering
epistle from the countin which he entreated her to receive
back her favorite "dappled grays protesting that he could
not endure the idea of making his entry into the Parisian
world of fashion with the knowledge that his splendid
equipage had been obtained at the price of a lovely woman's
regrets. The horses were sent back wearing the same harness
she had seen on them in the morning; only, by the count's
orders, in the centre of each rosette that adorned either
side of their heads, had been fastened a large diamond.

To Danglars Monte Cristo also wrote, requesting him to
excuse the whimsical gift of a capricious millionaire, and
to beg the baroness to pardon the Eastern fashion adopted in
the return of the horses.

During the evening, Monte Cristo quitted Paris for Auteuil,
accompanied by Ali. The following day, about three o'clock,
a single blow struck on the gong summoned Ali to the
presence of the count. Ali observed his master, as the
Nubian entered the chamber, you have frequently explained
to me how more than commonly skilful you are in throwing the
lassohave you not?" Ali drew himself up proudlyand then
returned a sign in the affirmative. "I thought I did not
mistake. With your lasso you could stop an ox?" Again Ali
repeated his affirmative gesture. "Or a tiger?" Ali bowed
his head in token of assent. "A lion even?" Ali sprung
forwardsimitating the action of one throwing the lasso
then of a strangled lion.

I understand,said Monte Cristo; "you wish to tell me you
have hunted the lion?" Ali smiled with triumphant pride as
he signified that he had indeed both chased and captured
many lions. "But do you believe you could arrest the
progress of two horses rushing forwards with ungovernable
fury?" The Nubian smiled. "It is well said Monte Cristo.
Then listen to me. Ere long a carriage will dash past here
drawn by the pair of dappled gray horses you saw me with
yesterday; nowat the risk of your own lifeyou must
manage to stop those horses before my door."

Ali descended to the streetand marked a straight line on
the pavement immediately at the entrance of the houseand
then pointed out the line he had traced to the countwho
was watching him. The count patted him gently on the
shoulderhis usual mode of praising Aliwhopleased and
gratified with the commission assigned himwalked calmly
towards a projecting stone forming the angle of the street


and houseandseating himself thereonbegan to smoke his
chibouquewhile Monte Cristo re-entered his dwelling
perfectly assured of the success of his plan. Stillas five
o'clock approachedand the carriage was momentarily
expected by the countthe indication of more than common
impatience and uneasiness might be observed in his manner.
He stationed himself in a room commanding a view of the
streetpacing the chamber with restless stepsstopping
merely to listen from time to time for the sound of
approaching wheelsthen to cast an anxious glance on Ali;
but the regularity with which the Nubian puffed forth the
smoke of his chibouque proved that he at least was wholly
absorbed in the enjoyment of his favorite occupation.
Suddenly a distant sound of rapidly advancing wheels was
heardand almost immediately a carriage appeareddrawn by
a pair of wildungovernable horseswhile the terrified
coachman strove in vain to restrain their furious speed.

In the vehicle was a young woman and a child of about seven
or eight clasped in each other's arms. Terror seemed to have
deprived them even of the power of uttering a cry. The
carriage creaked and rattled as it flew over the rough
stonesand the slightest obstacle under the wheels would
have caused disaster; but it kept on in the middle of the
roadand those who saw it pass uttered cries of terror.

Ali suddenly cast aside his chibouquedrew the lasso from
his pocketthrew it so skilfully as to catch the forelegs
of the near horse in its triple foldand suffered himself
to be dragged on for a few steps by the violence of the
shockthen the animal fell over on the polewhich snapped
and therefore prevented the other horse from pursuing its
way. Gladly availing himself of this opportunitythe
coachman leaped from his box; but Ali had promptly seized
the nostrils of the second horseand held them in his iron
grasptill the beastsnorting with painsunk beside his
companion. All this was achieved in much less time than is
occupied in the recital. The brief space hadhoweverbeen
sufficient for a manfollowed by a number of servantsto
rush from the house before which the accident had occurred
andas the coachman opened the door of the carriageto
take from it a lady who was convulsively grasping the
cushions with one handwhile with the other she pressed to
her bosom the young boywho had lost consciousness.

Monte Cristo carried them both to the salonand deposited
them on a sofa. "Compose yourselfmadame said he; all
danger is over." The woman looked up at these wordsand
with a glance far more expressive than any entreaties could
have beenpointed to her childwho still continued
insensible. "I understand the nature of your alarms
madame said the count, carefully examining the child, but
I assure you there is not the slightest occasion for
uneasiness; your little charge has not received the least
injury; his insensibility is merely the effects of terror
and will soon pass."

Are you quite sure you do not say so to tranquillize my
fears? See how deadly pale he is! My child, my darling
Edward; speak to your mother -- open your dear eyes and look
on me once again! Oh, sir, in pity send for a physician; my
whole fortune shall not be thought too much for the recovery
of my boy.


With a calm smile and a gentle wave of the handMonte
Cristo signed to the distracted mother to lay aside her
apprehensions; thenopening a casket that stood nearhe
drew forth a phial of Bohemian glass incrusted with gold
containing a liquid of the color of bloodof which he let
fall a single drop on the child's lips. Scarcely had it
reached themere the boythough still pale as marble
opened his eyesand eagerly gazed around him. At thisthe
delight of the mother was almost frantic. "Where am I?"
exclaimed she; "and to whom am I indebted for so happy a
termination to my late dreadful alarm?"

Madame,answered the countyou are under the roof of one
who esteems himself most fortunate in having been able to
save you from a further continuance of your sufferings.

My wretched curiosity has brought all this about,pursued
the lady. "All Paris rung with the praises of Madame
Danglars' beautiful horsesand I had the folly to desire to
know whether they really merited the high praise given to
them."

Is it possible,exclaimed the count with well-feigned
astonishmentthat these horses belong to the baroness?

They do, indeed. May I inquire if you are acquainted with
Madame Danglars?

I have that honor; and my happiness at your escape from the
danger that threatened you is redoubled by the consciousness
that I have been the unwilling and the unintentional cause
of all the peril you have incurred. I yesterday purchased
these horses of the baron; but as the baroness evidently
regretted parting with them, I ventured to send them back to
her, with a request that she would gratify me by accepting
them from my hands.

You are, then, doubtless, the Count of Monte Cristo, of
whom Hermine has talked to me so much?

You have rightly guessed, madame,replied the count.

And I am Madame Heloise de Villefort.The count bowed with
the air of a person who hears a name for the first time.
How grateful will M. de Villefort be for all your goodness;
how thankfully will he acknowledge that to you alone he owes
the existence of his wife and child! Most certainly, but for
the prompt assistance of your intrepid servant, this dear
child and myself must both have perished.

Indeed, I still shudder at the fearful danger you were
placed in.

I trust you will allow me to recompense worthily the
devotion of your man.

I beseech you, madame,replied Monte Cristo "not to spoil
Alieither by too great praise or rewards. I cannot allow
him to acquire the habit of expecting to be recompensed for
every trifling service he may render. Ali is my slaveand
in saving your life he was but discharging his duty to me."

Nay,interposed Madame de Villeforton whom the
authoritative style adopted by the count made a deep


impressionnay, but consider that to preserve my life he
has risked his own.

His life, madame, belongs not to him; it is mine, in return
for my having myself saved him from death.Madame de
Villefort made no further reply; her mind was utterly
absorbed in the contemplation of the person whofrom the
first instant she saw himhad made so powerful an
impression on her. During the evident preoccupation of
Madame de VillefortMonte Cristo scrutinized the features
and appearance of the boy she kept folded in her arms
lavishing on him the most tender endearments. The child was
small for his ageand unnaturally pale. A mass of straight
black hairdefying all attempts to train or curl itfell
over his projecting foreheadand hung down to his
shouldersgiving increased vivacity to eyes already
sparkling with a youthful love of mischief and fondness for
every forbidden enjoyment. His mouth was largeand the
lipswhich had not yet regained their colorwere
particularly thin; in factthe deep and crafty lookgiving
a predominant expression to the child's facebelonged
rather to a boy of twelve or fourteen than to one so young.
His first movement was to free himself by a violent push
from the encircling arms of his motherand to rush forward
to the casket from whence the count had taken the phial of
elixir; thenwithout asking permission of any onehe
proceededin all the wilfulness of a spoiled child
unaccustomed to restrain either whims or capricesto pull
the corks out of all the bottles.

Touch nothing, my little friend,cried the count eagerly;
some of those liquids are not only dangerous to taste, but
even to inhale.

Madame de Villefort became very paleandseizing her son's
armdrew him anxiously toward her; butonce satisfied of
his safetyshe also cast a brief but expressive glance on
the casketwhich was not lost upon the count. At this
moment Ali entered. At sight of him Madame de Villefort
uttered an expression of pleasureandholding the child
still closer towards hershe saidEdward, dearest, do you
see that good man? He has shown very great courage and
resolution, for he exposed his own life to stop the horses
that were running away with us, and would certainly have
dashed the carriage to pieces. Thank him, then, my child, in
your very best manner; for, had he not come to our aid,
neither you nor I would have been alive to speak our
thanks.The child stuck out his lips and turned away his
head in a disdainful mannersayingHe's too ugly.

The count smiled as if the child bade fair to realize his
hopeswhile Madame de Villefort reprimanded her son with a
gentleness and moderation very far from conveying the least
idea of a fault having been committed. "This lady said the
Count, speaking to Ali in the Arabic language, is desirous
that her son should thank you for saving both their lives;
but the boy refusessaying you are too ugly." Ali turned
his intelligent countenance towards the boyon whom he
gazed without any apparent emotion; but the spasmodic
working of the nostrils showed to the practiced eye of Monte
Cristo that the Arab had been wounded to the heart.

Will you permit me to inquire,said Madame de Villefort
as she arose to take her leavewhether you usually reside


here?

No, I do not,replied Monte Cristo; "it is a small place I
have purchased quite lately. My place of abode is No. 30
Avenue des Champs Elysees; but I see you have quite
recovered from your frightand areno doubtdesirous of
returning home. Anticipating your wishesI have desired the
same horses you came with to be put to one of my carriages
and Alihe whom you think so very ugly continued he,
addressing the boy with a smiling air, will have the honor
of driving you homewhile your coachman remains here to
attend to the necessary repairs of your calash. As soon as
that important business is concludedI will have a pair of
my own horses harnessed to convey it direct to Madame
Danglars."

I dare not return with those dreadful horses,said Madame
de Villefort.

You will see,replied Monte Cristothat they will be as
different as possible in the hands of Ali. With him they
will be gentle and docile as lambs.Ali hadindeedgiven
proof of this; forapproaching the animalswho had been
got upon their legs with considerable difficultyhe rubbed
their foreheads and nostrils with a sponge soaked in
aromatic vinegarand wiped off the sweat and foam that
covered their mouths. Thencommencing a loud whistling
noisehe rubbed them well all over their bodies for several
minutes; thenundisturbed by the noisy crowd collected
round the broken carriageAli quietly harnessed the
pacified animals to the count's chariottook the reins in
his handsand mounted the boxwhen to the utter
astonishment of those who had witnessed the ungovernable
spirit and maddened speed of the same horseshe was
actually compelled to apply his whip in no very gentle
manner before he could induce them to start; and even then
all that could be obtained from the celebrated "dappled
grays now changed into a couple of dull, sluggish, stupid
brutes, was a slow, pottering pace, kept up with so much
difficulty that Madame de Villefort was more than two hours
returning to her residence in the Faubourg St. Honore.

Scarcely had the first congratulations upon her marvellous
escape been gone through when she wrote the following letter
to Madame Danglars: --

Dear Hermine, -- I have just had a wonderful escape from the
most imminent danger, and I owe my safety to the very Count
of Monte Cristo we were talking about yesterday, but whom I
little expected to see to-day. I remember how unmercifully I
laughed at what I considered your eulogistic and exaggerated
praises of him; but I have now ample cause to admit that
your enthusiastic description of this wonderful man fell far
short of his merits. Your horses got as far as Ranelagh,
when they darted forward like mad things, and galloped away
at so fearful a rate, that there seemed no other prospect
for myself and my poor Edward but that of being dashed to
pieces against the first object that impeded their progress,
when a strange-looking man, -- an Arab, a negro, or a
Nubian, at least a black of some nation or other -- at a
signal from the count, whose domestic he is, suddenly seized
and stopped the infuriated animals, even at the risk of
being trampled to death himself; and certainly he must have
had a most wonderful escape. The count then hastened to us,


and took us into his house, where he speedily recalled my
poor Edward to life. He sent us home in his own carriage.
Yours will be returned to you to-morrow. You will find your
horses in bad condition, from the results of this accident;
they seem thoroughly stupefied, as if sulky and vexed at
having been conquered by man. The count, however, his
commissioned me to assure you that two or three days' rest,
with plenty of barley for their sole food during that time,
will bring them back to as fine, that is as terrifying, a
condition as they were in yesterday. Adieu! I cannot return
you many thanks for the drive of yesterday; but, after all,
I ought not to blame you for the misconduct of your horses,
more especially as it procured me the pleasure of an
introduction to the Count of Monte Cristo, -- and certainly
that illustrious personage, apart from the millions he is
said to be so very anxious to dispose of, seemed to me one
of those curiously interesting problems I, for one, delight
in solving at any risk, even if it were to necessitate
another drive to the Bois behind your horses. Edward endured
the accident with miraculous courage -- he did not utter a
single cry, but fell lifeless into my arms; nor did a tear
fall from his eyes after it was over. I doubt not you will
consider these praises the result of blind maternal
affection, but there is a soul of iron in that delicate,
fragile body. Valentine sends many affectionate remembrances
to your dear Eugenie. I embrace you with all my heart.

Heloise de Villefort.

P.S. -- Do pray contrive some means for me to meet the Count
of Monte Cristo at your house. I must and will see him
again. I have just made M. de Villefort promise to call on
him, and I hope the visit will be returned.
That night the adventure at Auteuil was talked of
everywhere. Albert related it to his mother; Chateau-Renaud
recounted it at the Jockey Club, and Debray detailed it at
length in the salons of the minister; even Beauchamp
accorded twenty lines in his journal to the relation of the
count's courage and gallantry, thereby celebrating him as
the greatest hero of the day in the eyes of all the feminine
members of the aristocracy. Vast was the crowd of visitors
and inquiring friends who left their names at the residence
of Madame de Villefort, with the design of renewing their
visit at the right moment, of hearing from her lips all the
interesting circumstances of this most romantic adventure.
As for M. de Villefort, he fulfilled the predictions of
Heloise to the letter, -- donned his dress suit, drew on a
pair of white gloves, ordered the servants to attend the
carriage dressed in their full livery, and drove that same
night to No. 30 in the Avenue des Champs-Elysees.

Chapter 48
Ideology.

If the Count of Monte Cristo had been for a long time
familiar with the ways of Parisian society, he would have
appreciated better the significance of the step which M. de
Villefort had taken. Standing well at court, whether the
king regnant was of the older or younger branch, whether the
government was doctrinaire liberal, or conservative; looked
upon by all as a man of talent, since those who have never


experienced a political check are generally so regarded;
hated by many, but warmly supported by others, without being
really liked by anybody, M. de Villefort held a high
position in the magistracy, and maintained his eminence like
a Harlay or a Mole. His drawing-room, under the regenerating
influence of a young wife and a daughter by his first
marriage, scarcely eighteen, was still one of the
well-regulated Paris salons where the worship of traditional
customs and the observance of rigid etiquette were carefully
maintained. A freezing politeness, a strict fidelity to
government principles, a profound contempt for theories and
theorists, a deep-seated hatred of ideality, -- these were
the elements of private and public life displayed by M. de
Villefort.

He was not only a magistrate, he was almost a diplomatist.
His relations with the former court, of which he always
spoke with dignity and respect, made him respected by the
new one, and he knew so many things, that not only was he
always carefully considered, but sometimes consulted.
Perhaps this would not have been so had it been possible to
get rid of M. de Villefort; but, like the feudal barons who
rebelled against their sovereign, he dwelt in an impregnable
fortress. This fortress was his post as king's attorney, all
the advantages of which he exploited with marvellous skill,
and which he would not have resigned but to be made deputy,
and thus to replace neutrality by opposition. Ordinarily M.
de Villefort made and returned very few visits. His wife
visited for him, and this was the received thing in the
world, where the weighty and multifarious occupations of the
magistrate were accepted as an excuse for what was really
only calculated pride, a manifestation of professed
superiority -- in fact, the application of the axiom,
Pretend to think well of yourselfand the world will think
well of you an axiom a hundred times more useful in
society nowadays than that of the Greeks, Know thyself a
knowledge for which, in our days, we have substituted the
less difficult and more advantageous science of knowing
others.

To his friends M. de Villefort was a powerful protector; to
his enemies, he was a silent, but bitter opponent; for those
who were neither the one nor the other, he was a statue of
the law-made man. He had a haughty bearing, a look either
steady and impenetrable or insolently piercing and
inquisitorial. Four successive revolutions had built and
cemented the pedestal upon which his fortune was based. M.
de Villefort had the reputation of being the least curious
and the least wearisome man in France. He gave a ball every
year, at which he appeared for a quarter of an hour only, -that
is to say, five and forty minutes less than the king is
visible at his balls. He was never seen at the theatres, at
concerts, or in any place of public resort. Occasionally,
but seldom, he played at whist, and then care was taken to
select partners worthy of him -- sometimes they were
ambassadors, sometimes archbishops, or sometimes a prince,
or a president, or some dowager duchess. Such was the man
whose carriage had just now stopped before the Count of
Monte Cristo's door. The valet de chambre announced M. de
Villefort at the moment when the count, leaning over a large
table, was tracing on a map the route from St. Petersburg to
China.

The procureur entered with the same grave and measured step


he would have employed in entering a court of justice. He
was the same man, or rather the development of the same man,
whom we have heretofore seen as assistant attorney at
Marseilles. Nature, according to her way, had made no
deviation in the path he had marked out for himself. From
being slender he had now become meagre; once pale, he was
now yellow; his deep-set eyes were hollow, and the gold
spectacles shielding his eyes seemed to be an integral
portion of his face. He dressed entirely in black, with the
exception of his white tie, and his funeral appearance was
only mitigated by the slight line of red ribbon which passed
almost imperceptibly through his button-hole, and appeared
like a streak of blood traced with a delicate brush.
Although master of himself, Monte Cristo, scrutinized with
irrepressible curiosity the magistrate whose salute he
returned, and who, distrustful by habit, and especially
incredulous as to social prodigies, was much more despised
to look upon the noble stranger as Monte Cristo was
already called, as an adventurer in search of new fields, or
an escaped criminal, rather than as a prince of the Holy
See, or a sultan of the Thousand and One Nights.

Sir said Villefort, in the squeaky tone assumed by
magistrates in their oratorical periods, and of which they
cannot, or will not, divest themselves in society, sirthe
signal service which you yesterday rendered to my wife and
son has made it a duty for me to offer you my thanks. I have
comethereforeto discharge this dutyand to express to
you my overwhelming gratitude." And as he said thisthe
eye severeof the magistrate had lost nothing of its
habitual arrogance. He spoke in a voice of the
procureur-generalwith the rigid inflexibility of neck and
shoulders which caused his flatterers to say (as we have
before observed) that he was the living statue of the law.

Monsieur,replied the countwith a chilling airI am
very happy to have been the means of preserving a son to his
mother, for they say that the sentiment of maternity is the
most holy of all; and the good fortune which occurred to me,
monsieur, might have enabled you to dispense with a duty
which, in its discharge, confers an undoubtedly great honor;
for I am aware that M. de Villefort is not usually lavish of
the favor which he now bestows on me, -- a favor which,
however estimable, is unequal to the satisfaction which I
have in my own consciousness.Villefortastonished at this
replywhich he by no means expectedstarted like a soldier
who feels the blow levelled at him over the armor he wears
and a curl of his disdainful lip indicated that from that
moment he noted in the tablets of his brain that the Count
of Monte Cristo was by no means a highly bred gentleman. He
glanced around. in order to seize on something on which the
conversation might turnand seemed to fall easily on a
topic. He saw the map which Monte Cristo had been examining
when he enteredand saidYou seem geographically engaged,
sir? It is a rich study for you, who, as I learn, have seen
as many lands as are delineated on this map.

Yes, sir,replied the count; "l have sought to make of the
human racetaken in the masswhat you practice every day
on individuals -- a physiological study. I have believed it
was much easier to descend from the whole to a part than to
ascend from a part to the whole. It is an algebraic axiom
which makes us proceed from a known to an unknown quantity
and not from an unknown to a known; but sit downsirI beg


of you."

Monte Cristo pointed to a chairwhich the procureur was
obliged to take the trouble to move forwards himselfwhile
the count merely fell back into his ownon which he had
been kneeling when M. Villefort entered. Thus the count was
halfway turned towards his visitorhaving his back towards
the windowhis elbow resting on the geographical chart
which furnished the theme of conversation for the moment-a
conversation which assumedas in the case of the
interviews with Danglars and Morcerfa turn analogous to
the personsif not to the situation. "Ahyou
philosophize replied Villefort, after a moment's silence,
during which, like a wrestler who encounters a powerful
opponent, he took breath; wellsirreallyiflike you
I had nothing else to doI should seek a more amusing
occupation."

Why, in truth, sir,was Monte Cristo's replyman is but
an ugly caterpillar for him who studies him through a solar
microscope; but you said, I think, that I had nothing else
to do. Now, really, let me ask, sir, have you? -- do you
believe you have anything to do? or to speak in plain terms,
do you really think that what you do deserves being called
anything?

Villefort's astonishment redoubled at this second thrust so
forcibly made by his strange adversary. It was a long time
since the magistrate had heard a paradox so strongor
ratherto say the truth more exactlyit was the first time
he had ever heard of it. The procureur exerted himself to
reply. "Sir he responded, you are a strangerand I
believe you say yourself that a portion of your life has
been spent in Oriental countriesso you are not aware how
human justiceso expeditions in barbarous countriestakes
with us a prudent and well-studied course."

Oh, yes -- yes, I do, sir; it is the pede claudo of the
ancients. I know all that, for it is with the justice of all
countries especially that I have occupied myself -- it is
with the criminal procedure of all nations that I have
compared natural justice, and I must say, sir, that it is
the law of primitive nations, that is, the law of
retaliation, that I have most frequently found to be
according to the law of God.

If this law were adopted, sir,said the procureurit
would greatly simplify our legal codes, and in that case the
magistrates would not (as you just observed) have much to
do.

It may, perhaps, come to this in time,observed Monte
Cristo; "you know that human inventions march from the
complex to the simpleand simplicity is always perfection."

In the meanwhile,continued the magistrateour codes are
in full force, with all their contradictory enactments
derived from Gallic customs, Roman laws, and Frank usages;
the knowledge of all which, you will agree, is not to be
acquired without extended labor; it needs tedious study to
acquire this knowledge, and, when acquired, a strong power
of brain to retain it.

I agree with you entirely, sir; but all that even you know


with respect to the French code, I know, not only in
reference to that code, but as regards the codes of all
nations. The English, Turkish, Japanese, Hindu laws, are as
familiar to me as the French laws, and thus I was right,
when I said to you, that relatively (you know that
everything is relative, sir) -- that relatively to what I
have done, you have very little to do; but that relatively
to all I have learned, you have yet a great deal to learn.

But with what motive have you learned all this?inquired
Villefortin astonishment. Monte Cristo smiled. "Really
sir he observed, I see that in spite of the reputation
which you have acquired as a superior manyou look at
everything from the material and vulgar view of society
beginning with manand ending with man -- that is to say
in the most restrictedmost narrow view which it is
possible for human understanding to embrace."

Pray, sir, explain yourself,said Villefortmore and more
astonishedI really do -- not -- understand you -perfectly.


I say, sir, that with the eyes fixed on the social
organization of nations, you see only the springs of the
machine, and lose sight of the sublime workman who makes
them act; I say that you do not recognize before you and
around you any but those office-holders whose commissions
have been signed by a minister or king; and that the men
whom God has put above those office-holders, ministers, and
kings, by giving them a mission to follow out, instead of a
post to fill -- I say that they escape your narrow, limited
field of observation. It is thus that human weakness fails,
from its debilitated and imperfect organs. Tobias took the
angel who restored him to light for an ordinary young man.
The nations took Attila, who was doomed to destroy them, for
a conqueror similar to other conquerors, and it was
necessary for both to reveal their missions, that they might
be known and acknowledged; one was compelled to say, `I am
the angel of the Lord'; and the other, `I am the hammer of
God,' in order that the divine essence in both might be
revealed.

Then,said Villefortmore and more amazedand really
supposing he was speaking to a mystic or a madmanyou
consider yourself as one of those extraordinary beings whom
you have mentioned?

And why not?said Monte Cristo coldly.

Your pardon, sir,replied Villefortquite astoundedbut
you will excuse me if, when I presented myself to you, I was
unaware that I should meet with a person whose knowledge and
understanding so far surpass the usual knowledge and
understanding of men. It is not usual with us corrupted
wretches of civilization to find gentlemen like yourself,
possessors, as you are, of immense fortune -- at least, so
it is said -- and I beg you to observe that I do not
inquire, I merely repeat; -- it is not usual, I say, for
such privileged and wealthy beings to waste their time in
speculations on the state of society, in philosophical
reveries, intended at best to console those whom fate has
disinherited from the goods of this world.

Really, sir,retorted the counthave you attained the


eminent situation in which you are, without having admitted,
or even without having met with exceptions? and do you never
use your eyes, which must have acquired so much finesse and
certainty, to divine, at a glance, the kind of man by whom
you are confronted? Should not a magistrate be not merely
the best administrator of the law, but the most crafty
expounder of the chicanery of his profession, a steel probe
to search hearts, a touchstone to try the gold which in each
soul is mingled with more or less of alloy?

Sir,said Villefortupon my word, you overcome me. I
really never heard a person speak as you do.

Because you remain eternally encircled in a round of
general conditions, and have never dared to raise your wings
into those upper spheres which God has peopled with
invisible or exceptional beings.

And you allow then, sir, that spheres exist, and that these
marked and invisible beings mingle amongst us?

Why should they not? Can you see the air you breathe, and
yet without which you could not for a moment exist?

Then we do not see those beings to whom you allude?

Yes, we do; you see them whenever God pleases to allow them
to assume a material form. You touch them, come in contact
with them, speak to them, and they reply to you.

Ah,said VillefortsmilingI confess I should like to
be warned when one of these beings is in contact with me.

You have been served as you desire, monsieur, for you were
warned just now, and I now again warn you.

Then you yourself are one of these marked beings?

Yes, monsieur, I believe so; for until now, no man has
found himself in a position similar to mine. The dominions
of kings are limited either by mountains or rivers, or a
change of manners, or an alteration of language. My kingdom
is bounded only by the world, for I am not an Italian, or a
Frenchman, or a Hindu, or an American, or a Spaniard -- I am
a cosmopolite. No country can say it saw my birth. God alone
knows what country will see me die. I adopt all customs,
speak all languages. You believe me to be a Frenchman, for I
speak French with the same facility and purity as yourself.
Well, Ali, my Nubian, believes me to be an Arab; Bertuccio,
my steward, takes me for a Roman; Haidee, my slave, thinks
me a Greek. You may, therefore, comprehend, that being of no
country, asking no protection from any government,
acknowledging no man as my brother, not one of the scruples
that arrest the powerful, or the obstacles which paralyze
the weak, paralyzes or arrests me. I have only two
adversaries -- I will not say two conquerors, for with
perseverance I subdue even them, -- they are time and
distance. There is a third, and the most terrible -- that is
my condition as a mortal being. This alone can stop me in my
onward career, before I have attained the goal at which I
aim, for all the rest I have reduced to mathematical terms.
What men call the chances of fate -- namely, ruin, change,
circumstances -- I have fully anticipated, and if any of
these should overtake me, yet it will not overwhelm me.


Unless I die, I shall always be what I am, and therefore it
is that I utter the things you have never heard, even from
the mouths of kings -- for kings have need, and other
persons have fear of you. For who is there who does not say
to himself, in a society as incongruously organized as ours,
`Perhaps some day I shall have to do with the king's
attorney'?

But can you not say that, sir? The moment you become an
inhabitant of France, you are naturally subjected to the
French law.

I know it sir,replied Monte Cristo; "but when I visit a
country I begin to studyby all the means which are
availablethe men from whom I may have anything to hope or
to feartill I know them as well asperhaps better than
they know themselves. It follows from thisthat the king's
attorneybe he who he maywith whom I should have to deal
would assuredly be more embarrassed than I should."

That is to say,replied Villefort with hesitationthat
human nature being weak, every man, according to your creed,
has committed faults.

Faults or crimes,responded Monte Cristo with a negligent
air.

And that you alone, amongst the men whom you do not
recognize as your brothers -- for you have said so,
observed Villefort in a tone that faltered somewhat -- "you
alone are perfect."

No, not perfect,was the count's reply; "only
impenetrablethat's all. But let us leave off this strain
sirif the tone of it is displeasing to you; I am no more
disturbed by your justice than are you by my second-sight."

No, no, -- by no means,said Villefortwho was afraid of
seeming to abandon his ground. "No; by your brilliant and
almost sublime conversation you have elevated me above the
ordinary level; we no longer talkwe rise to dissertation.
But you know how the theologians in their collegiate chairs
and philosophers in their controversiesoccasionally say
cruel truths; let us suppose for the moment that we are
theologizing in a social wayor even philosophicallyand I
will say to yourude as it may seem`My brotheryou
sacrifice greatly to pride; you may be above othersbut
above you there is God.'"

Above us all, sir,was Monte Cristo's responsein a tone
and with an emphasis so deep that Villefort involuntarily
shuddered. "I have my pride for men -- serpents always ready
to threaten every one who would pass without crushing them
under foot. But I lay aside that pride before Godwho has
taken me from nothing to make me what I am."

Then, count, I admire you,said Villefortwhofor the
first time in this strange conversationused the
aristocratic form to the unknown personagewhomuntil now
he had only called monsieur. "Yesand I say to youif you
are really strongreally superiorreally piousor
impenetrablewhich you were right in saying amounts to the
same thing -- then be proudsirfor that is the
characteristic of predominance. Yet you have unquestionably


some ambition."

I have, sir.

And what may it be?

I too, as happens to every man once in his life, have been
taken by Satan into the highest mountain in the earth, and
when there he showed me all the kingdoms of the world, and
as he said before, so said he to me, `Child of earth, what
wouldst thou have to make thee adore me?' I reflected long,
for a gnawing ambition had long preyed upon me, and then I
replied, `Listen, -- I have always heard of providence, and
yet I have never seen him, or anything that resembles him,
or which can make me believe that he exists. I wish to be
providence myself, for I feel that the most beautiful,
noblest, most sublime thing in the world, is to recompense
and punish.' Satan bowed his head, and groaned. `You
mistake,' he said, `providence does exist, only you have
never seen him, because the child of God is as invisible as
the parent. You have seen nothing that resembles him,
because he works by secret springs, and moves by hidden
ways. All I can do for you is to make you one of the agents
of that providence.' The bargain was concluded. I may
sacrifice my soul, but what matters it?added Monte Cristo.
If the thing were to do again, I would again do it.
Villefort looked at Monte Cristo with extreme amazement.
Count,he inquiredhave you any relations?

No, sir, I am alone in the world.

So much the worse.

Why?asked Monte Cristo.

Because then you might witness a spectacle calculated to
break down your pride. You say you fear nothing but death?

I did not say that I feared it; I only said that death
alone could check the execution of my plans.

And old age?

My end will be achieved before I grow old.

And madness?

I have been nearly mad; and you know the axiom, -- non bis
in idem. It is an axiom of criminal law, and, consequently,
you understand its full application.

Sir,continued Villefortthere is something to fear
besides death, old age, and madness. For instance, there is
apoplexy -- that lightning-stroke which strikes but does not
destroy you, and yet which brings everything to an end. You
are still yourself as now, and yet you are yourself no
longer; you who, like Ariel, verge on the angelic, are but
an inert mass, which, like Caliban, verges on the brutal;
and this is called in human tongues, as I tell you, neither
more nor less than apoplexy. Come, if so you will, count,
and continue this conversation at my house, any day you may
be willing to see an adversary capable of understanding and
anxious to refute you, and I will show you my father, M.
Noirtier de Villefort, one of the most fiery Jacobins of the


French Revolution; that is to say, he had the most
remarkable audacity, seconded by a most powerful
organization -- a man who has not, perhaps, like yourself
seen all the kingdoms of the earth, but who has helped to
overturn one of the greatest; in fact, a man who believed
himself, like you, one of the envoys, not of God, but of a
supreme being; not of providence, but of fate. Well, sir,
the rupture of a blood-vessel on the lobe of the brain has
destroyed all this, not in a day, not in an hour, but in a
second. M. Noirtier, who, on the previous night, was the old
Jacobin, the old senator, the old Carbonaro, laughing at the
guillotine, the cannon, and the dagger -- M. Noirtier,
playing with revolutions -- M. Noirtier, for whom France was
a vast chess-board, from which pawns, rooks, knights, and
queens were to disappear, so that the king was checkmated -


M. Noirtier, the redoubtable, was the next morning `poor M.
Noirtier,' the helpless old man, at the tender mercies of
the weakest creature in the household, that is, his
grandchild, Valentine; a dumb and frozen carcass, in fact,
living painlessly on, that time may be given for his frame
to decompose without his consciousness of its decay.
Alas, sir,said Monte Cristo "this spectacle is neither
strange to my eye nor my thought. I am something of a
physicianand havelike my fellowssought more than once
for the soul in living and in dead matter; yetlike
providenceit has remained invisible to my eyesalthough
present to my heart. A hundred writers since Socrates
SenecaSt. Augustineand Gallhave madein verse and
prosethe comparison you have madeand yet I can well
understand that a father's sufferings may effect great
changes in the mind of a son. I will call on yousirsince
you bid me contemplatefor the advantage of my pridethis
terrible spectaclewhich must have been so great a source
of sorrow to your family."

It would have been so unquestionably, had not God given me
so large a compensation. In contrast with the old man, who
is dragging his way to the tomb, are two children just
entering into life -- Valentine, the daughter by my first
wife -- Mademoiselle Renee de Saint-Meran -- and Edward, the
boy whose life you have this day saved.

And what is your deduction from this compensation, sir?
inquired Monte Cristo.

My deduction is,replied Villefortthat my father, led
away by his passions, has committed some fault unknown to
human justice, but marked by the justice of God. That God,
desirous in his mercy to punish but one person, has visited
this justice on him alone.Monte Cristo with a smile on his
lipsuttered in the depths of his soul a groan which would
have made Villefort fly had he but heard it. "Adieusir
said the magistrate, who had risen from his seat; I leave
youbearing a remembrance of you -- a remembrance of
esteemwhich I hope will not be disagreeable to you when
you know me better; for I am not a man to bore my friends
as you will learn. Besidesyou have made an eternal friend
of Madame de Villefort." The count bowedand contented
himself with seeing Villefort to the door of his cabinet
the procureur being escorted to his carriage by two footmen
whoon a signal from their masterfollowed him with every
mark of attention. When he had goneMonte Cristo breathed a
profound sighand said-- "Enough of this poisonlet me


now seek the antidote." Then sounding his bellhe said to
Aliwho enteredI am going to madam's chamber -- have the
carriage ready at one o'clock.

Chapter 49
Haidee.

It will be recollected that the newor rather old
acquaintances of the Count of Monte Cristoresiding in the
Rue Meslaywere no other than MaximilianJulieand
Emmanuel. The very anticipations of delight to be enjoyed in
his forthcoming visits -- the brightpure gleam of heavenly
happiness it diffused over the almost deadly warfare in
which he had voluntarily engagedillumined his whole
countenance with a look of ineffable joy and calmnessas
immediately after Villefort's departurehis thoughts flew
back to the cheering prospect before himof tastingat
leasta brief respite from the fierce and stormy passions
of his mind. Even Aliwho had hastened to obey the Count's
summonswent forth from his master's presence in charmed
amazement at the unusual animation and pleasure depicted on
features ordinarily so stern and cold; whileas though
dreading to put to flight the agreeable ideas hovering over
his patron's meditationswhatever they werethe faithful
Nubian walked on tiptoe towards the doorholding his
breathlest its faintest sound should dissipate his
master's happy reverie.

It was noonand Monte Cristo had set apart one hour to be
passed in the apartments of Haideeas though his oppressed
spirit could not all at once admit the feeling of pure and
unmixed joybut required a gradual succession of calm and
gentle emotions to prepare his mind to receive full and
perfect happinessin the same manner as ordinary natures
demand to be inured by degrees to the reception of strong or
violent sensations. The young Greekas we have already
saidoccupied apartments wholly unconnected with those of
the count. The rooms had been fitted up in strict accordance
with Oriental ideas; the floors were covered with the
richest carpets Turkey could produce; the walls hung with
brocaded silk of the most magnificent designs and texture;
while around each chamber luxurious divans were placedwith
piles of soft and yielding cushionsthat needed only to be
arranged at the pleasure or convenience of such as sought
repose. Haidee and three French maidsand one who was a
Greek. The first three remained constantly in a small
waiting-roomready to obey the summons of a small golden
bellor to receive the orders of the Romaic slavewho knew
just enough French to be able to transmit her mistress's
wishes to the three other waiting-women; the latter had
received most peremptory instructions from Monte Cristo to
treat Haidee with all the deference they would observe to a
queen.

The young girl herself generally passed her time in the
chamber at the farther end of her apartments. This was a
sort of boudoircircularand lighted only from the roof
which consisted of rose-colored glass. Haidee was reclining
upon soft downy cushionscovered with blue satin spotted
with silver; her headsupported by one of her exquisitely
moulded armsrested on the divan immediately behind her
while the other was employed in adjusting to her lips the


coral tube of a rich narghilethrough whose flexible pipe
she drew the smoke fragrant by its passage through perfumed
water. Her attitudethough perfectly natural for an Eastern
woman wouldin a Europeanhave been deemed too full of
coquettish straining after effect. Her dresswhich was that
of the women of Epirusconsisted of a pair of white satin
trousersembroidered with pink rosesdisplaying feet so
exquisitely formed and so delicately fairthat they might
well have been taken for Parian marblehad not the eye been
undeceived by their movements as they constantly shifted in
and out of a pair of little slippers with upturned toes
beautifully ornamented with gold and pearls. She wore a blue
and white-striped vestwith long open sleevestrimmed with
silver loops and buttons of pearlsand a sort of bodice
whichclosing only from the centre to the waistexhibited
the whole of the ivory throat and upper part of the bosom;
it was fastened with three magnificent diamond clasps. The
junction of the bodice and drawers was entirely concealed by
one of the many-colored scarfswhose brilliant hues and
rich silken fringe have rendered them so precious in the
eyes of Parisian belles. Tilted on one side of her head she
had a small cap of gold-colored silkembroidered with
pearls; while on the other a purple rose mingled its glowing
colors with the luxuriant masses of her hairof which the
blackness was so intense that it was tinged with blue. The
extreme beauty of the countenancethat shone forth in
loveliness that mocked the vain attempts of dress to augment
itwas peculiarly and purely Grecian; there were the large
darkmelting eyesthe finely formed nosethe coral lips
and pearly teeththat belonged to her race and country.
Andto complete the wholeHaidee was in the very
springtide and fulness of youthful charms -- she had not yet
numbered more than twenty summers.

Monte Cristo summoned the Greek attendantand bade her
inquire whether it would be agreeable to her mistress to
receive his visit. Haidee's only reply was to direct her
servant by a sign to withdraw the tapestried curtain that
hung before the door of her boudoirthe framework of the
opening thus made serving as a sort of border to the
graceful tableau presented by the young girl's picturesque
attitude and appearance. As Monte Cristo approachedshe
leaned upon the elbow of the arm that held the narghileand
extending to him her other handsaidwith a smile of
captivating sweetnessin the sonorous language spoken by
the women of Athens and SpartaWhy demand permission ere
you enter? Are you no longer my master, or have I ceased to
be your slave?Monte Cristo returned her smile. "Haidee
said he, you well know."

Why do you address me so coldly -- so distantly?asked the
young Greek. "Have I by any means displeased you? Ohif so
punish me as you will; but do not -- do not speak to me in
tones and manner so formal and constrained."

Haidee,replied the countyou know that you are now in
France, and are free.

Free to do what?asked the young girl.

Free to leave me.

Leave you? Why should I leave you?


That is not for me to say; but we are now about to mix in
society -- to visit and be visited.

I don't wish to see anybody but you.

And should you see one whom you could prefer, I would not
be so unjust-


I have never seen any one I preferred to you, and I have
never loved any one but you and my father.

My poor child,replied Monte Cristothat is merely
because your father and myself are the only men who have
ever talked to you.

I don't want anybody else to talk to me. My father said I
was his `joy' -- you style me your `love,' -- and both of
you have called me `my child.'

Do you remember your father, Haidee?The young Greek
smiled. "He is hereand here said she, touching her eyes
and her heart. And where am I?" inquired Monte Cristo
laughingly.

You?cried shewith tones of thrilling tendernessyou
are everywhere!Monte Cristo took the delicate hand of the
young girl in hisand was about to raise it to his lips
when the simple child of nature hastily withdrew itand
presented her cheek. "You now understandHaidee said the
count, that from this moment you are absolutely free; that
here you exercise unlimited swayand are at liberty to lay
aside or continue the costume of your countryas it may
suit your inclination. Within this mansion you are absolute
mistress of your actionsand may go abroad or remain in
your apartments as may seem most agreeable to you. A
carriage waits your ordersand Ali and Myrtho will
accompany you whithersoever you desire to go. There is but
one favor I would entreat of you."

Speak.

Guard carefully the secret of your birth. Make no allusion
to the past; nor upon any occasion be induced to pronounce
the names of your illustrious father or ill-fated mother.

I have already told you, my lord, that I shall see no one.

It is possible, Haidee, that so perfect a seclusion, though
conformable with the habits and customs of the East, may not
be practicable in Paris. Endeavor, then, to accustom
yourself to our manner of living in these northern climes as
you did to those of Rome, Florence, Milan, and Madrid; it
may be useful to you one of these days, whether you remain
here or return to the East.The young girl raised her
tearful eyes towards Monte Cristo as she said with touching
earnestnessWhether we return to the East, you mean to
say, my lord, do you not?

My child,returned Monte Cristo "you know full well that
whenever we partit will be no fault or wish of mine; the
tree forsakes not the flower -- the flower falls from the
tree."

My lord,replied HaideeI never will leave you, for I am


sure I could not exist without you.


My poor girl, in ten years I shall be old, and you will be
still young.


My father had a long white beard, but I loved him; he was
sixty years old, but to me he was handsomer than all the
fine youths I saw.


Then tell me, Haidee, do you believe you shall be able to
accustom yourself to our present mode of life?


Shall I see you?


Every day.


Then what do you fear, my lord?


You might find it dull.


No, my lord. In the morning, I shall rejoice in the
prospect of your coming, and in the evening dwell with
delight on the happiness I have enjoyed in your presence;
then too, when alone, I can call forth mighty pictures of
the past, see vast horizons bounded only by the towering
mountains of Pindus and Olympus. Oh, believe me, that when
three great passions, such as sorrow, love, and gratitude
fill the heart, ennui can find no place.


You are a worthy daughter of Epirus, Haidee, and your
charming and poetical ideas prove well your descent from
that race of goddesses who claim your country as their
birthplace. Depend on my care to see that your youth is not
blighted, or suffered to pass away in ungenial solitude; and
of this be well assured, that if you love me as a father, I
love you as a child.


You are wrong, my lord. The love I have for you is very
different from the love I had for my father. My father died,
but I did not die. If you were to die, I should die too.
The Countwith a smile of profound tendernessextended his
handand she carried it to her lips. Monte Cristothus
attuned to the interview he proposed to hold with Morrel and
his familydepartedmurmuring as he went these lines of
PindarYouth is a flower of which love is the fruit; happy
is he who, after having watched its silent growth, is
permitted to gather and call it his own.The carriage was
prepared according to ordersand stepping lightly into it
the count drove off at his usual rapid pace.


Chapter 50
The Morrel Family.


In a very few minutes the count reached No. 7 in the Rue
Meslay. The house was of white stoneand in a small court
before it were two small beds full of beautiful flowers. In
the concierge that opened the gate the count recognized
Cocles; but as he had but one eyeand that eye had become
somewhat dim in the course of nine yearsCocles did not
recognize the count. The carriages that drove up to the door
were compelled to turnto avoid a fountain that played in a
basin of rockwork-- an ornament that had excited the



jealousy of the whole quarterand had gained for the place
the appellation of "The Little Versailles." It is needless
to add that there were gold and silver fish in the basin.
The housewith kitchens and cellars belowhad above the
ground-floortwo stories and attics. The whole of the
propertyconsisting of an immense workshoptwo pavilions
at the bottom of the gardenand the garden itselfhad been
purchased by Emmanuelwho had seen at a glance that he
could make of it a profitable speculation. He had reserved
the house and half the gardenand building a wall between
the garden and the workshopshad let them upon lease with
the pavilions at the bottom of the garden. So that for a
trifling sum he was as well lodgedand as perfectly shut
out from observationas the inhabitants of the finest
mansion in the Faubourg St. Germain. The breakfast-room was
finished in oak; the salon in mahoganyand the furnishings
were of blue velvet; the bedroom was in citronwood and green
damask. There was a study for Emmanuelwho never studied
and a music-room for Juliewho never played. The whole of
the second story was set apart for Maximilian; it was
precisely similar to his sister's apartmentsexcept that
for the breakfast-parlor he had a billiard-roomwhere he
received his friends. He was superintending the grooming of
his horseand smoking his cigar at the entrance of the
gardenwhen the count's carriage stopped at the gate.

Cocles opened the gateand Baptistinspringing from the
boxinquired whether Monsieur and Madame Herbault and
Monsieur Maximilian Morrel would see his excellency the
Count of Monte Cristo. "The Count of Monte Cristo?" cried
Morrelthrowing away his cigar and hastening to the
carriage; "I should think we would see him. Aha thousand
thankscountfor not having forgotten your promise." And
the young officer shook the count's hand so warmlythat
Monte Cristo could not be mistaken as to the sincerity of
his joyand he saw that he had been expected with
impatienceand was received with pleasure. "Comecome
said Maximilian, I will serve as your guide; such a man as
you are ought not to be introduced by a servant. My sister
is in the garden plucking the dead roses; my brother is
reading his two papersthe Presse and the Debatswithin
six steps of her; for wherever you see Madame Herbaultyou
have only to look within a circle of four yards and you will
find M. Emmanueland `reciprocally' as they say at the
Polytechnic School." At the sound of their steps a young
woman of twenty to five and twentydressed in a silk
morning gownand busily engaged in plucking the dead leaves
off a noisette rose-treeraised her head. This was Julie
who had becomeas the clerk of the house of Thomson &
French had predictedMadame Emmanuel Herbault. She uttered
a cry of surprise at the sight of a strangerand Maximilian
began to laugh. "Don't disturb yourselfJulie said he.
The count has only been two or three days in Parisbut he
already knows what a fashionable woman of the Marais isand
if he does notyou will show him."

Ah, monsieur,returned Julieit is treason in my brother
to bring you thus, but he never has any regard for his poor
sister. Penelon, Penelon!An old manwho was digging
busily at one of the bedsstuck his spade in the earthand
approachedcap in handstriving to conceal a quid of
tobacco he had just thrust into his cheek. A few locks of
gray mingled with his hairwhich was still thick and
mattedwhile his bronzed features and determined glance


well suited an old sailor who had braved the heat of the
equator and the storms of the tropics. "I think you hailed
meMademoiselle Julie?" said he. Penelon had still
preserved the habit of calling his master's daughter
Mademoiselle Julie,and had never been able to change the
name to Madame Herbault. "Penelon replied Julie, go and
inform M. Emmanuel of this gentleman's visitand Maximilian
will conduct him to the salon." Thenturning to Monte
Cristo-- "I hope you will permit me to leave you for a few
minutes continued she; and without awaiting any reply,
disappeared behind a clump of trees, and escaped to the
house by a lateral alley.

I am sorry to see observed Monte Cristo to Morrel, that
I cause no small disturbance in your house."

Look there,said Maximilianlaughing; "there is her
husband changing his jacket for a coat. I assure youyou
are well known in the Rue Meslay."

Your family appears to be a very happy one,said the
countas if speaking to himself.

Oh, yes, I assure you, count, they want nothing that can
render them happy; they are young and cheerful, they are
tenderly attached to each other, and with twenty-five
thousand francs a year they fancy themselves as rich as
Rothschild.

Five and twenty thousand francs is not a large sum,
however,replied Monte Cristowith a tone so sweet and
gentlethat it went to Maximilian's heart like the voice of
a father; "but they will not be content with that. Your
brother-in-law is a barrister? a doctor?"

He was a merchant, monsieur, and had succeeded to the
business of my poor father. M. Morrel, at his death, left
500,000 francs, which were divided between my sister and
myself, for we were his only children. Her husband, who,
when he married her, had no other patrimony than his noble
probity, his first-rate ability, and his spotless
reputation, wished to possess as much as his wife. He
labored and toiled until he had amassed 250,000 francs; six
years sufficed to achieve this object. Oh, I assure you,
sir, it was a touching spectacle to see these young
creatures, destined by their talents for higher stations,
toiling together, and through their unwillingness to change
any of the customs of their paternal house, taking six years
to accomplish what less scrupulous people would have
effected in two or three. Marseilles resounded with their
well-earned praises. At last, one day, Emmanuel came to his
wife, who had just finished making up the accounts. `Julie,'
said he to her, `Cocles has just given me the last rouleau
of a hundred francs; that completes the 250,000 francs we
had fixed as the limits of our gains. Can you content
yourself with the small fortune which we shall possess for
the future? Listen to me. Our house transacts business to
the amount of a million a year, from which we derive an
income of 40,000 francs. We can dispose of the business, if
we please, in an hour, for I have received a letter from M.
Delaunay, in which he offers to purchase the good-will of
the house, to unite with his own, for 300,000 francs. Advise
me what I had better do.' -- `Emmanuel,' returned my sister,
`the house of Morrel can only be carried on by a Morrel. Is


it not worth 300,000 francs to save our father's name from
the chances of evil fortune and failure?' -- `I thought so,'
replied Emmanuel; `but I wished to have your advice.' -`
This is my counsel: -- Our accounts are made up and our
bills paid; all we have to do is to stop the issue of any
more, and close our office.' This was done instantly. It was
three o'clock; at a quarter past, a merchant presented
himself to insure two ships; it was a clear profit of 15,000
francs. `Monsieur,' said Emmanuel, `have the goodness to
address yourself to M. Delaunay. We have quitted business.'
-- `How long?' inquired the astonished merchant. `A quarter
of an hour,' was the reply. And this is the reason,
monsieur,continued Maximilianof my sister and
brother-in-law having only 25,000 francs a year.

Maximilian had scarcely finished his storyduring which the
count's heart had swelled within himwhen Emmanuel entered
wearing a hat and coat. He saluted the count with the air of
a man who is aware of the rank of his guest; thenafter
having led Monte Cristo around the little gardenhe
returned to the house. A large vase of Japan porcelain
filled with flowers that loaded the air with their perfume
stood in the salon. Juliesuitably dressedand her hair
arranged (she had accomplished this feat in less than ten
minutes)received the count on his entrance. The songs of
the birds were heard in an aviary hard byand the branches
of laburnums and rose acacias formed an exquisite framework
to the blue velvet curtains. Everything in this charming
retreatfrom the warble of the birds to the smile of the
mistressbreathed tranquillity and repose. The count had
felt the influence of this happiness from the moment he
entered the houseand he remained silent and pensive
forgetting that he was expected to renew the conversation
which had ceased after the first salutations had been
exchanged. The silence became almost painful whenby a
violent efforttearing himself from his pleasing reverie -"
Madame said he at length, I pray you to excuse my
emotionwhich must astonish you who are only accustomed to
the happiness I meet here; but contentment is so new a sight
to methat I could never be weary of looking at yourself
and your husband."

We are very happy, monsieur,replied Julie; "but we have
also known unhappinessand few have ever undergone more
bitter sufferings than ourselves." The Count's features
displayed an expression of the most intense curiosity.

Oh, all this is a family history, as Chateau-Renaud told
you the other day,observed Maximilian. "This humble
picture would have but little interest for youaccustomed
as you are to behold the pleasures and the misfortunes of
the wealthy and industrious; but such as we arewe have
experienced bitter sorrows."

And God has poured balm into your wounds, as he does into
those of all who are in affliction?said Monte Cristo
inquiringly.

Yes, count,returned Juliewe may indeed say he has, for
he has done for us what he grants only to his chosen; he
sent us one of his angels.The count's cheeks became
scarletand he coughedin order to have an excuse for
putting his handkerchief to his mouth. "Those born to
wealthand who have the means of gratifying every wish


said Emmanuel, know not what is the real happiness of life
just as those who have been tossed on the stormy waters of
the ocean on a few frail planks can alone realize the
blessings of fair weather."

Monte Cristo roseand without making any answer (for the
tremulousness of his voice would have betrayed his emotion)
walked up and down the apartment with a slow step.

Our magnificence makes you smile, count,said Maximilian
who had followed him with his eyes. "Nono returned Monte
Cristo, pale as death, pressing one hand on his heart to
still its throbbings, while with the other he pointed to a
crystal cover, beneath which a silken purse lay on a black
velvet cushion. I was wondering what could be the
significance of this pursewith the paper at one end and
the large diamond at the other."

Count,replied Maximilianwith an air of gravitythose
are our most precious family treasures.

The stone seems very brilliant,answered the count.

Oh, my brother does not allude to its value, although it
has been estimated at 100,000 francs; he means, that the
articles contained in this purse are the relics of the angel
I spoke of just now.

This I do not comprehend; and yet I may not ask for an
explanation, madame,replied Monte Cristo bowing. "Pardon
meI had no intention of committing an indiscretion."

Indiscretion, -- oh, you make us happy by giving us an
excuse for expatiating on this subject. If we wanted to
conceal the noble action this purse commemorates, we should
not expose it thus to view. Oh, would we could relate it
everywhere, and to every one, so that the emotion of our
unknown benefactor might reveal his presence.

Ah, really,said Monte Cristo in a half-stifled voice.

Monsieur,returned Maximilianraising the glass cover
and respectfully kissing the silken pursethis has touched
the hand of a man who saved my father from suicide, us from
ruin, and our name from shame and disgrace, -- a man by
whose matchless benevolence we poor children, doomed to want
and wretchedness, can at present hear every one envying our
happy lot. This letter(as he spokeMaximilian drew a
letter from the purse and gave it to the count) -- "this
letter was written by him the day that my father had taken a
desperate resolutionand this diamond was given by the
generous unknown to my sister as her dowry." Monte Cristo
opened the letterand read it with an indescribable feeling
of delight. It was the letter written (as our readers know)
to Julieand signed "Sinbad the Sailor." "Unknown you say
is the man who rendered you this service -- unknown to you?"

Yes; we have never had the happiness of pressing his hand,
continued Maximilian. "We have supplicated heaven in vain to
grant us this favorbut the whole affair has had a
mysterious meaning that we cannot comprehend -- we have been
guided by an invisible hand-- a hand as powerful as that
of an enchanter."


Oh,cried JulieI have not lost all hope of some day
kissing that hand, as I now kiss the purse which he has
touched. Four years ago, Penelon was at Trieste -- Penelon,
count, is the old sailor you saw in the garden, and who,
from quartermaster, has become gardener -- Penelon, when he
was at Trieste, saw on the quay an Englishman, who was on
the point of embarking on board a yacht, and he recognized
him as the person who called on my father the fifth of June,
1829, and who wrote me this letter on the fifth of
September. He felt convinced of his identity, but he did not
venture to address him.

An Englishman,said Monte Cristowho grew uneasy at the
attention with which Julie looked at him. "An Englishman you
say?"

Yes,replied Maximilianan Englishman, who represented
himself as the confidential clerk of the house of Thomson &
French, at Rome. It was this that made me start when you
said the other day, at M. de Morcerf's, that Messrs. Thomson
& French were your bankers. That happened, as I told you, in
1829. For God's sake, tell me, did you know this
Englishman?

But you tell me, also, that the house of Thomson & French
have constantly denied having rendered you this service?

Yes.

Then is it not probable that this Englishman may be some
one who, grateful for a kindness your father had shown him,
and which he himself had forgotten, has taken this method of
requiting the obligation?

Everything is possible in this affair, even a miracle.

What was his name?asked Monte Cristo.

He gave no other name,answered Julielooking earnestly
at the countthan that at the end of his letter -- `Sinbad
the Sailor.'

Which is evidently not his real name, but a fictitious
one.

Thennoticing that Julie was struck with the sound of his
voice-


Tell me,continued hewas he not about my height,
perhaps a little taller, with his chin imprisoned, as it
were, in a high cravat; his coat closely buttoned up, and
constantly taking out his pencil?

Oh, do you then know him?cried Juliewhose eyes sparkled
with joy.

No,returned Monte Cristo "I only guessed. I knew a Lord
Wilmorewho was constantly doing actions of this kind."

Without revealing himself?

He was an eccentric being, and did not believe in the
existence of gratitude.


Oh, heaven,exclaimed Julieclasping her handsin what
did he believe, then?

He did not credit it at the period which I knew him,said
Monte Cristotouched to the heart by the accents of Julie's
voice; "butperhapssince then he has had proofs that
gratitude does exist."

And do you know this gentleman, monsieur?inquired
Emmanuel.

Oh, if you do know him,cried Juliecan you tell us
where he is -- where we can find him? Maximilian -- Emmanuel
-- if we do but discover him, he must believe in the
gratitude of the heart!Monte Cristo felt tears start into
his eyesand he again walked hastily up and down the room.

In the name of heaven,said Maximilianif you know
anything of him, tell us what it is.

Alas,cried Monte Cristostriving to repress his emotion
if Lord Wilmore was your unknown benefactor, I fear you
will never see him again. I parted from him two years ago at
Palermo, and he was then on the point of setting out for the
most remote regions; so that I fear he will never return.

Oh, monsieur, this is cruel of you,said Juliemuch
affected; and the young lady's eyes swam with tears.

Madame,replied Monte Cristo gravelyand gazing earnestly
on the two liquid pearls that trickled down Julie's cheeks
had Lord Wilmore seen what I now see, he would become
attached to life, for the tears you shed would reconcile him
to mankind;and he held out his hand to Juliewho gave him
herscarried away by the look and accent of the count.
But,continued sheLord Wilmore had a family or friends,
he must have known some one, can we not --

Oh, it is useless to inquire,returned the count;
perhaps, after all, he was not the man you seek for. He was
my friend: he had no secrets from me, and if this had been
so he would have confided in me.

And he told you nothing?

Not a word.

Nothing that would lead you to suppose?

Nothing.

And yet you spoke of him at once.

Ah, in such a case one supposes-


Sister, sister,said Maximiliancoming to the count's
aidmonsieur is quite right. Recollect what our excellent
father so often told us, `It was no Englishman that thus
saved us.'Monte Cristo started. "What did your father tell
youM. Morrel?" said he eagerly.

My father thought that this action had been miraculously
performed -- he believed that a benefactor had arisen from
the grave to save us. Oh, it was a touching superstition,


monsieur, and although I did not myself believe it, I would
not for the world have destroyed my father's faith. How
often did he muse over it and pronounce the name of a dear
friend -- a friend lost to him forever; and on his
death-bed, when the near approach of eternity seemed to have
illumined his mind with supernatural light, this thought,
which had until then been but a doubt, became a conviction,
and his last words were, `Maximilian, it was Edmond
Dantes!'At these words the count's palenesswhich had for
some time been increasingbecame alarming; he could not
speak; he looked at his watch like a man who has forgotten
the hoursaid a few hurried words to Madame Herbaultand
pressing the hands of Emmanuel and Maximilian-- "Madame
said he, I trust you will allow me to visit you
occasionally; I value your friendshipand feel grateful to
you for your welcomefor this is the first time for many
years that I have thus yielded to my feelings;" and he
hastily quitted the apartment.


This Count of Monte Cristo is a strange man,said
Emmanuel.


Yes,answered Maximilianbut I feel sure he has an
excellent heart, and that he likes us.


His voice went to my heart,observed Julie; "and two or
three times I fancied that I had heard it before."


Chapter 51
Pyramus and Thisbe.


About two-thirds of the way along the Faubourg Saint-Honore
and in the rear of one of the most imposing mansions in this
rich neighborhoodwhere the various houses vie with each
other for elegance of design and magnificence of
constructionextended a large gardenwhere the
wide-spreading chestnut-trees raised their heads high above
the walls in a solid rampartand with the coming of every
spring scattered a shower of delicate pink and white
blossoms into the large stone vases that stood upon the two
square pilasters of a curiously wrought iron gatethat
dated from the time of Louis XII. This noble entrance
howeverin spite of its striking appearance and the
graceful effect of the geraniums planted in the two vases
as they waved their variegated leaves in the wind and
charmed the eye with their scarlet bloomhad fallen into
utter disuse. The proprietors of the mansion had many years
before thought it best to confine themselves to the
possession of the house itselfwith its thickly planted
court-yardopening into the Faubourg Saint-Honoreand to
the garden shut in by this gatewhich formerly communicated
with a fine kitchen-garden of about an acre. For the demon
of speculation drew a lineor in other words projected a
streetat the farther side of the kitchen-garden. The
street was laid outa name was chosen and posted up on an
iron platebut before construction was begunit occurred
to the possessor of the property that a handsome sum might
be obtained for the ground then devoted to fruits and
vegetablesby building along the line of the proposed
streetand so making it a branch of communication with the
Faubourg Saint-Honore itselfone of the most important
thoroughfares in the city of Paris.



In matters of speculationhoweverthough "man proposes
money disposes." From some such difficulty the newly named
street died almost in birthand the purchaser of the
kitchen-gardenhaving paid a high price for itand being
quite unable to find any one willing to take his bargain off
his hands without a considerable lossyet still clinging to
the belief that at some future day he should obtain a sum
for it that would repay himnot only for his past outlay
but also the interest upon the capital locked up in his new
acquisitioncontented himself with letting the ground
temporarily to some market-gardenersat a yearly rental of
500 francs. And soas we have saidthe iron gate leading
into the kitchen-garden had been closed up and left to the
rustwhich bade fair before long to eat off its hinges
while to prevent the ignoble glances of the diggers and
delvers of the ground from presuming to sully the
aristocratic enclosure belonging to the mansionthe gate
had been boarded up to a height of six feet. Truethe
planks were not so closely adjusted but that a hasty peep
might be obtained through their interstices; but the strict
decorum and rigid propriety of the inhabitants of the house
left no grounds for apprehending that advantage would be
taken of that circumstance.

Horticulture seemedhoweverto have been abandoned in the
deserted kitchen-garden; and where cabbagescarrots
radishespeaseand melons had once flourisheda scanty
crop of lucerne alone bore evidence of its being deemed
worthy of cultivation. A smalllow door gave egress from
the walled space we have been describing into the projected
streetthe ground having been abandoned as unproductive by
its various rentersand had now fallen so completely in
general estimation as to return not even the one-half per
cent it had originally paid. Towards the house the
chestnut-trees we have before mentioned rose high above the
wallwithout in any way affecting the growth of other
luxuriant shrubs and flowers that eagerly dressed forward to
fill up the vacant spacesas though asserting their right
to enjoy the boon of light and air. At one cornerwhere the
foliage became so thick as almost to shut out daya large
stone bench and sundry rustic seats indicated that this
sheltered spot was either in general favor or particular use
by some inhabitant of the housewhich was faintly
discernible through the dense mass of verdure that partially
concealed itthough situated but a hundred paces off.

Whoever had selected this retired portion of the grounds as
the boundary of a walkor as a place for meditationwas
abundantly justified in the choice by the absence of all
glarethe coolrefreshing shadethe screen it afforded
from the scorching rays of the sunthat found no entrance
there even during the burning days of hottest summerthe
incessant and melodious warbling of birdsand the entire
removal from either the noise of the street or the bustle of
the mansion. On the evening of one of the warmest days
spring had yet bestowed on the inhabitants of Parismight
be seen negligently thrown upon the stone bencha booka
parasoland a work-basketfrom which hung a partly
embroidered cambric handkerchiefwhile at a little distance
from these articles was a young womanstanding close to the
iron gateendeavoring to discern something on the other
side by means of the openings in the planks-- the
earnestness of her attitude and the fixed gaze with which


she seemed to seek the object of her wishesproving how
much her feelings were interested in the matter. At that
instant the little side-gate leading from the waste ground
to the street was noiselessly openedand a tallpowerful
young man appeared. He was dressed in a common gray blouse
and velvet capbut his carefully arranged hairbeard and
mustacheall of the richest and glossiest blackill
accorded with his plebeian attire. After casting a rapid
glance around himin order to assure himself that he was
unobservedhe entered by the small gateandcarefully
closing and securing it after himproceeded with a hurried
step towards the barrier.

At the sight of him she expectedthough probably not in
such a costumethe young woman started in terrorand was
about to make a hasty retreat. But the eye of love had
already seeneven through the narrow chinks of the wooden
palisadesthe movement of the white robeand observed the
fluttering of the blue sash. Pressing his lips close to the
plankshe exclaimedDon't be alarmed, Valentine -- it is
I!Again the timid girl found courage to return to the
gatesayingas she did soAnd why do you come so late
to-day? It is almost dinner-time, and I had to use no little
diplomacy to get rid of my watchful mother-in-law, my
too-devoted maid, and my troublesome brother, who is always
teasing me about coming to work at my embroidery, which I am
in a fair way never to get done. So pray excuse yourself as
well as you can for having made me wait, and, after that,
tell me why I see you in a dress so singular that at first I
did not recognize you.

Dearest Valentine,said the young manthe difference
between our respective stations makes me fear to offend you
by speaking of my love, but yet I cannot find myself in your
presence without longing to pour forth my soul, and tell you
how fondly I adore you. If it be but to carry away with me
the recollection of such sweet moments, I could even thank
you for chiding me, for it leaves me a gleam of hope, that
if you did not expect me (and that indeed would be worse
than vanity to suppose), at least I was in your thoughts.
You asked me the cause of my being late, and why I come
disguised. I will candidly explain the reason of both, and I
trust to your goodness to pardon me. I have chosen a trade.

A trade? Oh, Maximilian, how can you jest at a time when we
have such deep cause for uneasiness?

Heaven keep me from jesting with that which is far dearer
to me than life itself! But listen to me, Valentine, and I
will tell you all about it. I became weary of ranging fields
and scaling walls, and seriously alarmed at the idea
suggested by you, that if caught hovering about here your
father would very likely have me sent to prison as a thief.
That would compromise the honor of the French army, to say
nothing of the fact that the continual presence of a captain
of Spahis in a place where no warlike projects could be
supposed to account for it might well create surprise; so I
have become a gardener, and, consequently, adopted the
costume of my calling.

What excessive nonsense you talk, Maximilian!

Nonsense? Pray do not call what I consider the wisest
action of my life by such a name. Consider, by becoming a


gardener I effectually screen our meetings from all
suspicion or danger.

I beseech of you, Maximilian, to cease trifling, and tell
me what you really mean.

Simply, that having ascertained that the piece of ground on
which I stand was to let, I made application for it, was
readily accepted by the proprietor, and am now master of
this fine crop of lucerne. Think of that, Valentine! There
is nothing now to prevent my building myself a little hut on
my plantation, and residing not twenty yards from you. Only
imagine what happiness that would afford me. I can scarcely
contain myself at the bare idea. Such felicity seems above
all price -- as a thing impossible and unattainable. But
would you believe that I purchase all this delight, joy, and
happiness, for which I would cheerfully have surrendered ten
years of my life, at the small cost of 500 francs per annum,
paid quarterly? Henceforth we have nothing to fear. I am on
my own ground, and have an undoubted right to place a ladder
against the wall, and to look over when I please, without
having any apprehensions of being taken off by the police as
a suspicious character. I may also enjoy the precious
privilege of assuring you of my fond, faithful, and
unalterable affection, whenever you visit your favorite
bower, unless, indeed, it offends your pride to listen to
professions of love from the lips of a poor workingman, clad
in a blouse and cap.A faint cry of mingled pleasure and
surprise escaped from the lips of Valentinewho almost
instantly saidin a saddened toneas though some envious
cloud darkened the joy which illumined her heartAlas, no,
Maximilian, this must not be, for many reasons. We should
presume too much on our own strength, and, like others,
perhaps, be led astray by our blind confidence in each
other's prudence.

How can you for an instant entertain so unworthy a thought,
dear Valentine? Have I not, from the first blessed hour of
our acquaintance, schooled all my words and actions to your
sentiments and ideas? And you have, I am sure, the fullest
confidence in my honor. When you spoke to me of experiencing
a vague and indefinite sense of coming danger, I placed
myself blindly and devotedly at your service, asking no
other reward than the pleasure of being useful to you; and
have I ever since, by word or look, given you cause of
regret for having selected me from the numbers that would
willingly have sacrificed their lives for you? You told me,
my dear Valentine, that you were engaged to M. d'Epinay, and
that your father was resolved upon completing the match, and
that from his will there was no appeal, as M. de Villefort
was never known to change a determination once formed. I
kept in the background, as you wished, and waited, not for
the decision of your heart or my own, but hoping that
providence would graciously interpose in our behalf, and
order events in our favor. But what cared I for delays or
difficulties, Valentine, as long as you confessed that you
loved me, and took pity on me? If you will only repeat that
avowal now and then, I can endure anything.

Ah, Maximilian, that is the very thing that makes you so
bold, and which renders me at once so happy and unhappy,
that I frequently ask myself whether it is better for me to
endure the harshness of my mother-in-law, and her blind
preference for her own child, or to be, as I now am,


insensible to any pleasure save such as I find in these
meetings, so fraught with danger to both.

I will not admit that word,returned the young man; "it is
at once cruel and unjust. Is it possible to find a more
submissive slave than myself? You have permitted me to
converse with you from time to timeValentinebut
forbidden my ever following you in your walks or elsewhere
-- have I not obeyed? And since I found means to enter this
enclosure to exchange a few words with you through this gate
-- to be close to you without really seeing you -- have I
ever asked so much as to touch the hem of your gown or tried
to pass this barrier which is but a trifle to one of my
youth and strength? Never has a complaint or a murmur
escaped me. I have been bound by my promises as rigidly as
any knight of olden times. Comecomedearest Valentine
confess that what I say is truelest I be tempted to call
you unjust."

It is true,said Valentineas she passed the end of her
slender fingers through a small opening in the planksand
permitted Maximilian to press his lips to themand you are
a true and faithful friend; but still you acted from motives
of self-interest, my dear Maximilian, for you well knew that
from the moment in which you had manifested an opposite
spirit all would have been ended between us. You promised to
bestow on me the friendly affection of a brother. For I have
no friend but yourself upon earth, who am neglected and
forgotten by my father, harassed and persecuted by my
mother-in-law, and left to the sole companionship of a
paralyzed and speechless old man, whose withered hand can no
longer press mine, and who can speak to me with the eye
alone, although there still lingers in his heart the warmest
tenderness for his poor grandchild. Oh, how bitter a fate is
mine, to serve either as a victim or an enemy to all who are
stronger than myself, while my only friend and supporter is
a living corpse! Indeed, indeed, Maximilian, I am very
miserable, and if you love me it must be out of pity.

Valentine,replied the young mandeeply affectedI will
not say you are all I love in the world, for I dearly prize
my sister and brother-in-law; but my affection for them is
calm and tranquil, in no manner resembling what I feel for
you. When I think of you my heart beats fast, the blood
burns in my veins, and I can hardly breathe; but I solemnly
promise you to restrain all this ardor, this fervor and
intensity of feeling, until you yourself shall require me to
render them available in serving or assisting you. M. Franz
is not expected to return home for a year to come, I am
told; in that time many favorable and unforeseen chances may
befriend us. Let us, then, hope for the best; hope is so
sweet a comforter. Meanwhile, Valentine, while reproaching
me with selfishness, think a little what you have been to me
-- the beautiful but cold resemblance of a marble Venus.
What promise of future reward have you made me for all the
submission and obedience I have evinced? -- none whatever.
What granted me? -- scarcely more. You tell me of M. Franz
d'Epinay, your betrothed lover, and you shrink from the idea
of being his wife; but tell me, Valentine, is there no other
sorrow in your heart? You see me devoted to you, body and
soul, my life and each warm drop that circles round my heart
are consecrated to your service; you know full well that my
existence is bound up in yours -- that were I to lose you I
would not outlive the hour of such crushing misery; yet you


speak with calmness of the prospect of your being the wife
of another! Oh, Valentine, were I in your place, and did I
feel conscious, as you do, of being worshipped, adored, with
such a love as mine, a hundred times at least should I have
passed my hand between these iron bars, and said, `Take this
hand, dearest Maximilian, and believe that, living or dead,
I am yours -- yours only, and forever!'The poor girl made
no replybut her lover could plainly hear her sobs and
tears. A rapid change took place in the young man's
feelings. "Dearestdearest Valentine exclaimed he,
forgive me if I have offended youand forget the words I
spoke if they have unwittingly caused you pain."

No, Maximilian, I am not offended,answered shebut do
you not see what a poor, helpless being I am, almost a
stranger and an outcast in my father's house, where even he
is seldom seen; whose will has been thwarted, and spirits
broken, from the age of ten years, beneath the iron rod so
sternly held over me; oppressed, mortified, and persecuted,
day by day, hour by hour, minute by minute, no person has
cared for, even observed my sufferings, nor have I ever
breathed one word on the subject save to yourself. Outwardly
and in the eyes of the world, I am surrounded by kindness
and affection; but the reverse is the case. The general
remark is, `Oh, it cannot be expected that one of so stern a
character as M. Villefort could lavish the tenderness some
fathers do on their daughters. What though she has lost her
own mother at a tender age, she has had the happiness to
find a second mother in Madame de Villefort.' The world,
however, is mistaken; my father abandons me from utter
indifference, while my mother-in-law detests me with a
hatred so much the more terrible because it is veiled
beneath a continual smile.

Hate you, sweet Valentine,exclaimed the young man; "how
is it possible for any one to do that?"

Alas,replied the weeping girlI am obliged to own that
my mother-in-law's aversion to me arises from a very natural
source -- her overweening love for her own child, my brother
Edward.

But why should it?

I do not know; but, though unwilling to introduce money
matters into our present conversation, I will just say this
much -- that her extreme dislike to me has its origin there;
and I much fear she envies me the fortune I enjoy in right
of my mother, and which will be more than doubled at the
death of M. and Mme. de Saint-Meran, whose sole heiress I
am. Madame de Villefort has nothing of her own, and hates me
for being so richly endowed. Alas, how gladly would I
exchange the half of this wealth for the happiness of at
least sharing my father's love. God knows, I would prefer
sacrificing the whole, so that it would obtain me a happy
and affectionate home.

Poor Valentine!

I seem to myself as though living a life of bondage, yet at
the same time am so conscious of my own weakness that I fear
to break the restraint in which I am held, lest I fall
utterly helpless. Then, too, my father is not a person whose
orders may be infringed with impunity; protected as he is by


his high position and firmly established reputation for
talent and unswerving integrity, no one could oppose him; he
is all-powerful even with the king; he would crush you at a
word. Dear Maximilian, believe me when I assure you that if
I do not attempt to resist my father's commands it is more
on your account than my own.

But why, Valentine, do you persist in anticipating the
worst, -- why picture so gloomy a future?

Because I judge it from the past.

Still, consider that although I may not be, strictly
speaking, what is termed an illustrious match for you, I am,
for many reasons, not altogether so much beneath your
alliance. The days when such distinctions were so nicely
weighed and considered no longer exist in France, and the
first families of the monarchy have intermarried with those
of the empire. The aristocracy of the lance has allied
itself with the nobility of the cannon. Now I belong to this
last-named class; and certainly my prospects of military
preferment are most encouraging as well as certain. My
fortune, though small, is free and unfettered, and the
memory of my late father is respected in our country,
Valentine, as that of the most upright and honorable
merchant of the city; I say our country, because you were
born not far from Marseilles.

Don't speak of Marseilles, I beg of you, Maximilian; that
one word brings back my mother to my recollection -- my
angel mother, who died too soon for myself and all who knew
her; but who, after watching over her child during the brief
period allotted to her in this world, now, I fondly hope,
watches from her home in heaven. Oh, if my mother were still
living, there would be nothing to fear, Maximilian, for I
would tell her that I loved you, and she would protect us.

I fear, Valentine,replied the loverthat were she
living I should never have had the happiness of knowing you;
you would then have been too happy to have stooped from your
grandeur to bestow a thought on me.

Now it is you who are unjust, Maximilian,cried Valentine;
but there is one thing I wish to know.

And what is that?inquired the young manperceiving that
Valentine hesitated.

Tell me truly, Maximilian, whether in former days, when our
fathers dwelt at Marseilles, there was ever any
misunderstanding between them?

Not that I am aware of,replied the young manunless,
indeed, any ill-feeling might have arisen from their being
of opposite parties -- your father was, as you know, a
zealous partisan of the Bourbons, while mine was wholly
devoted to the emperor; there could not possibly be any
other difference between them. But why do you ask?

I will tell you,replied the young girlfor it is but
right you should know. Well, on the day when your
appointment as an officer of the Legion of honor was
announced in the papers, we were all sitting with my
grandfather, M. Noirtier; M. Danglars was there also -- you


recollect M. Danglars, do you not, Maximilian, the banker,
whose horses ran away with my mother-in-law and little
brother, and very nearly killed them? While the rest of the
company were discussing the approaching marriage of
Mademoiselle Danglars, I was reading the paper to my
grandfather; but when I came to the paragraph about you,
although I had done nothing else but read it over to myself
all the morning (you know you had told me all about it the
previous evening), I felt so happy, and yet so nervous, at
the idea of speaking your name aloud, and before so many
people, that I really think I should have passed it over,
but for the fear that my doing so might create suspicions as
to the cause of my silence; so I summoned up all my courage,
and read it as firmly and as steadily as I could.

Dear Valentine!

Well, would you believe it? directly my father caught the
sound of your name he turned round quite hastily, and, like
a poor silly thing, I was so persuaded that every one must
be as much affected as myself by the utterance of your name,
that I was not surprised to see my father start, and almost
tremble; but I even thought (though that surely must have
been a mistake) that M. Danglars trembled too.

`Morrel, Morrel,' cried my father, `stop a bit;' then
knitting his brows into a deep frown, he added, `surely this
cannot be one of the Morrel family who lived at Marseilles,
and gave us so much trouble from their violent Bonapartism
-- I mean about the year 1815.' -- `Yes,' replied M.
Danglars, `I believe he is the son of the old shipowner.'

Indeed,answered Maximilian; "and what did your father say
thenValentine?"

Oh, such a dreadful thing, that I don't dare to tell you.

Always tell me everything,said Maximilian with a smile.

`Ah,' continued my father, still frowning, `their idolized
emperor treated these madmen as they deserved; he called
them `food for powder,' which was precisely all they were
good for; and I am delighted to see that the present
government have adopted this salutary principle with all its
pristine vigor; if Algiers were good for nothing but to
furnish the means of carrying so admirable an idea into
practice, it would be an acquisition well worthy of
struggling to obtain. Though it certainly does cost France
somewhat dear to assert her rights in that uncivilized
country.'

Brutal politics, I must confess.said Maximilian; "but
don't attach any serious importancedearto what your
father said. My father was not a bit behind yours in that
sort of talk. `Why' said he`does not the emperorwho has
devised so many clever and efficient modes of improving the
art of warorganize a regiment of lawyersjudges and legal
practitionerssending them in the hottest fire the enemy
could maintainand using them to save better men?' You see
my dearthat for picturesque expression and generosity of
spirit there is not much to choose between the language of
either party. But what did M. Danglars say to this outburst
on the part of the procureur?"


Oh, he laughed, and in that singular manner so peculiar to
himself -- half-malicious, half-ferocious; he almost
immediately got up and took his leave; then, for the first
time, I observed the agitation of my grandfather, and I must
tell you, Maximilian, that I am the only person capable of
discerning emotion in his paralyzed frame. And I suspected
that the conversation that had been carried on in his
presence (for they always say and do what they like before
the dear old man, without the smallest regard for his
feelings) had made a strong impression on his mind; for,
naturally enough, it must have pained him to hear the
emperor he so devotedly loved and served spoken of in that
depreciating manner.

The name of M. Noirtier,interposed Maximilianis
celebrated throughout Europe; he was a statesman of high
standing, and you may or may not know, Valentine, that he
took a leading part in every Bonapartist conspiracy set on
foot during the restoration of the Bourbons.

Oh, I have often heard whispers of things that seem to me
most strange -- the father a Bonapartist, the son a
Royalist; what can have been the reason of so singular a
difference in parties and politics? But to resume my story;
I turned towards my grandfather, as though to question him
as to the cause of his emotion; he looked expressively at
the newspaper I had been reading. `What is the matter, dear
grandfather?' said I, `are you pleased?' He gave me a sign
in the affirmative. `With what my father said just now?' He
returned a sign in the negative. `Perhaps you liked what M.
Danglars said?' Another sign in the negative. `Oh, then, you
were glad to hear that M. Morrel (I didn't dare to say
Maximilian) had been made an officer of the Legion of
Honor?' He signified assent; only think of the poor old
man's being so pleased to think that you, who were a perfect
stranger to him, had been made an officer of the Legion of
Honor! Perhaps it was a mere whim on his part, for he is
falling, they say, into second childhood, but I love him for
showing so much interest in you.

How singular,murmured Maximilian; "your father hates me
while your grandfatheron the contrary -- What strange
feelings are aroused by politics."

Hush,cried Valentinesuddenly; "some one is coming!"
Maximilian leaped at one bound into his crop of lucerne
which he began to pull up in the most ruthless wayunder
the pretext of being occupied in weeding it.

Mademoiselle, mademoiselle!exclaimed a voice from behind
the trees. "Madame is searching for you everywhere; there is
a visitor in the drawing-room."

A visitor?inquired Valentinemuch agitated; "who is it?"

Some grand personage -- a prince I believe they said -- the
Count of Monte Cristo.

I will come directly,cried Valentine aloud. The name of
Monte Cristo sent an electric shock through the young man on
the other side of the iron gateto whom Valentine's "I am
coming" was the customary signal of farewell. "Nowthen
said Maximilian, leaning on the handle of his spade, I
would give a good deal to know how it comes about that the


Count of Monte Cristo is acquainted with M. de Villefort."

Chapter 52
Toxicology.

It was really the Count of Monte Cristo who had just arrived
at Madame de Villefort's for the purpose of returning the
procureur's visitand at his nameas may be easily
imaginedthe whole house was in confusion. Madame de
Villefortwho was alone in her drawing-room when the count
was announceddesired that her son might be brought thither
instantly to renew his thanks to the count; and Edwardwho
heard this great personage talked of for two whole days
made all possible haste to come to himnot from obedience
to his motheror out of any feeling of gratitude to the
countbut from sheer curiosityand that some chance remark
might give him the opportunity for making one of the
impertinent speeches which made his mother say-- "Ohthat
naughty child! But I can't be severe with himhe is really
so bright."

After the usual civilitiesthe count inquired after M. de
Villefort. "My husband dines with the chancellor replied
the young lady; he has just goneand I am sure he'll be
exceedingly sorry not to have had the pleasure of seeing you
before he went." Two visitors who were there when the count
arrivedhaving gazed at him with all their eyesretired
after that reasonable delay which politeness admits and
curiosity requires. "What is your sister Valentine doing?"
inquired Madame de Villefort of Edward; "tell some one to
bid her come herethat I may have the honor of introducing
her to the count."

You have a daughter, then, madame?inquired the count;
very young, I presume?

The daughter of M. de Villefort by his first marriage,
replied the young wifea fine well-grown girl.

But melancholy,interrupted Master Edwardsnatching the
feathers out of the tail of a splendid parroquet that was
screaming on its gilded perchin order to make a plume for
his hat. Madame de Villefort merely cried-- "Be still
Edward!" She then added-- "This young madcap ishowever
very nearly rightand merely re-echoes what he has heard me
say with pain a hundred times; for Mademoiselle de Villefort
isin spite of all we can do to rouse herof a melancholy
disposition and taciturn habitwhich frequently injure the
effect of her beauty. But what detains her? GoEdwardand
see."

Because they are looking for her where she is not to be
found.

And where are they looking for her?

With grandpapa Noirtier.

And do you think she is not there?

No, no, no, no, no, she is not there,replied Edward
singing his words.


And where is she, then? If you know, why don't you tell?

She is under the big chestnut-tree,replied the spoiled
bratas he gavein spite of his mother's commandslive
flies to the parrotwhich seemed keenly to relish such
fare. Madame de Villefort stretched out her hand to ring
intending to direct her waiting-maid to the spot where she
would find Valentinewhen the young lady herself entered
the apartment. She appeared much dejected; and any person
who considered her attentively might have observed the
traces of recent tears in her eyes.

Valentinewhom we have in the rapid march of our narrative
presented to our readers without formally introducing her
was a tall and graceful girl of nineteenwith bright
chestnut hairdeep blue eyesand that reposeful air of
quiet distinction which characterized her mother. Her white
and slender fingersher pearly neckher cheeks tinted with
varying hues reminded one of the lovely Englishwomen who
have been so poetically compared in their manner to the
gracefulness of a swan. She entered the apartmentand
seeing near her stepmother the stranger of whom she had
already heard so muchsaluted him without any girlish
awkwardnessor even lowering her eyesand with an elegance
that redoubled the count's attention. He rose to return the
salutation. "Mademoiselle de Villefortmy daughter-in-law
said Madame de Villefort to Monte Cristo, leaning back on
her sofa and motioning towards Valentine with her hand. And

M. de Monte CristoKing of ChinaEmperor of Cochin-China
said the young imp, looking slyly towards his sister.
Madame de Villefort at this really did turn pale, and was
very nearly angry with this household plague, who answered
to the name of Edward; but the count, on the contrary,
smiled, and appeared to look at the boy complacently, which
caused the maternal heart to bound again with joy and
enthusiasm.

Butmadame replied the count, continuing the
conversation, and looking by turns at Madame de Villefort
and Valentine, have I not already had the honor of meeting
yourself and mademoiselle before? I could not help thinking
so just now; the idea came over my mindand as mademoiselle
entered the sight of her was an additional ray of light
thrown on a confused remembrance; excuse the remark."

I do not think it likely, sir; Mademoiselle de Villefort is
not very fond of society, and we very seldom go out,said
the young lady.

Then it was not in society that I met with mademoiselle or
yourself, madame, or this charming little merry boy.
Besides, the Parisian world is entirely unknown to me, for,
as I believe I told you, I have been in Paris but very few
days. No, -- but, perhaps, you will permit me to call to
mind -- stay!The Count placed his hand on his brow as if
to collect his thoughts. "No -- it was somewhere -- away
from here -- it was -- I do not know -- but it appears that
this recollection is connected with a lovely sky and some
religious fete; mademoiselle was holding flowers in her
handthe interesting boy was chasing a beautiful peacock in
a gardenand youmadamewere under the trellis of some
arbor. Pray come to my aidmadame; do not these


circumstances appeal to your memory?"

No, indeed,replied Madame de Villefort; "and yet it
appears to mesirthat if I had met you anywherethe
recollection of you must have been imprinted on my memory."

Perhaps the count saw us in Italy,said Valentine timidly.

Yes, in Italy; it was in Italy most probably,replied
Monte Cristo; "you have travelled then in Italy
mademoiselle?"

Yes; madame and I were there two years ago. The doctors,
anxious for my lungs, had prescribed the air of Naples. We
went by Bologna, Perugia, and Rome.

Ah, yes -- true, mademoiselle,exclaimed Monte Cristo as
if this simple explanation was sufficient to revive the
recollection he sought. "It was at Perugia on Corpus Christi
Dayin the garden of the Hotel des Posteswhen chance
brought us together; youMadame de Villefortand her son;
I now remember having had the honor of meeting you."

I perfectly well remember Perugia, sir, and the Hotel des
Postes, and the festival of which you speak,said Madame de
Villefortbut in vain do I tax my memory, of whose
treachery I am ashamed, for I really do not recall to mind
that I ever had the pleasure of seeing you before.

It is strange, but neither do I recollect meeting with
you,observed Valentineraising her beautiful eyes to the
count.

But I remember it perfectly,interposed the darling
Edward.

I will assist your memory, madame,continued the count;
the day had been burning hot; you were waiting for horses,
which were delayed in consequence of the festival.
Mademoiselle was walking in the shade of the garden, and
your son disappeared in pursuit of the peacock.

And I caught it, mamma, don't you remember?interposed
Edwardand I pulled three such beautiful feathers out of
his tail.

You, madame, remained under the arbor; do you not remember,
that while you were seated on a stone bench, and while, as I
told you, Mademoiselle de Villefort and your young son were
absent, you conversed for a considerable time with
somebody?

Yes, in truth, yes,answered the young ladyturning very
redI do remember conversing with a person wrapped in a
long woollen mantle; he was a medical man, I think.

Precisely so, madame; this man was myself; for a fortnight
I had been at that hotel, during which period I had cured my
valet de chambre of a fever, and my landlord of the
jaundice, so that I really acquired a reputation as a
skilful physician. We discoursed a long time, madame, on
different subjects; of Perugino, of Raffaelle, of manners,
customs, of the famous aquatofana, of which they had told
you, I think you said, that certain individuals in Perugia


had preserved the secret.

Yes, true,replied Madame de Villefortsomewhat uneasily
I remember now.

I do not recollect now all the various subjects of which we
discoursed, madame,continued the count with perfect
calmness; "but I perfectly remember thatfalling into the
error which others had entertained respecting meyou
consulted me as to the health of Mademoiselle de Villefort."

Yes, really, sir, you were in fact a medical man,said
Madame de Villefortsince you had cured the sick.

Moliere or Beaumarchais would reply to you, madame, that it
was precisely because I was not, that I had cured my
patients; for myself, I am content to say to you that I have
studied chemistry and the natural sciences somewhat deeply,
but still only as an amateur, you understand.-- At this
moment the clock struck six. "It is six o'clock said
Madame de Villefort, evidently agitated. Valentinewill
you not go and see if your grandpapa will have his dinner?"
Valentine roseand saluting the countleft the apartment
without speaking.

Oh, madame,said the countwhen Valentine had left the
roomwas it on my account that you sent Mademoiselle de
Villefort away?

By no means,replied the young lady quickly; "but this is
the hour when we usually give M. Noirtier the unwelcome meal
that sustains his pitiful existence. You are awaresirof
the deplorable condition of my husband's father?"

Yes, madame, M. de Villefort spoke of it to me -- a
paralysis, I think.

Alas, yes; the poor old gentleman is entirely helpless; the
mind alone is still active in this human machine, and that
is faint and flickering, like the light of a lamp about to
expire. But excuse me, sir, for talking of our domestic
misfortunes; I interrupted you at the moment when you were
telling me that you were a skilful chemist.

No, madame, I did not say as much as that,replied the
count with a smile; "quite the contrary. I have studied
chemistry becausehaving determined to live in eastern
climates I have been desirous of following the example of
King Mithridates."

Mithridates rex Ponticus,said the young scampas he tore
some beautiful portraits out of a splendid albumthe
individual who took cream in his cup of poison every morning
at breakfast.

Edward, you naughty boy,exclaimed Madame de Villefort
snatching the mutilated book from the urchin's graspyou
are positively past bearing; you really disturb the
conversation; go, leave us, and join your sister Valentine
in dear grandpapa Noirtier's room.

The album,said Edward sulkily.

What do you mean? -- the album!


I want the album.

How dare you tear out the drawings?

Oh, it amuses me.

Go -- go at once.

I won't go unless you give me the album,said the boy
seating himself doggedly in an arm-chairaccording to his
habit of never giving way.

Take it, then, and pray disturb us no longer,said Madame
de Villefortgiving the album to Edwardwho then went
towards the doorled by his mother. The count followed her
with his eyes.

Let us see if she shuts the door after him,he muttered.
Madame de Villefort closed the door carefully after the
childthe count appearing not to notice her; then casting a
scrutinizing glance around the chamberthe young wife
returned to her chairin which she seated herself. "Allow
me to observemadame said the count, with that kind tone
he could assume so well, you are really very severe with
that dear clever child."

Oh, sometimes severity is quite necessary,replied Madame
de Villefortwith all a mother's real firmness.

It was his Cornelius Nepos that Master Edward was repeating
when he referred to King Mithridates,continued the count
and you interrupted him in a quotation which proves that
his tutor has by no means neglected him, for your son is
really advanced for his years.

The fact is, count,answered the motheragreeably
flatteredhe has great aptitude, and learns all that is
set before him. He has but one fault, he is somewhat wilful;
but really, on referring for the moment to what he said, do
you truly believe that Mithridates used these precautions,
and that these precautions were efficacious?

I think so, madame, because I myself have made use of them,
that I might not be poisoned at Naples, at Palermo, and at
Smyrna -- that is to say, on three several occasions when,
but for these precautions, I must have lost my life.

And your precautions were successful?

Completely so.

Yes, I remember now your mentioning to me at Perugia
something of this sort.

Indeed?said the count with an air of surpriseremarkably
well counterfeited; "I really did not remember."

I inquired of you if poisons acted equally, and with the
same effect, on men of the North as on men of the South; and
you answered me that the cold and sluggish habits of the
North did not present the same aptitude as the rich and
energetic temperaments of the natives of the South.


And that is the case,observed Monte Cristo. "I have seen
Russians devourwithout being visibly inconvenienced
vegetable substances which would infallibly have killed a
Neapolitan or an Arab."

And you really believe the result would be still more sure
with us than in the East, and in the midst of our fogs and
rains a man would habituate himself more easily than in a
warm latitude to this progressive absorption of poison?

Certainly; it being at the same time perfectly understood
that he should have been duly fortified against the poison
to which he had not been accustomed.

Yes, I understand that; and how would you habituate
yourself, for instance, or rather, how did you habituate
yourself to it?

Oh, very easily. Suppose you knew beforehand the poison
that would be made use of against you; suppose the poison
was, for instance, brucine-


Brucine is extracted from the false angostura* is it not?
inquired Madame de Villefort.

Precisely, madame,replied Monte Cristo; "but I perceive I
have not much to teach you. Allow me to compliment you on
your knowledge; such learning is very rare among ladies."

* Brucoea ferruginea.
Oh, I am aware of that,said Madame de Villefort; "but I
have a passion for the occult scienceswhich speak to the
imagination like poetryand are reducible to figureslike
an algebraic equation; but go onI beg of you; what you say
interests me to the greatest degree."

Well,replied Monte Cristo "supposethenthat this
poison was brucineand you were to take a milligramme the
first daytwo milligrammes the second dayand so on. Well
at the end of ten days you would have taken a centigramme
at the end of twenty daysincreasing another milligramme
you would have taken three hundred centigrammes; that is to
saya dose which you would support without inconvenience
and which would be very dangerous for any other person who
had not taken the same precautions as yourself. Wellthen
at the end of a monthwhen drinking water from the same
carafeyou would kill the person who drank with you
without your perceivingotherwise than from slight
inconveniencethat there was any poisonous substance
mingled with this water."

Do you know any other counter-poisons?

I do not.

I have often read, and read again, the history of
Mithridates,said Madame de Villefort in a tone of
reflectionand had always considered it a fable.

No, madame, contrary to most history, it is true; but what
you tell me, madame, what you inquire of me, is not the
result of a chance query, for two years ago you asked me the
same questions, and said then, that for a very long time


this history of Mithridates had occupied your mind.

True, sir. The two favorite studies of my youth were botany
and mineralogy, and subsequently, when I learned that the
use of simples frequently explained the whole history of a
people, and the entire life of individuals in the East, as
flowers betoken and symbolize a love affair, I have
regretted that I was not a man, that I might have been a
Flamel, a Fontana, or a Cabanis.

And the more, madame,said Monte Cristoas the Orientals
do not confine themselves, as did Mithridates, to make a
cuirass of his poisons, but they also made them a dagger.
Science becomes, in their hands, not only a defensive
weapon, but still more frequently an offensive one; the one
serves against all their physical sufferings, the other
against all their enemies. With opium, belladonna, brucaea,
snake-wood, and the cherry-laurel, they put to sleep all who
stand in their way. There is not one of those women,
Egyptian, Turkish, or Greek, whom here you call `good
women,' who do not know how, by means of chemistry, to
stupefy a doctor, and in psychology to amaze a confessor.

Really,said Madame de Villefortwhose eyes sparkled with
strange fire at this conversation.

Oh, yes, indeed, madame,continued Monte Cristothe
secret dramas of the East begin with a love philtre and end
with a death potion -- begin with paradise and end with -hell.
There are as many elixirs of every kind as there are
caprices and peculiarities in the physical and moral nature
of humanity; and I will say further -- the art of these
chemists is capable with the utmost precision to accommodate
and proportion the remedy and the bane to yearnings for love
or desires for vengeance.

But, sir,remarked the young womanthese Eastern
societies, in the midst of which you have passed a portion
of your existence, are as fantastic as the tales that come
from their strange land. A man can easily be put out of the
way there, then; it is, indeed, the Bagdad and Bassora of
the `Thousand and One Nights.' The sultans and viziers who
rule over society there, and who constitute what in France
we call the government, are really Haroun-al-Raschids and
Giaffars, who not only pardon a poisoner, but even make him
a prime minister, if his crime has been an ingenious one,
and who, under such circumstances, have the whole story
written in letters of gold, to divert their hours of
idleness and ennui.

By no means, madame; the fanciful exists no longer in the
East. There, disguised under other names, and concealed
under other costumes, are police agents, magistrates,
attorneys-general, and bailiffs. They hang, behead, and
impale their criminals in the most agreeable possible
manner; but some of these, like clever rogues, have
contrived to escape human justice, and succeed in their
fraudulent enterprises by cunning stratagems. Amongst us a
simpleton, possessed by the demon of hate or cupidity, who
has an enemy to destroy, or some near relation to dispose
of, goes straight to the grocer's or druggist's, gives a
false name, which leads more easily to his detection than
his real one, and under the pretext that the rats prevent
him from sleeping, purchases five or six grammes of arsenic


-- if he is really a cunning fellow, he goes to five or six
different druggists or grocers, and thereby becomes only
five or six times more easily traced; -- then, when he has
acquired his specific, he administers duly to his enemy, or
near kinsman, a dose of arsenic which would make a mammoth
or mastodon burst, and which, without rhyme or reason, makes
his victim utter groans which alarm the entire neighborhood.
Then arrive a crowd of policemen and constables. They fetch
a doctor, who opens the dead body, and collects from the
entrails and stomach a quantity of arsenic in a spoon. Next
day a hundred newspapers relate the fact, with the names of
the victim and the murderer. The same evening the grocer or
grocers, druggist or druggists, come and say, `It was I who
sold the arsenic to the gentleman;' and rather than not
recognize the guilty purchaser, they will recognize twenty.
Then the foolish criminal is taken, imprisoned,
interrogated, confronted, confounded, condemned, and cut off
by hemp or steel; or if she be a woman of any consideration,
they lock her up for life. This is the way in which you
Northerns understand chemistry, madame. Desrues was,
however, I must confess, more skilful.

What would you have, sir?said the ladylaughing; "we do
what we can. All the world has not the secret of the Medicis
or the Borgias."

Now,replied the countshrugging his shouldersshall I
tell you the cause of all these stupidities? It is because,
at your theatres, by what at least I could judge by reading
the pieces they play, they see persons swallow the contents
of a phial, or suck the button of a ring, and fall dead
instantly. Five minutes afterwards the curtain falls, and
the spectators depart. They are ignorant of the consequences
of the murder; they see neither the police commissary with
his badge of office, nor the corporal with his four men; and
so the poor fools believe that the whole thing is as easy as
lying. But go a little way from France -- go either to
Aleppo or Cairo, or only to Naples or Rome, and you will see
people passing by you in the streets -- people erect,
smiling, and fresh-colored, of whom Asmodeus, if you were
holding on by the skirt of his mantle, would say, `That man
was poisoned three weeks ago; he will be a dead man in a
month.'

Then,remarked Madame de Villefortthey have again
discovered the secret of the famous aquatofana that they
said was lost at Perugia.

Ah, but madame, does mankind ever lose anything? The arts
change about and make a tour of the world; things take a
different name, and the vulgar do not follow them -- that is
all; but there is always the same result. Poisons act
particularly on some organ or another -- one on the stomach,
another on the brain, another on the intestines. Well, the
poison brings on a cough, the cough an inflammation of the
lungs, or some other complaint catalogued in the book of
science, which, however, by no means precludes it from being
decidedly mortal; and if it were not, would be sure to
become so, thanks to the remedies applied by foolish
doctors, who are generally bad chemists, and which will act
in favor of or against the malady, as you please; and then
there is a human being killed according to all the rules of
art and skill, and of whom justice learns nothing, as was
said by a terrible chemist of my acquaintance, the worthy


Abbe Adelmonte of Taormina, in Sicily, who has studied these
national phenomena very profoundly.

It is quite frightful, but deeply interesting,said the
young ladymotionless with attention. "I thoughtI must
confessthat these taleswere inventions of the Middle
Ages."

Yes, no doubt, but improved upon by ours. What is the use
of time, rewards of merit, medals, crosses, Monthyon prizes,
if they do not lead society towards more complete
perfection? Yet man will never be perfect until he learns to
create and destroy; he does know how to destroy, and that is
half the battle.

So,added Madame de Villefortconstantly returning to her
objectthe poisons of the Borgias, the Medicis, the Renes,
the Ruggieris, and later, probably, that of Baron de Trenck,
whose story has been so misused by modern drama and romance

Were objects of art, madame, and nothing more,replied the
count. "Do you suppose that the real savant addresses
himself stupidly to the mere individual? By no means.
Science loves eccentricitiesleaps and boundstrials of
strengthfanciesif I may be allowed so to term them.
Thusfor instancethe excellent Abbe Adelmonteof whom I
spoke just nowmade in this way some marvellous
experiments."

Really?

Yes; I will mention one to you. He had a remarkably fine
garden, full of vegetables, flowers, and fruit. From amongst
these vegetables he selected the most simple -- a cabbage,
for instance. For three days he watered this cabbage with a
distillation of arsenic; on the third, the cabbage began to
droop and turn yellow. At that moment he cut it. In the eyes
of everybody it seemed fit for table, and preserved its
wholesome appearance. It was only poisoned to the Abbe
Adelmonte. He then took the cabbage to the room where he had
rabbits -- for the Abbe Adelmonte had a collection of
rabbits, cats, and guinea-pigs, fully as fine as his
collection of vegetables, flowers, and fruit. Well, the Abbe
Adelmonte took a rabbit, and made it eat a leaf of the
cabbage. The rabbit died. What magistrate would find, or
even venture to insinuate, anything against this? What
procureur has ever ventured to draw up an accusation against

M. Magendie or M. Flourens, in consequence of the rabbits,
cats, and guinea-pigs they have killed? -- not one. So,
then, the rabbit dies, and justice takes no notice. This
rabbit dead, the Abbe Adelmonte has its entrails taken out
by his cook and thrown on the dunghill; on this dunghill is
a hen, who, pecking these intestines, is in her turn taken
ill, and dies next day. At the moment when she is struggling
in the convulsions of death, a vulture is flying by (there
are a good many vultures in Adelmonte's country); this bird
darts on the dead fowl, and carries it away to a rock, where
it dines off its prey. Three days afterwards, this poor
vulture, which has been very much indisposed since that
dinner, suddenly feels very giddy while flying aloft in the
clouds, and falls heavily into a fish-pond. The pike, eels,
and carp eat greedily always, as everybody knows -- well,
they feast on the vulture. Now suppose that next day, one of

these eels, or pike, or carp, poisoned at the fourth remove,
is served up at your table. Well, then, your guest will be
poisoned at the fifth remove, and die, at the end of eight
or ten days, of pains in the intestines, sickness, or
abscess of the pylorus. The doctors open the body and say
with an air of profound learning, `The subject his died of a
tumor on the liver, or of typhoid fever!'

But,remarked Madame de Villefortall these
circumstances which you link thus to one another may be
broken by the least accident; the vulture may not see the
fowl, or may fall a hundred yards from the fish-pond.

Ah, that is where the art comes in. To be a great chemist
in the East, one must direct chance; and this is to be
achieved.-- Madame de Villefort was in deep thoughtyet
listened attentively. "But she exclaimed, suddenly,
arsenic is indelibleindestructible; in whatsoever way it
is absorbedit will be found again in the body of the
victim from the moment when it has been taken in sufficient
quantity to cause death."

Precisely so,cried Monte Cristo -- "precisely so; and
this is what I said to my worthy Adelmonte. He reflected
smiledand replied to me by a Sicilian proverbwhich I
believe is also a French proverb`My sonthe world was not
made in a day -- but in seven. Return on Sunday.' On the
Sunday following I did return to him. Instead of having
watered his cabbage with arseniche had watered it this
time with a solution of saltshaving their basis in
strychninestrychnos colubrinaas the learned term it.
Nowthe cabbage had not the slightest appearance of disease
in the worldand the rabbit had not the smallest distrust;
yetfive minutes afterwardsthe rabbit was dead. The fowl
pecked at the rabbitand the next day was a dead hen. This
time we were the vultures; so we opened the birdand this
time all special symptoms had disappearedthere were only
general symptoms. There was no peculiar indication in any
organ -- an excitement of the nervous system -- that was it;
a case of cerebral congestion -- nothing more. The fowl had
not been poisoned -- she had died of apoplexy. Apoplexy is a
rare disease among fowlsI believebut very common among
men." Madame de Villefort appeared more and more thoughtful.

It is very fortunate,she observedthat such substances
could only be prepared by chemists; otherwise, all the world
would be poisoning each other.

By chemists and persons who have a taste for chemistry,
said Monte Cristo carelessly.

And then,said Madame de Villefortendeavoring by a
struggleand with effortto get away from her thoughts
however skilfully it is prepared, crime is always crime,
and if it avoid human scrutiny, it does not escape the eye
of God. The Orientals are stronger than we are in cases of
conscience, and, very prudently, have no hell -- that is the
point.

Really, madame, this is a scruple which naturally must
occur to a pure mind like yours, but which would easily
yield before sound reasoning. The bad side of human thought
will always be defined by the paradox of Jean Jacques
Rousseau, -- you remember, -- the mandarin who is killed


five hundred leagues off by raising the tip of the finger.
Man's whole life passes in doing these things, and his
intellect is exhausted by reflecting on them. You will find
very few persons who will go and brutally thrust a knife in
the heart of a fellow-creature, or will administer to him,
in order to remove him from the surface of the globe on
which we move with life and animation, that quantity of
arsenic of which we just now talked. Such a thing is really
out of rule -- eccentric or stupid. To attain such a point,
the blood must be heated to thirty-six degrees, the pulse
be, at least, at ninety, and the feelings excited beyond the
ordinary limit. But suppose one pass, as is permissible in
philology, from the word itself to its softened synonym,
then, instead of committing an ignoble assassination you
make an `elimination;' you merely and simply remove from
your path the individual who is in your way, and that
without shock or violence, without the display of the
sufferings which, in the case of becoming a punishment, make
a martyr of the victim, and a butcher, in every sense of the
word, of him who inflicts them. Then there will be no blood,
no groans, no convulsions, and above all, no consciousness
of that horrid and compromising moment of accomplishing the
act, -- then one escapes the clutch of the human law, which
says, `Do not disturb society!' This is the mode in which
they manage these things, and succeed in Eastern climes,
where there are grave and phlegmatic persons who care very
little for the questions of time in conjunctures of
importance.

Yet conscience remains,remarked Madame de Villefort in an
agitated voiceand with a stifled sigh.

Yes,answered Monte Cristo "happilyyesconscience does
remain; and if it did nothow wretched we should be! After
every action requiring exertionit is conscience that saves
usfor it supplies us with a thousand good excusesof
which we alone are judges; and these reasonshowsoever
excellent in producing sleepwould avail us but very little
before a tribunalwhen we were tried for our lives. Thus
Richard III.for instancewas marvellously served by his
conscience after the putting away of the two children of
Edward IV.; in facthe could say`These two children of a
cruel and persecuting kingwho have inherited the vices of
their fatherwhich I alone could perceive in their juvenile
propensities -- these two children are impediments in my way
of promoting the happiness of the English peoplewhose
unhappiness they (the children) would infallibly have
caused.' Thus was Lady Macbeth served by her conscience
when she sought to give her sonand not her husband
(whatever Shakespeare may say)a throne. Ahmaternal love
is a great virtuea powerful motive -- so powerful that it
excuses a multitude of thingseven ifafter Duncan's
deathLady Macbeth had been at all pricked by her
conscience."

Madame de Villefort listened with avidity to these appalling
maxims and horrible paradoxesdelivered by the count with
that ironical simplicity which was peculiar to him. After a
moment's silencethe lady inquiredDo you know, my dear
count,she saidthat you are a very terrible reasoner,
and that you look at the world through a somewhat
distempered medium? Have you really measured the world by
scrutinies, or through alembics and crucibles? For you must
indeed be a great chemist, and the elixir you administered


to my son, which recalled him to life almost
instantaneously-


Oh, do not place any reliance on that, madame; one drop of
that elixir sufficed to recall life to a dying child, but
three drops would have impelled the blood into his lungs in
such a way as to have produced most violent palpitations;
six would have suspended his respiration, and caused syncope
more serious than that in which he was; ten would have
destroyed him. You know, madame, how suddenly I snatched him
from those phials which he so imprudently touched?

Is it then so terrible a poison?

Oh, no. In the first place, let us agree that the word
poison does not exist, because in medicine use is made of
the most violent poisons, which become, according as they
are employed, most salutary remedies.

What, then, is it?

A skilful preparation of my friend's the worthy Abbe
Adelmonte, who taught me the use of it.

Oh,observed Madame de Villefortit must be an admirable
anti-spasmodic.

Perfect, madame, as you have seen,replied the count; "and
I frequently make use of it -- with all possible prudence
thoughbe it observed he added with a smile of
intelligence.

Most assuredly responded Madame de Villefort in the same
tone. As for meso nervousand so subject to fainting
fitsI should require a Doctor Adelmonte to invent for me
some means of breathing freely and tranquillizing my mind
in the fear I have of dying some fine day of suffocation. In
the meanwhileas the thing is difficult to find in France
and your abbe is not probably disposed to make a journey to
Paris on my accountI must continue to use Monsieur
Planche's anti-spasmodics; and mint and Hoffman's drops are
among my favorite remedies. Here are some lozenges which I
have made up on purpose; they are compounded doubly strong."
Monte Cristo opened the tortoise-shell boxwhich the lady
presented to himand inhaled the odor of the lozenges with
the air of an amateur who thoroughly appreciated their
composition. "They are indeed exquisite he said; but as
they are necessarily submitted to the process of deglutition
-- a function which it is frequently impossible for a
fainting person to accomplish -- I prefer my own specific."

Undoubtedly, and so should I prefer it, after the effects I
have seen produced; but of course it is a secret, and I am
not so indiscreet as to ask it of you.

But I,said Monte Cristorising as he spoke -- "I am
gallant enough to offer it you."

How kind you are.

Only remember one thing -- a small dose is a remedy, a
large one is poison. One drop will restore life, as you have
seen; five or six will inevitably kill, and in a way the
more terrible inasmuch as, poured into a glass of wine, it


would not in the slightest degree affect its flavor. But I
say no more, madame; it is really as if I were prescribing
for you.The clock struck half-past sixand a lady was
announceda friend of Madame de Villefortwho came to dine
with her.

If I had had the honor of seeing you for the third or
fourth time, count, instead of only for the second,said
Madame de Villefort; "if I had had the honor of being your
friendinstead of only having the happiness of being under
an obligation to youI should insist on detaining you to
dinnerand not allow myself to be daunted by a first
refusal."

A thousand thanks, madame,replied Monte Cristo "but I
have an engagement which I cannot break. I have promised to
escort to the Academie a Greek princess of my acquaintance
who has never seen your grand operaand who relies on me to
conduct her thither."

Adieu, then, sir, and do not forget the prescription.

Ah, in truth, madame, to do that I must forget the hour's
conversation I have had with you, which is indeed
impossible.Monte Cristo bowedand left the house. Madame
de Villefort remained immersed in thought. "He is a very
strange man she said, and in my opinion is himself the
Adelmonte he talks about." As to Monte Cristo the result had
surpassed his utmost expectations. "Good said he, as he
went away; this is a fruitful soiland I feel certain that
the seed sown will not be cast on barren ground." Next
morningfaithful to his promisehe sent the prescription
requested.

Chapter 53
Robert le Diable.

The pretext of an opera engagement was so much the more
feasibleas there chanced to be on that very night a more
than ordinary attraction at the Academie Royale. Levasseur
who had been suffering under severe illnessmade his
reappearance in the character of Bertrandandas usual
the announcement of the most admired production of the
favorite composer of the day had attracted a brilliant and
fashionable audience. Morcerflike most other young men of
rank and fortunehad his orchestra stallwith the
certainty of always finding a seat in at least a dozen of
the principal boxes occupied by persons of his acquaintance;
he hadmoreoverhis right of entry into the omnibus box.
Chateau-Renaud rented a stall beside his ownwhile
Beauchampas a journalisthad unlimited range all over the
theatre. It happened that on this particular night the
minister's box was placed at the disposal of Lucien Debray
who offered it to the Comte de Morcerfwho againupon his
mother's rejection of itsent it to Danglarswith an
intimation that he should probably do himself the honor of
joining the baroness and her daughter during the eveningin
the event of their accepting the box in question. The ladies
received the offer with too much pleasure to dream of a
refusal. To no class of persons is the presentation of a
gratuitous opera-box more acceptable than to the wealthy
millionairewho still hugs economy while boasting of


carrying a king's ransom in his waistcoat pocket.

Danglars hadhoweverprotested against showing himself in
a ministerial boxdeclaring that his political principles
and his parliamentary position as member of the opposition
party would not permit him so to commit himself; the
baroness hadthereforedespatched a note to Lucien Debray
bidding him call for themit being wholly impossible for
her to go alone with Eugenie to the opera. There is no
gainsaying the fact that a very unfavorable construction
would have been put upon the circumstance if the two women
had gone without escortwhile the addition of a thirdin
the person of her mother's admitted loverenabled
Mademoiselle Danglars to defy malice and ill-nature. One
must take the world as one finds it.

The curtain roseas usualto an almost empty houseit
being one of the absurdities of Parisian fashion never to
appear at the opera until after the beginning of the
performanceso that the first act is generally played
without the slightest attention being paid to itthat part
of the audience already assembled being too much occupied in
observing the fresh arrivalswhile nothing is heard but the
noise of opening and shutting doorsand the buzz of
conversation. "Surely said Albert, as the door of a box on
the first circle opened, that must be the Countess G---."


And who is the Countess G---- ?inquired Chateau-Renaud.

What a question! Now, do you know, baron, I have a great
mind to pick a quarrel with you for asking it; as if all the
world did not know who the Countess G---- was.

Ah, to be sure,replied Chateau-Renaud; "the lovely
Venetianis it not?"

Herself.At this moment the countess perceived Albertand
returned his salutation with a smile. "You know herit
seems?" said Chateau-Renaud.

Franz introduced me to her at Rome,replied Albert.

Well, then, will you do as much for me in Paris as Franz
did for you in Rome?

With pleasure.

There was a cry of "Shut up!" from the audience. This
manifestation on the part of the spectators of their wish to
be allowed to hear the musicproduced not the slightest
effect on the two young menwho continued their
conversation. "The countess was present at the races in the
Champ-de-Mars said Chateau-Renaud.

To-day?"

Yes.

Bless me, I quite forgot the races. Did you bet?

Oh, merely a paltry fifty louis.

And who was the winner?


Nautilus. I staked on him.

But there were three races, were there not?

Yes; there was the prize given by the Jockey Club -- a gold
cup, you know -- and a very singular circumstance occurred
about that race.

What was it?

Oh, shut up!again interposed some of the audience.

Why, it was won by a horse and rider utterly unknown on the
course.

Is that possible?

True as day. The fact was, nobody had observed a horse
entered by the name of Vampa, or that of a jockey styled
Job, when, at the last moment, a splendid roan, mounted by a
jockey about as big as your fist, presented themselves at
the starting-post. They were obliged to stuff at least
twenty pounds weight of shot in the small rider's pockets,
to make him weight; but with all that he outstripped Ariel
and Barbare, against whom he ran, by at least three whole
lengths.

And was it not found out at last to whom the horse and
jockey belonged?

No.

You say that the horse was entered under the name of
Vampa?

Exactly; that was the title.

Then,answered AlbertI am better informed than you are,
and know who the owner of that horse was.

Shut up, there!cried the pit in chorus. And this time the
tone and manner in which the command was givenbetokened
such growing hostility that the two young men perceivedfor
the first timethat the mandate was addressed to them.
Leisurely turning roundthey calmly scrutinized the various
countenances around themas though demanding some one
person who would take upon himself the responsibility of
what they deemed excessive impertinence; but as no one
responded to the challengethe friends turned again to the
front of the theatreand affected to busy themselves with
the stage. At this moment the door of the minister's box
openedand Madame Danglarsaccompanied by her daughter
enteredescorted by Lucien Debraywho assiduously
conducted them to their seats.

Ha, ha,said Chateau-Renaudhere comes some friends of
yours, viscount! What are you looking at there? don't you
see they are trying to catch your eye?Albert turned round
just in time to receive a gracious wave of the fan from the
baroness; as for Mademoiselle Eugenieshe scarcely
vouchsafed to waste the glances of her large black eyes even
upon the business of the stage. "I tell you whatmy dear
fellow said Chateau-Renaud, I cannot imagine what


objection you can possibly have to Mademoiselle Danglars -that
issetting aside her want of ancestry and somewhat
inferior rankwhich by the way I don't think you care very
much about. Nowbarring all thatI mean to say she is a
deuced fine girl!"

Handsome, certainly,replied Albertbut not to my taste,
which I confess, inclines to something softer, gentler, and
more feminine.

Ah, well,exclaimed Chateau-Renaudwho because he had
seen his thirtieth summer fancied himself duly warranted in
assuming a sort of paternal air with his more youthful
friendyou young people are never satisfied; why, what
would you have more? your parents have chosen you a bride
built on the model of Diana, the huntress, and yet you are
not content.

No, for that very resemblance affrights me; I should have
liked something more in the manner of the Venus of Milo or
Capua; but this chase-loving Diana continually surrounded by
her nymphs gives me a sort of alarm lest she should some day
bring on me the fate of Actaeon.

Andindeedit required but one glance at Mademoiselle
Danglars to comprehend the justness of Morcerf's remark -she
was beautifulbut her beauty was of too marked and
decided a character to please a fastidious taste; her hair
was raven blackbut its natural waves seemed somewhat
rebellious; her eyesof the same color as her hairwere
surmounted by well-arched browswhose great defect
howeverconsisted in an almost habitual frownwhile her
whole physiognomy wore that expression of firmness and
decision so little in accordance with the gentler attributes
of her sex -- her nose was precisely what a sculptor would
have chosen for a chiselled Juno. Her mouthwhich might
have been found fault with as too largedisplayed teeth of
pearly whitenessrendered still more conspicuous by the
brilliant carmine of her lipscontrasting vividly with her
naturally pale complexion. But that which completed the
almost masculine look Morcerf found so little to his taste
was a dark moleof much larger dimensions than these freaks
of nature generally areplaced just at the corner of her
mouth; and the effect tended to increase the expression of
self-dependence that characterized her countenance. The rest
of Mademoiselle Eugenie's person was in perfect keeping with
the head just described; sheindeedreminded one of Diana
as Chateau-Renaud observedbut her bearing was more haughty
and resolute. As regarded her attainmentsthe only fault to
be found with them was the same that a fastidious
connoisseur might have found with her beautythat they were
somewhat too erudite and masculine for so young a person.
She was a perfect linguista first-rate artistwrote
poetryand composed music; to the study of the latter she
professed to be entirely devotedfollowing it with an
indefatigable perseveranceassisted by a schoolfellow-- a
young woman without fortune whose talent promised to develop
into remarkable powers as a singer. It was rumored that she
was an object of almost paternal interest to one of the
principal composers of the daywho excited her to spare no
pains in the cultivation of her voicewhich might hereafter
prove a source of wealth and independence. But this counsel
effectually decided Mademoiselle Danglars never to commit
herself by being seen in public with one destined for a


theatrical life; and acting upon this principlethe
banker's daughterthough perfectly willing to allow
Mademoiselle Louise d'Armilly (that was the name of the
young virtuosa) to practice with her through the daytook
especial care not to be seen in her company. Stillthough
not actually received at the Hotel Danglars in the light of
an acknowledged friendLouise was treated with far more
kindness and consideration than is usually bestowed on a
governess.

The curtain fell almost immediately after the entrance of
Madame Danglars into her boxthe band quitted the orchestra
for the accustomed half-hour's interval allowed between the
actsand the audience were left at liberty to promenade the
salon or lobbiesor to pay and receive visits in their
respective boxes. Morcerf and Chateau-Renaud were amongst
the first to avail themselves of this permission. For an
instant the idea struck Madame Danglars that this eagerness
on the part of the young viscount arose from his impatience
to join her partyand she whispered her expectations to her
daughterthat Albert was hurrying to pay his respects to
them. Mademoiselle Eugeniehowevermerely returned a
dissenting movement of the headwhilewith a cold smile
she directed the attention of her mother to an opposite box
on the first circlein which sat the Countess G----and
where Morcerf had just made his appearance. "So we meet
againmy travelling frienddo we?" cried the countess
extending her hand to him with all the warmth and cordiality
of an old acquaintance; "it was really very good of you to
recognize me so quicklyand still more so to bestow your
first visit on me."

Be assured,replied Albertthat if I had been aware of
your arrival in Paris, and had known your address, I should
have paid my respects to you before this. Allow me to
introduce my friend, Baron de Chateau-Renaud, one of the few
true gentlemen now to be found in France, and from whom I
have just learned that you were a spectator of the races in
the Champ-de-Mars, yesterday.Chateau-Renaud bowed to the
countess.

So you were at the races, baron?inquired the countess
eagerly.

Yes, madame.

Well, then,pursued Madame G---- with considerable
animationyou can probably tell me who won the Jockey Club
stakes?

I am sorry to say I cannot,replied the baron; "and I was
just asking the same question of Albert."

Are you very anxious to know, countess?asked Albert.

To know what?

The name of the owner of the winning horse?

Excessively; only imagine -- but do tell me, viscount,
whether you really are acquainted with it or no?

I beg your pardon, madame, but you were about to relate
some story, were you not? You said, `only imagine,' -- and


then paused. Pray continue.

Well, then, listen. You must know I felt so interested in
the splendid roan horse, with his elegant little rider, so
tastefully dressed in a pink satin jacket and cap, that I
could not help praying for their success with as much
earnestness as though the half of my fortune were at stake;
and when I saw them outstrip all the others, and come to the
winning-post in such gallant style, I actually clapped my
hands with joy. Imagine my surprise, when, upon returning
home, the first object I met on the staircase was the
identical jockey in the pink jacket! I concluded that, by
some singular chance, the owner of the winning horse must
live in the same hotel as myself; but, as I entered my
apartments, I beheld the very gold cup awarded as a prize to
the unknown horse and rider. Inside the cup was a small
piece of paper, on which were written these words -- `From
Lord Ruthven to Countess G---- .'

Precisely; I was sure of it,said Morcerf.

Sure of what?

That the owner of the horse was Lord Ruthven himself.

What Lord Ruthven do you mean?

Why, our Lord Ruthven -- the Vampire of the Salle
Argentino!

Is it possible?exclaimed the countess; "is he here in
Paris?"

To be sure, -- why not?

And you visit him? -- meet him at your own house and
elsewhere?

I assure you he is my most intimate friend, and M. de
Chateau-Renaud has also the honor of his acquaintance.

But why are you so sure of his being the winner of the
Jockey Club prize?

Was not the winning horse entered by the name of Vampa?

What of that?

Why, do you not recollect the name of the celebrated bandit
by whom I was made prisoner?

Oh, yes.

And from whose hands the count extricated me in so
wonderful a manner?

To be sure, I remember it all now.

He called himself Vampa. You see. it's evident where the
count got the name.

But what could have been his motive for sending the cup to
me?


In the first place, because I had spoken much of you to
him, as you may believe; and in the second, because he
delighted to see a countrywoman take so lively an interest
in his success.

I trust and hope you never repeated to the count all the
foolish remarks we used to make about him?

I should not like to affirm upon oath that I have not.
Besides, his presenting you the cup under the name of Lord
Ruthven-


Oh, but that is dreadful! Why, the man must owe me a
fearful grudge.

Does his action appear like that of an enemy?

No; certainly not.

Well, then-


And so he is in Paris?

Yes.

And what effect does he produce?

Why,said Alberthe was talked about for a week; then
the coronation of the queen of England took place, followed
by the theft of Mademoiselle Mars's diamonds; and so people
talked of something else.

My good fellow,said Chateau-Renaudthe count is your
friend and you treat him accordingly. Do not believe what
Albert is telling you, countess; so far from the sensation
excited in the Parisian circles by the appearance of the
Count of Monte Cristo having abated, I take upon myself to
declare that it is as strong as ever. His first astounding
act upon coming amongst us was to present a pair of horses,
worth 32,000 francs, to Madame Danglars; his second, the
almost miraculous preservation of Madame de Villefort's
life; now it seems that he has carried off the prize awarded
by the Jockey Club. I therefore maintain, in spite of
Morcerf, that not only is the count the object of interest
at this present moment, but also that he will continue to be
so for a month longer if he pleases to exhibit an
eccentricity of conduct which, after all, may be his
ordinary mode of existence.

Perhaps you are right,said Morcerf; "meanwhilewho is in
the Russian ambassador's box?"

Which box do you mean?asked the countess.

The one between the pillars on the first tier -- it seems
to have been fitted up entirely afresh.

Did you observe any one during the first act?asked
Chateau-Renaud.

Where?

In that box.


No,replied the countessit was certainly empty during
the first act;thenresuming the subject of their previous
conversationshe saidAnd so you really believe it was
your mysterious Count of Monte Cristo that gained the
prize?

I am sure of it.

And who afterwards sent the cup to me?

Undoubtedly.

But I don't know him,said the countess; "I have a great
mind to return it."

Do no such thing, I beg of you; he would only send you
another, formed of a magnificent sapphire, or hollowed out
of a gigantic ruby. It is his way, and you must take him as
you find him.At this moment the bell rang to announce the
drawing up of the curtain for the second act. Albert rose to
return to his place. "Shall I see you again?" asked the
countess. "At the end of the next actwith your permission
I will come and inquire whether there is anything I can do
for you in Paris?"

Pray take notice,said the countessthat my present
residence is 22 Rue de Rivoli, and that I am at home to my
friends every Saturday evening. So now, you are both
forewarned.The young men bowedand quitted the box. Upon
reaching their stallsthey found the whole of the audience
in the parterre standing up and directing their gaze towards
the box formerly possessed by the Russian ambassador. A man
of from thirty-five to forty years of agedressed in deep
blackhad just enteredaccompanied by a young woman
dressed after the Eastern style. The lady was surpassingly
beautifulwhile the rich magnificence of her attire drew
all eyes upon her. "Hullo said Albert; it is Monte Cristo
and his Greek!"

The strangers wereindeedno other than the count and
Haidee. In a few moments the young girl had attracted the
attention of the whole houseand even the occupants of the
boxes leaned forward to scrutinize her magnificent diamonds.
The second act passed away during one continued buzz of
voices -- one deep whisper -- intimating that some great and
universally interesting event had occurred; all eyesall
thoughtswere occupied with the young and beautiful woman
whose gorgeous apparel and splendid jewels made a most
extraordinary spectacle. Upon this occasion an unmistakable
sign from Madame Danglars intimated her desire to see Albert
in her box directly the curtain fell on the second actand
neither the politeness nor good taste of Morcerf would
permit his neglecting an invitation so unequivocally given.
At the close of the act he therefore went to the baroness.
Having bowed to the two ladieshe extended his hand to
Debray. By the baroness he was most graciously welcomed
while Eugenie received him with her accustomed coldness.

My dear fellow,said Debrayyou have come in the nick of
time. There is madame overwhelming me with questions
respecting the count; she insists upon it that I can tell
her his birth, education, and parentage, where he came from,
and whither he is going. Being no disciple of Cagliostro, I
was wholly unable to do this; so, by way of getting out of


the scrape, I said, `Ask Morcerf; he has got the whole
history of his beloved Monte Cristo at his fingers' ends;'
whereupon the baroness signified her desire to see you.

Is it not almost incredible,said Madame Danglarsthat a
person having at least half a million of secret-service
money at his command, should possess so little information?

Let me assure you, madame,said Lucienthat had I really
the sum you mention at my disposal, I would employ it more
profitably than in troubling myself to obtain particulars
respecting the Count of Monte Cristo, whose only merit in my
eyes consists in his being twice as rich as a nabob.
However, I have turned the business over to Morcerf, so pray
settle it with him as may be most agreeable to you; for my
own part, I care nothing about the count or his mysterious
doings.

I am very sure no nabob would have sent me a pair of horses
worth 32,000 francs, wearing on their heads four diamonds
valued at 5,000 francs each.

He seems to have a mania for diamonds,said Morcerf
smilingand I verily believe that, like Potemkin, he keeps
his pockets filled, for the sake of strewing them along the
road, as Tom Thumb did his flint stones.

Perhaps he has discovered some mine,said Madame Danglars.
I suppose you know he has an order for unlimited credit on
the baron's banking establishment?

I was not aware of it,replied Albertbut I can readily
believe it.

And, further, that he stated to M. Danglars his intention
of only staying a year in Paris, during which time he
proposed to spend six millions.

He must be the Shah of Persiatravelling incog."

Have you noticed the remarkable beauty of the young woman,

M. Lucien?inquired Eugenie.
I really never met with one woman so ready to do justice to
the charms of another as yourself,responded Lucien
raising his lorgnette to his eye. "A most lovely creature
upon my soul!" was his verdict.

Who is this young person, M. de Morcerf?inquired Eugenie;
does anybody know?

Mademoiselle,said Albertreplying to this direct appeal
I can give you very exact information on that subject, as
well as on most points relative to the mysterious person of
whom we are now conversing -- the young woman is a Greek.

So I should suppose by her dress; if you know no more than
that, every one here is as well-informed as yourself.

I am extremely sorry you find me so ignorant a cicerone,
replied Morcerfbut I am reluctantly obliged to confess, I
have nothing further to communicate -- yes, stay, I do know
one thing more, namely, that she is a musician, for one day
when I chanced to be breakfasting with the count, I heard


the sound of a guzla -- it is impossible that it could have
been touched by any other finger than her own.

Then your count entertains visitors, does he?asked Madame
Danglars.

Indeed he does, and in a most lavish manner, I can assure
you.

I must try and persuade M. Danglars to invite him to a ball
or dinner, or something of the sort, that he may be
compelled to ask us in return.

What,said Debraylaughing; "do you really mean you would
go to his house?"

Why not? my husband could accompany me.

But do you know this mysterious count is a bachelor?

You have ample proof to the contrary, if you look
opposite,said the baronessas she laughingly pointed to
the beautiful Greek.

No, no!exclaimed Debray; "that girl is not his wife: he
told us himself she was his slave. Do you not recollect
Morcerfhis telling us so at your breakfast?"

Well, then,said the baronessif slave she be, she has
all the air and manner of a princess.

Of the `Arabian Nights'?

If you like; but tell me, my dear Lucien, what it is that
constitutes a princess. Why, diamonds -- and she is covered
with them.

To me she seems overloaded,observed Eugenie; "she would
look far better if she wore fewerand we should then be
able to see her finely formed throat and wrists."

See how the artist peeps out!exclaimed Madame Danglars.
My poor Eugenie, you must conceal your passion for the fine
arts.

I admire all that is beautiful,returned the young lady.

What do you think of the count?inquired Debray; "he is
not much amissaccording to my ideas of good looks."

The count,repeated Eugenieas though it had not occurred
to her to observe him sooner; "the count? -- ohhe is so
dreadfully pale."

I quite agree with you,said Morcerf; "and the secret of
that very pallor is what we want to find out. The Countess
G---- insists upon it that he is a vampire."

Then the Countess G---- has returned to Paris, has she?
inquired the baroness.

Is that she, mamma?asked Eugenie; "almost opposite to us
with that profusion of beautiful light hair?"


Yes,said Madame Danglarsthat is she. Shall I tell you
what you ought to do, Morcerf?

Command me, madame.

Well, then, you should go and bring your Count of Monte
Cristo to us.

What for?asked Eugenie.

What for? Why, to converse with him, of course. Have you
really no desire to meet him?

None whatever,replied Eugenie.

Strange child,murmured the baroness.

He will very probably come of his own accord,said
Morcerf. "There; do you seemadamehe recognizes youand
bows." The baroness returned the salute in the most smiling
and graceful manner.

Well,said MorcerfI may as well be magnanimous, and
tear myself away to forward your wishes. Adieu; I will go
and try if there are any means of speaking to him.

Go straight to his box; that will be the simplest plan.

But I have never been presented.

Presented to whom?

To the beautiful Greek.

You say she is only a slave?

While you assert that she is a queen, or at least a
princess. No; I hope that when he sees me leave you, he will
come out.

That is possible -- go.

I am going,said Albertas he made his parting bow. Just
as he was passing the count's boxthe door openedand
Monte Cristo came forth. After giving some directions to
Aliwho stood in the lobbythe count took Albert's arm.
Carefully closing the box doorAli placed himself before
itwhile a crowd of spectators assembled round the Nubian.

Upon my word,said Monte CristoParis is a strange city,
and the Parisians a very singular people. See that cluster
of persons collected around poor Ali, who is as much
astonished as themselves; really one might suppose he was
the only Nubian they had ever beheld. Now I can promise you,
that a Frenchman might show himself in public, either in
Tunis, Constantinople, Bagdad, or Cairo, without being
treated in that way.

That shows that the Eastern nations have too much good
sense to waste their time and attention on objects
undeserving of either. However, as far as Ali is concerned,
I can assure you, the interest he excites is merely from the
circumstance of his being your attendant -- you, who are at
this moment the most celebrated and fashionable person in


Paris.

Really? and what has procured me so fluttering a
distinction?

What? why, yourself, to be sure! You give away horses worth
a thousand louis; you save the lives of ladies of high rank
and beauty; under the name of Major Brack you run
thoroughbreds ridden by tiny urchins not larger than
marmots; then, when you have carried off the golden trophy
of victory, instead of setting any value on it, you give it
to the first handsome woman you think of!

And who has filled your head with all this nonsense?

Why, in the first place, I heard it from Madame Danglars,
who, by the by, is dying to see you in her box, or to have
you seen there by others; secondly, I learned it from
Beauchamp's journal; and thirdly, from my own imagination.
Why, if you sought concealment, did you call your horse
Vampa?

That was an oversight, certainly,replied the count; "but
tell medoes the Count of Morcerf never visit the Opera? I
have been looking for himbut without success."

He will be here to-night.

In what part of the house?

In the baroness's box, I believe.

That charming young woman with her is her daughter?

Yes.

I congratulate you.Morcerf smiled. "We will discuss that
subject at length some future time said he. But what do
you think of the music?"

What music?

Why, the music you have been listening to.

Oh, it is well enough as the production of a human
composer, sung by featherless bipeds, to quote the late
Diogenes.

From which it would seem, my dear count, that you can at
pleasure enjoy the seraphic strains that proceed from the
seven choirs of paradise?

You are right, in some degree; when I wish to listen to
sounds more exquisitely attuned to melody than mortal ear
ever yet listened to, I go to sleep.

Then sleep here, my dear count. The conditions are
favorable; what else was opera invented for?

No, thank you. Your orchestra is too noisy. To sleep after
the manner I speak of, absolute calm and silence are
necessary, and then a certain preparation-


I know -- the famous hashish!


Precisely. So, my dear viscount, whenever you wish to be
regaled with music come and sup with me.

I have already enjoyed that treat when breakfasting with
you,said Morcerf.

Do you mean at Rome?

I do.

Ah, then, I suppose you heard Haidee's guzla; the poor
exile frequently beguiles a weary hour in playing over to me
the airs of her native land.Morcerf did not pursue the
subjectand Monte Cristo himself fell into a silent
reverie. The bell rang at this moment for the rising of the
curtain. "You will excuse my leaving you said the count,
turning in the direction of his box.

What? Are you going?"

Pray, say everything that is kind to Countess G---- on the
part of her friend the Vampire.

And what message shall I convey to the baroness!

That, with her permission, I shall do myself the honor of
paying my respects in the course of the evening.

The third act had begun; and during its progress the Count
of Morcerfaccording to his promisemade his appearance in
the box of Madame Danglars. The Count of Morcerf was not a
person to excite either interest or curiosity in a place of
public amusement; his presencethereforewas wholly
unnoticedsave by the occupants of the box in which he had
just seated himself. The quick eye of Monte Cristo however
marked his coming; and a slight though meaning smile passed
over his lips. Haideewhose soul seemed centred in the
business of the stagelike all unsophisticated natures
delighted in whatever addressed itself to the eye or ear.

The third act passed off as usual. Mesdemoiselles Noblet
Julieand Leroux executed the customary pirouettes; Robert
duly challenged the Prince of Granada; and the royal father
of the princess Isabellataking his daughter by the hand
swept round the stage with majestic stridesthe better to
display the rich folds of his velvet robe and mantle. After
which the curtain again felland the spectators poured
forth from the theatre into the lobbies and salon. The count
left his boxand a moment later was saluting the Baronne
Danglarswho could not restrain a cry of mingled pleasure
and surprise. "You are welcomecount!" she exclaimedas he
entered. "I have been most anxious to see youthat I might
repeat orally the thanks writing can so ill express."

Surely so trifling a circumstance cannot deserve a place in
your remembrance. Believe me, madame, I had entirely
forgotten it.

But it is not so easy to forget, monsieur, that the very
next day after your princely gift you saved the life of my
dear friend, Madame de Villefort, which was endangered by
the very animals your generosity restored to me.


This time, at least, I do not deserve your thanks. It was
Ali, my Nubian slave, who rendered this service to Madame de
Villefort.

Was it Ali,asked the Count of Morcerfwho rescued my
son from the hands of bandits?

No, count,replied Monte Cristo taking the hand held out
to him by the general; "in this instance I may fairly and
freely accept your thanks; but you have already tendered
themand fully discharged your debt -- if indeed there
existed one -- and I feel almost mortified to find you still
reverting to the subject. May I beg of youbaronessto
honor me with an introduction to your daughter?"

Oh, you are no stranger -- at least not by name,replied
Madame Danglarsand the last two or three days we have
really talked of nothing but you. Eugenie,continued the
baronessturning towards her daughterthis is the Count
of Monte Cristo.The Count bowedwhile Mademoiselle
Danglars bent her head slightly. "You have a charming young
person with you to-nightcount said Eugenie. Is she your
daughter?"

No, mademoiselle,said Monte Cristoastonished at the
coolness and freedom of the question. "She is a poor
unfortunate Greek left under my care."

And what is her name?

Haidee,replied Monte Cristo.

A Greek?murmured the Count of Morcerf.

Yes, indeed, count,said Madame Danglars; "and tell me
did you ever see at the court of Ali Tepeliniwhom you so
gloriously and valiantly serveda more exquisite beauty or
richer costume?"

Did I hear rightly, monsieur,said Monte Cristo "that you
served at Yanina?"

I was inspector-general of the pasha's troops,replied
Morcerf; "and it is no secret that I owe my fortunesuch as
it isto the liberality of the illustrious Albanese chief."

But look!exclaimed Madame Danglars.

Where?stammered Morcerf.

There,said Monte Cristo placing his arms around the
countand leaning with him over the front of the boxjust
as Haideewhose eyes were occupied in examining the theatre
in search of her guardianperceived his pale features close
to Morcerf's face. It was as if the young girl beheld the
head of Medusa. She bent forwards as though to assure
herself of the reality of what she sawthenuttering a
faint crythrew herself back in her seat. The sound was
heard by the people about Aliwho instantly opened the
box-door. "Whycount exclaimed Eugenie, what has
happened to your ward? she seems to have been taken suddenly
ill."

Very probably,answered the count. "But do not be alarmed


on her account. Haidee's nervous system is delicately
organizedand she is peculiarly susceptible to the odors
even of flowers -- naythere are some which cause her to
faint if brought into her presence. However continued
Monte Cristo, drawing a small phial from his pocket, I have
an infallible remedy." So sayinghe bowed to the baroness
and her daughterexchanged a parting shake of the hand with
Debray and the countand left Madame Danglars' box. Upon
his return to Haidee he found her still very pale. As soon
as she saw him she seized his hand; her own hands were moist
and icy cold. "Who was it you were talking with over there?"
she asked.


With the Count of Morcerf,answered Monte Cristo. "He
tells me he served your illustrious fatherand that he owes
his fortune to him."


Wretch!exclaimed Haideeher eyes flashing with rage; "he
sold my father to the Turksand the fortune he boasts of
was the price of his treachery! Did not you know thatmy
dear lord?"


Something of this I heard in Epirus,said Monte Cristo;
but the particulars are still unknown to me. You shall
relate them to me, my child. They are, no doubt, both
curious and interesting.


Yes, yes; but let us go. I feel as though it would kill me
to remain long near that dreadful man.So sayingHaidee
aroseand wrapping herself in her burnoose of white
cashmire embroidered with pearls and coralshe hastily
quitted the box at the moment when the curtain was rising
upon the fourth act.


Do you observe,said the Countess G---- to Albertwho
had returned to her sidethat man does nothing like other
people; he listens most devoutly to the third act of `Robert
le Diable,' and when the fourth begins, takes his
departure.


Chapter 54
A Flurry in Stocks.


Some days after this meetingAlbert de Morcerf visited the
Count of Monte Cristo at his house in the Champs Elysees
which had already assumed that palace-like appearance which
the count's princely fortune enabled him to give even to his
most temporary residences. He came to renew the thanks of
Madame Danglars which had been already conveyed to the count
through the medium of a lettersigned "Baronne Danglars
nee Hermine de Servieux." Albert was accompanied by Lucien
Debraywhojoining in his friend's conversationadded
some passing complimentsthe source of which the count's
talent for finesse easily enabled him to guess. He was
convinced that Lucien's visit was due to a double feeling of
curiositythe larger half of which sentiment emanated from
the Rue de la Chaussee d'Antin. In shortMadame Danglars
not being able personally to examine in detail the domestic
economy and household arrangements of a man who gave away
horses worth 30000 francs and who went to the opera with a
Greek slave wearing diamonds to the amount of a million of
moneyhad deputed those eyesby which she was accustomed



to seeto give her a faithful account of the mode of life
of this incomprehensible person. But the count did not
appear to suspect that there could be the slightest
connection between Lucien's visit and the curiosity of the
baroness.

You are in constant communication with the Baron Danglars?
the count inquired of Albert de Morcerf.

Yes, count, you know what I told you?

All remains the same, then, in that quarter?

It is more than ever a settled thing,said Lucien-- and
considering that this remark was all that he was at that
time called upon to makehe adjusted the glass to his eye
and biting the top of his gold headed canebegan to make
the tour of the apartmentexamining the arms and the
pictures.

Ah,said Monte Cristo "I did not expect that the affair
would be so promptly concluded."

Oh, things take their course without our assistance. While
we are forgetting them, they are falling into their
appointed order; and when, again, our attention is directed
to them, we are surprised at the progress they have made
towards the proposed end. My father and M. Danglars served
together in Spain, my father in the army and M. Danglars in
the commissariat department. It was there that my father,
ruined by the revolution, and M. Danglars, who never had
possessed any patrimony, both laid the foundations of their
different fortunes.

Yes,said Monte Cristo "I think M. Danglars mentioned that
in a visit which I paid him; and continued he, casting a
side-glance at Lucien, who was turning over the leaves of an
album, Mademoiselle Eugenie is pretty -- I think I remember
that to be her name."

Very pretty, or rather, very beautiful,replied Albert
but of that style of beauty which I do not appreciate; I am
an ungrateful fellow.

You speak as if you were already her husband.

Ah,returned Albertin his turn looking around to see
what Lucien was doing.

Really,said Monte Cristolowering his voiceyou do not
appear to me to be very enthusiastic on the subject of this
marriage.

Mademoiselle Danglars is too rich for me,replied Morcerf
and that frightens me.

Bah,exclaimed Monte Cristothat's a fine reason to
give. Are you not rich yourself?

My father's income is about 50,000 francs per annum; and he
will give me, perhaps, ten or twelve thousand when I marry.

That, perhaps, might not be considered a large sum, in
Paris especially,said the count; "but everything does not


depend on wealthand it is a fine thing to have a good
nameand to occupy a high station in society. Your name is
celebratedyour position magnificent; and then the Comte de
Morcerf is a soldierand it is pleasing to see the
integrity of a Bayard united to the poverty of a Duguesclin;
disinterestedness is the brightest ray in which a noble
sword can shine. As for meI consider the union with
Mademoiselle Danglars a most suitable one; she will enrich
youand you will ennoble her." Albert shook his headand
looked thoughtful. "There is still something else said he.

I confess observed Monte Cristo, that I have some
difficulty in comprehending your objection to a young lady
who is both rich and beautiful."

Oh,said Morcerfthis repugnance, if repugnance it may
be called, is not all on my side.

Whence can it arise, then? for you told me your father
desired the marriage.

It is my mother who dissents; she has a clear and
penetrating judgment, and does not smile on the proposed
union. I cannot account for it, but she seems to entertain
some prejudice against the Danglars.

Ah,said the countin a somewhat forced tonethat may
be easily explained; the Comtesse de Morcerf, who is
aristocracy and refinement itself, does not relish the idea
of being allied by your marriage with one of ignoble birth;
that is natural enough.

I do not know if that is her reason,said Albertbut one
thing I do know, that if this marriage be consummated, it
will render her quite miserable. There was to have been a
meeting six weeks ago in order to talk over and settle the
affair; but I had such a sudden attack of indisposition-


Real?interrupted the countsmiling.

Oh, real enough, from anxiety doubtless, -- at any rate
they postponed the matter for two months. There is no hurry,
you know. I am not yet twenty-one, and Eugenie is only
seventeen; but the two months expire next week. It must be
done. My dear count, you cannot imagine now my mind is
harassed. How happy you are in being exempt from all this!

Well, and why should not you be free, too? What prevents
you from being so?

Oh, it will be too great a disappointment to my father if I
do not marry Mademoiselle Danglars.

Marry her then,said the countwith a significant shrug
of the shoulders.

Yes,replied Morcerfbut that will plunge my mother into
positive grief.

Then do not marry her,said the count.

Well, I shall see. I will try and think over what is the
best thing to be done; you will give me your advice, will
you not, and if possible extricate me from my unpleasant


position? I think, rather than give pain to my dear mother,
I would run the risk of offending the count.Monte Cristo
turned away; he seemed moved by this last remark. "Ah said
he to Debray, who had thrown himself into an easy-chair at
the farthest extremity of the salon, and who held a pencil
in his right hand and an account book in his left, what are
you doing there? Are you making a sketch after Poussin?"

Oh, no,was the tranquil response; "I am too fond of art
to attempt anything of that sort. I am doing a little sum in
arithmetic."

In arithmetic?

Yes; I am calculating -- by the way, Morcerf, that
indirectly concerns you -- I am calculating what the house
of Danglars must have gained by the last rise in Haiti
bonds; from 206 they have risen to 409 in three days, and
the prudent banker had purchased at 206; therefore he must
have made 300,000 livres.

That is not his biggest scoop,said Morcerf; "did he not
make a million in Spaniards this last year?"

My dear fellow,said Lucienhere is the Count of Monte
Cristo, who will say to you, as the Italians do, -


`Danaro e santita
Meta della meta.'*

* "Money and sanctity
Each in a moiety.
When they tell me such things, I only shrug my shoulders
and say nothing.

But you were speaking of Haitians?said Monte Cristo.

Ah, Haitians, -- that is quite another thing! Haitians are
the ecarte of French stock-jobbing. We may like bouillotte,
delight in whist, be enraptured with boston, and yet grow
tired of them all; but we always come back to ecarte -- it
is not only a game, it is a hors-d'oeuvre! M. Danglars sold
yesterday at 405, and pockets 300,000 francs. Had he but
waited till to-day, the price would have fallen to 205, and
instead of gaining 300,000 francs, he would have lost 20 or
25,000.

And what has caused the sudden fall from 409 to 206?asked
Monte Cristo. "I am profoundly ignorant of all these
stock-jobbing intrigues."

Because,said Albertlaughingone piece of news follows
another, and there is often great dissimilarity between
them.

Ah,said the countI see that M. Danglars is accustomed
to play at gaining or losing 300,000 francs in a day; he
must be enormously rich.

It is not he who plays!exclaimed Lucien; "it is Madame
Danglars: she is indeed daring."

But you who are a reasonable being, Lucien, and who know


how little dependence is to be placed on the news, since you
are at the fountain-head, surely you ought to prevent it,
said Morcerfwith a smile.

How can I, if her husband fails in controlling her?asked
Lucien; "you know the character of the baroness -- no one
has any influence with herand she does precisely what she
pleases."

Ah, if I were in your place-- said Albert.

Well?

I would reform her; it would be rendering a service to her
future son-in-law.

How would you set about it?

Ah, that would be easy enough -- I would give her a
lesson.

A lesson?

Yes. Your position as secretary to the minister renders
your authority great on the subject of political news; you
never open your mouth but the stockbrokers immediately
stenograph your words. Cause her to lose a hundred thousand
francs, and that would teach her prudence.

I do not understand,stammered Lucien.

It is very clear, notwithstanding,replied the young man
with an artlessness wholly free from affectation; "tell her
some fine morning an unheard-of piece of intelligence -some
telegraphic despatchof which you alone are in
possession; for instancethat Henri IV. was seen yesterday
at Gabrielle's. That would boom the market; she will buy
heavilyand she will certainly lose when Beauchamp
announces the following dayin his gazette`The report
circulated by some usually well-informed persons that the
king was seen yesterday at Gabrielle's houseis totally
without foundation. We can positively assert that his
majesty did not quit the Pont-Neuf.'" Lucien half smiled.
Monte Cristoalthough apparently indifferenthad not lost
one word of this conversationand his penetrating eye had
even read a hidden secret in the embarrassed manner of the
secretary. This embarrassment had completely escaped Albert
but it caused Lucien to shorten his visit; he was evidently
ill at ease. The countin taking leave of himsaid
something in a low voiceto which he answeredWillingly,
count; I accept.The count returned to young Morcerf.

Do you not think, on reflection,said he to himthat you
have done wrong in thus speaking of your mother-in-law in
the presence of M. Debray?

My dear count,said MorcerfI beg of you not to apply
that title so prematurely.

Now, speaking without any exaggeration, is your mother
really so very much averse to this marriage?

So much so that the baroness very rarely comes to the
house, and my mother, has not, I think, visited Madame


Danglars twice in her whole life.

Then,said the countI am emboldened to speak openly to
you. M. Danglars is my banker; M. de Villefort has
overwhelmed me with politeness in return for a service which
a casual piece of good fortune enabled me to render him. I
predict from all this an avalanche of dinners and routs.
Now, in order not to presume on this, and also to be
beforehand with them, I have, if agreeable to you, thought
of inviting M. and Madame Danglars, and M. and Madame de
Villefort, to my country-house at Auteuil. If I were to
invite you and the Count and Countess of Morcerf to this
dinner, I should give it the appearance of being a
matrimonial meeting, or at least Madame de Morcerf would
look upon the affair in that light, especially if Baron
Danglars did me the honor to bring his daughter. In that
case your mother would hold me in aversion, and I do not at
all wish that; on the contrary, I desire to stand high in
her esteem.

Indeed, count,said MorcerfI thank you sincerely for
having used so much candor towards me, and I gratefully
accept the exclusion which you propose. You say you desire
my mother's good opinion; I assure you it is already yours
to a very unusual extent.

Do you think so?said Monte Cristowith interest.

Oh, I am sure of it; we talked of you an hour after you
left us the other day. But to return to what we were saying.
If my mother could know of this attention on your part -and
I will venture to tell her -- I am sure that she will be
most grateful to you; it is true that my father will be
equally angry.The count laughed. "Well said he to
Morcerf, but I think your father will not be the only angry
one; M. and Madame Danglars will think me a very
ill-mannered person. They know that I am intimate with you
-- that you arein fact; one of the oldest of my Parisian
acquaintances -- and they will not find you at my house;
they will certainly ask me why I did not invite you. Be sure
to provide yourself with some previous engagement which
shall have a semblance of probabilityand communicate the
fact to me by a line in writing. You know that with bankers
nothing but a written document will be valid."

I will do better than that,said Albert; "my mother is
wishing to go to the sea-side -- what day is fixed for your
dinner?"

Saturday.

This is Tuesday -- well, to-morrow evening we leave, and
the day after we shall be at Treport. Really, count, you
have a delightful way of setting people at their ease.

Indeed, you give me more credit than I deserve; I only wish
to do what will be agreeable to you, that is all.

When shall you send your invitations?

This very day.

Well, I will immediately call on M. Danglars, and tell him
that my mother and myself must leave Paris to-morrow. I have


not seen you, consequently I know nothing of your dinner.

How foolish you are! Have you forgotten that M. Debray has
just seen you at my house?

Ah, true,

Fix it this way. I have seen you, and invited you without
any ceremony, when you instantly answered that it would be
impossible for you to accept, as you were going to Treport.

Well, then, that is settled; but you will come and call on
my mother before to-morrow?

Before to-morrow? -- that will be a difficult matter to
arrange, besides, I shall just be in the way of all the
preparations for departure.

Well, you can do better. You were only a charming man
before, but, if you accede to my proposal, you will be
adorable.

What must I do to attain such sublimity?

You are to-day free as air -- come and dine with me; we
shall be a small party -- only yourself, my mother, and I.
You have scarcely seen my mother; you shall have an
opportunity of observing her more closely. She is a
remarkable woman, and I only regret that there does not
exist another like her, about twenty years younger; in that
case, I assure you, there would very soon be a Countess and
Viscountess of Morcerf. As to my father, you will not see
him; he is officially engaged, and dines with the chief
referendary. We will talk over our travels; and you, who
have seen the whole world, will relate your adventures -you
shall tell us the history of the beautiful Greek who was
with you the other night at the Opera, and whom you call
your slave, and yet treat like a princess. We will talk
Italian and Spanish. Come, accept my invitation, and my
mother will thank you.

A thousand thanks,said the countyour invitation is
most gracious, and I regret exceedingly that it is not in my
power to accept it. I am not so much at liberty as you
suppose; on the contrary, I have a most important
engagement.

Ah, take care, you were teaching me just now how, in case
of an invitation to dinner, one might creditably make an
excuse. I require the proof of a pre-engagement. I am not a
banker, like M. Danglars, but I am quite as incredulous as
he is.

I am going to give you a proof,replied the countand he
rang the bell.

Humph,said Morcerfthis is the second time you have
refused to dine with my mother; it is evident that you wish
to avoid her.Monte Cristo started. "Ohyou do not mean
that said he; besideshere comes the confirmation of my
assertion." Baptistin enteredand remained standing at the
door. "I had no previous knowledge of your visithad I?"

Indeed, you are such an extraordinary person, that I would


not answer for it.

At all events, I could not guess that you would invite me
to dinner.

Probably not.

Well, listen, Baptistin, what did I tell you this morning
when I called you into my laboratory?

To close the door against visitors as soon as the clock
struck five,replied the valet.

What then?

Ah, my dear count,said Albert.

No, no, I wish to do away with that mysterious reputation
that you have given me, my dear viscount; it is tiresome to
be always acting Manfred. I wish my life to be free and
open. Go on, Baptistin.

Then to admit no one except Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti and
his son.

You hear -- Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti -- a man who ranks
amongst the most ancient nobility of Italy, whose name Dante
has celebrated in the tenth canto of `The Inferno,' you
remember it, do you not? Then there is his son, Andrea, a
charming young man, about your own age, viscount, bearing
the same title as yourself, and who is making his entry into
the Parisian world, aided by his father's millions. The
major will bring his son with him this evening, the contino,
as we say in Italy; he confides him to my care. If he proves
himself worthy of it, I will do what I can to advance his
interests. You will assist me in the work, will you not?

Most undoubtedly. This Major Cavalcanti is an old friend of
yours, then?

By no means. He is a perfect nobleman, very polite, modest,
and agreeable, such as may be found constantly in Italy,
descendants of very ancient families. I have met him several
times at Florence, Bologna and Lucca, and he has now
communicated to me the fact of his arrival in Paris. The
acquaintances one makes in travelling have a sort of claim
on one; they everywhere expect to receive the same attention
which you once paid them by chance, as though the civilities
of a passing hour were likely to awaken any lasting interest
in favor of the man in whose society you may happen to be
thrown in the course of your journey. This good Major
Cavalcanti is come to take a second view of Paris, which he
only saw in passing through in the time of the Empire, when
he was on his way to Moscow. I shall give him a good dinner,
he will confide his son to my care, I will promise to watch
over him, I shall let him follow in whatever path his folly
may lead him, and then I shall have done my part.

Certainly; I see you are a model Mentor,said Albert
Good-by, we shall return on Sunday. By the way, I have
received news of Franz.

Have you? Is he still amusing himself in Italy?


I believe so; however, he regrets your absence extremely .
He says you were the sun of Rome, and that without you all
appears dark and cloudy; I do not know if he does not even
go so far as to say that it rains.

His opinion of me is altered for the better, then?

No, he still persists in looking upon you as the most
incomprehensible and mysterious of beings.

He is a charming young man,said Monte Cristo "and I felt
a lively interest in him the very first evening of my
introductionwhen I met him in search of a supperand
prevailed upon him to accept a portion of mine. He isI
thinkthe son of General d'Epinay?"

He is.

The same who was so shamefully assassinated in 1815?

By the Bonapartists.

Yes. Really I like him extremely; is there not also a
matrimonial engagement contemplated for him?

Yes, he is to marry Mademoiselle de Villefort.

Indeed?

And you know I am to marry Mademoiselle Danglars,said
Albertlaughing.

You smile.

Yes.

Why do you do so?

I smile because there appears to me to be about as much
inclination for the consummation of the engagement in
question as there is for my own. But really, my dear count,
we are talking as much of women as they do of us; it is
unpardonable.Albert rose.

Are you going?

Really, that is a good idea! -- two hours have I been
boring you to death with my company, and then you, with the
greatest politeness, ask me if I am going. Indeed, count,
you are the most polished man in the world. And your
servants, too, how very well behaved they are; there is
quite a style about them. Monsieur Baptistin especially; I
could never get such a man as that. My servants seem to
imitate those you sometimes see in a play, who, because they
have only a word or two to say, aquit themselves in the most
awkward manner possible. Therefore, if you part with M.
Baptistin, give me the refusal of him.

By all means.

That is not all; give my compliments to your illustrious
Luccanese, Cavalcante of the Cavalcanti; and if by any
chance he should be wishing to establish his son, find him a
wife very rich, very noble on her mother's side at least,


and a baroness in right of her father, I will help you in
the search.


Ah, ha; you will do as much as that, will you?


Yes.


Well, really, nothing is certain in this world.


Oh, count, what a service you might render me! I should
like you a hundred times better if, by your intervention, I
could manage to remain a bachelor, even were it only for ten
years.


Nothing is impossible,gravely replied Monte Cristo; and
taking leave of Alberthe returned into the houseand
struck the gong three times. Bertuccio appeared. "Monsieur
Bertuccioyou understand that I intend entertaining company
on Saturday at Auteuil." Bertuccio slightly started. "I
shall require your services to see that all be properly
arranged. It is a beautiful houseor at all events may be
made so."


There must be a good deal done before it can deserve that
title, your excellency, for the tapestried hangings are very
old.


Let them all be taken away and changed, then, with the
exception of the sleeping-chamber which is hung with red
damask; you will leave that exactly as it is.Bertuccio
bowed. "You will not touch the garden either; as to the
yardyou may do what you please with it; I should prefer
that being altered beyond all recognition."


I will do everything in my power to carry out your wishes,
your excellency. I should be glad, however, to receive your
excellency's commands concerning the dinner.


Really, my dear M. Bertuccio,said the countsince you
have been in Paris, you have become quite nervous, and
apparently out of your element; you no longer seem to
understand me.


But surely your excellency will be so good as to inform me
whom you are expecting to receive?


I do not yet know myself, neither is it necessary that you
should do so. `Lucullus dines with Lucullus,' that is quite
sufficient.Bertuccio bowedand left the room.


Chapter 55
Major Cavalcanti.


Both the count and Baptistin had told the truth when they
announced to Morcerf the proposed visit of the majorwhich
had served Monte Cristo as a pretext for declining Albert's
invitation. Seven o'clock had just struckand M. Bertuccio
according to the command which had been given himhad two
hours before left for Auteuilwhen a cab stopped at the
doorand after depositing its occupant at the gate
immediately hurried awayas if ashamed of its employment.
The visitor was about fifty-two years of agedressed in one



of the green surtoutsornamented with black frogswhich
have so long maintained their popularity all over Europe. He
wore trousers of blue clothboots tolerably cleanbut not
of the brightest polishand a little too thick in the
solesbuckskin glovesa hat somewhat resembling in shape
those usually worn by the gendarmesand a black cravat
striped with whitewhichif the proprietor had not worn it
of his own free willmight have passed for a halterso
much did it resemble one. Such was the picturesque costume
of the person who rang at the gateand demanded if it was
not at No. 30 in the Avenue des Champs-Elysees that the
Count of Monte Cristo livedand whobeing answered by the
porter in the affirmativeenteredclosed the gate after
himand began to ascend the steps.

The small and angular head of this manhis white hair and
thick gray mustachescaused him to be easily recognized by
Baptistinwho had received an exact description of the
expected visitorand who was awaiting him in the hall.
Thereforescarcely had the stranger time to pronounce his
name before the count was apprised of his arrival. He was
ushered into a simple and elegant drawing-roomand the
count rose to meet him with a smiling air. "Ahmy dear sir
you are most welcome; I was expecting you."

Indeed,said the Italianwas your excellency then aware
of my visit?

Yes; I had been told that I should see you to-day at seven
o'clock.

Then you have received full information concerning my
arrival?

Of course.

Ah, so much the better, I feared this little precaution
might have been forgotten.

What precaution?

That of informing you beforehand of my coming.

Oh, no, it has not.

But you are sure you are not mistaken.

Very sure.

It really was I whom your excellency expected at seven
o'clock this evening?

I will prove it to you beyond a doubt.

Oh, no, never mind that,said the Italian; "it is not
worth the trouble."

Yes, yes,said Monte Cristo. His visitor appeared slightly
uneasy. "Let me see said the count; are you not the
Marquis Bartolomeo Cavalcanti?"

Bartolomeo Cavalcanti,joyfully replied the Italian; "yes
I am really he."


Ex-major in the Austrian service?

Was I a major?timidly asked the old soldier.

Yes,said Monte Cristo "you were a major; that is the
title the French give to the post which you filled in
Italy."

Very good,said the majorI do not demand more, you
understand-


Your visit here to-day is not of your own suggestion, is
it?said Monte Cristo.

No, certainly not.

You were sent by some other person?

Yes.

By the excellent Abbe Busoni?

Exactly so,said the delighted major.

And you have a letter?

Yes, there it is.

Give it me, then;and Monte Cristo took the letterwhich
he opened and read. The major looked at the count with his
large staring eyesand then took a survey of the apartment
but his gaze almost immediately reverted to the proprietor
of the room. "YesyesI see. `Major Cavalcantia worthy
patrician of Luccaa descendant of the Cavalcanti of
Florence'" continued Monte Cristoreading aloud
`possessing an income of half a million.'Monte Cristo
raised his eyes from the paperand bowed. "Half a million
said he, magnificent!"

Half a million, is it?said the major.

Yes, in so many words; and it must be so, for the abbe
knows correctly the amount of all the largest fortunes in
Europe.

Be it half a million. then; but on my word of honor, I had
no idea that it was so much.

Because you are robbed by your steward. You must make some
reformation in that quarter.

You have opened my eyes,said the Italian gravely; "I will
show the gentlemen the door." Monte Cristo resumed the
perusal of the letter: -


`And who only needs one thing more to make him happy.'

Yes, indeed but one!said the major with a sigh.

`Which is to recover a lost and adored son.'

A lost and adored son!

`Stolen away in his infancy, either by an enemy of his


noble family or by the gypsies.'

At the age of five years!said the major with a deep sigh
and raising his eye to heaven.

Unhappy father,said Monte Cristo. The count continued: -


`I have given him renewed life and hope, in the assurance
that you have the power of restoring the son whom he has
vainly sought for fifteen years.'The major looked at the
count with an indescribable expression of anxiety. "I have
the power of so doing said Monte Cristo. The major
recovered his self-possession. Sothen said he, the
letter was true to the end?"

Did you doubt it, my dear Monsieur Bartolomeo?

No, indeed; certainly not; a good man, a man holding
religious office, as does the Abbe Busoni, could not
condescend to deceive or play off a joke; but your
excellency has not read all.

Ah, true,said Monte Cristo "there is a postscript."

Yes, yes,repeated the majoryes -- there -- is -- a -postscript.


`In order to save Major Cavalcanti the trouble of drawing
on his banker, I send him a draft for 2,000 francs to defray
his travelling expenses, and credit on you for the further
sum of 48,000 francs, which you still owe me.'The major
awaited the conclusion of the postscriptapparently with
great anxiety. "Very good said the count.

He said `very good'" muttered the majorthen -- sir-replied
he.

Then what?asked Monte Cristo.

Then the postscript-


Well; what of the postscript?

Then the postscript is as favorably received by you as the
rest of the letter?

Certainly; the Abbe Busoni and myself have a small account
open between us. I do not remember if it is exactly 48,000
francs, which I am still owing him, but I dare say we shall
not dispute the difference. You attached great importance,
then, to this postscript, my dear Monsieur Cavalcanti?

I must explain to you,said the majorthat, fully
confiding in the signature of the Abbe Busoni, I had not
provided myself with any other funds; so that if this
resource had failed me, I should have found myself very
unpleasantly situated in Paris.

Is it possible that a man of your standing should be
embarrassed anywhere?said Monte Cristo.

Why, really I know no one,said the major.

But then you yourself are known to others?


Yes, I am known, so that-


Proceed, my dear Monsieur Cavalcanti.

So that you will remit to me these 48,000 francs?

Certainly, at your first request.The major's eyes dilated
with pleasing astonishment. "But sit down said Monte
Cristo; really I do not know what I have been thinking of
-- I have positively kept you standing for the last quarter
of an hour."

Don't mention it.The major drew an arm-chair towards him
and proceeded to seat himself.

Now,said the countwhat will you take -- a glass of
port, sherry, or Alicante?

Alicante, if you please; it is my favorite wine.

I have some that is very good. You will take a biscuit with
it, will you not?

Yes, I will take a biscuit, as you are so obliging.

Monte Cristo rang; Baptistin appeared. The count advanced to
meet him. "Well?" said he in a low voice. "The young man is
here said the valet de chambre in the same tone.

Into what room did you take him?"

Into the blue drawing-room, according to your excellency's
orders.

That's right; now bring the Alicante and some biscuits.

Baptistin left the room. "Really said the major, I am
quite ashamed of the trouble I am giving you."

Pray don't mention such a thing,said the count. Baptistin
re-entered with glasseswineand biscuits. The count
filled one glassbut in the other he only poured a few
drops of the ruby-colored liquid. The bottle was covered
with spiders' websand all the other signs which indicate
the age of wine more truly than do wrinkles on a man's face.
The major made a wise choice; he took the full glass and a
biscuit. The count told Baptistin to leave the plate within
reach of his guestwho began by sipping the Alicante with
an expression of great satisfactionand then delicately
steeped his biscuit in the wine.

So, sir, you lived at Lucca, did you? You were rich, noble,
held in great esteem -- had all that could render a man
happy?

All,said the majorhastily swallowing his biscuit
positively all.

And yet there was one thing wanting in order to complete
your happiness?

Only one thing,said the Italian.


And that one thing, your lost child.

Ah,said the majortaking a second biscuitthat
consummation of my happiness was indeed wanting.The worthy
major raised his eyes to heaven and sighed.

Let me hear, then,said the countwho this deeply
regretted son was; for I always understood you were a
bachelor.

That was the general opinion, sir,said the majorand I

Yes,replied the countand you confirmed the report. A
youthful indiscretion, I suppose, which you were anxious to
conceal from the world at large?The major recovered
himselfand resumed his usual calm mannerat the same time
casting his eyes downeither to give himself time to
compose his countenanceor to assist his imaginationall
the while giving an under-look at the countthe protracted
smile on whose lips still announced the same polite
curiosity. "Yes said the major, I did wish this fault to
be hidden from every eye."

Not on your own account, surely,replied Monte Cristo;
for a man is above that sort of thing?

Oh, no, certainly not on my own account,said the major
with a smile and a shake of the head.

But for the sake of the mother?said the count.

Yes, for the mother's sake -- his poor mother!cried the
majortaking a third biscuit.

Take some more wine, my dear Cavalcanti,said the count
pouring out for him a second glass of Alicante; "your
emotion has quite overcome you."

His poor mother,murmured the majortrying to get the
lachrymal gland in operationso as to moisten the corner of
his eye with a false tear.

She belonged to one of the first families in Italy, I
think, did she not?

She was of a noble family of Fiesole, count.

And her name was-


Do you desire to know her name?-


Oh,said Monte Cristo "it would be quite superfluous for
you to tell mefor I already know it."

The count knows everything,said the Italianbowing.

Oliva Corsinari, was it not?

Oliva Corsinari.

A marchioness?

A marchioness.


And you married her at last, notwithstanding the opposition
of her family?

Yes, that was the way it ended.

And you have doubtless brought all your papers with you?
said Monte Cristo.

What papers?

The certificate of your marriage with Oliva Corsinari, and
the register of your child's birth.

The register of my child's birth?

The register of the birth of Andrea Cavalcanti -- of your
son; is not his name Andrea?

I believe so,said the major.

What? You believe so?

I dare not positively assert it, as he has been lost for so
long a time.

Well, then,said Monte Cristo "you have all the documents
with you?"

Your excellency, I regret to say that, not knowing it was
necessary to come provided with these papers, I neglected to
bring them.

That is unfortunate,returned Monte Cristo.

Were they, then, so necessary?

They were indispensable.

The major passed his hand across his brow. "Ahper Bacco
indispensablewere they?"

Certainly they were; supposing there were to be doubts
raised as to the validity of your marriage or the legitimacy
of your child?

True,said the majorthere might be doubts raised.

In that case your son would be very unpleasantly situated.

It would be fatal to his interests.

It might cause him to fail in some desirable matrimonial
alliance.

O peccato!

You must know that in France they are very particular on
these points; it is not sufficient, as in Italy, to go to
the priest and say, `We love each other, and want you to
marry us.' Marriage is a civil affair in France, and in
order to marry in an orthodox manner you must have papers
which undeniably establish your identity.


That is the misfortune! You see I have not these necessary
papers.

Fortunately, I have them, though,said Monte Cristo.

You?

Yes.

You have them?

I have them.

Ah, indeed?said the majorwhoseeing the object of his
journey frustrated by the absence of the papersfeared also
that his forgetfulness might give rise to some difficulty
concerning the 48000 francs -- "ahindeedthat is a
fortunate circumstance; yesthat really is luckyfor it
never occurred to me to bring them."

I do not at all wonder at it -- one cannot think of
everything; but, happily, the Abbe Busoni thought for you.

He is an excellent person.

He is extremely prudent and thoughtful

He is an admirable man,said the major; "and he sent them
to you?"

Here they are.

The major clasped his hands in token of admiration. "You
married Oliva Corsinari in the church of San Paolo del
Monte-Cattini; here is the priest's certificate."

Yes indeed, there it is truly,said the Italianlooking
on with astonishment.

And here is Andrea Cavalcanti's baptismal register, given
by the curate of Saravezza.

All quite correct.

Take these documents, then; they do not concern me. You
will give them to your son, who will, of course, take great
care of them.

I should think so, indeed! If he were to lose them-


Well, and if he were to lose them?said Monte Cristo.

In that case,replied the majorit would be necessary to
write to the curate for duplicates, and it would be some
time before they could be obtained.

It would be a difficult matter to arrange,said Monte
Cristo.

Almost an impossibility,replied the major.

I am very glad to see that you understand the value of
these papers.


I regard them as invaluable.

Now,said Monte Cristo "as to the mother of the young man"

As to the mother of the young man-- repeated the Italian
with anxiety.

As regards the Marchesa Corsinari-


Really,said the majordifficulties seem to thicken upon
us; will she be wanted in any way?

No, sir,replied Monte Cristo; "besideshas she not" -


Yes, sir,said the majorshe has-


Paid the last debt of nature?

Alas, yes,returned the Italian.

I knew that,said Monte Cristo; "she has been dead these
ten years."

And I am still mourning her loss,exclaimed the major
drawing from his pocket a checked handkerchiefand
alternately wiping first the left and then the right eye.

What would you have?said Monte Cristo; "we are all
mortal. Nowyou understandmy dear Monsieur Cavalcanti
that it is useless for you to tell people in France that you
have been separated from your son for fifteen years. Stories
of gypsieswho steal childrenare not at all in vogue in
this part of the worldand would not be believed. You sent
him for his education to a college in one of the provinces
and now you wish him to complete his education in the
Parisian world. That is the reason which has induced you to
leave Via Reggiowhere you have lived since the death of
your wife. That will be sufficient."

You think so?

Certainly.

Very well, then.

If they should hear of the separation-


Ah, yes; what could I say?

That an unfaithful tutor, bought over by the enemies of
your family-


By the Corsinari?

Precisely. Had stolen away this child, in order that your
name might become extinct.

That is reasonable, since he is an only son.

Well, now that all is arranged, do not let these newly
awakened remembrances be forgotten. You have, doubtless,
already guessed that I was preparing a surprise for you?


An agreeable one?asked the Italian.

Ah, I see the eye of a father is no more to be deceived
than his heart.

Hum!said the major.

Some one has told you the secret; or, perhaps, you guessed
that he was here.

That who was here?

Your child -- your son -- your Andrea!

I did guess it,replied the major with the greatest
possible coolness. "Then he is here?"

He is,said Monte Cristo; "when the valet de chambre came
in just nowhe told me of his arrival."

Ah, very well, very well,said the majorclutching the
buttons of his coat at each exclamation.

My dear sir,said Monte CristoI understand your
emotion; you must have time to recover yourself. I will, in
the meantime, go and prepare the young man for this
much-desired interview, for I presume that he is not less
impatient for it than yourself.

I should quite imagine that to be the case,said
Cavalcanti.

Well, in a quarter of an hour he shall be with you.

You will bring him, then? You carry your goodness so far as
even to present him to me yourself?

No; I do not wish to come between a father and son. Your
interview will be private. But do not be uneasy; even if the
powerful voice of nature should be silent, you cannot well
mistake him; he will enter by this door. He is a fine young
man, of fair complexion -- a little too fair, perhaps -pleasing
in manners; but you will see and judge for
yourself.

By the way,said the majoryou know I have only the
2,000 francs which the Abbe Busoni sent me; this sum I have
expended upon travelling expenses, and-


And you want money; that is a matter of course, my dear M.
Cavalcanti. Well, here are 8,000 francs on account.

The major's eyes sparkled brilliantly.

It is 40,000 francs which I now owe you,said Monte
Cristo.

Does your excellency wish for a receipt?said the major
at the same time slipping the money into the inner pocket of
his coat.

For what?said the count.

I thought you might want it to show the Abbe Busoni.


Well, when you receive the remaining 40,000, you shall give
me a receipt in full. Between honest men such excessive
precaution is, I think, quite unnecessary.

Yes, so it is, between perfectly upright people.

One word more,said Monte Cristo.

Say on.

You will permit me to make one remark?

Certainly; pray do so.

Then I should advise you to leave off wearing that style of
dress.

Indeed,said the majorregarding himself with an air of
complete satisfaction.

Yes. It may be worn at Via Reggio; but that costume,
however elegant in itself, has long been out of fashion in
Paris.

That's unfortunate.

Oh, if you really are attached to your old mode of dress;
you can easily resume it when you leave Paris.

But what shall I wear?

What you find in your trunks.

In my trunks? I have but one portmanteau.

I dare say you have nothing else with you. What is the use
of boring one's self with so many things? Besides an old
soldier always likes to march with as little baggage as
possible.

That is just the case -- precisely so.

But you are a man of foresight and prudence, therefore you
sent your luggage on before you. It has arrived at the Hotel
des Princes, Rue de Richelieu. It is there you are to take
up your quarters.

Then, in these trunks-


I presume you have given orders to your valet de chambre to
put in all you are likely to need, -- your plain clothes and
your uniform. On grand occasions you must wear your uniform;
that will look very well. Do not forget your crosses. They
still laugh at them in France, and yet always wear them, for
all that.

Very well, very well,said the majorwho was in ecstasy
at the attention paid him by the count.

Now,said Monte Cristothat you have fortified yourself
against all painful excitement, prepare yourself, my dear M.
Cavalcanti, to meet your lost Andrea.Saying which Monte
Cristo bowedand disappeared behind the tapestryleaving


the major fascinated beyond expression with the delightful
reception which he had received at the hands of the count.


Chapter 56
Andrea Cavalcanti.


The Count of Monte Cristo entered the adjoining roomwhich
Baptistin had designated as the drawing-roomand found
there a young manof graceful demeanor and elegant
appearancewho had arrived in a cab about half an hour
previously. Baptistin had not found any difficulty in
recognizing the person who presented himself at the door for
admittance. He was certainly the tall young man with light
hairred heardblack eyesand brilliant complexionwhom
his master had so particularly described to him. When the
count entered the room the young man was carelessly
stretched on a sofatapping his boot with the gold-headed
cane which he held in his hand. On perceiving the count he
rose quickly. "The Count of Monte CristoI believe?" said
he.


Yes, sir, and I think I have the honor of addressing Count
Andrea Cavalcanti?


Count Andrea Cavalcanti,repeated the young man
accompanying his words with a bow.


You are charged with a letter of introduction addressed to
me, are you not?said the count.


I did not mention that, because the signature seemed to me
so strange.


The letter signed `Sinbad the Sailor,' is it not?


Exactly so. Now, as I have never known any Sinbad, with the
exception of the one celebrated in the `Thousand and One
Nights'--


Well, it is one of his descendants, and a great friend of
mine; he is a very rich Englishman, eccentric almost to
insanity, and his real name is Lord Wilmore.


Ah, indeed? Then that explains everything that is
extraordinary,said Andrea. "He isthenthe same
Englishman whom I met -- at -- ah -- yesindeed. Well
monsieurI am at your service."


If what you say be true,replied the countsmiling
perhaps you will be kind enough to give me some account of
yourself and your family?


Certainly, I will do so,said the young manwith a
quickness which gave proof of his ready invention. "I am (as
you have said) the Count Andrea Cavalcantison of Major
Bartolomeo Cavalcantia descendant of the Cavalcanti whose
names are inscribed in the golden book at Florence. Our
familyalthough still rich (for my father's income amounts
to half a million)has experienced many misfortunesand I
myself wasat the age of five yearstaken away by the
treachery of my tutorso that for fifteen years I have not
seen the author of my existence. Since I have arrived at



years of discretion and become my own masterI have been
constantly seeking himbut all in vain. At length I
received this letter from your friendwhich states that my
father is in Parisand authorizes me to address myself to
you for information respecting him."

Really, all you have related to me is exceedingly
interesting,said Monte Cristoobserving the young man
with a gloomy satisfaction; "and you have done well to
conform in everything to the wishes of my friend Sinbad; for
your father is indeed hereand is seeking you."

The count from the moment of first entering the
drawing-roomhad not once lost sight of the expression of
the young man's countenance; he had admired the assurance of
his look and the firmness of his voice; but at these words
so natural in themselvesYour father is indeed here, and
is seeking you,young Andrea startedand exclaimedMy
father? Is my father here?

Most undoubtedly,replied Monte Cristo; "your father
Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti." The expression of terror
whichfor the momenthad overspread the features of the
young manhad now disappeared. "Ahyesthat is the name
certainly. Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti. And you really mean
to say; monsieurthat my dear father is here?"

Yes, sir; and I can even add that I have only just left his
company. The history which he related to me of his lost son
touched me to the quick; indeed, his griefs, hopes, and
fears on that subject might furnish material for a most
touching and pathetic poem. At length, he one day received a
letter, stating that the abductors of his son now offered to
restore him, or at least to give notice where he might be
found, on condition of receiving a large sum of money, by
way of ransom. Your father did not hesitate an instant, and
the sum was sent to the frontier of Piedmont, with a
passport signed for Italy. You were in the south of France,
I think?

Yes,replied Andreawith an embarrassed airI was in
the south of France.

A carriage was to await you at Nice?

Precisely so; and it conveyed me from Nice to Genoa, from
Genoa to Turin, from Turin to Chambery, from Chambery to
Pont-de-Beauvoisin, and from Pont-de-Beauvoisin to Paris.

Indeed? Then your father ought to have met with you on the
road, for it is exactly the same route which he himself
took, and that is how we have been able to trace your
journey to this place.

But,said Andreaif my father had met me, I doubt if he
would have recognized me; I must be somewhat altered since
he last saw me.

Oh, the voice of nature,said Monte Cristo.

True,interrupted the young manI had not looked upon it
in that light.

Now,replied Monte Cristo "there is only one source of


uneasiness left in your father's mindwhich is this -- he
is anxious to know how you have been employed during your
long absence from himhow you have been treated by your
persecutorsand if they have conducted themselves towards
you with all the deference due to your rank. Finallyhe is
anxious to see if you have been fortunate enough to escape
the bad moral influence to which you have been exposedand
which is infinitely more to be dreaded than any physical
suffering; he wishes to discover if the fine abilities with
which nature had endowed you have been weakened by want of
culture; andin shortwhether you consider yourself
capable of resuming and retaining in the world the high
position to which your rank entitles you."

Sir!exclaimed the young manquite astoundedI hope no
false report-


As for myself, I first heard you spoken of by my friend
Wilmore, the philanthropist. I believe he found you in some
unpleasant position, but do not know of what nature, for I
did not ask, not being inquisitive. Your misfortunes engaged
his sympathies, so you see you must have been interesting.
He told me that he was anxious to restore you to the
position which you had lost, and that he would seek your
father until he found him. He did seek, and has found him,
apparently, since he is here now; and, finally, my friend
apprised me of your coming, and gave me a few other
instructions relative to your future fortune. I am quite
aware that my friend Wilmore is peculiar, but he is sincere,
and as rich as a gold-mine, consequently, he may indulge his
eccentricities without any fear of their ruining him, and I
have promised to adhere to his instructions. Now, sir, pray
do not be offended at the question I am about to put to you,
as it comes in the way of my duty as your patron. I would
wish to know if the misfortunes which have happened to you
-- misfortunes entirely beyond your control, and which in no
degree diminish my regard for you -- I would wish to know if
they have not, in some measure, contributed to render you a
stranger to the world in which your fortune and your name
entitle you to make a conspicuous figure?

Sir,returned the young manwith a reassurance of manner
make your mind easy on this score. Those who took me from
my father, and who always intended, sooner or later, to sell
me again to my original proprietor, as they have now done,
calculated that, in order to make the most of their bargain,
it would be politic to leave me in possession of all my
personal and hereditary worth, and even to increase the
value, if possible. I have, therefore, received a very good
education, and have been treated by these kidnappers very
much as the slaves were treated in Asia Minor, whose masters
made them grammarians, doctors, and philosophers, in order
that they might fetch a higher price in the Roman market.
Monte Cristo smiled with satisfaction; it appeared as if he
had not expected so much from M. Andrea Cavalcanti.
Besides,continued the young manif there did appear
some defect in education, or offence against the established
forms of etiquette, I suppose it would be excused, in
consideration of the misfortunes which accompanied my birth,
and followed me through my youth.

Well,said Monte Cristo in an indifferent toneyou will
do as you please, count, for you are the master of your own
actions, and are the person most concerned in the matter,


but if I were you, I would not divulge a word of these
adventures. Your history is quite a romance, and the world,
which delights in romances in yellow covers, strangely
mistrusts those which are bound in living parchment, even
though they be gilded like yourself. This is the kind of
difficulty which I wished to represent to you, my dear
count. You would hardly have recited your touching history
before it would go forth to the world, and be deemed
unlikely and unnatural. You would be no longer a lost child
found, but you would be looked upon as an upstart, who had
sprung up like a mushroom in the night. You might excite a
little curiosity, but it is not every one who likes to be
made the centre of observation and the subject of unpleasant
remark.

I agree with you, monsieur,said the young manturning
paleandin spite of himselftrembling beneath the
scrutinizing look of his companionsuch consequences would
be extremely unpleasant.

Nevertheless, you must not exaggerate the evil,said Monte
Cristofor by endeavoring to avoid one fault you will fall
into another. You must resolve upon one simple and single
line of conduct, and for a man of your intelligence, this
plan is as easy as it is necessary; you must form honorable
friendships, and by that means counteract the prejudice
which may attach to the obscurity of your former life.
Andrea visibly changed countenance. "I would offer myself as
your surety and friendly adviser said Monte Cristo, did I
not possess a moral distrust of my best friendsand a sort
of inclination to lead others to doubt them too; therefore
in departing from this ruleI should (as the actors say) be
playing a part quite out of my lineand shouldtherefore
run the risk of being hissedwhich would be an act of
folly."

However, your excellency,said Andreain consideration
of Lord Wilmore, by whom I was recommended to you --

Yes, certainly,interrupted Monte Cristo; "but Lord
Wilmore did not omit to inform memy dear M. Andreathat
the season of your youth was rather a stormy one. Ah said
the count, watching Andrea's countenance, I do not demand
any confession from you; it is precisely to avoid that
necessity that your father was sent for from Lucca. You
shall soon see him. He is a little stiff and pompous in his
mannerand he is disfigured by his uniform; but when it
becomes known that he has been for eighteen years in the
Austrian serviceall that will be pardoned. We are not
generally very severe with the Austrians. In shortyou will
find your father a very presentable personI assure you."

Ah, sir, you have given me confidence; it is so long since
we were separated, that I have not the least remembrance of
him, and, besides, you know that in the eyes of the world a
large fortune covers all defects.

He is a millionaire -- his income is 500,000 francs.

Then,said the young manwith anxietyI shall be sure
to be placed in an agreeable position.

One of the most agreeable possible, my dear sir; he will
allow you an income of 50,000 livres per annum during the


whole time of your stay in Paris.

Then in that case I shall always choose to remain there.

You cannot control circumstances, my dear sir; `man
proposes, and God disposes.'Andrea sighed. "But said he,
so long as I do remain in Parisand nothing forces me to
quit itdo you mean to tell me that I may rely on receiving
the sum you just now mentioned to me?"

You may.

Shall I receive it from my father?asked Andreawith some
uneasiness.

Yes, you will receive it from your father personally, but
Lord Wilmore will be the security for the money. He has, at
the request of your father, opened an account of 6,000
francs a month at M. Danglars', which is one of the safest
banks in Paris.

And does my father mean to remain long in Paris?asked
Andrea.

Only a few days,replied Monte Cristo. "His service does
not allow him to absent himself more than two or three weeks
together."

Ah, my dear father!exclaimed Andreaevidently charmed
with the idea of his speedy departure.

Therefore,said Monte Cristo feigning to mistake his
meaning -- "therefore I will notfor another instant
retard the pleasure of your meeting. Are you prepared to
embrace your worthy father?"

I hope you do not doubt it.

Go, then, into the drawing-room, my young friend, where you
will find your father awaiting you.Andrea made a low bow
to the countand entered the adjoining room. Monte Cristo
watched him till he disappearedand then touched a spring
in a panel made to look like a picturewhichin sliding
partly from the framediscovered to view a small opening
so cleverly contrived that it revealed all that was passing
in the drawing-room now occupied by Cavalcanti and Andrea.
The young man closed the door behind himand advanced
towards the majorwho had risen when he heard steps
approaching him. "Ahmy dear father!" said Andrea in a loud
voicein order that the count might hear him in the next
roomis it really you?

How do you do, my dear son?said the major gravely.

After so many years of painful separation,said Andreain
the same tone of voiceand glancing towards the doorwhat
a happiness it is to meet again!

Indeed it is, after so long a separation.

Will you not embrace me, sir?said Andrea.

If you wish it, my son,said the major; and the two men
embraced each other after the fashion of actors on the


stage; that is to sayeach rested his head on the other's
shoulder.

Then we are once more reunited?said Andrea.

Once more,replied the major.

Never more to be separated?

Why, as to that -- I think, my dear son, you must be by
this time so accustomed to France as to look upon it almost
as a second country.

The fact is,said the young manthat I should be
exceedingly grieved to leave it.

As for me, you must know I cannot possibly live out of
Lucca; therefore I shall return to Italy as soon as I can.

But before you leave France, my dear father, I hope you
will put me in possession of the documents which will be
necessary to prove my descent.

Certainly; I am come expressly on that account; it has cost
me much trouble to find you, but I had resolved on giving
them into your hands, and if I had to recommence my search,
it would occupy all the few remaining years of my life.

Where are these papers, then?

Here they are.

Andrea seized the certificate of his father's marriage and
his own baptismal registerand after having opened them
with all the eagerness which might be expected under the
circumstanceshe read them with a facility which proved
that he was accustomed to similar documentsand with an
expression which plainly denoted an unusual interest in the
contents. When he had perused the documentsan indefinable
expression of pleasure lighted up his countenanceand
looking at the major with a most peculiar smilehe saidin
very excellent Tuscan-- "Then there is no longer any such
thingin Italy as being condemned to the galleys?" The
major drew himself up to his full height.

Why? -- what do you mean by that question?

I mean that if there were, it would be impossible to draw
up with impunity two such deeds as these. In France, my dear
sir, half such a piece of effrontery as that would cause you
to be quickly despatched to Toulon for five years, for
change of air.

Will you be good enough to explain your meaning?said the
majorendeavoring as much as possible to assume an air of
the greatest majesty.

My dear M. Cavalcanti,said Andreataking the major by
the arm in a confidential mannerhow much are you paid for
being my father?The major was about to speakwhen Andrea
continuedin a low voice.

Nonsense, I am going to set you an example of confidence,
they give me 50,000 francs a year to be your son;


consequently, you can understand that it is not at all
likely I shall ever deny my parent.The major looked
anxiously around him. "Make yourself easywe are quite
alone said Andrea; besideswe are conversing in
Italian."

Well, then,replied the majorthey paid me 50,000 francs
down.

Monsieur Cavalcanti,said Andreado you believe in fairy
tales?

I used not to do so, but I really feel now almost obliged
to have faith in them.

You have, then, been induced to alter your opinion; you
have had some proofs of their truth?The major drew from
his pocket a handful of gold. "Most palpable proofs said
he, as you may perceive."

You think, then, that I may rely on the count's promises?

Certainly I do.

You are sure he will keep his word with me?

To the letter, but at the same time, remember, we must
continue to play our respective parts. I, as a tender
father-


And I as a dutiful son, as they choose that I shall be
descended from you.

Whom do you mean by they?

Ma foi, I can hardly tell, but I was alluding to those who
wrote the letter; you received one, did you not?

Yes.

From whom?

From a certain Abbe Busoni.

Have you any knowledge of him?

No, I have never seen him.

What did he say in the letter?

You will promise not to betray me?

Rest assured of that; you well know that our interests are
the same.

Then read for yourself;and the major gave a letter into
the young man's hand. Andrea read in a low voice -


You are poor; a miserable old age awaits you. Would you
like to become rich, or at least independent? Set out
immediately for Paris, and demand of the Count of Monte
Cristo, Avenue des Champs Elysees, No. 30, the son whom you
had by the Marchesa Corsinari, and who was taken from you at
five years of age. This son is named Andrea Cavalcanti. In


order that you may not doubt the kind intention of the
writer of this letter, you will find enclosed an order for
2,400 francs, payable in Florence, at Signor Gozzi's; also a
letter of introduction to the Count of Monte Cristo, on whom
I give you a draft of 48,000 francs. Remember to go to the
count on the 26th May at seven o'clock in the evening.

(Signed)

Abbe Busoni."

It is the same.

What do you mean?said the major.

I was going to say that I received a letter almost to the
same effect.

You?

Yes.

From the Abbe Busoni?

No.

From whom, then?

From an Englishman, called Lord Wilmore, who takes the name
of Sinbad the Sailor.

And of whom you have no more knowledge than I of the Abbe
Busoni?

You are mistaken; there I am ahead of you.

You have seen him, then?

Yes, once.

Where?

Ah, that is just what I cannot tell you; if I did, I should
make you as wise as myself, which it is not my intention to
do.

And what did the letter contain?

Read it.

`You are poor, and your future prospects are dark and
gloomy. Do you wish for a name? should you like to be rich,
and your own master?'

Ma foi,said the young man; "was it possible there could
be two answers to such a question?"

Take the post-chaise which you will find waiting at the
Porte de Genes, as you enter Nice; pass through Turin,
Chambery, and Pont-de-Beauvoisin. Go to the Count of Monte
Cristo, Avenue des Champs Elysees, on the 26th of May, at
seven o'clock in the evening, and demand of him your father.
You are the son of the Marchese Cavalcanti and the Marchesa
Oliva Corsinari. The marquis will give you some papers which


will certify this fact, and authorize you to appear under
that name in the Parisian world. As to your rank, an annual
income of 50,000 livres will enable you to support it
admirably. I enclose a draft for 5,000 livres, payable on M.
Ferrea, banker at Nice, and also a letter of introduction to
the Count of Monte Cristo, whom I have directed to supply
all your wants.

Sinbad the Sailor."

Humph,said the major; "very good. You have seen the
countyou say?"

I have only just left him

And has he conformed to all that the letter specified?

He has.

Do you understand it?

Not in the least.

There is a dupe somewhere.

At all events, it is neither you nor I.

Certainly not.

Well, then-


Why, it does not much concern us, do you think it does?

No; I agree with you there. We must play the game to the
end, and consent to be blindfold.

Ah, you shall see; I promise you I will sustain my part to
admiration.

I never once doubted your doing so.Monte Cristo chose
this moment for re-entering the drawing-room. On hearing the
sound of his footstepsthe two men threw themselves in each
other's armsand while they were in the midst of this
embracethe count entered. "Wellmarquis said Monte
Cristo, you appear to be in no way disappointed in the son
whom your good fortune has restored to you."

Ah, your excellency, I am overwhelmed with delight.

And what are your feelings?said Monte Cristoturning to
the young man.

As for me, my heart is overflowing with happiness.

Happy father, happy son!said the count.

There is only one thing which grieves me,observed the
majorand that is the necessity for my leaving Paris so
soon.

Ah, my dear M. Cavalcanti, I trust you will not leave
before I have had the honor of presenting you to some of my
friends.


I am at your service, sir,replied the major.

Now, sir,said Monte Cristoaddressing Andreamake your
confession.

To whom?

Tell M. Cavalcanti something of the state of your
finances.
Ma foi, monsieur, you have touched upon a tender chord.


Do you hear what he says, major?
Certainly I do.


But do you understand?
I do.


Your son says he requires money.
Well, what would you have me do?said the major.


You should furnish him with some of course,replied Monte
Cristo.

I?

Yes, you,said the countat the same time advancing
towards Andreaand slipping a packet of bank-notes into the
young man's hand.

What is this?
It is from your father.


From my father?


Yes; did you not tell him just now that you wanted money?
Well, then, he deputes me to give you this.
Am I to consider this as part of my income on account?


No, it is for the first expenses of your settling in
Paris.

Ah, how good my dear father is!

Silence,said Monte Cristo; "he does not wish you to know
that it comes from him."

I fully appreciate his delicacy,said Andreacramming the
notes hastily into his pocket.

And now, gentlemen, I wish you good-morning,said Monte
Cristo.

And when shall we have the honor of seeing you again, your
excellency?asked Cavalcanti.

Ah,said Andreawhen may we hope for that pleasure?
On Saturday, if you will -- Yes. -- Let me see -- Saturday


-- I am to dine at my country house, at Auteuil, on that
day, Rue de la Fontaine, No. 28. Several persons are
invited, and among others, M. Danglars, your banker. I will
introduce you to him, for it will be necessary he should
know you, as he is to pay your money.


Full dress?said the majorhalf aloud.


Oh, yes, certainly,said the count; "uniformcross
knee-breeches."


And how shall I be dressed?demanded Andrea.


Oh, very simply; black trousers, patent leather boots,
white waistcoat, either a black or blue coat, and a long
cravat. Go to Blin or Veronique for your clothes. Baptistin
will tell you where, if you do not know their address. The
less pretension there is in your attire, the better will be
the effect, as you are a rich man. If you mean to buy any
horses, get them of Devedeux, and if you purchase a phaeton,
go to Baptiste for it.


At what hour shall we come?asked the young man.


About half-past six.


We will be with you at that time,said the major. The two
Cavalcanti bowed to the countand left the house. Monte
Cristo went to the windowand saw them crossing the street
arm in arm. "There go two miscreants;" said heit is a
pity they are not really related!-- thenafter an instant
of gloomy reflectionCome, I will go to see the Morrels,
said he; "I think that disgust is even more sickening than
hatred."


Chapter 57
In the Lucerne Patch.


Our readers must now allow us to transport them again to the
enclosure surrounding M. de Villefort's houseandbehind
the gatehalf screened from view by the large
chestnut-treeswhich on all sides spread their luxuriant
brancheswe shall find some people of our acquaintance.
This time Maximilian was the first to arrive. He was
intently watching for a shadow to appear among the trees
and awaiting with anxiety the sound of a light step on the
gravel walk. At lengththe long-desired sound was heard
and instead of one figureas he had expectedhe perceived
that two were approaching him. The delay had been occasioned
by a visit from Madame Danglars and Eugeniewhich had been
prolonged beyond the time at which Valentine was expected.
That she might not appear to fail in her promise to
Maximilianshe proposed to Mademoiselle Danglars that they
should take a walk in the gardenbeing anxious to show that
the delaywhich was doubtless a cause of vexation to him
was not occasioned by any neglect on her part. The young
manwith the intuitive perception of a loverquickly
understood the circumstances in which she was involuntarily
placedand he was comforted. Besidesalthough she avoided
coming within speaking distanceValentine arranged so that
Maximilian could see her pass and repassand each time she
went byshe managedunperceived by her companionto cast



an expressive look at the young manwhich seemed to say
Have patience! You see it is not my fault.And Maximilian
was patientand employed himself in mentally contrasting
the two girls-- one fairwith soft languishing eyesa
figure gracefully bending like a weeping willow; the other a
brunettewith a fierce and haughty expressionand as
straight as a poplar. It is unnecessary to state thatin
the eyes of the young manValentine did not suffer by the
contrast. In about half an hour the girls went awayand
Maximilian understood that Mademoiselle Danglars' visit had
at last come to an end. In a few minutes Valentine
re-entered the garden alone. For fear that any one should be
observing her returnshe walked slowly; and instead of
immediately directing her steps towards the gateshe seated
herself on a benchandcarefully casting her eyes around
to convince herself that she was not watchedshe presently
aroseand proceeded quickly to join Maximilian.

Good-evening, Valentine,said a well-known voice.

Good-evening, Maximilian; I know I have kept you waiting,
but you saw the cause of my delay.

Yes, I recognized Mademoiselle Danglars. I was not aware
that you were so intimate with her.

Who told you we were intimate, Maximilian?

No one, but you appeared to be so. From the manner in which
you walked and talked together, one would have thought you
were two school-girls telling your secrets to each other.

We were having a confidential conversation,returned
Valentine; "she was owning to me her repugnance to the
marriage with M. de Morcerf; and Ion the other handwas
confessing to her how wretched it made me to think of
marrying M. d'Epinay."

Dear Valentine!

That will account to you for the unreserved manner which
you observed between me and Eugenie, as in speaking of the
man whom I could not love, my thoughts involuntarily
reverted to him on whom my affections were fixed.

Ah, how good you are to say so, Valentine! You possess a
quality which can never belong to Mademoiselle Danglars. It
is that indefinable charm which is to a woman what perfume
is to the flower and flavor to the fruit, for the beauty of
either is not the only quality we seek.

It is your love which makes you look upon everything in
that light.

No, Valentine, I assure you such is not the case. I was
observing you both when you were walking in the garden, and,
on my honor, without at all wishing to depreciate the beauty
of Mademoiselle Danglars, I cannot understand how any man
can really love her.

The fact is, Maximilian, that I was there, and my presence
had the effect of rendering you unjust in your comparison.

No; but tell me -- it is a question of simple curiosity,


and which was suggested by certain ideas passing in my mind
relative to Mademoiselle Danglars-


I dare say it is something disparaging which you are going
to say. It only proves how little indulgence we may expect
from your sex,interrupted Valentine.

You cannot, at least, deny that you are very harsh judges
of each other.

If we are so, it is because we generally judge under the
influence of excitement. But return to your question.

Does Mademoiselle Danglars object to this marriage with M.
de Morcerf on account of loving another?

I told you I was not on terms of strict intimacy with
Eugenie.

Yes, but girls tell each other secrets without being
particularly intimate; own, now, that you did question her
on the subject. Ah, I see you are smiling.

If you are already aware of the conversation that passed,
the wooden partition which interposed between us and you has
proved but a slight security.

Come, what did she say?

She told me that she loved no one,said Valentine; "that
she disliked the idea of being married; that she would
infinitely prefer leading an independent and unfettered
life; and that she almost wished her father might lose his
fortunethat she might become an artistlike her friend
Mademoiselle Louise d'Armilly."

Ah, you see-


Well, what does that prove?asked Valentine.

Nothing,replied Maximilian.

Then why did you smile?

Why, you know very well that you are reflecting on
yourself, Valentine.

Do you want me to go away?

Ah, no, no. But do not let us lose time; you are the
subject on which I wish to speak.

True, we must be quick, for we have scarcely ten minutes
more to pass together.

Ma foi,said Maximilianin consternation.

Yes, you are right; I am but a poor friend to you. What a
life I cause you to lead, poor Maximilian, you who are
formed for happiness! I bitterly reproach myself, I assure
you.

Well, what does it signify, Valentine, so long as I am
satisfied, and feel that even this long and painful suspense


is amply repaid by five minutes of your society, or two
words from your lips? And I have also a deep conviction that
heaven would not have created two hearts, harmonizing as
ours do, and almost miraculously brought us together, to
separate us at last.

Those are kind and cheering words. You must hope for us
both, Maximilian; that will make me at least partly happy.

But why must you leave me so soon?

I do not know particulars. I can only tell you that Madame
de Villefort sent to request my presence, as she had a
communication to make on which a part of my fortune
depended. Let them take my fortune, I am already too rich;
and, perhaps, when they have taken it, they will leave me in
peace and quietness. You would love me as much if I were
poor, would you not, Maximilian?

Oh, I shall always love you. What should I care for either
riches or poverty, if my Valentine was near me, and I felt
certain that no one could deprive me of her? But do you not
fear that this communication may relate to your marriage?

I do not think that is the case.

However it may be, Valentine, you must not be alarmed. I
assure you that, as long as I live, I shall never love any
one else!

You think to reassure me when you say that, Maximilian.

Pardon me, you are right. I am a brute. But I was going to
tell you that I met M. de Morcerf the other day.

Well?

Monsieur Franz is his friend, you know.

What then?

Monsieur de Morcerf has received a letter from Franz,
announcing his immediate return.Valentine turned paleand
leaned her hand against the gate. "Ah heavensif it were
that! But nothe communication would not come through
Madame de Villefort."

Why not?

Because -- I scarcely know why -- but it has appeared as if
Madame de Villefort secretly objected to the marriage,
although she did not choose openly to oppose it.

Is it so? Then I feel as if I could adore Madame de
Villefort.

Do not be in such a hurry to do that,said Valentinewith
a sad smile.

If she objects to your marrying M. d'Epinay, she would be
all the more likely to listen to any other proposition.

No, Maximilian, it is not suitors to which Madame de
Villefort objects, it is marriage itself.


Marriage? If she dislikes that so much, why did she ever
marry herself?

You do not understand me, Maximilian. About a year ago, I
talked of retiring to a convent. Madame de Villefort, in
spite of all the remarks which she considered it her duty to
make, secretly approved of the proposition, my father
consented to it at her instigation, and it was only on
account of my poor grandfather that I finally abandoned the
project. You can form no idea of the expression of that old
man's eye when he looks at me, the only person in the world
whom he loves, and, I had almost said, by whom he is beloved
in return. When he learned my resolution, I shall never
forget the reproachful look which he cast on me, and the
tears of utter despair which chased each other down his
lifeless cheeks. Ah, Maximilian, I experienced, at that
moment, such remorse for my intention, that, throwing myself
at his feet, I exclaimed, -- `Forgive me, pray forgive me,
my dear grandfather; they may do what they will with me, I
will never leave you.' When I had ceased speaking, he
thankfully raised his eyes to heaven, but without uttering a
word. Ah, Maximilian, I may have much to suffer, but I feel
as if my grandfather's look at that moment would more than
compensate for all.

Dear Valentine, you are a perfect angel, and I am sure I do
not know what I -- sabring right and left among the Bedouins
-- can have done to merit your being revealed to me, unless,
indeed, heaven took into consideration the fact that the
victims of my sword were infidels. But tell me what interest
Madame de Villefort can have in your remaining unmarried?

Did I not tell you just now that I was rich, Maximilian -too
rich? I possess nearly 50,000 livres in right of my
mother; my grandfather and my grandmother, the Marquis and
Marquise de Saint-Meran, will leave me as much, and M.
Noirtier evidently intends making me his heir. My brother
Edward, who inherits nothing from his mother, will,
therefore, be poor in comparison with me. Now, if I had
taken the veil, all this fortune would have descended to my
father, and, in reversion, to his son.

Ah, how strange it seems that such a young and beautiful
woman should be so avaricious.

It is not for herself that she is so, but for her son, and
what you regard as a vice becomes almost a virtue when
looked at in the light of maternal love.

But could you not compromise matters, and give up a portion
of your fortune to her son?

How could I make such a proposition, especially to a woman
who always professes to be so entirely disinterested?

Valentine, I have always regarded our love in the light of
something sacred; consequently, I have covered it with the
veil of respect, and hid it in the innermost recesses of my
soul. No human being, not even my sister, is aware of its
existence. Valentine, will you permit me to make a confidant
of a friend and reveal to him the love I bear you?

Valentine started. "A friendMaximilian; and who is this


friend? I tremble to give my permission."

Listen, Valentine. Have you never experienced for any one
that sudden and irresistible sympathy which made you feel as
if the object of it had been your old and familiar friend,
though, in reality, it was the first time you had ever met?
Nay, further, have you never endeavored to recall the time,
place, and circumstances of your former intercourse, and
failing in this attempt, have almost believed that your
spirits must have held converse with each other in some
state of being anterior to the present, and that you are
only now occupied in a reminiscence of the past?

Yes.

Well, that is precisely the feeling which I experienced
when I first saw that extraordinary man.

Extraordinary, did you say?

Yes.

You have known him for some time, then?

Scarcely longer than eight or ten days.

And do you call a man your friend whom you have only known
for eight or ten days? Ah, Maximilian, I had hoped you set a
higher value on the title of friend.

Your logic is most powerful, Valentine, but say what you
will, I can never renounce the sentiment which has
instinctively taken possession of my mind. I feel as if it
were ordained that this man should be associated with all
the good which the future may have in store for me, and
sometimes it really seems as if his eye was able to see what
was to come, and his hand endowed with the power of
directing events according to his own will.

He must be a prophet, then,said Valentinesmiling.

Indeed,said MaximilianI have often been almost tempted
to attribute to him the gift of prophecy; at all events, he
has a wonderful power of foretelling any future good.

Ah,said Valentine in a mournful tonedo let me see this
man, Maximilian; he may tell me whether I shall ever be
loved sufficiently to make amends for all I have suffered.

My poor girl, you know him already.

I know him?

Yes; it was he who saved the life of your step-mother and
her son.

The Count of Monte Cristo?

The same.

Ah,cried Valentinehe is too much the friend of Madame
de Villefort ever to be mine.

The friend of Madame de Villefort! It cannot be; surely,


Valentine, you are mistaken?

No, indeed, I am not; for I assure you, his power over our
household is almost unlimited. Courted by my step-mother,
who regards him as the epitome of human wisdom; admired by
my father, who says he has never before heard such sublime
ideas so eloquently expressed; idolized by Edward, who,
notwithstanding his fear of the count's large black eyes,
runs to meet him the moment he arrives, and opens his hand,
in which he is sure to find some delightful present, -- M.
de Monte Cristo appears to exert a mysterious and almost
uncontrollable influence over all the members of our
family.

If such be the case, my dear Valentine, you must yourself
have felt, or at all events will soon feel, the effects of
his presence. He meets Albert de Morcerf in Italy -- it is
to rescue him from the hands of the banditti; he introduces
himself to Madame Danglars -- it is that he may give her a
royal present; your step-mother and her son pass before his
door -- it is that his Nubian may save them from
destruction. This man evidently possesses the power of
influencing events, both as regards men and things. I never
saw more simple tastes united to greater magnificence. His
smile is so sweet when he addresses me, that I forget it
ever can be bitter to others. Ah, Valentine, tell me, if he
ever looked on you with one of those sweet smiles? if so,
depend on it, you will be happy.

Me?said the young girlhe never even glances at me; on
the contrary, if I accidentally cross his path, he appears
rather to avoid me. Ah, he is not generous, neither does he
possess that supernatural penetration which you attribute to
him, for if he did, he would have perceived that I was
unhappy; and if he had been generous, seeing me sad and
solitary, he would have used his influence to my advantage,
and since, as you say, he resembles the sun, he would have
warmed my heart with one of his life-giving rays. You say he
loves you, Maximilian; how do you know that he does? All
would pay deference to an officer like you, with a fierce
mustache and a long sabre, but they think they may crush a
poor weeping girl with impunity.

Ah, Valentine, I assure you you are mistaken.

If it were otherwise -- if he treated me diplomatically -that
is to say, like a man who wishes, by some means or
other, to obtain a footing in the house, so that he may
ultimately gain the power of dictating to its occupants -he
would, if it had been but once, have honored me with the
smile which you extol so loudly; but no, he saw that I was
unhappy, he understood that I could be of no use to him, and
therefore paid no attention to me whatever. Who knows but
that, in order to please Madame de Villefort and my father,
he may not persecute me by every means in his power? It is
not just that he should despise me so, without any reason.
Ah, forgive me,said Valentineperceiving the effect which
her words were producing on Maximilian: "I have done wrong
for I have given utterance to thoughts concerning that man
which I did not even know existed in my heart. I do not deny
the influence of which you speakor that I have not myself
experienced itbut with me it has been productive of evil
rather than good."


Well, Valentine,said Morrel with a sighwe will not
discuss the matter further. I will not make a confidant of
him.

Alas,said ValentineI see that I have given you pain. I
can only say how sincerely I ask pardon for having griefed
you. But, indeed, I am not prejudiced beyond the power of
conviction. Tell me what this Count of Monte Cristo has done
for you.

I own that your question embarrasses me, Valentine, for I
cannot say that the count has rendered me any ostensible
service. Still, as I have already told you I have an
instinctive affection for him, the source of which I cannot
explain to you. Has the sun done anything for me? No; he
warms me with his rays, and it is by his light that I see
you -- nothing more. Has such and such a perfume done
anything for me? No; its odor charms one of my senses -that
is all I can say when I am asked why I praise it. My
friendship for him is as strange and unaccountable as his
for me. A secret voice seems to whisper to me that there
must be something more than chance in this unexpected
reciprocity of friendship. In his most simple actions, as
well as in his most secret thoughts, I find a relation to my
own. You will perhaps smile at me when I tell you that, ever
since I have known this man, I have involuntarily
entertained the idea that all the good fortune which his
befallen me originated from him. However, I have managed to
live thirty years without this protection, you will say; but
I will endeavor a little to illustrate my meaning. He
invited me to dine with him on Saturday, which was a very
natural thing for him to do. Well, what have I learned
since? That your mother and M. de Villefort are both coming
to this dinner. I shall meet them there, and who knows what
future advantages may result from the interview? This may
appear to you to be no unusual combination of circumstances;
nevertheless, I perceive some hidden plot in the arrangement
-- something, in fact, more than is apparent on a casual
view of the subject. I believe that this singular man, who
appears to fathom the motives of every one, has purposely
arranged for me to meet M. and Madame de Villefort, and
sometimes, I confess, I have gone so far as to try to read
in his eyes whether he was in possession of the secret of
our love.

My good friend,said ValentineI should take you for a
visionary, and should tremble for your reason, if I were
always to hear you talk in a strain similar to this. Is it
possible that you can see anything more than the merest
chance in this meeting? Pray reflect a little. My father,
who never goes out, has several times been on the point of
refusing this invitation; Madame de Villefort, on the
contrary, is burning with the desire of seeing this
extraordinary nabob in his own house, therefore, she has
with great difficulty prevailed on my father to accompany
her. No, no; it is as I have said, Maximilian, -- there is
no one in the world of whom I can ask help but yourself and
my grandfather, who is little better than a corpse.

I see that you are right, logically speaking,said
Maximilian; "but the gentle voice which usually has such
power over me fails to convince me to-day."

I feel the same as regards yourself.said Valentine; "and


I own thatif you have no stronger proof to give me" -


I have another,replied Maximilian; "but I fear you will
deem it even more absurd than the first."

So much the worse,said Valentinesmiling.

It is, nevertheless, conclusive to my mind. My ten years of
service have also confirmed my ideas on the subject of
sudden inspirations, for I have several times owed my life
to a mysterious impulse which directed me to move at once
either to the right or to the left, in order to escape the
ball which killed the comrade fighting by my side, while it
left me unharmed.

Dear Maximilian, why not attribute your escape to my
constant prayers for your safety? When you are away, I no
longer pray for myself, but for you.

Yes, since you have known me,said Morrelsmiling; "but
that cannot apply to the time previous to our acquaintance
Valentine."

You are very provoking, and will not give me credit for
anything; but let me hear this second proof, which you
yourself own to be absurd.

Well, look through this opening, and you will see the
beautiful new horse which I rode here.

Ah, what a beautiful creature!cried Valentine; "why did
you not bring him close to the gateso that I could talk to
him and pat him?"

He is, as you see, a very valuable animal,said
Maximilian. "You know that my means are limitedand that I
am what would be designated a man of moderate pretensions.
WellI went to a horse dealer'swhere I saw this
magnificent horsewhich I have named Medeah. I asked the
price; they told me it was 4500 francs. I wastherefore
obliged to give it upas you may imaginebut I own I went
away with rather a heavy heartfor the horse had looked at
me affectionatelyhad rubbed his head against me andwhen
I mounted himhad pranced in the most delightful way
imaginableso that I was altogether fascinated with him.
The same evening some friends of mine visited me-- M. de
Chateau-RenaudM. Debrayand five or six other choice
spiritswhom you do not knoweven by name. They proposed a
game of bouillotte. I never playfor I am not rich enough
to afford to loseor sufficiently poor to desire to gain.
But I was at my own houseyou understandso there was
nothing to be done but to send for the cardswhich I did.

Just as they were sitting down to table, M. de Monte Cristo
arrived. He took his seat amongst them; they played, and I
won. I am almost ashamed to say that my gains amounted to
5,000 francs. We separated at midnight. I could not defer my
pleasure, so I took a cabriolet and drove to the horse
dealer's. Feverish and excited, I rang at the door. The
person who opened it must have taken me for a madman, for I
rushed at once to the stable. Medeah was standing at the
rack, eating his hay. I immediately put on the saddle and
bridle, to which operation he lent himself with the best
grace possible; then, putting the 4,500 francs into the


hands of the astonished dealer, I proceeded to fulfil my
intention of passing the night in riding in the Champs
Elysees. As I rode by the count's house I perceived a light
in one of the windows, and fancied I saw the shadow of his
figure moving behind the curtain. Now, Valentine, I firmly
believe that he knew of my wish to possess this horse, and
that he lost expressly to give me the means of procuring
him.

My dear Maximilian, you are really too fanciful; you will
not love even me long. A man who accustoms himself to live
in such a world of poetry and imagination must find far too
little excitement in a common, every-day sort of attachment
such as ours. But they are calling me. Do you hear?

Ah, Valentine,said Maximiliangive me but one finger
through this opening in the grating, one finger, the
littlest finger of all, that I may have the happiness of
kissing it.

Maximilian, we said we would be to each other as two
voices, two shadows.

As you will, Valentine.

Shall you be happy if I do what you wish?

Oh, yes!Valentine mounted on a benchand passed not only
her finger but her whole hand through the opening.
Maximilian uttered a cry of delightandspringing
forwardsseized the hand extended towards himand
imprinted on it a fervent and impassioned kiss. The little
hand was then immediately withdrawnand the young man saw
Valentine hurrying towards the houseas though she were
almost terrified at her own sensations.

Chapter 58

M. Noirtier de Villefort.
We will now relate what was passing in the house of the
king's attorney after the departure of Madame Danglars and
her daughterand during the time of the conversation
between Maximilian and Valentinewhich we have just
detailed. M. de Villefort entered his father's room
followed by Madame de Villefort. Both of the visitorsafter
saluting the old man and speaking to Barroisa faithful
servantwho had been twenty-five years in his servicetook
their places on either side of the paralytic.

M. Noirtier was sitting in an arm-chairwhich moved upon
castersin which he was wheeled into the room in the
morningand in the same way drawn out again at night. He
was placed before a large glasswhich reflected the whole
apartmentand sowithout any attempt to movewhich would
have been impossiblehe could see all who entered the room
and everything which was going on around him. M. Noirtier
although almost as immovable as a corpselooked at the
newcomers with a quick and intelligent expression
perceiving at onceby their ceremonious courtesythat they
were come on business of an unexpected and official
character. Sight and hearing were the only senses remaining
and theylike two solitary sparksremained to animate the

miserable body which seemed fit for nothing but the grave;
it was onlyhoweverby means of one of these senses that
he could reveal the thoughts and feelings that still
occupied his mindand the look by which he gave expression
to his inner life was like the distant gleam of a candle
which a traveller sees by night across some desert place
and knows that a living being dwells beyond the silence and
obscurity. Noirtier's hair was long and whiteand flowed
over his shoulders; while in his eyesshaded by thick black
lasheswas concentratedas it often happens with an organ
which is used to the exclusion of the othersall the
activityaddressforceand intelligence which were
formerly diffused over his whole body; and so although the
movement of the armthe sound of the voiceand the agility
of the bodywere wantingthe speaking eye sufficed for
all. He commanded with it; it was the medium through which
his thanks were conveyed. In shorthis whole appearance
produced on the mind the impression of a corpse with living
eyesand nothing could be more startling than to observe
the expression of anger or joy suddenly lighting up these
organswhile the rest of the rigid and marble-like features
were utterly deprived of the power of participation. Three
persons only could understand this language of the poor
paralytic; these were VillefortValentineand the old
servant of whom we have already spoken. But as Villefort saw
his father but seldomand then only when absolutely
obligedand as he never took any pains to please or gratify
him when he was thereall the old man's happiness was
centred in his granddaughter. Valentineby means of her
loveher patienceand her devotionhad learned to read in
Noirtier's look all the varied feelings which were passing
in his mind. To this dumb languagewhich was so
unintelligible to othersshe answered by throwing her whole
soul into the expression of her countenanceand in this
manner were the conversations sustained between the blooming
girl and the helpless invalidwhose body could scarcely be
called a living onebut whoneverthelesspossessed a fund
of knowledge and penetrationunited with a will as powerful
as ever although clogged by a body rendered utterly
incapable of obeying its impulses. Valentine had solved the
problemand was able easily to understand his thoughtsand
to convey her own in returnandthrough her untiring and
devoted assiduityit was seldom thatin the ordinary
transactions of every-day lifeshe failed to anticipate the
wishes of the livingthinking mindor the wants of the
almost inanimate body. As to the servanthe hadas we have
saidbeen with his master for five and twenty years
therefore he knew all his habitsand it was seldom that
Noirtier found it necessary to ask for anythingso prompt
was he in administering to all the necessities of the
invalid. Villefort did not need the help of either Valentine
or the domestic in order to carry on with his father the
strange conversation which he was about to begin. As we have
saidhe perfectly understood the old man's vocabularyand
if he did not use it more oftenit was only indifference
and ennui which prevented him from so doing. He therefore
allowed Valentine to go into the gardensent away Barrois
and after having seated himself at his father's right hand
while Madame de Villefort placed herself on the lefthe
addressed him thus: -


I trust you will not be displeased, sir, that Valentine has
not come with us, or that I dismissed Barrois, for our
conference will be one which could not with propriety be


carried on in the presence of either. Madame de Villefort
and I have a communication to make to you.

Noirtier's face remained perfectly passive during this long
preamblewhileon the contraryVillefort's eye was
endeavoring to penetrate into the inmost recesses of the old
man's heart.

This communication,continued the procureurin that cold
and decisive tone which seemed at once to preclude all
discussionwill, we are sure, meet with your approbation.
The eye of the invalid still retained that vacancy of
expression which prevented his son from obtaining any
knowledge of the feelings which were passing in his mind; he
listenednothing more. "Sir resumed Villefort, we are
thinking of marrying Valentine." Had the old man's face been
moulded in wax it could not have shown less emotion at this
news than was now to be traced there. "The marriage will
take place in less than three months said Villefort.
Noirtier's eye still retained its inanimate expression.

Madame de Villefort now took her part in the conversation
and added, -- We thought this news would possess an
interest for yousirwho have always entertained a great
affection for Valentine; it therefore only now remains for
us to tell you the name of the young man for whom she is
destined. It is one of the most desirable connections which
could possibly be formed; he possesses fortunea high rank
in societyand every personal qualification likely to
render Valentine supremely happy-- his namemoreover
cannot be wholly unknown to you. It is M. Franz de Quesnel
Baron d'Epinay."

While his wife was speakingVillefort had narrowly watched
the old man's countenance. When Madame de Villefort
pronounced the name of Franzthe pupil of M. Noirtier's eye
began to dilateand his eyelids trembled with the same
movement that may be perceived on the lips of an individual
about to speakand he darted a lightning glance at Madame
de Villefort and his son. The procureurwho knew the
political hatred which had formerly existed between M.
Noirtier and the elder d'Epinaywell understood the
agitation and anger which the announcement had produced;
butfeigning not to perceive eitherhe immediately resumed
the narrative begun by his wife. "Sir said he, you are
aware that Valentine is about to enter her nineteenth year
which renders it important that she should lose no time in
forming a suitable alliance. Neverthelessyou have not been
forgotten in our plansand we have fully ascertained
beforehand that Valentine's future husband will consentnot
to live in this housefor that might not be pleasant for
the young peoplebut that you should live with them; so
that you and Valentinewho are so attached to each other
would not be separatedand you would be able to pursue
exactly the same course of life which you have hitherto
doneand thusinstead of losingyou will be a gainer by
the changeas it will secure to you two children instead of
oneto watch over and comfort you."

Noirtier's look was furious; it was very evident that
something desperate was passing in the old man's mindfor a
cry of anger and grief rose in his throatand not being
able to find vent in utteranceappeared almost to choke
himfor his face and lips turned quite purple with the


struggle. Villefort quietly opened a windowsayingIt is
very warm, and the heat affects M. Noirtier.He then
returned to his placebut did not sit down. "This
marriage added Madame de Villefort, is quite agreeable to
the wishes of M. d'Epinay and his family; besideshe had no
relations nearer than an uncle and aunthis mother having
died at his birthand his father having been assassinated
in 1815that is to saywhen he was but two years old; it
naturally followed that the child was permitted to choose
his own pursuitsand he hasthereforeseldom acknowledged
any other authority but that of his own will."

That assassination was a mysterious affair,said
Villefortand the perpetrators have hitherto escaped
detection, although suspicion has fallen on the head of more
than one person.Noirtier made such an effort that his lips
expanded into a smile.

Now,continued Villefortthose to whom the guilt really
belongs, by whom the crime was committed, on whose heads the
justice of man may probably descend here, and the certain
judgment of God hereafter, would rejoice in the opportunity
thus afforded of bestowing such a peace-offering as
Valentine on the son of him whose life they so ruthlessly
destroyed.Noirtier had succeeded in mastering his emotion
more than could have been deemed possible with such an
enfeebled and shattered frame. "YesI understand was the
reply contained in his look; and this look expressed a
feeling of strong indignation, mixed with profound contempt.
Villefort fully understood his father's meaning, and
answered by a slight shrug of his shoulders. He then
motioned to his wife to take leave. Now sir said Madame
de Villefort, I must bid you farewell. Would you like me to
send Edward to you for a short time?"

It had been agreed that the old man should express his
approbation by closing his eyeshis refusal by winking them
several timesand if he had some desire or feeling to
expresshe raised them to heaven. If he wanted Valentine
he closed his right eye onlyand if Barroisthe left. At
Madame de Villefort's proposition he instantly winked his
eyes. Provoked by a complete refusalshe bit her lip and
saidThen shall I send Valentine to you?The old man
closed his eyes eagerlythereby intimating that such was
his wish. M. and Madame de Villefort bowed and left the
roomgiving orders that Valentine should be summoned to her
grandfather's presenceand feeling sure that she would have
much to do to restore calmness to the perturbed spirit of
the invalid. Valentinewith a color still heightened by
emotionentered the room just after her parents had quitted
it. One look was sufficient to tell her that her grandfather
was sufferingand that there was much on his mind which he
was wishing to communicate to her. "Dear grandpapa cried
she, what has happened? They have vexed youand you are
angry?" The paralytic closed his eyes in token of assent.
Who has displeased you? Is it my father?

No.

Madame de Villefort?

No.

Me?The former sign was repeated. "Are you displeased with


me?" cried Valentine in astonishment. M. Noirtier again
closed his eyes. "And what have I donedear grandpapathat
you should be angry with me?" cried Valentine.

There was no answerand she continued. "I have not seen you
all day. Has any one been speaking to you against me?"

Yes,said the old man's lookwith eagerness.

Let me think a moment. I do assure you, grandpapa -- Ah -


M. and Madame de Villefort have just left this room, have
they not?
Yes.

And it was they who told you something which made you
angry? What was it then? May I go and ask them, that I may
have the opportunity of making my peace with you?

No, no,said Noirtier's look.

Ah, you frighten me. What can they have said?and she
again tried to think what it could be.

Ah, I know,said shelowering her voice and going close
to the old man. "They have been speaking of my marriage-have
they not?"

Yes,replied the angry look.

I understand; you are displeased at the silence I have
preserved on the subject. The reason of it was, that they
had insisted on my keeping the matter a secret, and begged
me not to tell you anything of it. They did not even
acquaint me with their intentions, and I only discovered
them by chance, that is why I have been so reserved with
you, dear grandpapa. Pray forgive me.But there was no look
calculated to reassure her; all it seemed to say wasIt is
not only your reserve which afflicts me.

What is it, then?asked the young girl. "Perhaps you think
I shall abandon youdear grandpapaand that I shall forget
you when I am married?"

No.

They told you, then, that M. d'Epinay consented to our all
living together?

Yes.

Then why are you still vexed and grieved?The old man's
eyes beamed with an expression of gentle affection. "YesI
understand said Valentine; it is because you love me."
The old man assented. "And you are afraid I shall be
unhappy?"

Yes.

You do not like M. Franz?The eyes repeated several times
No, no, no.

Then you are vexed with the engagement?


Yes.

Well, listen,said Valentinethrowing herself on her
kneesand putting her arm round her grandfather's neckI
am vexed, too, for I do not love M. Franz d'Epinay.An
expression of intense joy illumined the old man's eyes.
When I wished to retire into a convent, you remember how
angry you were with me?A tear trembled in the eye of the
invalid. "Well continued Valentine, the reason of my
proposing it was that I might escape this hateful marriage
which drives me to despair." Noirtier's breathing came thick
and short. "Then the idea of this marriage really grieves
you too? Ahif you could but help me -- if we could both
together defeat their plan! But you are unable to oppose
them-- youwhose mind is so quickand whose will is so
firm are neverthelessas weak and unequal to the contest as
I am myself. Alasyouwho would have been such a powerful
protector to me in the days of your health and strengthcan
now only sympathize in my joys and sorrowswithout being
able to take any active part in them. Howeverthis is much
and calls for gratitude and heaven has not taken away all my
blessings when it leaves me your sympathy and kindness."

At these words there appeared in Noirtier's eye an
expression of such deep meaning that the young girl thought
she could read these words there: "You are mistaken; I can
still do much for you."

Do you think you can help me, dear grandpapa?said
Valentine.

Yes.Noirtier raised his eyesit was the sign agreed on
between him and Valentine when he wanted anything.

What is it you want, dear grandpapa?said Valentineand
she endeavored to recall to mind all the things which he
would be likely to need; and as the ideas presented
themselves to her mindshe repeated them aloudthen-finding
that all her efforts elicited nothing but a constant
No,-- she saidCome, since this plan does not answer, I
will have recourse to another.She then recited all the
letters of the alphabet from A down to N. When she arrived
at that letter the paralytic made her understand that she
had spoken the initial letter of the thing he wanted. "Ah
said Valentine, the thing you desire begins with the letter
N; it is with N that we have to dothen. Welllet me see
what can you want that begins with N? Na -- Ne -- Ni -- No"

Yes, yes, yes,said the old man's eye.

Ah, it is No, then?

Yes.Valentine fetched a dictionarywhich she placed on a
desk before Noirtier; she opened itandseeing that the
odd man's eye was thoroughly fixed on its pagesshe ran her
finger quickly up and down the columns. During the six years
which had passed since Noirtier first fell into this sad
stateValentine's powers of invention had been too often
put to the test not to render her expert in devising
expedients for gaining a knowledge of his wishesand the
constant practice had so perfected her in the art that she
guessed the old man's meaning as quickly as if he himself
had been able to seek for what he wanted. At the word


Notary,Noirtier made a sign to her to stop. "Notary
said she, do you want a notarydear grandpapa?" The old
man again signified that it was a notary he desired.

You would wish a notary to be sent for then?said
Valentine.

Yes.

Shall my father be informed of your wish?

Yes.

Do you wish the notary to be sent for immediately?

Yes.

Then they shall go for him directly, dear grandpapa. Is
that all you want?

Yes.Valentine rang the belland ordered the servant to
tell Monsieur or Madame de Villefort that they were
requested to come to M. Noirtier's room. "Are you satisfied
now?" inquired Valentine.

Yes.

I am sure you are; it is not very difficult to discover
that,-- and the young girl smiled on her grandfatheras
if he had been a child. M. de Villefort enteredfollowed by
Barrois. "What do you want me forsir?" demanded he of the
paralytic.

Sir,said Valentinemy grandfather wishes for a notary.
At this strange and unexpected demand M. de Villefort and
his father exchanged looks. "Yes motioned the latter, with
a firmness which seemed to declare that with the help of
Valentine and his old servant, who both knew what his wishes
were, he was quite prepared to maintain the contest. Do you
wish for a notary?" asked Villefort.

Yes.

What to do?

Noirtier made no answer. "What do you want with a notary?"
again repeated Villefort. The invalid's eye remained fixed
by which expression he intended to intimate that his
resolution was unalterable. "Is it to do us some ill turn?
Do you think it is worth while?" said Villefort.

Still,said Barroiswith the freedom and fidelity of an
old servantif M. Noirtier asks for a notary, I suppose he
really wishes for a notary; therefore I shall go at once and
fetch one.Barrois acknowledged no master but Noirtierand
never allowed his desires in any way to be contradicted.

Yes, I do want a notary,motioned the old manshutting
his eyes with a look of defiancewhich seemed to sayand
I should like to see the person who dares to refuse my
request.

You shall have a notary, as you absolutely wish for one,
sir,said Villefort; "but I shall explain to him your state


of healthand make excuses for youfor the scene cannot
fail of being a most ridiculous one."

Never mind that,said Barrois; "I shall go and fetch a
notarynevertheless -- and the old servant departed
triumphantly on his mission.

Chapter 59
The Will.

As soon as Barrois had left the room, Noirtier looked at
Valentine with a malicious expression that said many things.
The young girl perfectly understood the look, and so did
Villefort, for his countenance became clouded, and he
knitted his eyebrows angrily. He took a seat, and quietly
awaited the arrival of the notary. Noirtier saw him seat
himself with an appearance of perfect indifference, at the
same time giving a side look at Valentine, which made her
understand that she also was to remain in the room.
Three-quarters of an hour after, Barrois returned, bringing
the notary with him. Sir said Villefort, after the first
salutations were over, you were sent for by M. Noirtier
whom you see here. All his limbs have become completely
paralysedhe has lost his voice alsoand we ourselves find
much trouble in endeavoring to catch some fragments of his
meaning." Noirtier cast an appealing look on Valentine
which look was at once so earnest and imperativethat she
answered immediately. "Sir said she, I perfectly
understand my grandfather's meaning at all times."

That is quite true,said Barrois; "and that is what I told
the gentleman as we walked along."

Permit me,said the notaryturning first to Villefort and
then to Valentine -- "permit me to state that the case in
question is just one of those in which a public officer like
myself cannot proceed to act without thereby incurring a
dangerous responsibility. The first thing necessary to
render an act valid isthat the notary should be thoroughly
convinced that he has faithfully interpreted the will and
wishes of the person dictating the act. Now I cannot be sure
of the approbation or disapprobation of a client who cannot
speakand as the object of his desire or his repugnance
cannot be clearly proved to meon account of his want of
speechmy services here would be quite uselessand cannot
be legally exercised." The notary then prepared to retire.
An imperceptible smile of triumph was expressed on the lips
of the procureur. Noirtier looked at Valentine with an
expression so full of griefthat she arrested the departure
of the notary. "Sir said she, the language which I speak
with my grandfather may be easily learntand I can teach
you in a few minutesto understand it almost as well as I
can myself. Will you tell me what you requirein order to
set your conscience quite at ease on the subject?"

In order to render an act valid, I must be certain of the
approbation or disapprobation of my client. Illness of body
would not affect the validity of the deed, but sanity of
mind is absolutely requisite.

Well, sir, by the help of two signs, with which I will
acquaint you presently, you may ascertain with perfect


certainty that my grandfather is still in the full
possession of all his mental faculties. M. Noirtier, being
deprived of voice and motion, is accustomed to convey his
meaning by closing his eyes when he wishes to signify `yes,'
and to wink when he means `no.' You now know quite enough to
enable you to converse with M. Noirtier; -- try.Noirtier
gave Valentine such a look of tenderness and gratitude that
it was comprehended even by the notary himself. "You have
heard and understood what your granddaughter has been
sayingsirhave you?" asked the notary. Noirtier closed
his eyes. "And you approve of what she said -- that is to
sayyou declare that the signs which she mentioned are
really those by means of which you are accustomed to convey
your thoughts?"

Yes.

It was you who sent for me?

Yes.

To make your will?

Yes.

And you do not wish me to go away without fulfilling your
original intentions?The old man winked violently. "Well
sir said the young girl, do you understand nowand is
your conscience perfectly at rest on the subject?" But
before the notary could answerVillefort had drawn him
aside. "Sir said he, do you suppose for a moment that a
man can sustain a physical shocksuch as M. Noirtier has
receivedwithout any detriment to his mental faculties?"

It is not exactly that, sir,said the notarywhich makes
me uneasy, but the difficulty will be in wording his
thoughts and intentions, so as to be able to get his
answers.

You must see that to be an utter impossibility,said
Villefort. Valentine and the old man heard this
conversationand Noirtier fixed his eye so earnestly on
Valentine that she felt bound to answer to the look.

Sir,said shethat need not make you uneasy, however
difficult it may at first sight appear to be. I can discover
and explain to you my grandfather's thoughts, so as to put
an end to all your doubts and fears on the subject. I have
now been six years with M. Noirtier, and let him tell you if
ever once, during that time, he has entertained a thought
which he was unable to make me understand.

No,signed the old man.

Let us try what we can do, then,said the notary. "You
accept this young lady as your interpreterM. Noirtier?"

Yes.

Well, sir, what do you require of me, and what document is
it that you wish to be drawn up?Valentine named all the
letters of the alphabet until she came to W. At this letter
the eloquent eye of Noirtier gave her notice that she was to
stop. "It is very evident that it is the letter W which M.


Noirtier wants said the notary. Wait said Valentine;
and, turning to her grandfather, she repeated, Wa -- We --
Wi" -- The old man stopped her at the last syllable.
Valentine then took the dictionaryand the notary watched
her while she turned over the pages. She passed her finger
slowly down the columnsand when she came to the word
Will,M. Noirtier's eye bade her stop. "Will said the
notary; it is very evident that M. Noirtier is desirous of
making his will."

Yes, yes, yes,motioned the invalid.

Really, sir, you must allow that this is most
extraordinary,said the astonished notaryturning to M. de
Villefort. "Yes said the procureur, and I think the will
promises to be yet more extraordinaryfor I cannot see how
it is to be drawn up without the intervention of Valentine
and she mayperhapsbe considered as too much interested
in its contents to allow of her being a suitable interpreter
of the obscure and ill-defined wishes of her grandfather."

No, no, no,replied the eye of the paralytic.

What?said Villefortdo you mean to say that Valentine
is not interested in your will?

No.

Sir,said the notarywhose interest had been greatly
excitedand who had resolved on publishing far and wide the
account of this extraordinary and picturesque scenewhat
appeared so impossible to me an hour ago, has now become
quite easy and practicable, and this may be a perfectly
valid will, provided it be read in the presence of seven
witnesses, approved by the testator, and sealed by the
notary in the presence of the witnesses. As to the time, it
will not require very much more than the generality of
wills. There are certain forms necessary to be gone through,
and which are always the same. As to the details, the
greater part will be furnished afterwards by the state in
which we find the affairs of the testator, and by yourself,
who, having had the management of them, can doubtless give
full information on the subject. But besides all this, in
order that the instrument may not be contested, I am anxious
to give it the greatest possible authenticity, therefore,
one of my colleagues will help me, and, contrary to custom,
will assist in the dictation of the testament. Are you
satisfied, sir?continued the notaryaddressing the old
man.

Yes,looked the invalidhis eye beaming with delight at
the ready interpretation of his meaning.

What is he going to do?thought Villefortwhose position
demanded much reservebut who was longing to know what his
father's intentions were. He left the room to give orders
for another notary to be sentbut Barroiswho had heard
all that passedhad guessed his master's wishesand had
already gone to fetch one. The procureur then told his wife
to come up. In the course of a quarter of an hour every one
had assembled in the chamber of the paralytic; the second
notary had also arrived. A few words sufficed for a mutual
understanding between the two officers of the law. They read
to Noirtier the formal copy of a willin order to give him


an idea of the terms in which such documents are generally
couched; thenin order to test the capacity of the
testatorthe first notary saidturning towards him-"
When an individual makes his willit is generally in favor
or in prejudice of some person."

Yes.

Have you an exact idea of the amount of your fortune?

Yes.

I will name to you several sums which will increase by
gradation; you will stop me when I reach the one
representing the amount of your own possessions?

Yes.There was a kind of solemnity in this interrogation.
Never had the struggle between mind and matter been more
apparent than nowand if it was not a sublimeit wasat
leasta curious spectacle. They had formed a circle round
the invalid; the second notary was sitting at a table
prepared for writingand his colleague was standing before
the testator in the act of interrogating him on the subject
to which we have alluded. "Your fortune exceeds 300000
francsdoes it not?" asked he. Noirtier made a sign that it
did. "Do you possess 400000 francs?" inquired the notary.
Noirtier's eye remained immovable. "Five hundred thousand?"
The same expression continued. "Six hundred thousand -700000
-- 800000 -- 900000?" Noirtier stopped him at the
last-named sum. "You are then in possession of 900000
francs?" asked the notary. "Yes."

In landed property?

No.

In stock?

Yes.

The stock is in your own hands?The look which M. Noirtier
cast on Barrois showed that there was something wanting
which he knew where to find. The old servant left the room
and presently returnedbringing with him a small casket.
Do you permit us to open this casket?asked the notary.
Noirtier gave his assent. They opened itand found 900000
francs in bank scrip. The first notary handed over each
noteas he examined itto his colleague.

The total amount was found to be as M. Noirtier had stated.
It is all as he has said; it is very evident that the mind
still retains its full force and vigor.Thenturning
towards the paralytiche saidYou possess, then, 900,000
francs of capital, which, according to the manner in which
you have invested it, ought to bring in an income of about
40,000 livres?

Yes.

To whom do you desire to leave this fortune?

Oh,said Madame de Villefortthere is not much doubt on
that subject. M. Noirtier tenderly loves his granddaughter,
Mademoiselle de Villefort; it is she who has nursed and


tended him for six years, and has, by her devoted attention,
fully secured the affection, I had almost said the
gratitude, of her grandfather, and it is but just that she
should reap the fruit of her devotion.The eye of Noirtier
clearly showed by its expression that he was not deceived by
the false assent given by Madame de Villefort's words and
manner to the motives which she supposed him to entertain.
Is it, then, to Mademoiselle Valentine de Villefort that
you leave these 900,000 francs?demanded the notary
thinking he had only to insert this clausebut waiting
first for the assent of Noirtierwhich it was necessary
should be given before all the witnesses of this singular
scene. Valentinewhen her name was made the subject of
discussionhad stepped backto escape unpleasant
observation; her eyes were cast downand she was crying.
The old man looked at her for an instant with an expression
of the deepest tendernessthenturning towards the notary
he significantly winked his eye in token of dissent.

What,said the notarydo you not intend making
Mademoiselle Valentine de Villefort your residuary legatee?

No.

You are not making any mistake, are you?said the notary;
you really mean to declare that such is not your
intention?

No,repeated Noirtier; "No." Valentine raised her head
struck dumb with astonishment. It was not so much the
conviction that she was disinherited that caused her grief
but her total inability to account for the feelings which
had provoked her grandfather to such an act. But Noirtier
looked at her with so much affectionate tenderness that she
exclaimedOh, grandpapa, I see now that it is only your
fortune of which you deprive me; you still leave me the love
which I have always enjoyed.

Ah, yes, most assuredly,said the eyes of the paralytic
for he closed them with an expression which Valentine could
not mistake. "Thank youthank you murmured she. The old
man's declaration that Valentine was not the destined
inheritor of his fortune had excited the hopes of Madame de
Villefort; she gradually approached the invalid, and said:
Thendoubtlessdear M. Noirtieryou intend leaving your
fortune to your grandsonEdward de Villefort?" The winking
of the eyes which answered this speech was most decided and
terribleand expressed a feeling almost amounting to
hatred.

No?said the notary; "thenperhapsit is to your sonM.
de Villefort?"

No.The two notaries looked at each other in mute
astonishment and inquiry as to what were the real intentions
of the testator. Villefort and his wife both grew redone
from shamethe other from anger.

What have we all done, then, dear grandpapa?said
Valentine; "you no longer seem to love any of us?" The old
man's eyes passed rapidly from Villefort and his wifeand
rested on Valentine with a look of unutterable fondness.
Well,said she; "if you love megrandpapatry and bring
that love to bear upon your actions at this present moment.


You know me well enough to be quite sure that I have never
thought of your fortune; besidesthey say I am already rich
in right of my mother -- too richeven. Explain yourself
then." Noirtier fixed his intelligent eyes on Valentine's
hand. "My hand?" said she.

Yes.

Her hand!exclaimed every one.

Oh, gentlemen, you see it is all useless, and that my
father's mind is really impaired,said Villefort.

Ah,cried Valentine suddenlyI understand. It is my
marriage you mean, is it not, dear grandpapa?

Yes, yes, yes,signed the paralyticcasting on Valentine
a look of joyful gratitude for having guessed his meaning.

You are angry with us all on account of this marriage, are
you not?

Yes?

Really, this is too absurd,said Villefort.

Excuse me, sir,replied the notary; "on the contrarythe
meaning of M. Noirtier is quite evident to meand I can
quite easily connect the train of ideas passing in his
mind."

You do not wish me to marry M. Franz d'Epinay?observed
Valentine.

I do not wish it,said the eye of her grandfather. "And
you disinherit your granddaughter continued the notary,
because she has contracted an engagement contrary to your
wishes?"

Yes.

So that, but for this marriage, she would have been your
heir?

Yes.There was a profound silence. The two notaries were
holding a consultation as to the best means of proceeding
with the affair. Valentine was looking at her grandfather
with a smile of intense gratitudeand Villefort was biting
his lips with vexationwhile Madame de Villefort could not
succeed in repressing an inward feeling of joywhichin
spite of herselfappeared in her whole countenance. "But
said Villefort, who was the first to break the silence, I
consider that I am the best judge of the propriety of the
marriage in question. I am the only person possessing the
right to dispose of my daughter's hand. It is my wish that
she should marry M. Franz d'Epinay -- and she shall marry
him." Valentine sank weeping into a chair.

Sir,said the notaryhow do you intend disposing of your
fortune in case Mademoiselle de Villefort still determines
on marrying M. Franz?The old man gave no answer. "You
willof coursedispose of it in some way or other?"

Yes.


In favor of some member of your family?

No.

Do you intend devoting it to charitable purposes, then?
pursued the notary.

Yes.

But,said the notaryyou are aware that the law does not
allow a son to be entirely deprived of his patrimony?

Yes.

You only intend, then, to dispose of that part of your
fortune which the law allows you to subtract from the
inheritance of your son?Noirtier made no answer. "Do you
still wish to dispose of all?"

Yes.

But they will contest the will after your death?

No.

My father knows me,replied Villefort; "he is quite sure
that his wishes will be held sacred by me; besideshe
understands that in my position I cannot plead against the
poor." The eye of Noirtier beamed with triumph. "What do you
decide onsir?" asked the notary of Villefort.

Nothing, sir; it is a resolution which my father has taken
and I know he never alters his mind. I am quite resigned.
These 900,000 francs will go out of the family in order to
enrich some hospital; but it is ridiculous thus to yield to
the caprices of an old man, and I shall, therefore, act
according to my conscience.Having said thisVillefort
quitted the room with his wifeleaving his father at
liberty to do as he pleased. The same day the will was made
the witnesses were broughtit was approved by the old man
sealed in the presence of all and given in charge to M.
Deschampsthe family notary.

Chapter 60
The Telegraph.

M. and Madame de Villefort found on their return that the
Count of Monte Cristowho had come to visit them in their
absencehad been ushered into the drawing-roomand was
still awaiting them there. Madame de Villefortwho had not
yet sufficiently recovered from her late emotion to allow of
her entertaining visitors so immediatelyretired to her
bedroomwhile the procureurwho could better depend upon
himselfproceeded at once to the salon. Although M. de
Villefort flattered himself thatto all outward viewhe
had completely masked the feelings which were passing in his
mindhe did not know that the cloud was still lowering on
his browso much so that the countwhose smile was
radiantimmediately noticed his sombre and thoughtful air.
Ma foi,said Monte Cristoafter the first compliments
were overwhat is the matter with you, M. de Villefort?

Have I arrived at the moment when you were drawing up an
indictment for a capital crime?Villefort tried to smile.
No, count,he repliedI am the only victim in this case.
It is I who lose my cause, and it is ill-luck, obstinacy,
and folly which have caused it to be decided against me.

To what do you refer?said Monte Cristo with well-feigned
interest. "Have you really met with some great misfortune?"

Oh, no, monsieur,said Villefort with a bitter smile; "it
is only a loss of money which I have sustained -- nothing
worth mentioningI assure you."

True,said Monte Cristothe loss of a sum of money
becomes almost immaterial with a fortune such as you
possess, and to one of your philosophic spirit.

It is not so much the loss of the money that vexes me,
said Villefortthough, after all, 900,000 francs are worth
regretting; but I am the more annoyed with this fate,
chance, or whatever you please to call the power which has
destroyed my hopes and my fortune, and may blast the
prospects of my child also, as it is all occasioned by an
old man relapsed into second childhood.

What do you say?said the count; "900000 francs? It is
indeed a sum which might be regretted even by a philosopher.
And who is the cause of all this annoyance?"

My father, as I told you.

M. Noirtier? But I thought you told me he had become
entirely paralyzed, and that all his faculties were
completely destroyed?

Yes, his bodily faculties, for he can neither move nor
speak, nevertheless he thinks, acts, and wills in the manner
I have described. I left him about five minutes ago, and he
is now occupied in dictating his will to two notaries.

But to do this he must have spoken?

He has done better than that -- he has made himself
understood.

How was such a thing possible?

By the help of his eyes, which are still full of life, and,
as you perceive, possess the power of inflicting mortal
injury.

My dear,said Madame de Villefortwho had just entered
the roomperhaps you exaggerate the evil.

Good-morning, madame,said the countbowing. Madame de
Villefort acknowledged the salutation with one of her most
gracious smiles. "What is this that M. de Villefort has been
telling me?" demanded Monte Cristo "and what
incomprehensible misfortune" -


Incomprehensible is not the word,interrupted the
procureurshrugging his shoulders. "It is an old man's
caprice."


And is there no means of making him revoke his decision?

Yes,said Madame de Villefort; "and it is still entirely
in the power of my husband to cause the willwhich is now
in prejudice of Valentineto be altered in her favor." The
countwho perceived that M. and Madame de Villefort were
beginning to speak in parablesappeared to pay no attention
to the conversationand feigned to be busily engaged in
watching Edwardwho was mischievously pouring some ink into
the bird's water-glass. "My dear said Villefort, in answer
to his wife, you know I have never been accustomed to play
the patriarch in my familynor have I ever considered that
the fate of a universe was to be decided by my nod.
Neverthelessit is necessary that my will should be
respected in my familyand that the folly of an old man and
the caprice of a child should not be allowed to overturn a
project which I have entertained for so many years. The
Baron d'Epinay was my friendas you knowand an alliance
with his son is the most suitable thing that could possibly
be arranged."

Do you think,said Madame de Villefortthat Valentine is
in league with him? She has always been opposed to this
marriage, and I should not be at all surprised if what we
have just seen and heard is nothing but the execution of a
plan concerted between them.

Madame,said Villefortbelieve me, a fortune of 900,000
francs is not so easily renounced.

She could, nevertheless, make up her mind to renounce the
world, sir, since it is only about a year ago that she
herself proposed entering a convent.

Never mind,replied Villefort; "I say that this marriage
shall be consummated."

Notwithstanding your father's wishes to the contrary?said
Madame de Villefortselecting a new point of attack. "That
is a serious thing." Monte Cristowho pretended not to be
listeningheard howeverevery word that was said.
Madame,replied Villefort "I can truly say that I have
always entertained a high respect for my fatherbecauseto
the natural feeling of relationship was added the
consciousness of his moral superiority. The name of father
is sacred in two senses; he should be reverenced as the
author of our being and as a master whom we ought to obey.
Butunder the present circumstancesI am justified in
doubting the wisdom of an old man whobecause he hated the
fathervents his anger on the son. It would be ridiculous
in me to regulate my conduct by such caprices. I shall still
continue to preserve the same respect toward M. Noirtier; I
will sufferwithout complaintthe pecuniary deprivation to
which he has subjected me; but I shall remain firm in my
determinationand the world shall see which party has
reason on his side. Consequently I shall marry my daughter
to the Baron Franz d'Epinaybecause I consider it would be
a proper and eligible match for her to makeandin short
because I choose to bestow my daughter's hand on whomever I
please."

What?said the countthe approbation of whose eye
Villefort had frequently solicited during this speech.
What? Do you say that M. Noirtier disinherits Mademoiselle


de Villefort because she is going to marry M. le Baron Franz
d'Epinay?

Yes, sir, that is the reason,said Villefortshrugging
his shoulders.

The apparent reason, at least,said Madame de Villefort.

The real reason, madame, I can assure you; I know my
father.

But I want to know in what way M. d'Epinay can have
displeased your father more than any other person?

I believe I know M. Franz d'Epinay,said the count; "is he
not the son of General de Quesnelwho was created Baron
d'Epinay by Charles X.?"

The same,said Villefort.

Well, but he is a charming young man, according to my
ideas.

He is, which makes me believe that it is only an excuse of

M. Noirtier to prevent his granddaughter marrying; old men
are always so selfish in their affection,said Madame de
Villefort.
But,said Monte Cristo "do you not know any cause for this
hatred?"

Ah, ma foi, who is to know?

Perhaps it is some political difference?

My father and the Baron d'Epinay lived in the stormy times
of which I only saw the ending,said Villefort.

Was not your father a Bonapartist?asked Monte Cristo; "I
think I remember that you told me something of that kind."

My father has been a Jacobin more than anything else,said
Villefortcarried by his emotion beyond the bounds of
prudence; "and the senator's robewhich Napoleon cast on
his shouldersonly served to disguise the old man without
in any degree changing him. When my father conspiredit was
not for the emperorit was against the Bourbons; for M.
Noirtier possessed this peculiarityhe never projected any
Utopian schemes which could never be realizedbut strove
for possibilitiesand he applied to the realization of
these possibilities the terrible theories of The Mountain
-- theories that never shrank from any means that were
deemed necessary to bring about the desired result."

Well,said Monte Cristoit is just as I thought; it was
politics which brought Noirtier and M. d'Epinay into
personal contact. Although General d'Epinay served under
Napoleon, did he not still retain royalist sentiments? And
was he not the person who was assassinated one evening on
leaving a Bonapartist meeting to which he had been invited
on the supposition that he favored the cause of the
emperor?Villefort looked at the count almost with terror.
Am I mistaken, then?said Monte Cristo.


No, sir, the facts were precisely what you have stated,
said Madame de Villefort; "and it was to prevent the renewal
of old feuds that M. de Villefort formed the idea of uniting
in the bonds of affection the two children of these
inveterate enemies."

It was a sublime and charitable thought,said Monte
Cristoand the whole world should applaud it. It would be
noble to see Mademoiselle Noirtier de Villefort assuming the
title of Madame Franz d'Epinay.Villefort shuddered and
looked at Monte Cristo as if he wished to read in his
countenance the real feelings which had dictated the words
he had just uttered. But the count completely baffled the
procureurand prevented him from discovering anything
beneath the never-varying smile he was so constantly in the
habit of assuming. "Although said Villefort, it will be a
serious thing for Valentine to lose her grandfather's
fortuneI do not think that M. d'Epinay will be frightened
at this pecuniary loss. He willperhapshold me in greater
esteem than the money itselfseeing that I sacrifice
everything in order to keep my word with him. Besideshe
knows that Valentine is rich in right of her motherand
that she willin all probabilityinherit the fortune of M.
and Madame de Saint-Meranher mother's parentswho both
love her tenderly."

And who are fully as well worth loving and tending as M.
Noirtier,said Madame de Villefort; "besidesthey are to
come to Paris in about a monthand Valentineafter the
affront she has receivedneed not consider it necessary to
continue to bury herself alive by being shut up with M.
Noirtier." The count listened with satisfaction to this tale
of wounded self-love and defeated ambition. "But it seems to
me said Monte Cristo, and I must begin by asking your
pardon for what I am about to saythat if M. Noirtier
disinherits Mademoiselle de Villefort because she is going
to marry a man whose father he detestedhe cannot have the
same cause of complaint against this dear Edward."

True,said Madame de Villefortwith an intonation of
voice which it is impossible to describe; "is it not unjust
-- shamefully unjust? Poor Edward is as much M. Noirtier's
grandchild as Valentineand yetif she had not been going
to marry M. FranzM. Noirtier would have left her all his
money; and supposing Valentine to be disinherited by her
grandfathershe will still be three times richer than he."
The count listened and said no more. "Count said
Villefort, we will not entertain you any longer with our
family misfortunes. It is true that my patrimony will go to
endow charitable institutionsand my father will have
deprived me of my lawful inheritance without any reason for
doing sobut I shall have the satisfaction of knowing that
I have acted like a man of sense and feeling. M. d'Epinay
to whom I had promised the interest of this sumshall
receive iteven if I endure the most cruel privations."

However,said Madame de Villefortreturning to the one
idea which incessantly occupied her mindperhaps it would
be better to explain this unlucky affair to M. d'Epinay, in
order to give him the opportunity of himself renouncing his
claim to the hand of Mademoiselle de Villefort.

Ah, that would be a great pity,said Villefort.


A great pity,said Monte Cristo.

Undoubtedly,said Villefortmoderating the tones of his
voicea marriage once concerted and then broken off,
throws a sort of discredit on a young lady; then again, the
old reports, which I was so anxious to put an end to, will
instantly gain ground. No, it will all go well; M. d'Epinay,
if he is an honorable man, will consider himself more than
ever pledged to Mademoiselle de Villefort, unless he were
actuated by a decided feeling of avarice, but that is
impossible.

I agree with M. de Villefort,said Monte Cristofixing
his eyes on Madame de Villefort; "and if I were sufficiently
intimate with him to allow of giving my adviceI would
persuade himsince I have been told M. d'Epinay is coming
backto settle this affair at once beyond all possibility
of revocation. I will answer for the success of a project
which will reflect so much honor on M. de Villefort." The
procureur arosedelighted with the propositionbut his
wife slightly changed color. "Wellthat is all that I
wantedand I will be guided by a counsellor such as you
are said he, extending his hand to Monte Cristo.
Therefore let every one here look upon what has passed
to-day as if it had not happenedand as though we had never
thought of such a thing as a change in our original plans."

Sir,said the countthe world, unjust as it is, will be
pleased with your resolution; your friends will be proud of
you, and M. d'Epinay, even if he took Mademoiselle de
Villefort without any dowry, which he will not do, would be
delighted with the idea of entering a family which could
make such sacrifices in order to keep a promise and fulfil a
duty.At the conclusion of these wordsthe count rose to
depart. "Are you going to leave uscount?" said Madame de
Villefort.

I am sorry to say I must do so, madame, I only came to
remind you of your promise for Saturday.

Did you fear that we should forget it?

You are very good, madame, but M. de Villefort has so many
important and urgent occupations.

My husband has given me his word, sir,said Madame de
Villefort; "you have just seen him resolve to keep it when
he has everything to loseand surely there is more reason
for his doing so where he has everything to gain."

And,said Villefortis it at your house in the
Champs-Elysees that you receive your visitors?

No,said Monte Cristowhich is precisely the reason
which renders your kindness more meritorious, -- it is in
the country.

In the country?

Yes.

Where is it, then? Near Paris, is it not?

Very near, only half a league from the Barriers, -- it is


at Auteuil.

At Auteuil?said Villefort; "trueMadame de Villefort
told me you lived at Auteuilsince it was to your house
that she was taken. And in what part of Auteuil do you
reside?"

Rue de la Fontaine.

Rue de la Fontaine!exclaimed Villefort in an agitated
tone; "at what number?"

No. 28.

Then,cried Villefortwas it you who bought M. de
Saint-Meran's house!

Did it belong to M. de Saint-Meran?demanded Monte Cristo.

Yes,replied Madame de Villefort; "andwould you believe
itcount" -


Believe what?

You think this house pretty, do you not?

I think it charming.

Well, my husband would never live in it.

Indeed?returned Monte Cristothat is a prejudice on
your part, M. de Villefort, for which I am quite at a loss
to account.

I do not like Auteuil, sir,said the procureurmaking an
evident effort to appear calm.

But I hope you will not carry your antipathy so far as to
deprive me of the pleasure of your company, sir,said Monte
Cristo.

No, count, -- I hope -- I assure you I shall do my best,
stammered Villefort.

Oh,said Monte CristoI allow of no excuse. On Saturday,
at six o'clock. I shall be expecting you, and if you fail to
come, I shall think -- for how do I know to the contrary? -that
this house, which his remained uninhabited for twenty
years, must have some gloomy tradition or dreadful legend
connected with it.

I will come, count, -- I will be sure to come,said
Villefort eagerly.

Thank you,said Monte Cristo; "now you must permit me to
take my leave of you."

You said before that you were obliged to leave us,
monsieur,said Madame de Villefortand you were about to
tell us why when your attention was called to some other
subject.

Indeed madame,said Monte Cristo: "I scarcely know if I
dare tell you where I am going."


Nonsense; say on.

Well, then, it is to see a thing on which I have sometimes
mused for hours together.

What is it?

A telegraph. So now I have told my secret.

A telegraph?repeated Madame de Villefort.

Yes, a telegraph. I had often seen one placed at the end of
a road on a hillock, and in the light of the sun its black
arms, bending in every direction, always reminded me of the
claws of an immense beetle, and I assure you it was never
without emotion that I gazed on it, for I could not help
thinking how wonderful it was that these various signs
should be made to cleave the air with such precision as to
convey to the distance of three hundred leagues the ideas
and wishes of a man sitting at a table at one end of the
line to another man similarly placed at the opposite
extremity, and all this effected by a simple act of volition
on the part of the sender of the message. I began to think
of genii, sylphs, gnomes, in short, of all the ministers of
the occult sciences, until I laughed aloud at the freaks of
my own imagination. Now, it never occurred to me to wish for
a nearer inspection of these large insects, with their long
black claws, for I always feared to find under their stone
wings some little human genius fagged to death with cabals,
factions, and government intrigues. But one fine day I
learned that the mover of this telegraph was only a poor
wretch, hired for twelve hundred francs a year, and employed
all day, not in studying the heavens like an astronomer, or
in gazing on the water like an angler, or even in enjoying
the privilege of observing the country around him, but all
his monotonous life was passed in watching his
white-bellied, black-clawed fellow insect, four or five
leagues distant from him. At length I felt a desire to study
this living chrysalis more closely, and to endeavor to
understand the secret part played by these insect-actors
when they occupy themselves simply with pulling different
pieces of string.

And are you going there?

I am.

What telegraph do you intend visiting? that of the home
department, or of the observatory?

Oh, no; I should find there people who would force me to
understand things of which I would prefer to remain
ignorant, and who would try to explain to me, in spite of
myself, a mystery which even they do not understand. Ma foi,
I should wish to keep my illusions concerning insects
unimpaired; it is quite enough to have those dissipated
which I had formed of my fellow-creatures. I shall,
therefore, not visit either of these telegraphs, but one in
the open country where I shall find a good-natured
simpleton, who knows no more than the machine he is employed
to work.

You are a singular man,said Villefort.


What line would you advise me to study?

The one that is most in use just at this time.

The Spanish one, you mean, I suppose?

Yes; should you like a letter to the minister that they
might explain to you-


No,said Monte Cristo; "sinceas I told you beforeI do
not wish to comprehend it. The moment I understand it there
will no longer exist a telegraph for me; it will he nothing
more than a sign from M. Duchatelor from M. Montalivet
transmitted to the prefect of Bayonnemystified by two
Greek wordstelegraphein. It is the insect with black
clawsand the awful word which I wish to retain in my
imagination in all its purity and all its importance."

Go then; for in the course of two hours it will be dark,
and you will not be able to see anything.

Ma foi, you frighten me. Which is the nearest way?
Bayonne?

Yes; the road to Bayonne.

And afterwards the road to Chatillon?

Yes.

By the tower of Montlhery, you mean?

Yes.

Thank you. Good-by. On Saturday I will tell you my
impressions concerning the telegraph.At the door the count
was met by the two notarieswho had just completed the act
which was to disinherit Valentineand who were leaving
under the conviction of having done a thing which could not
fail of redounding considerably to their credit.

Chapter 61
How a Gardener may get rid of the Dormice that eat His
Peaches.

Not on the same nightas he had intendedbut the next
morningthe Count of Monte Cristo went out by the Barrier
d'Enfertaking the road to Orleans. Leaving the village of
Linaswithout stopping at the telegraphwhich flourished
its great bony arms as he passedthe count reached the
tower of Montlherysituatedas every one knowsupon the
highest point of the plain of that name. At the foot of the
hill the count dismounted and began to ascend by a little
winding pathabout eighteen inches wide; when he reached
the summit he found himself stopped by a hedgeupon which
green fruit had succeeded to red and white flowers.

Monte Cristo looked for the entrance to the enclosureand
was not long in finding a little wooden gateworking on
willow hingesand fastened with a nail and string. The
count soon mastered the mechanismthe gate openedand he


then found himself in a little gardenabout twenty feet
long by twelve widebounded on one side by part of the
hedgewhich contained the ingenious contrivance we have
called a gateand on the other by the old towercovered
with ivy and studded with wall-flowers. No one would have
thought in looking at this oldweather-beaten
floral-decked tower (which might be likened to an elderly
dame dressed up to receive her grandchildren at a birthday
feast) that it would have been capable of telling strange
thingsif-- in addition to the menacing ears which the
proverb says all walls are provided with-- it had also a
voice. The garden was crossed by a path of red graveledged
by a border of thick boxof many years' growthand of a
tone and color that would have delighted the heart of
Delacroixour modern Rubens. This path was formed in the
shape of the figure of 8thusin its windingsmaking a
walk of sixty feet in a garden of only twenty.

Never had Florathe fresh and smiling goddess of gardeners
been honored with a purer or more scrupulous worship than
that which was paid to her in this little enclosure. In
factof the twenty rose-trees which formed the parterre
not one bore the mark of the slugnor were there evidences
anywhere of the clustering aphis which is so destructive to
plants growing in a damp soil. And yet it was not because
the damp had been excluded from the garden; the earthblack
as sootthe thick foliage of the trees betrayed its
presence; besideshad natural humidity been wantingit
could have been immediately supplied by artificial means
thanks to a tank of watersunk in one of the corners of the
gardenand upon which were stationed a frog and a toad
whofrom antipathyno doubtalways remained on the two
opposite sides of the basin. There was not a blade of grass
to be seen in the pathsor a weed in the flower-beds; no
fine lady ever trained and watered her geraniumsher cacti
and her rhododendronswith more pains than this hitherto
unseen gardener bestowed upon his little enclosure. Monte
Cristo stopped after having closed the gate and fastened the
string to the nailand cast a look around.

The man at the telegraph,said hemust either engage a
gardener or devote himself passionately to agriculture.
Suddenly he struck against something crouching behind a
wheelbarrow filled with leaves; the something roseuttering
an exclamation of astonishmentand Monte Cristo found
himself facing a man about fifty years oldwho was plucking
strawberrieswhich he was placing upon grape leaves. He had
twelve leaves and about as many strawberrieswhichon
rising suddenlyhe let fall from his hand. "You are
gathering your cropsir?" said Monte Cristosmiling.

Excuse me, sir,replied the manraising his hand to his
cap; "I am not up thereI knowbut I have only just come
down."

Do not let me interfere with you in anything, my friend,
said the count; "gather your strawberriesifindeedthere
are any left."

I have ten left,said the manfor here are eleven, and I
had twenty-one, five more than last year. But I am not
surprised; the spring has been warm this year, and
strawberries require heat, sir. This is the reason that,
instead of the sixteen I had last year, I have this year,


you see, eleven, already plucked -- twelve, thirteen,
fourteen, fifteen, sixteen, seventeen, eighteen. Ah, I miss
three, they were here last night, sir -- I am sure they were
here -- I counted them. It must be the Mere Simon's son who
has stolen them; I saw him strolling about here this
morning. Ah, the young rascal -- stealing in a garden -- he
does not know where that may lead him to.

Certainly, it is wrong,said Monte Cristobut you should
take into consideration the youth and greediness of the
delinquent.

Of course,said the gardenerbut that does not make it
the less unpleasant. But, sir, once more I beg pardon;
perhaps you are an officer that I am detaining here.And he
glanced timidly at the count's blue coat.

Calm yourself, my friend,said the countwith the smile
which he made at will either terrible or benevolentand
which now expressed only the kindliest feeling; "I am not an
inspectorbut a travellerbrought here by a curiosity he
half repents ofsince he causes you to lose your time."

Ah, my time is not valuable,replied the man with a
melancholy smile. "Still it belongs to governmentand I
ought not to waste it; buthaving received the signal that
I might rest for an hour" (here he glanced at the sun-dial
for there was everything in the enclosure of Montlheryeven
a sun-dial)and having ten minutes before me, and my
strawberries being ripe, when a day longer -- by-the-by,
sir, do you think dormice eat them?

Indeed, I should think not,replied Monte Cristo; "dormice
are bad neighbors for us who do not eat them preservedas
the Romans did."

What? Did the Romans eat them?said the gardener -- "ate
dormice?"

I have read so in Petronius,said the count.

Really? They can't be nice, though they do say `as fat as a
dormouse.' It is not a wonder they are fat, sleeping all
day, and only waking to eat all night. Listen. Last year I
had four apricots -- they stole one, I had one nectarine,
only one -- well, sir, they ate half of it on the wall; a
splendid nectarine -- I never ate a better.

You ate it?

That is to say, the half that was left -- you understand;
it was exquisite, sir. Ah, those gentlemen never choose the
worst morsels; like Mere Simon's son, who has not chosen the
worst strawberries. But this year,continued the
horticulturistI'll take care it shall not happen, even if
I should be forced to sit by the whole night to watch when
the strawberries are ripe.Monte Cristo had seen enough.
Every man has a devouring passion in his heartas every
fruit has its worm; that of the telegraph man was
horticulture. He began gathering the grape-leaves which
screened the sun from the grapesand won the heart of the
gardener. "Did you come heresirto see the telegraph?" he
said.


Yes, if it isn't contrary to the rules.

Oh, no,said the gardener; "not in the leastsince there
is no danger that anyone can possibly understand what we are
saying."

I have been told,said the countthat you do not always
yourselves understand the signals you repeat.

That is true, sir, and that is what I like best,said the
mansmiling.

Why do you like that best?

Because then I have no responsibility. I am a machine then,
and nothing else, and so long as I work, nothing more is
required of me.

Is it possible,said Monte Cristo to himselfthat I can
have met with a man that has no ambition? That would spoil
my plans.

Sir,said the gardenerglancing at the sun-dialthe ten
minutes are almost up; I must return to my post. Will you go
up with me?

I follow you.Monte Cristo entered the towerwhich was
divided into three stories. The tower contained implements
such as spadesrakeswatering-potshung against the wall;
this was all the furniture. The second was the man's
conventional abodeor rather sleeping-place; it contained a
few poor articles of household furniture -- a beda table
two chairsa stone pitcher -- and some dry herbshung up
to the ceilingwhich the count recognized as sweet pease
and of which the good man was preserving the seeds; he had
labelled them with as much care as if he had been master
botanist in the Jardin des Plantes.

Does it require much study to learn the art of
telegraphing?asked Monte Cristo.

The study does not take long; it was acting as a
supernumerary that was so tedious.

And what is the pay?

A thousand francs, sir.

It is nothing.

No; but then we are lodged, as you perceive.

Monte Cristo looked at the room. They passed to the third
story; it was the telegraph room. Monte Cristo looked in
turn at the two iron handles by which the machine was
worked. "It is very interesting he said, but it must be
very tedious for a lifetime."

Yes. At first my neck was cramped with looking at it, but
at the end of a year I became used to it; and then we have
our hours of recreation, and our holidays.

Holidays?


Yes.
When?

When we have a fog.
Ah, to be sure.

Those are indeed holidays to me; I go into the garden, I
plant, I prune, I trim, I kill the insects all day long.

How long have you been here?

Ten years, and five as a supernumerary make fifteen.
You are --


Fifty-five years old.
How long must you have served to claim the pension?


Oh, sir, twenty-five years.
And how much is the pension?


A hundred crowns.
Poor humanity!murmured Monte Cristo.


What did you say, sir?asked the man.
I was saying it was very interesting.


What was?


All you were showing me. And you really understand none of
these signals?
None at all.


And have you never tried to understand them?
Never. Why should I?


But still there are some signals only addressed to you.
Certainly.


And do you understand them?
They are always the same.


And they mean --
Nothing new; You have an hour; or To-morrow.


This is simple enough,said the count; "but lookis not
your correspondent putting itself in motion?"

Ah, yes; thank you, sir.

And what is it saying -- anything you understand?
Yes; it asks if I am ready.


And you reply?
By the same sign, which, at the same time, tells my
right-hand correspondent that I am ready, while it gives


notice to my left-hand correspondent to prepare in his
turn.
It is very ingenious,said the count.
You will see,said the man proudly; "in five minutes he


will speak."
I have, then, five minutes,said Monte Cristo to himself;


it is more time than I require. My dear sir, will you allow
me to ask you a question?
What is it, sir?
You are fond of gardening?
Passionately.
And you would be pleased to have, instead of this terrace


of twenty feet, an enclosure of two acres?
Sir, I should make a terrestrial paradise of it.
You live badly on your thousand francs?
Badly enough; but yet I do live.
Yes; but you have a wretchedly small garden.
True, the garden is not large.
And, then, such as it is, it is filled with dormice, who


eat everything.
Ah, they are my scourges.
Tell me, should you have the misfortune to turn your head


while your right-hand correspondent was telegraphing--
I should not see him.
Then what would happen?
I could not repeat the signals.
And then?
Not having repeated them, through negligence, I should be


fined.
How much?
A hundred francs.
The tenth of your income -- that would be fine work.
Ah,said the man.
Has it ever happened to you?said Monte Cristo.



Once, sir, when I was grafting a rose-tree.

Well, suppose you were to alter a signal, and substitute
another?

Ah, that is another case; I should be turned off, and lose
my pension.

Three hundred francs?

A hundred crowns, yes, sir; so you see that I am not likely
to do any of these things.

Not even for fifteen years' wages? Come, it is worth
thinking about?

For fifteen thousand francs?
Yes.


Sir, you alarm me.
Nonsense.


Sir, you are tempting me?
Just so; fifteen thousand francs, do you understand?


Sir, let me see my right-hand correspondent.
On the contrary, do not look at him, but at this.


What is it?
What? Do you not know these bits of paper?


Bank-notes!
Exactly; there are fifteen of them.


And whose are they?
Yours, if you like.


Mine?exclaimed the manhalf-suffocated.
Yes; yours -- your own property.


Sir, my right-hand correspondent is signalling.
Let him signal.


Sir, you have distracted me; I shall be fined.


That will cost you a hundred francs; you see it is your
interest to take my bank-notes.

Sir, my right-hand correspondent redoubles his signals; he
is impatient.

Never mind -- take these;and the count placed the packet
in the man's hands. "Now this is not all he said; you
cannot live upon your fifteen thousand francs."


I shall still have my place.

No, you will lose it, for you are going to alter your
correspondent's message.

Oh, sir, what are you proposing?

A jest.

Sir, unless you force me-


I think I can effectually force you;and Monte Cristo drew
another packet from his pocket. "Here are ten thousand more
francs he said, with the fifteen thousand already in your
pocketthey will make twenty-five thousand. With five
thousand you can buy a pretty little house with two acres of
land; the remaining twenty thousand will bring you in a
thousand francs a year."

A garden with two acres of land!

And a thousand francs a year.

Oh, heavens!

Come, take them,and Monte Cristo forced the bank-notes
into his hand.

What am I to do?

Nothing very difficult.

But what is it?

To repeat these signs.Monte Cristo took a paper from his
pocketupon which were drawn three signswith numbers to
indicate the order in which they were to be worked.

There, you see it will not take long.

Yes; but-


Do this, and you will have nectarines and all the rest.
The shot told; red with feverwhile the large drops fell
from his browthe man executedone after the otherthe
three signs given by the countin spite of the frightful
contortions of the right-hand correspondentwhonot
understanding the changebegan to think the gardener had
gone mad. As to the left-hand onehe conscientiously
repeated the same signalswhich were finally transmitted to
the Minister of the Interior. "Now you are rich said Monte
Cristo.

Yes replied the man, but at what a price!"

Listen, friend,said Monte Cristo. "I do not wish to cause
you any remorse; believe methenwhen I swear to you that
you have wronged no manbut on the contrary have benefited
mankind." The man looked at the bank-notesfelt them
counted themturned palethen redthen rushed into his
room to drink a glass of waterbut he had no time to reach
the water-jugand fainted in the midst of his dried herbs.
Five minutes after the new telegram reached the minister


Debray had the horses put to his carriageand drove to
Danglars' house.

Has your husband any Spanish bonds?he asked of the
baroness.

I think so, indeed! He has six millions' worth.

He must sell them at whatever price.

Why?

Because Don Carlos has fled from Bourges, and has returned
to Spain.

How do you know?Debray shrugged his shoulders. "The idea
of asking how I hear the news he said. The baroness did
not wait for a repetition; she ran to her husband, who
immediately hastened to his agent, and ordered him to sell
at any price. When it was seen that Danglars sold, the
Spanish funds fell directly. Danglars lost five hundred
thousand francs; but he rid himself of all his Spanish
shares. The same evening the following was read in Le
Messager:

[By telegraph.] The kingDon Carloshas escaped the
vigilance of his guardians at Bourgesand has returned to
Spain by the Catalonian frontier. Barcelona has risen in his
favor."

All that evening nothing was spoken of but the foresight of
Danglarswho had sold his sharesand of the luck of the
stock-jobberwho only lost five hundred thousand francs by
such a blow. Those who had kept their sharesor bought
those of Danglarslooked upon themselves as ruinedand
passed a very bad night. Next morning Le Moniteur contained
the following:

It was without any foundation that Le Messager yesterday
announced the flight of Don Carlos and the revolt of
Barcelona. The king (Don Carlos) has not left Bourges, and
the peninsula is in the enjoyment of profound peace. A
telegraphic signal, improperly interpreted, owing to the
fog, was the cause of this error.

The funds rose one per cent higher than before they had
fallen. Thisreckoning his lossand what he had missed
gainingmade the difference of a million to Danglars.
Good,said Monte Cristo to Morrelwho was at his house
when the news arrived of the strange reverse of fortune of
which Danglars's had been the victimI have just made a
discovery for twenty-five thousand francs, for which I would
have paid a hundred thousand.

What have you discovered?asked Morrel.

I have just discovered how a gardener may get rid of the
dormice that eat his peaches.

Chapter 62
Ghosts.


At first sight the exterior of the house at Auteuil gave no
indications of splendornothing one would expect from the
destined residence of the magnificent Count of Monte Cristo;
but this simplicity was according to the will of its master
who positively ordered nothing to be altered outside. The
splendor was within. Indeedalmost before the door opened
the scene changed. M. Bertuccio had outdone himself in the
taste displayed in furnishingand in the rapidity with
which it was executed. It is told that the Duc d'Antin
removed in a single night a whole avenue of trees that
annoyed Louis XIV.; in three days M. Bertuccio planted an
entirely bare court with poplarslarge spreading sycamores
to shade the different parts of the houseand in the
foregroundinstead of the usual paving-stoneshalf hidden
by the grassthere extended a lawn but that morning laid
downand upon which the water was yet glistening. For the
restthe orders had been issued by the count; he himself
had given a plan to Bertucciomarking the spot where each
tree was to be plantedand the shape and extent of the lawn
which was to take the place of the paving-stones. Thus the
house had become unrecognizableand Bertuccio himself
declared that he scarcely knew itencircled as it was by a
framework of trees. The overseer would not have objected
while he was about itto have made some improvements in the
gardenbut the count had positively forbidden it to be
touched. Bertuccio made amendshoweverby loading the
ante-chambersstaircasesand mantle-pieces with flowers.

Whatabove allmanifested the shrewdness of the steward
and the profound science of the masterthe one in carrying
out the ideas of the otherwas that this house which
appeared only the night before so sad and gloomy
impregnated with that sickly smell one can almost fancy to
be the smell of timehad in a single day acquired the
aspect of lifewas scented with its master's favorite
perfumesand had the very light regulated according to his
wish. When the count arrivedhe had under his touch his
books and armshis eyes rested upon his favorite pictures;
his dogswhose caresses he lovedwelcomed him in the
ante-chamber; the birdswhose songs delighted himcheered
him with their music; and the houseawakened from it's long
sleeplike the sleeping beauty in the woodlivedsang
and bloomed like the houses we have long cherishedand in
whichwhen we are forced to leave themwe leave a part of
our souls. The servants passed gayly along the fine
court-yard; somebelonging to the kitchensgliding down
the stairsrestored but the previous dayas if they had
always inhabited the house; others filling the coach-houses
where the equipagesencased and numberedappeared to have
been installed for the last fifty years; and in the stables
the horses replied with neighs to the groomswho spoke to
them with much more respect than many servants pay their
masters.

The library was divided into two parts on either side of the
walland contained upwards of two thousand volumes; one
division was entirely devoted to novelsand even the volume
which had been published but the day before was to be seen
in its place in all the dignity of its red and gold binding.
On the other side of the houseto match with the library
was the conservatoryornamented with rare flowersthat
bloomed in china jars; and in the midst of the greenhouse
marvellous alike to sight and smellwas a billiard-table
which looked as if it had been abandoned during the past


hour by players who had left the balls on the cloth. One
chamber alone had been respected by the magnificent
Bertuccio. Before this roomto which you could ascend by
the grandand go out by the back staircasethe servants
passed with curiosityand Bertuccio with terror. At five
o'clock preciselythe count arrived before the house at
Auteuilfollowed by Ali. Bertuccio was awaiting this
arrival with impatiencemingled with uneasiness; he hoped
for some complimentswhileat the same timehe feared to
have frowns. Monte Cristo descended into the courtyard
walked all over the housewithout giving any sign of
approbation or pleasureuntil he entered his bedroom
situated on the opposite side to the closed room; then he
approached a little piece of furnituremade of rosewood
which he had noticed at a previous visit. "That can only be
to hold gloves he said.

Will your excellency deign to open it?" said the delighted
Bertuccioand you will find gloves in it.Elsewhere the
count found everything he required -- smelling-bottles
cigarsknick-knacks.

Good,he said; and M. Bertuccio left enrapturedso great
so powerfuland real was the influence exercised by this
man over all who surrounded him. At precisely six o'clock
the clatter of horses' hoofs was heard at the entrance door;
it was our captain of Spahiswho had arrived on Medeah. "I
am sure I am the first cried Morrel; I did it on purpose
to have you a minute to myselfbefore every one came. Julie
and Emmanuel have a thousand things to tell you. Ahreally
this is magnificent! But tell mecountwill your people
take care of my horse?"

Do not alarm yourself, my dear Maximilian -- they
understand.

I mean, because he wants petting. If you had seen at what a
pace he came -- like the wind!

I should think so, -- a horse that cost 5,000 francs!said
Monte Cristoin the tone which a father would use towards a
son.

Do you regret them?asked Morrelwith his open laugh.

I? Certainly not,replied the count. "No; I should only
regret if the horse had not proved good."

It is so good, that I have distanced M. de Chateau-Renaud,
one of the best riders in France, and M. Debray, who both
mount the minister's Arabians; and close on their heels are
the horses of Madame Danglars, who always go at six leagues
an hour.

Then they follow you?asked Monte Cristo.

See, they are here.And at the same minute a carriage with
smoking horsesaccompanied by two mounted gentlemen
arrived at the gatewhich opened before them. The carriage
drove roundand stopped at the stepsfollowed by the
horsemen. The instant Debray had touched the groundhe was
at the carriage-door. He offered his hand to the baroness
whodescendingtook it with a peculiarity of manner
imperceptible to every one but Monte Cristo. But nothing


escaped the count's noticeand he observed a little note
passed with the facility that indicates frequent practice
from the hand of Madame Danglars to that of the minister's
secretary. After his wife the banker descendedas pale as
though he had issued from his tomb instead of his carriage.
Madame Danglars threw a rapid and inquiring glance which
could only be interpreted by Monte Cristoaround the
court-yardover the peristyleand across the front of the
housethenrepressing a slight emotionwhich must have
been seen on her countenance if she had not kept her color
she ascended the stepssaying to MorrelSir, if you were
a friend of mine, I should ask you if you would sell your
horse.

Morrel smiled with an expression very like a grimaceand
then turned round to Monte Cristoas if to ask him to
extricate him from his embarrassment. The count understood
him. "Ahmadame he said, why did you not make that
request of me?"

With you, sir,replied the baronessone can wish for
nothing, one is so sure to obtain it. If it were so with M.
Morrel-


Unfortunately,replied the countI am witness that M.
Morrel cannot give up his horse, his honor being engaged in
keeping it.

How so?

He laid a wager he would tame Medeah in the space of six
months. You understand now that if he were to get rid of the
animal before the time named, he would not only lose his
bet, but people would say he was afraid; and a brave captain
of Spahis cannot risk this, even to gratify a pretty woman,
which is, in my opinion, one of the most sacred obligations
in the world.

You see my position, madame,said Morrelbestowing a
grateful smile on Monte Cristo.

It seems to me,said Danglarsin his coarse tone
ill-concealed by a forced smilethat you have already got
horses enough.Madame Danglars seldom allowed remarks of
this kind to pass unnoticedbutto the surprise of the
young peopleshe pretended not to hear itand said
nothing. Monte Cristo smiled at her unusual humilityand
showed her two immense porcelain jarsover which wound
marine plantsof a size and delicacy that nature alone
could produce. The baroness was astonished. "Why said she,
you could plant one of the chestnut-trees in the Tuileries
inside! How can such enormous jars have been manufactured?"

Ah, madame,replied Monte Cristoyou must not ask of us,
the manufacturers of fine porcelain, such a question. It is
the work of another age, constructed by the genii of earth
and water.

How so? -- at what period can that have been?

I do not know; I have only heard that an emperor of China
had an oven built expressly, and that in this oven twelve
jars like this were successively baked. Two broke, from the
heat of the fire; the other ten were sunk three hundred


fathoms deep into the sea. The sea, knowing what was
required of her, threw over them her weeds, encircled them
with coral, and encrusted them with shells; the whole was
cemented by two hundred years beneath these almost
impervious depths, for a revolution carried away the emperor
who wished to make the trial, and only left the documents
proving the manufacture of the jars and their descent into
the sea. At the end of two hundred years the documents were
found, and they thought of bringing up the jars. Divers
descended in machines, made expressly on the discovery, into
the bay where they were thrown; but of ten three only
remained, the rest having been broken by the waves. I am
fond of these jars, upon which, perhaps, misshapen,
frightful monsters have fixed their cold, dull eyes, and in
which myriads of small fish have slept, seeking a refuge
from the pursuit of their enemies.MeanwhileDanglarswho
had cared little for curiositieswas mechanically tearing
off the blossoms of a splendid orange-treeone after
another. When he had finished with the orange-treehe began
at the cactus; but thisnot being so easily plucked as the
orange-treepricked him dreadfully. He shudderedand
rubbed his eyes as though awaking from a dream.

Sir,said Monte Cristo to himI do not recommend my
pictures to you, who possess such splendid paintings; but,
nevertheless, here are two by Hobbema, a Paul Potter, a
Mieris, two by Gerard Douw, a Raphael, a Vandyke, a
Zurbaran, and two or three by Murillo, worth looking at.

Stay,said Debray; "I recognize this Hobbema."

Ah, indeed!

Yes; it was proposed for the Museum.

Which, I believe, does not contain one?said Monte Cristo.

No; and yet they refused to buy it.

Why?said Chateau-Renaud.

You pretend not to know, -- because government was not rich
enough.

Ah, pardon me,said Chateau-Renaud; "I have heard of these
things every day during the last eight yearsand I cannot
understand them yet."

You will, by and by,said Debray.

I think not,replied Chateau-Renaud.

Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti and Count Andrea Cavalcanti,
announced Baptistin. A black satin stockfresh from the
maker's handsgray moustachesa bold eyea major's
uniformornamented with three medals and five crosses -- in
factthe thorough bearing of an old soldier -- such was the
appearance of Major Bartolomeo Cavalcantithat tender
father with whom we are already acquainted. Close to him
dressed in entirely new clothesadvanced smilingly Count
Andrea Cavalcantithe dutiful sonwhom we also know. The
three young people were talking together. On the entrance of
the new comerstheir eyes glanced from father to sonand
thennaturally enoughrested on the latterwhom they


began criticising. "Cavalcanti!" said Debray. "A fine name
said Morrel.

Yes said Chateau-Renaud, these Italians are well named
and badly dressed."

You are fastidious, Chateau-Renaud,replied Debray; "those
clothes are well cut and quite new."

That is just what I find fault with. That gentleman appears
to be well dressed for the first time in his life.

Who are those gentlemen?asked Danglars of Monte Cristo.

You heard -- Cavalcanti.

That tells me their name, and nothing else.

Ah, true. You do not know the Italian nobility; the
Cavalcanti are all descended from princes.

Have they any fortune?

An enormous one.

What do they do?

Try to spend it all. They have some business with you, I
think, from what they told me the day before yesterday. I,
indeed, invited them here to-day on your account. I will
introduce you to them.

But they appear to speak French with a very pure accent,
said Danglars.

The son has been educated in a college in the south; I
believe near Marseilles. You will find him quite
enthusiastic.

Upon what subject?asked Madame Danglars.

The French ladies, madame. He has made up his mind to take
a wife from Paris.

A fine idea that of his,said Danglarsshrugging his
shoulders. Madame Danglars looked at her husband with an
expression whichat any other timewould have indicated a
stormbut for the second time she controlled herself. "The
baron appears thoughtful to-day said Monte Cristo to her;
are they going to put him in the ministry?"

Not yet, I think. More likely he has been speculating on
the Bourse, and has lost money.

M. and Madame de Villefort,cried Baptistin. They entered.

M. de Villefortnotwithstanding his self-controlwas
visibly affectedand when Monte Cristo touched his handhe
felt it tremble. "Certainlywomen alone know how to
dissimulate said Monte Cristo to himself, glancing at
Madame Danglars, who was smiling on the procureur, and
embracing his wife. After a short time, the count saw
Bertuccio, who, until then, had been occupied on the other
side of the house, glide into an adjoining room. He went to
him. What do you wantM. Bertuccio?" said he.

Your excellency has not stated the number of guests.

Ah, true.

How many covers?

Count for yourself.

Is every one here, your excellency?

Yes.

Bertuccio glanced through the doorwhich was ajar. The
count watched him. "Good heavens!" he exclaimed.

What is the matter?said the count.

That woman -- that woman!

Which?

The one with a white dress and so many diamonds -- the fair
one.

Madame Danglars?

I do not know her name; but it is she, sir, it is she!

Whom do you mean?

The woman of the garden! -- she that was enciente -- she
who was walking while she waited for-- Bertuccio stood at
the open doorwith his eyes starting and his hair on end.

Waiting for whom?Bertucciowithout answeringpointed to
Villefort with something of the gesture Macbeth uses to
point out Banquo. "Ohoh he at length muttered, do you
see?"

What? Who?

Him!

Him! -- M. de Villefort, the king's attorney? Certainly I
see him.

Then I did not kill him?

Really, I think you are going mad, good Bertuccio,said
the count.

Then he is not dead?

No; you see plainly he is not dead. Instead of striking
between the sixth and seventh left ribs, as your countrymen
do, you must have struck higher or lower, and life is very
tenacious in these lawyers, or rather there is no truth in
anything you have told me -- it was a fright of the
imagination, a dream of your fancy. You went to sleep full
of thoughts of vengeance; they weighed heavily upon your
stomach; you had the nightmare -- that's all. Come, calm
yourself, and reckon them up -- M. and Madame de Villefort,
two; M. and Madame Danglars, four; M. de Chateau-Renaud, M.


Debray, M. Morrel, seven; Major Bartolomeo Cavalcanti,
eight.

Eight!repeated Bertuccio.

Stop! You are in a shocking hurry to be off -- you forget
one of my guests. Lean a little to the left. Stay! look at

M. Andrea Cavalcanti, the young man in a black coat, looking
at Murillo's Madonna; now he is turning.This time
Bertuccio would have uttered an exclamationhad not a look
from Monte Cristo silenced him. "Benedetto?" he muttered;
fatality!
Half-past six o'clock has just struck, M. Bertuccio,said
the count severely; "I ordered dinner at that hourand I do
not like to wait;" and he returned to his guestswhile
Bertuccioleaning against the wallsucceeded in reaching
the dining-room. Five minutes afterwards the doors of the
drawing-room were thrown openand Bertuccio appearing said
with a violent effortThe dinner waits.

The Count of Monte Cristo offered his arm to Madame de
Villefort. "M. de Villefort he said, will you conduct the
Baroness Danglars?"

Villefort compliedand they passed on to the dining-room.

Chapter 63
The Dinner.

It was evident that one sentiment affected all the guests on
entering the dining-room. Each one asked what strange
influence had brought them to this houseand yet
astonishedeven uneasy though they werethey still felt
that they would not like to be absent. The recent events
the solitary and eccentric position of the counthis
enormousnayalmost incredible fortuneshould have made
men cautiousand have altogether prevented ladies visiting
a house where there was no one of their own sex to receive
them; and yet curiosity had been enough to lead them to
overleap the bounds of prudence and decorum. And all
presenteven including Cavalcanti and his son
notwithstanding the stiffness of the one and the
carelessness of the otherwere thoughtfulon finding
themselves assembled at the house of this incomprehensible
man. Madame Danglars had started when Villeforton the
count's invitationoffered his arm; and Villefort felt that
his glance was uneasy beneath his gold spectacleswhen he
felt the arm of the baroness press upon his own. None of
this had escaped the countand even by this mere contact of
individuals the scene had already acquired considerable
interest for an observer. M. de Villefort had on the right
hand Madame Danglarson his left Morrel. The count was
seated between Madame de Villefort and Danglars; the other
seats were filled by Debraywho was placed between the two
Cavalcantiand by Chateau-Renaudseated between Madame de
Villefort and Morrel.

The repast was magnificent; Monte Cristo had endeavored
completely to overturn the Parisian ideasand to feed the
curiosity as much as the appetite of his guests. It was an
Oriental feast that he offered to thembut of such a kind


as the Arabian fairies might be supposed to prepare. Every
delicious fruit that the four quarters of the globe could
provide was heaped in vases from China and jars from Japan.
Rare birdsretaining their most brilliant plumageenormous
fishspread upon massive silver dishestogether with every
wine produced in the ArchipelagoAsia Minoror the Cape
sparkling in bottleswhose grotesque shape seemed to give
an additional flavor to the draught-- all theselike one
of the displays with which Apicius of old gratified his
guestspassed in review before the eyes of the astonished
Parisianswho understood that it was possible to expend a
thousand louis upon a dinner for ten personsbut only on
the condition of eating pearlslike Cleopatraor drinking
refined goldlike Lorenzo de' Medici.

Monte Cristo noticed the general astonishmentand began
laughing and joking about it. "Gentlemen he said, you
will admit thatwhen arrived at a certain degree of
fortunethe superfluities of life are all that can be
desired; and the ladies will allow thatafter having risen
to a certain eminence of positionthe ideal alone can be
more exalted. Nowto follow out this reasoningwhat is the
marvellous? -- that which we do not understand. What is it
that we really desire? -- that which we cannot obtain. Now
to see things which I cannot understandto procure
impossibilitiesthese are the study of my life. I gratify
my wishes by two means -- my will and my money. I take as
much interest in the pursuit of some whim as you doM.
Danglarsin promoting a new railway line; youM. de
Villefortin condemning a culprit to death; youM. Debray
in pacifying a kingdom; youM. de Chateau-Renaudin
pleasing a woman; and youMorrelin breaking a horse that
no one can ride. For exampleyou see these two fish; one
brought fifty leagues beyond St. Petersburgthe other five
leagues from Naples. Is it not amusing to see them both on
the same table?"

What are the two fish?asked Danglars.

M. Chateau-Renaud, who has lived in Russia, will tell you
the name of one, and Major Cavalcanti, who is an Italian,
will tell you the name of the other.

This one is, I think, a sterlet,said Chateau-Renaud.

And that one, if I mistake not, a lamprey.

Just so. Now, M. Danglars, ask these gentlemen where they
are caught.

Starlets,said Chateau-Renaudare only found in the
Volga.

And,said CavalcantiI know that Lake Fusaro alone
supplies lampreys of that size.

Exactly; one comes from the Volga, and the other from Lake
Fusaro.

Impossible!cried all the guests simultaneously.

Well, this is just what amuses me,said Monte Cristo. "I
am like Nero -- cupitor impossibilium; and that is what is
amusing you at this moment. This fishwhich seems so


exquisite to youis very likely no better than perch or
salmon; but it seemed impossible to procure itand here it
is."

But how could you have these fish brought to France?

Oh, nothing more easy. Each fish was brought over in a cask
-- one filled with river herbs and weeds, the other with
rushes and lake plants; they were placed in a wagon built on
purpose, and thus the sterlet lived twelve days, the lamprey
eight, and both were alive when my cook seized them, killing
one with milk and the other with wine. You do not believe
me, M. Danglars!

I cannot help doubting,answered Danglars with his stupid
smile.

Baptistin,said the counthave the other fish brought in
-- the sterlet and the lamprey which came in the other
casks, and which are yet alive.Danglars opened his
bewildered eyes; the company clapped their hands. Four
servants carried in two casks covered with aquatic plants
and in each of which was breathing a fish similar to those
on the table.

But why have two of each sort?asked Danglars.

Merely because one might have died,carelessly answered
Monte Cristo.

You are certainly an extraordinary man,said Danglars;
and philosophers may well say it is a fine thing to be
rich.

And to have ideas,added Madame Danglars.

Oh, do not give me credit for this, madame; it was done by
the Romans, who much esteemed them, and Pliny relates that
they sent slaves from Ostia to Rome, who carried on their
heads fish which he calls the mulus, and which, from the
description, must probably be the goldfish. It was also
considered a luxury to have them alive, it being an amusing
sight to see them die, for, when dying, they change color
three or four times, and like the rainbow when it
disappears, pass through all the prismatic shades, after
which they were sent to the kitchen. Their agony formed part
of their merit -- if they were not seen alive, they were
despised when dead.

Yes,said Debraybut then Ostia is only a few leagues
from Rome.

True,said Monte Cristo; "but what would be the use of
living eighteen hundred years after Lucullus. if we can do
no better than he could?" The two Cavalcanti opened their
enormous eyesbut had the good sense not to say anything.
All this is very extraordinary,said Chateau-Renaud;
still, what I admire the most, I confess, is the marvellous
promptitude with which your orders are executed. Is it not
true that you only bought this house five or six days ago?

Certainly not longer.

Well, I am sure it is quite transformed since last week. If


I remember rightly, it had another entrance, and the
court-yard was paved and empty; while to-day we have a
splendid lawn, bordered by trees which appear to be a
hundred years old.

Why not? I am fond of grass and shade,said Monte Cristo.

Yes,said Madame de Villefortthe door was towards the
road before, and on the day of my miraculous escape you
brought me into the house from the road, I remember.

Yes, madame,said Monte Cristo; "but I preferred having an
entrance which would allow me to see the Bois de Boulogne
over my gate."

In four days,said Morrel; "it is extraordinary!"

Indeed,said Chateau-Renaudit seems quite miraculous to
make a new house out of an old one; for it was very old, and
dull too. I recollect coming for my mother to look at it
when M. de Saint-Meran advertised it for sale two or three
years ago.

M. de Saint-Meran?said Madame de Villefort; "then this
house belonged to M. de Saint-Meran before you bought it?"

It appears so,replied Monte Cristo.

Is it possible that you do not know of whom you purchased
it?

Quite so; my steward transacts all this business for me.

It is certainly ten years since the house had been
occupied,said Chateau-Renaudand it was quite melancholy
to look at it, with the blinds closed, the doors locked, and
the weeds in the court. Really, if the house had not
belonged to the father-in-law of the procureur, one might
have thought it some accursed place where a horrible crime
had been committed.Villefortwho had hitherto not tasted
the three or four glasses of rare wine which were placed
before himhere took oneand drank it off. Monte Cristo
allowed a short time to elapseand then saidIt is
singular, baron, but the same idea came across me the first
time I came here; it looked so gloomy I should never have
bought it if my steward had not taken the matter into his
own hands. Perhaps the fellow had been bribed by the
notary.

It is probable,stammered out Villeforttrying to smile;
but I can assure you that I had nothing to do with any such
proceeding. This house is part of Valentine's
marriage-portion, and M. de Saint-Meran wished to sell it;
for if it had remained another year or two uninhabited it
would have fallen to ruin.It was Morrel's turn to become
pale.

There was, above all, one room,continued Monte Cristo
very plain in appearance, hung with red damask, which, I
know not why, appeared to me quite dramatic.

Why so?said Danglars; "why dramatic?"

Can we account for instinct?said Monte Cristo. "Are there


not some places where we seem to breathe sadness? -- whywe
cannot tell. It is a chain of recollections -- an idea which
carries you back to other timesto other places -- which
very likelyhave no connection with the present time and
place. And there is something in this room which reminds me
forcibly of the chamber of the Marquise de Ganges* or
Desdemona. Staysince we have finished dinnerI will show
it to youand then we will take coffee in the garden. After
dinnerthe play." Monte Cristo looked inquiringly at his
guests. Madame de Villefort roseMonte Cristo did the same
and the rest followed their example. Villefort and Madame
Danglars remained for a momentas if rooted to their seats;
they questioned each other with vague and stupid glances.
Did you hear?said Madame Danglars.

* Elisabeth de RossanMarquise de Gangeswas one of the
famous women of the court of Louis XIV. where she was known
as "La Belle Provencale." She was the widow of the Marquise
de Castellane when she married de Gangesand having the
misfortune to excite the enmity of her new brothers-in-law
was forced by them to take poison; and they finished her off
with pistol and dagger. -- Ed.
We must go,replied Villefortoffering his arm. The
othersattracted by curiositywere already scattered in
different parts of the house; for they thought the visit
would not be limited to the one roomand thatat the same
timethey would obtain a view of the rest of the building
of which Monte Cristo had created a palace. Each one went
out by the open doors. Monte Cristo waited for the two who
remained; thenwhen they had passedhe brought up the
rearand on his face was a smilewhichif they could have
understood itwould have alarmed them much more than a
visit to the room they were about to enter. They began by
walking through the apartmentsmany of which were fitted up
in the Eastern stylewith cushions and divans instead of
bedsand pipes instead of furniture. The drawing-rooms were
decorated with the rarest pictures by the old mastersthe
boudoirs hung with draperies from Chinaof fanciful colors
fantastic designand wonderful texture. At length they
arrived at the famous room. There was nothing particular
about itexcepting thatalthough daylight had disappeared
it was not lightedand everything in it was old-fashioned
while the rest of the rooms had been redecorated. These two
causes were enough to give it a gloomy aspect. "Oh." cried
Madame de Villefortit is really frightful.Madame
Danglars tried to utter a few wordsbut was not heard. Many
observations were madethe import of which was a unanimous
opinion that there was something sinister about the room.
Is it not so?asked Monte Cristo. "Look at that large
clumsy bedhung with such gloomyblood-colored drapery!
And those two crayon portraitsthat have faded from the
dampness; do they not seem to saywith their pale lips and
staring eyes`We have seen'?" Villefort became livid;
Madame Danglars fell into a long seat placed near the
chimney. "Oh said Madame de Villefort, smiling, are you
courageous enough to sit down upon the very seat perhaps
upon which the crime was committed?" Madame Danglars rose
suddenly.

And then,said Monte Cristothis is not all.

What is there more?said Debraywho had not failed to
notice the agitation of Madame Danglars.


Ah, what else is there?said Danglars; "forat presentI
cannot say that I have seen anything extraordinary. What do
you sayM. Cavalcanti?"

Ah,said hewe have at Pisa, Ugolino's tower; at
Ferrara, Tasso's prison; at Rimini, the room of Francesca
and Paolo.

Yes, but you have not this little staircase,said Monte
Cristoopening a door concealed by the drapery. "Look at
itand tell me what you think of it."

What a wicked-looking, crooked staircase,said
Chateau-Renaud with a smile.

I do not know whether the wine of Chios produces
melancholy, but certainly everything appears to me black in
this house,said Debray.

Ever since Valentine's dowry had been mentionedMorrel had
been silent and sad. "Can you imagine said Monte Cristo,
some Othello or Abbe de Gangesone stormydark night
descending these stairs step by stepcarrying a loadwhich
he wishes to hide from the sight of manif not from God?"
Madame Danglars half fainted on the arm of Villefortwho
was obliged to support himself against the wall. "Ah
madame cried Debray, what is the matter with you? how
pale you look!"

It is very evident what is the matter with her,said
Madame de Villefort; "M. de Monte Cristo is relating
horrible stories to usdoubtless intending to frighten us
to death."

Yes,said Villefortreally, count, you frighten the
ladies.

What is the matter?asked Debrayin a whisperof Madame
Danglars.

Nothing,she replied with a violent effort. "I want air
that is all."

Will you come into the garden?said Debrayadvancing
towards the back staircase.

No, no,she answeredI would rather remain here.

Are you really frightened, madame?said Monte Cristo.

Oh, no, sir,said Madame Danglars; "but you suppose scenes
in a manner which gives them the appearance of reality "

Ah, yes,said Monte Cristo smiling; "it is all a matter of
imagination. Why should we not imagine this the apartment of
an honest mother? And this bed with red hangingsa bed
visited by the goddess Lucina? And that mysterious
staircasethe passage through whichnot to disturb their
sleepthe doctor and nurse passor even the father
carrying the sleeping child?" Here Madame Danglarsinstead
of being calmed by the soft pictureuttered a groan and
fainted. "Madame Danglars is ill said Villefort; it would
be better to take her to her carriage."


Oh, mon Dieu,said Monte Cristoand I have forgotten my
smelling-bottle!

I have mine,said Madame de Villefort; and she passed over
to Monte Cristo a bottle full of the same kind of red liquid
whose good properties the count had tested on Edward.

Ah,said Monte Cristotaking it from her hand.

Yes,she saidat your advice I have made the trial.

And have you succeeded?

I think so.

Madame Danglars was carried into the adjoining room; Monte
Cristo dropped a very small portion of the red liquid upon
her lips; she returned to consciousness. "Ah she cried,
what a frightful dream!"

Villefort pressed her hand to let her know it was not a
dream. They looked for M. Danglarsbutas he was not
especially interested in poetical ideashe had gone into
the gardenand was talking with Major Cavalcanti on the
projected railway from Leghorn to Florence. Monte Cristo
seemed in despair. He took the arm of Madame Danglarsand
conducted her into the gardenwhere they found Danglars
taking coffee between the Cavalcanti. "Reallymadame he
said, did I alarm you much?"

Oh, no, sir,she answered; "but you knowthings impress
us differentlyaccording to the mood of our minds."
Villefort forced a laugh. "And thenyou know he said, an
ideaa suppositionis sufficient."

Well,said Monte Cristoyou may believe me if you like,
but it is my opinion that a crime has been committed in this
house.

Take care,said Madame de Villefortthe king's attorney
is here.

Ah,replied Monte Cristosince that is the case, I will
take advantage of his presence to make my declaration.

Your declaration?said Villefort.

Yes, before witnesses.

Oh, this is very interesting,said Debray; "if there
really has been a crimewe will investigate it."

There has been a crime,said Monte Cristo. "Come this way
gentlemen; comeM. Villefortfor a declaration to be
availableshould be made before the competent authorities."
He then took Villefort's armandat the same timeholding
that of Madame Danglars under his ownhe dragged the
procureur to the plantain-treewhere the shade was
thickest. All the other guests followed. "Stay said Monte
Cristo, herein this very spot" (and he stamped upon the
ground)I had the earth dug up and fresh mould put in, to
refresh these old trees; well, my man, digging, found a box,
or rather, the iron-work of a box, in the midst of which was


the skeleton of a newly born infant.Monte Cristo felt the
arm of Madame Danglars stiffenwhile that of Villefort
trembled. "A newly born infant repeated Debray; this
affair becomes serious!"

Well,said Chateau-RenaudI was not wrong just now then,
when I said that houses had souls and faces like men, and
that their exteriors carried the impress of their
characters. This house was gloomy because it was remorseful:
it was remorseful because it concealed a crime.

Who said it was a crime?asked Villefortwith a last
effort.

How? is it not a crime to bury a living child in a garden?
cried Monte Cristo. "And pray what do you call such an
action?"

But who said it was buried alive?

Why bury it there if it were dead? This garden has never
been a cemetery.

What is done to infanticides in this country?asked Major
Cavalcanti innocently.

Oh, their heads are soon cut off,said Danglars.

Ah, indeed?said Cavalcanti.

I think so; am I not right, M. de Villefort?asked Monte
Cristo.

Yes, count,replied Villefortin a voice now scarcely
human.

Monte Cristoseeing that the two persons for whom he had
prepared this scene could scarcely endure itand not
wishing to carry it too farsaidCome, gentlemen, -- some
coffee, we seem to have forgotten it,and he conducted the
guests back to the table on the lawn.

Indeed, count,said Madame DanglarsI am ashamed to own
it, but all your frightful stories have so upset me, that I
must beg you to let me sit down;and she fell into a chair.
Monte Cristo bowedand went to Madame de Villefort. "I
think Madame Danglars again requires your bottle he said.
But before Madame de Villefort could reach her friend the
procureur had found time to whisper to Madame Danglars, I
must speak to you."

When?

To-morrow.

Where?

In my office, or in the court, if you like, -- that is the
surest place.

I will be there.-- At this moment Madame de Villefort
approached. "Thanksmy dear friend said Madame Danglars,
trying to smile; it is over nowand I am much better."


Chapter 64
The Beggar.

The evening passed on; Madame de Villefort expressed a
desire to return to Pariswhich Madame Danglars had not
dared to donotwithstanding the uneasiness she experienced.
On his wife's requestM. de Villefort was the first to give
the signal of departure. He offered a seat in his landau to
Madame Danglarsthat she might be under the care of his
wife. As for M. Danglarsabsorbed in an interesting
conversation with M. Cavalcantihe paid no attention to
anything that was passing. While Monte Cristo had begged the
smelling-bottle of Madame de Villeforthe had noticed the
approach of Villefort to Madame Danglarsand he soon
guessed all that had passed between themthough the words
had been uttered in so low a voice as hardly to be heard by
Madame Danglars. Without opposing their arrangementshe
allowed MorrelChateau-Renaudand Debray to leave on
horsebackand the ladies in M. de Villefort's carriage.
Danglarsmore and more delighted with Major Cavalcantihad
offered him a seat in his carriage. Andrea Cavalcanti found
his tilbury waiting at the door; the groomin every respect
a caricature of the English fashionwas standing on tiptoe
to hold a large iron-gray horse.

Andrea had spoken very little during dinner; he was an
intelligent ladand he feared to utter some absurdity
before so many grand peopleamongst whomwith dilating
eyeshe saw the king's attorney. Then he had been seized
upon by Danglarswhowith a rapid glance at the
stiff-necked old major and his modest sonand taking into
consideration the hospitality of the countmade up his mind
that he was in the society of some nabob come to Paris to
finish the worldly education of his heir. He contemplated
with unspeakable delight the large diamond which shone on
the major's little finger; for the majorlike a prudent
manin case of any accident happening to his bank-notes
had immediately converted them into an available asset.
Thenafter dinneron the pretext of businesshe
questioned the father and son upon their mode of living; and
the father and sonpreviously informed that it was through
Danglars the one was to receive his 48000 francs and the
other 50000 livres annuallywere so full of affability
that they would have shaken hands even with the banker's
servantsso much did their gratitude need an object to
expend itself upon. One thing above all the rest heightened
the respectnay almost the venerationof Danglars for
Cavalcanti. The latterfaithful to the principle of Horace
nil admirarihad contented himself with showing his
knowledge by declaring in what lake the best lampreys were
caught. Then he had eaten some without saying a word more;
Danglarsthereforeconcluded that such luxuries were
common at the table of the illustrious descendant of the
Cavalcantiwho most likely in Lucca fed upon trout brought
from Switzerlandand lobsters sent from Englandby the
same means used by the count to bring the lampreys from Lake
Fusaroand the sterlet from the Volga. Thus it was with
much politeness of manner that he heard Cavalcanti pronounce
these wordsTo-morrow, sir, I shall have the honor of
waiting upon you on business.

And I, sir,said Danglarsshall be most happy to receive


you.Upon which he offered to take Cavalcanti in his
carriage to the Hotel des Princesif it would not be
depriving him of the company of his son. To this Cavalcanti
replied by saying that for some time past his son had lived
independently of himthat he had his own horses and
carriagesand that not having come togetherit would not
be difficult for them to leave separately. The major seated
himselfthereforeby the side of Danglarswho was more
and more charmed with the ideas of order and economy which
ruled this manand yet whobeing able to allow his son
60000 francs a yearmight be supposed to possess a fortune
of 500000 or 600000 livres.

As for Andreahe beganby way of showing offto scold his
groomwhoinstead of bringing the tilbury to the steps of
the househad taken it to the outer doorthus giving him
the trouble of walking thirty steps to reach it. The groom
heard him with humilitytook the bit of the impatient
animal with his left handand with the right held out the
reins to Andreawhotaking them from himrested his
polished boot lightly on the step. At that moment a hand
touched his shoulder. The young man turned roundthinking
that Danglars or Monte Cristo had forgotten something they
wished to tell himand had returned just as they were
starting. But instead of either of thesehe saw nothing but
a strange facesunburntand encircled by a beardwith
eyes brilliant as carbunclesand a smile upon the mouth
which displayed a perfect set of white teethpointed and
sharp as the wolf's or jackal's. A red handkerchief
encircled his gray head; torn and filthy garments covered
his large bony limbswhich seemed as thoughlike those of
a skeletonthey would rattle as he walked; and the hand
with which he leaned upon the young man's shoulderand
which was the first thing Andrea sawseemed of gigantic
size. Did the young man recognize that face by the light of
the lantern in his tilburyor was he merely struck with the
horrible appearance of his interrogator? We cannot say; but
only relate the fact that he shuddered and stepped back
suddenly. "What do you want of me?" he asked.

Pardon me, my friend, if I disturb you,said the man with
the red handkerchiefbut I want to speak to you.

You have no right to beg at night,said the groom
endeavoring to rid his master of the troublesome intruder.

I am not begging, my fine fellow,said the unknown to the
servantwith so ironical an expression of the eyeand so
frightful a smilethat he withdrew; "I only wish to say two
or three words to your masterwho gave me a commission to
execute about a fortnight ago."

Come,said Andreawith sufficient nerve for his servant
not to perceive his agitationwhat do you want? Speak
quickly, friend.

The man saidin a low voice: "I wish -- I wish you to spare
me the walk back to Paris. I am very tiredand as I have
not eaten so good a dinner as youI can scarcely stand."
The young man shuddered at this strange familiarity. "Tell
me he said -- tell me what you want?"

Well, then, I want you to take me up in your fine carriage,
and carry me back.Andrea turned palebut said nothing.


Yes,said the manthrusting his hands into his pockets
and looking impudently at the youth; "I have taken the whim
into my head; do you understandMaster Benedetto?"

At this nameno doubtthe young man reflected a little
for he went towards his groomsayingThis man is right; I
did indeed charge him with a commission, the result of which
he must tell me; walk to the barrier, there take a cab, that
you may not be too late.The surprised groom retired. "Let
me at least reach a shady spot said Andrea.

Ohas for thatI'll take you to a splendid place said
the man with the handkerchief; and taking the horse's bit he
led the tilbury where it was certainly impossible for any
one to witness the honor that Andrea conferred upon him.

Don't think I want the glory of riding in your fine
carriage said he; ohnoit's only because I am tired
and also because I have a little business to talk over with
you."

Come, step in,said the young man. It was a pity this
scene had not occurred in daylightfor it was curious to
see this rascal throwing himself heavily down on the cushion
beside the young and elegant driver of the tilbury. Andrea
drove past the last house in the village without saying a
word to his companionwho smiled complacentlyas though
well-pleased to find himself travelling in so comfortable a
vehicle. Once out of AuteuilAndrea looked aroundin order
to assure himself that he could neither be seen nor heard
and thenstopping the horse and crossing his arms before
the manhe asked-- "Nowtell me why you come to disturb
my tranquillity?"

Let me ask you why you deceived me?

How have I deceived you?

`How,' do you ask? When we parted at the Pont du Var, you
told me you were going to travel through Piedmont and
Tuscany; but instead of that, you come to Paris.

How does that annoy you?

It does not; on the contrary, I think it will answer my
purpose.

So,said Andreayou are speculating upon me?

What fine words he uses!

I warn you, Master Caderousse, that you are mistaken.

Well, well, don't be angry, my boy; you know well enough
what it is to be unfortunate; and misfortunes make us
jealous. I thought you were earning a living in Tuscany or
Piedmont by acting as facchino or cicerone, and I pitied you
sincerely, as I would a child of my own. You know I always
did call you my child.

Come, come, what then?

Patience -- patience!


I am patient, but go on.

All at once I see you pass through the barrier with a
groom, a tilbury, and fine new clothes. You must have
discovered a mine, or else become a stockbroker.

So that, as you confess, you are jealous?

No, I am pleased -- so pleased that I wished to
congratulate you; but as I am not quite properly dressed, I
chose my opportunity, that I might not compromise you.

Yes, and a fine opportunity you have chosen!exclaimed
Andrea; "you speak to me before my servant."

How can I help that, my boy? I speak to you when I can
catch you. You have a quick horse, a light tilbury, you are
naturally as slippery as an eel; if I had missed you
to-night, I might not have had another chance.

You see, I do not conceal myself.

You are lucky; I wish I could say as much, for I do conceal
myself; and then I was afraid you would not recognize me,
but you did,added Caderousse with his unpleasant smile.
It was very polite of you.

Come,said Andreawhat do want?

You do not speak affectionately to me, Benedetto, my old
friend, that is not right -- take care, or I may become
troublesome.This menace smothered the young man's passion.
He urged the horse again into a trot. "You should not speak
so to an old friend like meCaderousseas you said just
now; you are a native of MarseillesI am" -


Do you know then now what you are?

No, but I was brought up in Corsica; you are old and
obstinate, I am young and wilful. Between people like us
threats are out of place, everything should be amicably
arranged. Is it my fault if fortune, which has frowned on
you, has been kind to me?

Fortune has been kind to you, then? Your tilbury, your
groom, your clothes, are not then hired? Good, so much the
better,said Caderoussehis eyes sparkling with avarice.

Oh, you knew that well enough before speaking to me,said
Andreabecoming more and more excited. "If I had been
wearing a handkerchief like yours on my headrags on my
backand worn-out shoes on my feetyou would not have
known me."

You wrong me, my boy; now I have found you, nothing
prevents my being as well-dressed as any one, knowing, as I
do, the goodness of your heart. If you have two coats you
will give me one of them. I used to divide my soup and beans
with you when you were hungry.

True,said Andrea.

What an appetite you used to have! Is it as good now?


Oh, yes,replied Andrealaughing.


How did you come to be dining with that prince whose house
you have just left?
He is not a prince; simply a count.


A count, and a rich one too, eh?


Yes; but you had better not have anything to say to him,
for he is not a very good-tempered gentleman.

Oh, be easy! I have no design upon your count, and you
shall have him all to yourself. But,said Caderousseagain
smiling with the disagreeable expression he had before
assumedyou must pay for it -- you understand?

Well, what do you want?

I think that with a hundred francs a month--
Well?


I could live--
Upon a hundred francs!


Come -- you understand me; but that with--
With?


With a hundred and fifty francs I should be quite happy.


Here are two hundred,said Andrea; and he placed ten gold
louis in the hand of Caderousse.

Good!said Caderousse.

Apply to the steward on the first day of every mouth, and
you will receive the same sum.
There now, again you degrade me.


How so?


By making me apply to the servants, when I want to transact
business with you alone.

Well, be it so, then. Take it from me then, and so long at
least as I receive my income, you shall be paid yours.

Come, come; I always said you were a fine fellow, and it is
a blessing when good fortune happens to such as you. But
tell me all about it?

Why do you wish to know?asked Cavalcanti.
What? do you again defy me?

No; the fact is, I have found my father.
What? a real father?


Yes, so long as he pays me-


You'll honor and believe him -- that's right. What is his
name?

Major Cavalcanti.

Is he pleased with you?

So far I have appeared to answer his purpose.

And who found this father for you?

The Count of Monte Cristo.

The man whose house you have just left?

Yes.

I wish you would try and find me a situation with him as
grandfather, since he holds the money-chest!

Well, I will mention you to him. Meanwhile, what are you
going to do?

I?

Yes, you.

It is very kind of you to trouble yourself about me.

Since you interest yourself in my affairs, I think it is
now my turn to ask you some questions.

Ah, true. Well; I shall rent a room in some respectable
house, wear a decent coat, shave every day, and go and read
the papers in a cafe. Then, in the evening, I shall go to
the theatre; I shall look like some retired baker. That is
what I want.

Come, if you will only put this scheme into execution, and
be steady, nothing could be better.

Do you think so, M. Bossuet? And you -- what will you
become? A peer of France?

Ah,said Andreawho knows?

Major Cavalcanti is already one, perhaps; but then,
hereditary rank is abolished.

No politics, Caderousse. And now that you have all you
want, and that we understand each other, jump down from the
tilbury and disappear.

Not at all, my good friend.

How? Not at all?

Why, just think for a moment; with this red handkerchief on
my head, with scarcely any shoes, no papers, and ten gold
napoleons in my pocket, without reckoning what was there
before -- making in all about two hundred francs, -- why, I
should certainly be arrested at the barriers. Then, to


justify myself, I should say that you gave me the money;
this would cause inquiries, it would be found that I left
Toulon without giving due notice, and I should then be
escorted back to the shores of the Mediterranean. Then I
should become simply No. 106, and good-by to my dream of
resembling the retired baker! No, no, my boy; I prefer
remaining honorably in the capital.Andrea scowled.
Certainlyas he had himself ownedthe reputed son of Major
Cavalcanti was a wilful fellow. He drew up for a minute
threw a rapid glance around himand then his hand fell
instantly into his pocketwhere it began playing with a
pistol. ButmeanwhileCaderoussewho had never taken his
eyes off his companionpassed his hand behind his backand
opened a long Spanish knifewhich he always carried with
himto be ready in case of need. The two friendsas we
seewere worthy of and understood one another. Andrea's
hand left his pocket inoffensivelyand was carried up to
the red mustachewhich it played with for some time. "Good
Caderousse he said, how happy you will be."


I will do my best,said the inn-keeper of the Pont du
Gardshutting up his knife.


Well, then, we will go into Paris. But how will you pass
through the barrier without exciting suspicion? It seems to
me that you are in more danger riding than on foot.


Wait,said Caderoussewe shall see.He then took the
great-coat with the large collarwhich the groom had left
behind in the tilburyand put it on his back; then he took
off Cavalcanti's hatwhich he placed upon his own headand
finally he assumed the careless attitude of a servant whose
master drives himself.


But, tell me,said Andreaam I to remain bareheaded?


Pooh,said Caderousse; "it is so windy that your hat can
easily appear to have blown off."


Come, come; enough of this,said Cavalcanti.


What are you waiting for?said Caderousse. "I hope I am
not the cause."


Hush,said Andrea. They passed the barrier without
accident. At the first cross street Andrea stopped his
horseand Caderousse leaped out.


Well!said Andrea-- "my servant's coat and my hat?"


Ah,said Caderousseyou would not like me to risk taking
cold?


But what am I to do?


You? Oh, you are young while I am beginning to get old. Au
revoir, Benedetto;and running into a courthe
disappeared. "Alas said Andrea, sighing, one cannot be
completely happy in this world!"


Chapter 65
A Conjugal Scene.



At the Place Louis XV. the three young people separated -that
is to sayMorrel went to the Boulevards
Chateau-Renaud to the Pont de la Revolutionand Debray to
the Quai. Most probably Morrel and Chateau-Renaud returned
to their "domestic hearths as they say in the gallery of
the Chamber in well-turned speeches, and in the theatre of
the Rue Richelieu in well-written pieces; but it was not the
case with Debray. When he reached the wicket of the Louvre,
he turned to the left, galloped across the Carrousel, passed
through the Rue Saint-Roch, and, issuing from the Rue de la
Michodiere, he arrived at M. Danglars' door just at the same
time that Villefort's landau, after having deposited him and
his wife at the Faubourg St. Honore, stopped to leave the
baroness at her own house. Debray, with the air of a man
familiar with the house, entered first into the court, threw
his bridle into the hands of a footman, and returned to the
door to receive Madame Danglars, to whom he offered his arm,
to conduct her to her apartments. The gate once closed, and
Debray and the baroness alone in the court, he asked, -
What was the matter with youHermine? and why were you so
affected at that storyor rather fablewhich the count
related?"

Because I have been in such shocking spirits all the
evening, my friend,said the baroness.

No, Hermine,replied Debray; "you cannot make me believe
that; on the contraryyou were in excellent spirits when
you arrived at the count's. M. Danglars was disagreeable
certainlybut I know how much you care for his ill-humor.
Some one has vexed you; I will allow no one to annoy you."

You are deceived, Lucien, I assure you,replied Madame
Danglars; "and what I have told you is really the case
added to the ill-humor you remarkedbut which I did not
think it worth while to allude to." It was evident that
Madame Danglars was suffering from that nervous irritability
which women frequently cannot account for even to
themselves; or thatas Debray had guessedshe had
experienced some secret agitation that she would not
acknowledge to any one. Being a man who knew that the former
of these symptoms was one of the inherent penalties of
womanhoodhe did not then press his inquiriesbut waited
for a more appropriate opportunity when he should again
interrogate heror receive an avowal proprio motu. At the
door of her apartment the baroness met Mademoiselle
Cornelieher confidential maid. "What is my daughter
doing?" asked Madame Danglars.

She practiced all the evening, and then went to bed,
replied Mademoiselle Cornelie.

Yet I think I hear her piano.

It is Mademoiselle Louise d'Armilly, who is playing while
Mademoiselle Danglars is in bed.

Well,said Madame Danglarscome and undress me.They
entered the bedroom. Debray stretched himself upon a large
couchand Madame Danglars passed into her dressing-room
with Mademoiselle Cornelie. "My dear M. Lucien said Madame
Danglars through the door, you are always complaining that
Eugenie will not address a word to you."


Madame,said Lucienplaying with a little dogwho
recognizing him as a friend of the houseexpected to be
caressedI am not the only one who makes similar
complaints, I think I heard Morcerf say that he could not
extract a word from his betrothed.

True,said Madame Danglars; "yet I think this will all
pass offand that you will one day see her enter your
study."

My study?

At least that of the minister.

Why so!

To ask for an engagement at the Opera. Really, I never saw
such an infatuation for music; it is quite ridiculous for a
young lady of fashion.Debray smiled. "Well said he, let
her comewith your consent and that of the baronand we
will try and give her an engagementthough we are very poor
to pay such talent as hers."

Go, Cornelie,said Madame DanglarsI do not require you
any longer.

Cornelie obeyedand the next minute Madame Danglars left
her room in a charming loose dressand came and sat down
close to Debray. Then she began thoughtfully to caress the
little spaniel. Lucien looked at her for a moment in
silence. "ComeHermine he said, after a short time,
answer candidly-- something vexes you -- is it not so?"

Nothing,answered the baroness.

And yetas she could scarcely breatheshe rose and went
towards a looking-glass. "I am frightful to-night she
said. Debray rose, smiling, and was about to contradict the
baroness upon this latter point, when the door opened
suddenly. M. Danglars appeared; Debray reseated himself. At
the noise of the door Madame Danglars turned round, and
looked upon her husband with an astonishment she took no
trouble to conceal. Good-eveningmadame said the banker;
good-eveningM. Debray."

Probably the baroness thought this unexpected visit
signified a desire to make up for the sharp words he had
uttered during the day. Assuming a dignified airshe turned
round to Debraywithout answering her husband. "Read me
somethingM. Debray she said. Debray, who was slightly
disturbed at this visit, recovered himself when he saw the
calmness of the baroness, and took up a book marked by a
mother-of-pearl knife inlaid with gold. Excuse me said
the banker, but you will tire yourselfbaronessby such
late hoursand M. Debray lives some distance from here."

Debray was petrifiednot only to hear Danglars speak so
calmly and politelybut because it was apparent that
beneath outward politeness there really lurked a determined
spirit of opposition to anything his wife might wish to do.
The baroness was also surprisedand showed her astonishment
by a look which would doubtless have had some effect upon
her husband if he had not been intently occupied with the


paperwhere he was looking to see the closing stock
quotations. The result wasthat the proud look entirely
failed of its purpose.

M. Lucien,said the baronessI assure you I have no
desire to sleep, and that I have a thousand things to tell
you this evening, which you must listen to, even though you
slept while hearing me.

I am at your service, madame,replied Lucien coldly.

My dear M. Debray,said the bankerdo not kill yourself
to-night listening to the follies of Madame Danglars, for
you can hear them as well to-morrow; but I claim to-night
and will devote it, if you will allow me, to talk over some
serious matters with my wife.This time the blow was so
well aimedand hit so directlythat Lucien and the
baroness were staggeredand they interrogated each other
with their eyesas if to seek help against this aggression
but the irresistible will of the master of the house
prevailedand the husband was victorious.

Do not think I wish to turn you out, my dear Debray,
continued Danglars; "ohnonot at all. An unexpected
occurrence forces me to ask my wife to have a little
conversation with me; it is so rarely I make such a request
I am sure you cannot grudge it to me." Debray muttered
somethingbowed and went outknocking himself against the
edge of the doorlike Nathan in "Athalie."

It is extraordinary,he saidwhen the door was closed
behind himhow easily these husbands, whom we ridicule,
gain an advantage over us.

Lucien having leftDanglars took his place on the sofa
closed the open bookand placing himself in a dreadfully
dictatorial attitudehe began playing with the dog; but the
animalnot liking him as well as Debrayand attempting to
bite himDanglars seized him by the skin of his neck and
threw him upon a couch on the other side of the room. The
animal uttered a cry during the transitbutarrived at its
destinationit crouched behind the cushionsand stupefied
at such unusual treatment remained silent and motionless.
Do you know, sir,asked the baronessthat you are
improving? Generally you are only rude, but to-night you are
brutal.

It is because I am in a worse humor than usual,replied
Danglars. Hermine looked at the banker with supreme disdain.
These glances frequently exasperated the pride of Danglars
but this evening he took no notice of them.

And what have I to do with your ill-humor?said the
baronessirritated at the impassibility of her husband; "do
these things concern me? Keep your ill-humor at home in your
money boxesorsince you have clerks whom you payvent it
upon them."

Not so,replied Danglars; "your advice is wrongso I
shall not follow it. My money boxes are my PactolusasI
thinkM. Demoustier saysand I will not retard its course
or disturb its calm. My clerks are honest menwho earn my
fortunewhom I pay much below their desertsif I may value
them according to what they bring in; therefore I shall not


get into a passion with them; those with whom I will be in a
passion are those who eat my dinnersmount my horsesand
exhaust my fortune."

And pray who are the persons who exhaust your fortune?
Explain yourself more clearly, I beg, sir.

Oh, make yourself easy! -- I am not speaking riddles, and
you will soon know what I mean. The people who exhaust my
fortune are those who draw out 700,000 francs in the course
of an hour.

I do not understand you, sir,said the baronesstrying to
disguise the agitation of her voice and the flush of her
face. "You understand me perfectlyon the contrary said
Danglars: butif you will persistI will tell you that I
have just lost 700000 francs upon the Spanish loan."

And pray,asked the baronessam I responsible for this
loss?

Why not?

Is it my fault you have lost 700,000 francs?

Certainly it is not mine.

Once for all, sir,replied the baroness sharplyI tell
you I will not hear cash named; it is a style of language I
never heard in the house of my parents or in that of my
first husband.

Oh, I can well believe that, for neither of them was worth
a penny.

The better reason for my not being conversant with the
slang of the bank, which is here dinning in my ears from
morning to night; that noise of jingling crowns, which are
constantly being counted and re-counted, is odious to me. I
only know one thing I dislike more, which is the sound of
your voice.

Really?said Danglars. "Wellthis surprises mefor I
thought you took the liveliest interest in all my affairs!"

I? What could put such an idea into your head?

Yourself.

Ah? -- what next?

Most assuredly.

I should like to know upon what occasion?

Oh, mon Dieu, that is very easily done. Last February you
were the first who told me of the Haitian funds. You had
dreamed that a ship had entered the harbor at Havre, that
this ship brought news that a payment we had looked upon as
lost was going to be made. I know how clear-sighted your
dreams are; I therefore purchased immediately as many shares
as I could of the Haitian debt, and I gained 400,000 francs
by it, of which 100,000 have been honestly paid to you. You
spent it as you pleased; that was your business. In March


there was a question about a grant to a railway. Three
companies presented themselves, each offering equal
securities. You told me that your instinct, -- and although
you pretend to know nothing about speculations, I think on
the contrary, that your comprehension is very clear upon
certain affairs, -- well, you told me that your instinct led
you to believe the grant would be given to the company
called the Southern. I bought two thirds of the shares of
that company; as you had foreseen, the shares trebled in
value, and I picked up a million, from which 250,000 francs
were paid to you for pin-money. How have you spent this
250,000 francs? -- it is no business of mine.

When are you coming to the point?cried the baroness
shivering with anger and impatience.

Patience, madame, I am coming to it.

That's fortunate.

In April you went to dine at the minister's. You heard a
private conversation respecting Spanish affairs -- on the
expulsion of Don Carlos. I bought some Spanish shares. The
expulsion took place and I pocketed 600,000 francs the day
Charles V. repassed the Bidassoa. Of these 600,000 francs
you took 50,000 crowns. They were yours, you disposed of
them according to your fancy, and I asked no questions; but
it is not the less true that you have this year received
500,000 livres.

Well, sir, and what then?

Ah, yes, it was just after this that you spoiled
everything.

Really, your manner of speaking-


It expresses my meaning, and that is all I want. Well,
three days after that you talked politics with M. Debray,
and you fancied from his words that Don Carlos had returned
to Spain. Well, I sold my shares, the news got out, and I no
longer sold -- I gave them away, next day I find the news
was false, and by this false report I have lost 700,000
francs.

Well?

Well, since I gave you a fourth of my gains, I think you
owe me a fourth of my losses; the fourth of 700,000 francs
is 175,000 francs.

What you say is absurd, and I cannot see why M. Debray's
name is mixed up in this affair.

Because if you do not possess the 175,000 francs I reclaim,
you must have lent them to your friends, and M. Debray is
one of your friends.

For shame!exclaimed the baroness.

Oh, let us have no gestures, no screams, no modern drama,
or you will oblige me to tell you that I see Debray leave
here, pocketing the whole of the 500,000 livres you have
handed over to him this year, while he smiles to himself,


saying that he has found what the most skilful players have
never discovered -- that is, a roulette where he wins
without playing, and is no loser when he loses.The
baroness became enraged. "Wretch!" she criedwill you dare
to tell me you did not know what you now reproach me with?

I do not say that I did know it, and I do not say that I
did not know it. I merely tell you to look into my conduct
during the last four years that we have ceased to be husband
and wife, and see whether it has not always been consistent.
Some time after our rupture, you wished to study music,
under the celebrated baritone who made such a successful
appearance at the Theatre Italien; at the same time I felt
inclined to learn dancing of the danseuse who acquired such
a reputation in London. This cost me, on your account and
mine, 100,000 francs. I said nothing, for we must have peace
in the house; and 100,000 francs for a lady and gentleman to
be properly instructed in music and dancing are not too
much. Well, you soon become tired of singing, and you take a
fancy to study diplomacy with the minister's secretary. You
understand, it signifies nothing to me so long as you pay
for your lessons out of your own cashbox. But to-day I find
you are drawing on mine, and that your apprenticeship may
cost me 700,000 francs per month. Stop there, madame, for
this cannot last. Either the diplomatist must give his
lessons gratis, and I will tolerate him, or he must never
set his foot again in my house; -- do you understand,
madame?

Oh, this is too much,cried Herminechokingyou are
worse than despicable.

But,continued DanglarsI find you did not even pause
there-


Insults!

You are right; let us leave these facts alone, and reason
coolly. I have never interfered in your affairs excepting
for your good; treat me in the same way. You say you have
nothing to do with my cash-box. Be it so. Do as you like
with your own, but do not fill or empty mine. Besides, how
do I know that this was not a political trick, that the
minister enraged at seeing me in the opposition, and jealous
of the popular sympathy I excite, has not concerted with M.
Debray to ruin me?

A probable thing!

Why not? Who ever heard of such an occurrence as this? -- a
false telegraphic despatch -- it is almost impossible for
wrong signals to be made as they were in the last two
telegrams. It was done on purpose for me -- I am sure of
it.

Sir,said the baroness humblyare you not aware that the
man employed there was dismissed, that they talked of going
to law with him, that orders were issued to arrest him and
that this order would have been put into execution if he had
not escaped by flight, which proves that he was either mad
or guilty? It was a mistake.

Yes, which made fools laugh, which caused the minister to
have a sleepless night, which has caused the minister's


secretaries to blacken several sheets of paper, but which
has cost me 700,000 francs.

But, sir,said Hermine suddenlyif all this is, as you
say, caused by M. Debray, why, instead of going direct to
him, do you come and tell me of it? Why, to accuse the man,
do you address the woman?

Do I know M. Debray? -- do I wish to know him? -- do I wish
to know that he gives advice? -- do I wish to follow it? -do
I speculate? No; you do all this, not I.

Still it seems to me, that as you profit by it --

Danglars shrugged his shoulders. "Foolish creature he
exclaimed. Women fancy they have talent because they have
managed two or three intrigues without being the talk of
Paris! But know that if you had even hidden your
irregularities from your husbandwho has but the
commencement of the art -- for generally husbands will not
see -- you would then have been but a faint imitation of
most of your friends among the women of the world. But it
has not been so with me-- I seeand always have seen
during the last sixteen years. You mayperhapshave hidden
a thought; but not a stepnot an actionnot a faulthas
escaped mewhile you flattered yourself upon your address
and firmly believed you had deceived me. What has been the
result? -- thatthanks to my pretended ignorancethere is
none of your friendsfrom M. de Villefort to M. Debraywho
has not trembled before me. There is not one who has not
treated me as the master of the house-- the only title I
desire with respect to you; there is not onein factwho
would have dared to speak of me as I have spoken of them
this day. I will allow you to make me hatefulbut I will
prevent your rendering me ridiculousandabove allI
forbid you to ruin me."

The baroness had been tolerably composed until the name of
Villefort had been pronounced; but then she became pale
andrisingas if touched by a springshe stretched out
her hands as though conjuring an apparition; she then took
two or three steps towards her husbandas though to tear
the secret from himof which he was ignorantor which he
withheld from some odious calculation-- odiousas all his
calculations were. "M. de Villefort! -- What do you mean?"

I mean that M. de Nargonne, your first husband, being
neither a philosopher nor a banker, or perhaps being both,
and seeing there was nothing to be got out of a king's
attorney, died of grief or anger at finding, after an
absence of nine months, that you had been enceinte six. I am
brutal, -- I not only allow it, but boast of it; it is one
of the reasons of my success in commercial business. Why did
he kill himself instead of you? Because he had no cash to
save. My life belongs to my cash. M. Debray has made me lose
700,000 francs; let him bear his share of the loss, and we
will go on as before; if not, let him become bankrupt for
the 250,000 livres, and do as all bankrupts do -- disappear.
He is a charming fellow, I allow, when his news is correct;
but when it is not, there are fifty others in the world who
would do better than he.

Madame Danglars was rooted to the spot; she made a violent
effort to reply to this last attackbut she fell upon a


chair thinking of Villefortof the dinner sceneof the
strange series of misfortunes which had taken place in her
house during the last few daysand changed the usual calm
of her establishment to a scene of scandalous debate.
Danglars did not even look at herthough she did her best
to faint. He shut the bedroom door after himwithout adding
another wordand returned to his apartments; and when
Madame Danglars recovered from her half-fainting condition
she could almost believe that she had had a disagreeable
dream.

Chapter 66
Matrimonial Projects.

The day following this sceneat the hour the banker usually
chose to pay a visit to Madame Danglars on his way to his
officehis coupe did not appear. At this timethat is
about half-past twelveMadame Danglars ordered her
carriageand went out. Danglarshidden behind a curtain
watched the departure he had been waiting for. He gave
orders that he should be informed as soon as Madame Danglars
appeared; but at two o'clock she had not returned. He then
called for his horsesdrove to the Chamberand inscribed
his name to speak against the budget. From twelve to two
o'clock Danglars had remained in his studyunsealing his
dispatchesand becoming more and more sad every minute
heaping figure upon figureand receivingamong other
visitsone from Major Cavalcantiwhoas stiff and exact
as everpresented himself precisely at the hour named the
night beforeto terminate his business with the banker. On
leaving the ChamberDanglarswho had shown violent marks
of agitation during the sittingand been more bitter than
ever against the ministryre-entered his carriageand told
the coachman to drive to the Avenue des Champs-ElyseesNo.

30.
Monte Cristo was at home; only he was engaged with some one
and begged Danglars to wait for a moment in the
drawing-room. While the banker was waiting in the anteroom
the door openedand a man dressed as an abbe and doubtless
more familiar with the house than he wascame in and
instead of waitingmerely bowedpassed on to the farther
apartmentsand disappeared. A minute after the door by
which the priest had entered reopenedand Monte Cristo
appeared. "Pardon me said he, my dear baronbut one of
my friendsthe Abbe Busoniwhom you perhaps saw pass by
has just arrived in Paris; not having seen him for a long
timeI could not make up my mind to leave him soonerso I
hope this will be sufficient reason for my having made you
wait."

Nay,said Danglarsit is my fault; I have chosen my
visit at a wrong time, and will retire.

Not at all; on the contrary, be seated; but what is the
matter with you? You look careworn; really, you alarm me.
Melancholy in a capitalist, like the appearance of a comet,
presages some misfortune to the world.

I have been in ill-luck for several days,said Danglars
and I have heard nothing but bad news.


Ah, indeed?said Monte Cristo. "Have you had another fall
at the Bourse?"

No; I am safe for a few days at least. I am only annoyed
about a bankrupt of Trieste.

Really? Does it happen to be Jacopo Manfredi?

Exactly so. Imagine a man who has transacted business with
me for I don't know how long, to the amount of 800,000 or
900,000 francs during the year. Never a mistake or delay -a
fellow who paid like a prince. Well, I was a million in
advance with him, and now my fine Jacopo Manfredi suspends
payment!

Really?

It is an unheard-of fatality. I draw upon him for 600,000
francs, my bills are returned unpaid, and, more than that, I
hold bills of exchange signed by him to the value of 400,000
francs, payable at his correspondent's in Paris at the end
of this month. To-day is the 30th. I present them; but my
correspondent has disappeared. This, with my Spanish
affairs, made a pretty end to the month.

Then you really lost by that affair in Spain?

Yes; only 700,000 francs out of my cash-box -- nothing
more!

Why, how could you make such a mistake -- such an old
stager?

Oh, it is all my wife's fault. She dreamed Don Carlos had
returned to Spain; she believes in dreams. It is magnetism,
she says, and when she dreams a thing it is sure to happen,
she assures me. On this conviction I allow her to speculate,
she having her bank and her stockbroker; she speculated and
lost. It is true she speculates with her own money, not
mine; nevertheless, you can understand that when 700,000
francs leave the wife's pocket, the husband always finds it
out. But do you mean to say you have not heard of this? Why,
the thing has made a tremendous noise.

Yes, I heard it spoken of, but I did not know the details,
and then no one can be more ignorant than I am of the
affairs in the Bourse.

Then you do not speculate?

I? -- How could I speculate when I already have so much
trouble in regulating my income? I should be obliged,
besides my steward, to keep a clerk and a boy. But touching
these Spanish affairs, I think that the baroness did not
dream the whole of the Don Carlos matter. The papers said
something about it, did they not?

Then you believe the papers?

I? -- not the least in the world; only I fancied that the
honest Messager was an exception to the rule, and that it
only announced telegraphic despatches.

Well, that's what puzzles me,replied Danglars; "the news


of the return of Don Carlos was brought by telegraph."

So that,said Monte Cristoyou have lost nearly
1,700,000 francs this month.

Not nearly, indeed; that is exactly my loss.

Diable,said Monte Cristo compassionatelyit is a hard
blow for a third-rate fortune.

Third-rate,said Danglarsrather humblewhat do you
mean by that?

Certainly,continued Monte CristoI make three
assortments in fortune -- first-rate, second-rate, and
third-rate fortunes. I call those first-rate which are
composed of treasures one possesses under one's hand, such
as mines, lands, and funded property, in such states as
France, Austria, and England, provided these treasures and
property form a total of about a hundred millions; I call
those second-rate fortunes, that are gained by manufacturing
enterprises, joint-stock companies, viceroyalties, and
principalities, not drawing more than 1,500,000 francs, the
whole forming a capital of about fifty millions; finally, I
call those third-rate fortunes, which are composed of a
fluctuating capital, dependent upon the will of others, or
upon chances which a bankruptcy involves or a false telegram
shakes, such as banks, speculations of the day -- in fact,
all operations under the influence of greater or less
mischances, the whole bringing in a real or fictitious
capital of about fifteen millions. I think this is about
your position, is it not?

Confound it, yes!replied Danglars.

The result, then, of six more such months as this would be
to reduce the third-rate house to despair.

Oh,said Danglarsbecoming very palehow you are running
on!"

Let us imagine seven such months,continued Monte Cristo
in the same tone. "Tell mehave you ever thought that seven
times 1700000 francs make nearly twelve millions? Noyou
have not; -- wellyou are rightfor if you indulged in
such reflectionsyou would never risk your principalwhich
is to the speculator what the skin is to civilized man. We
have our clothessome more splendid than others-- this is
our credit; but when a man dies he has only his skin; in the
same wayon retiring from businessyou have nothing but
your real principal of about five or six millionsat the
most; for third-rate fortunes are never more than a fourth
of what they appear to belike the locomotive on a railway
the size of which is magnified by the smoke and steam
surrounding it. Wellout of the five or six millions which
form your real capitalyou have just lost nearly two
millionswhich mustof coursein the same degree diminish
your credit and fictitious fortune; to follow out my simile
your skin has been opened by bleedingand this if repeated
three or four times will cause death -- so pay attention to
itmy dear Monsieur Danglars. Do you want money? Do you
wish me to lend you some?"

What a bad calculator you are!exclaimed Danglarscalling


to his assistance all his philosophy and dissimulation. "I
have made money at the same time by speculations which have
succeeded. I have made up the loss of blood by nutrition. I
lost a battle in SpainI have been defeated in Triestebut
my naval army in India will have taken some galleonsand my
Mexican pioneers will have discovered some mine."

Very good, very good! But the wound remains and will reopen
at the first loss.

No, for I am only embarked in certainties,replied
Danglarswith the air of a mountebank sounding his own
praises; "to involve methree governments must crumble to
dust."

Well, such things have been.

That there should be a famine!

Recollect the seven fat and the seven lean kine.

Or, that the sea should become dry, as in the days of
Pharaoh, and even then my vessels would become caravans.

So much the better. I congratulate you, my dear M.
Danglars,said Monte Cristo; "I see I was deceivedand
that you belong to the class of second-rate fortunes."

I think I may aspire to that honor,said Danglars with a
smilewhich reminded Monte Cristo of the sickly moons which
bad artists are so fond of daubing into their pictures of
ruins. "Butwhile we are speaking of business Danglars
added, pleased to find an opportunity of changing the
subject, tell me what I am to do for M. Cavalcanti."

Give him money, if he is recommended to you, and the
recommendation seems good.

Excellent; he presented himself this morning with a bond of
40,000 francs, payable at sight, on you, signed by Busoni,
and returned by you to me, with your indorsement -- of
course, I immediately counted him over the forty
bank-notes.

Monte Cristo nodded his head in token of assent. "But that
is not all continued Danglars; he has opened an account
with my house for his son."

May I ask how much he allows the young man?

Five thousand francs per month.

Sixty thousand francs per year. I thought I was right in
believing that Cavalcanti to be a stingy fellow. How can a
young man live upon 5,000 francs a month?

But you understand that if the young man should want a few
thousands more-


Do not advance it; the father will never repay it. You do
not know these ultramontane millionaires; they are regular
misers. And by whom were they recommended to you?

Oh, by the house of Fenzi, one of the best in Florence.


I do not mean to say you will lose, but, nevertheless, mind
you hold to the terms of the agreement.

Would you not trust the Cavalcanti?

I? oh, I would advance six millions on his signature. I was
only speaking in reference to the second-rate fortunes we
were mentioning just now.

And with all this, how unassuming he is! I should never
have taken him for anything more than a mere major.

And you would have flattered him, for certainly, as you
say, he has no manner. The first time I saw him he appeared
to me like an old lieutenant who had grown mouldy under his
epaulets. But all the Italians are the same; they are like
old Jews when they are not glittering in Oriental splendor.

The young man is better,said Danglars.

Yes; a little nervous, perhaps, but, upon the whole, he
appeared tolerable. I was uneasy about him.

Why?

Because you met him at my house, just after his
introduction into the world, as they told me. He has been
travelling with a very severe tutor, and had never been to
Paris before.

Ah, I believe noblemen marry amongst themselves, do they
not?asked Danglars carelessly; they like to unite their
fortunes."

It is usual, certainly; but Cavalcanti is an original who
does nothing like other people. I cannot help thinking that
he has brought his son to France to choose a wife.

Do you think so?

I am sure of it.

And you have heard his fortune mentioned?

Nothing else was talked of; only some said he was worth
millions, and others that he did not possess a farthing.

And what is your opinion?

I ought not to influence you, because it is only my own
personal impression.

Well, and it is that-


My opinion is, that all these old podestas, these ancient
condottieri, -- for the Cavalcanti have commanded armies and
governed provinces, -- my opinion, I say, is, that they have
buried their millions in corners, the secret of which they
have transmitted only to their eldest sons, who have done
the same from generation to generation; and the proof of
this is seen in their yellow and dry appearance, like the
florins of the republic, which, from being constantly gazed
upon, have become reflected in them.


Certainly,said Danglarsand this is further supported
by the fact of their not possessing an inch of land.

Very little, at least; I know of none which Cavalcanti
possesses, excepting his palace in Lucca.

Ah, he has a palace?said Danglarslaughing; "comethat
is something."

Yes; and more than that, he lets it to the Minister of
Finance while he lives in a simple house. Oh, as I told you
before, I think the old fellow is very close.

Come, you do not flatter him.

I scarcely know him; I think I have seen him three times in
my life; all I know relating to him is through Busoni and
himself. He was telling me this morning that, tired of
letting his property lie dormant in Italy, which is a dead
nation, he wished to find a method, either in France or
England, of multiplying his millions, but remember, that
though I place great confidence in Busoni, I am not
responsible for this.

Never mind; accept my thanks for the client you have sent
me. It is a fine name to inscribe on my ledgers, and my
cashier was quite proud of it when I explained to him who
the Cavalcanti were. By the way, this is merely a simple
question, when this sort of people marry their sons, do they
give them any fortune?

Oh, that depends upon circumstances. I know an Italian
prince, rich as a gold mine, one of the noblest families in
Tuscany, who, when his sons married according to his wish,
gave them millions; and when they married against his
consent, merely allowed them thirty crowns a month. Should
Andrea marry according to his father's views, he will,
perhaps, give him one, two, or three millions. For example,
supposing it were the daughter of a banker, he might take an
interest in the house of the father-in-law of his son; then
again, if he disliked his choice, the major takes the key,
double-locks his coffer, and Master Andrea would be obliged
to live like the sons of a Parisian family, by shuffling
cards or rattling the dice.

Ah, that boy will find out some Bavarian or Peruvian
princess; he will want a crown and an immense fortune.

No; these grand lords on the other side of the Alps
frequently marry into plain families; like Jupiter, they
like to cross the race. But do you wish to marry Andrea, my
dear M. Danglars, that you are asking so many questions?

Ma foi,said Danglarsit would not be a bad speculation,
I fancy, and you know I am a speculator.

You are not thinking of Mademoiselle Danglars, I hope; you
would not like poor Andrea to have his throat cut by
Albert?

Albert,repeated Danglarsshrugging his shoulders; "ah
well; he would care very little about itI think."


But he is betrothed to your daughter, I believe?

Well, M. de Morcerf and I have talked about this marriage,
but Madame de Morcerf and Albert-


You do not mean to say that it would not be a good match?

Indeed, I imagine that Mademoiselle Danglars is as good as

M. de Morcerf.
Mademoiselle Danglars' fortune will be great, no doubt,
especially if the telegraph should not make any more
mistakes.

Oh, I do not mean her fortune only; but tell me-


What?

Why did you not invite M. and Madame de Morcerf to your
dinner?

I did so, but he excused himself on account of Madame de
Morcerf being obliged to go to Dieppe for the benefit of sea
air.

Yes, yes,said Danglarslaughingit would do her a
great deal of good.

Why so?

Because it is the air she always breathed in her youth.
Monte Cristo took no notice of this ill-natured remark.

But still, if Albert be not so rich as Mademoiselle
Danglars,said the countyou must allow that he has a
fine name?

So he has; but I like mine as well.

Certainly; your name is popular, and does honor to the
title they have adorned it with; but you are too intelligent
not to know that according to a prejudice, too firmly rooted
to be exterminated, a nobility which dates back five
centuries is worth more than one that can only reckon twenty
years.

And for this very reason,said Danglars with a smile
which he tried to make sardonicI prefer M. Andrea
Cavalcanti to M. Albert de Morcerf.

Still, I should not think the Morcerfs would yield to the
Cavalcanti?

The Morcerfs! -- Stay, my dear count,said Danglars; "you
are a man of the worldare you not?"

I think so.

And you understand heraldry?

A little.

Well, look at my coat-of-arms, it is worth more than
Morcerf's.


Why so?


Because, though I am not a baron by birth, my real name is,
at least, Danglars.
Well, what then?


While his name is not Morcerf.
How? -- not Morcerf?

Not the least in the world.
Go on.

I have been made a baron, so that I actually am one; he
made himself a count, so that he is not one at all.

Impossible!

Listen my dear count; M. de Morcerf has been my friend, or
rather my acquaintance, during the last thirty years. You
know I have made the most of my arms, though I never forgot
my origin.

A proof of great humility or great pride,said Monte
Cristo.

Well, when I was a clerk, Morcerf was a mere fisherman.
And then he was called-


Fernand.
Only Fernand?

Fernand Mondego.
You are sure?

Pardieu, I have bought enough fish of him to know his
name.

Then, why did you think of giving your daughter to him?

Because Fernand and Danglars, being both parvenus, both
having become noble, both rich, are about equal in worth,
excepting that there have been certain things mentioned of
him that were never said of me.

What?

Oh, nothing!

Ah, yes; what you tell me recalls to mind something about
the name of Fernand Mondego. I have heard that name in
Greece.

In conjunction with the affairs of Ali Pasha?

Exactly so.
This is the mystery,said Danglars. "I acknowledge I would



have given anything to find it out."

It would be very easy if you much wished it?

How so?

Probably you have some correspondent in Greece?

I should think so.

At Yanina?

Everywhere.

Well, write to your correspondent in Yanina, and ask him
what part was played by a Frenchman named Fernand Mondego in
the catastrophe of Ali Tepelini.


You are right,exclaimed Danglarsrising quicklyI will
write to-day.


Do so.


I will.


And if you should hear of anything very scandalous--


I will communicate it to you.


You will oblige me.Danglars rushed out of the roomand
made but one leap into his coupe.


Chapter 67
At the Office of the King's Attorney.


Let us leave the banker driving his horses at their fullest
speedand follow Madame Danglars in her morning excursion.
We have said that at half-past twelve o'clock Madame
Danglars had ordered her horsesand had left home in the
carriage. She directed her course towards the Faubourg Saint
Germainwent down the Rue Mazarineand stopped at the
Passage du Pont-Neuf. She descendedand went through the
passage. She was very plainly dressedas would be the case
with a woman of taste walking in the morning. At the Rue
Guenegaud she called a caband directed the driver to go to
the Rue de Harlay. As soon as she was seated in the vehicle
she drew from her pocket a very thick black veilwhich she
tied on to her straw bonnet. She then replaced the bonnet
and saw with pleasurein a little pocket-mirrorthat her
white complexion and brilliant eyes were alone visible. The
cab crossed the Pont-Neuf and entered the Rue de Harlay by
the Place Dauphine; the driver was paid as the door opened
and stepping lightly up the stairs Madame Danglars soon
reached the Salle des Pas-Perdus.


There was a great deal going on that morningand many
business-like persons at the Palais; business-like persons
pay very little attention to womenand Madame Danglars
crossed the hall without exciting any more attention than
any other woman calling upon her lawyer. There was a great
press of people in M. de Villefort's ante-chamberbut
Madame Danglars had no occasion even to pronounce her name.



The instant she appeared the door-keeper rosecame to her
and asked her whether she was not the person with whom the
procureur had made an appointment; and on her affirmative
answer being givenhe conducted her by a private passage to

M. de Villefort's office. The magistrate was seated in an
arm-chairwritingwith his back towards the door; he did
not move as he heard it openand the door-keeper pronounce
the wordsWalk in, madame,and then reclose it; but no
sooner had the man's footsteps ceasedthan he started up
drew the boltsclosed the curtainsand examined every
corner of the room. Thenwhen he had assured himself that
he could neither be seen nor heardand was consequently
relieved of doubtshe said-- "Thanksmadame-- thanks
for your punctuality; "and he offered a chair to Madame
Danglarswhich she acceptedfor her heart beat so
violently that she felt nearly suffocated.
It is a long time, madame,said the procureurdescribing
a half-circle with his chairso as to place himself exactly
opposite to Madame Danglars-- "it is a long time since I
had the pleasure of speaking alone with youand I regret
that we have only now met to enter upon a painful
conversation."

Nevertheless, sir, you see I have answered your first
appeal, although certainly the conversation must be much
more painful for me than for you.Villefort smiled
bitterly.

It is true, then,he saidrather uttering his thoughts
aloud than addressing his companion-- "it is truethen
that all our actions leave their traces -- some sadothers
bright -- on our paths; it is true that every step in our
lives is like the course of an insect on the sands; -- it
leaves its track! Alasto many the path is traced by
tears."

Sir,said Madame Danglarsyou can feel for my emotion,
can you not? Spare me, then, I beseech you. When I look at
this room, -- whence so many guilty creatures have departed,
trembling and ashamed, when I look at that chair before
which I now sit trembling and ashamed, -- oh, it requires
all my reason to convince me that I am not a very guilty
woman and you a menacing judge.Villefort dropped his head
and sighed. "And I he said, I feel that my place is not
in the judge's seatbut on the prisoner's stool."

You?said Madame Danglars.

Yes, I.

I think, sir, you exaggerate your situation,said Madame
Danglarswhose beautiful eyes sparkled for a moment. "The
paths of which you were just speaking have been traced by
all young men of ardent imaginations. Besides the pleasure
there is always remorse from the indulgence of our passions
andafter allwhat have you men to fear from all this? the
world excusesand notoriety ennobles you."

Madame,replied Villefortyou know that I am no
hypocrite, or, at least, that I never deceive without a
reason. If my brow be severe, it is because many misfortunes
have clouded it; if my heart be petrified, it is that it
might sustain the blows it has received. I was not so in my


youth, I was not so on the night of the betrothal, when we
were all seated around a table in the Rue du Cours at
Marseilles. But since then everything has changed in and
about me; I am accustomed to brave difficulties, and, in the
conflict to crush those who, by their own free will, or by
chance, voluntarily or involuntarily, interfere with me in
my career. It is generally the case that what we most
ardently desire is as ardently withheld from us by those who
wish to obtain it, or from whom we attempt to snatch it.
Thus, the greater number of a man's errors come before him
disguised under the specious form of necessity; then, after
error has been committed in a moment of excitement, of
delirium, or of fear, we see that we might have avoided and
escaped it. The means we might have used, which we in our
blindness could not see, then seem simple and easy, and we
say, `Why did I not do this, instead of that?' Women, on the
contrary, are rarely tormented with remorse; for the
decision does not come from you, -- your misfortunes are
generally imposed upon you, and your faults the results of
others' crimes.

In any case, sir, you will allow,replied Madame Danglars
that, even if the fault were alone mine, I last night
received a severe punishment for it.

Poor thing,said Villefortpressing her handit was too
severe for your strength, for you were twice overwhelmed,
and yet-


Well?

Well, I must tell you. Collect all your courage, for you
have not yet heard all.

Ah,exclaimed Madame Danglarsalarmedwhat is there
more to hear?

You only look back to the past, and it is, indeed, bad
enough. Well, picture to yourself a future more gloomy still
-- certainly frightful, perhaps sanguinary.The baroness
knew how calm Villefort naturally wasand his present
excitement frightened her so much that she opened her mouth
to screambut the sound died in her throat. "How has this
terrible past been recalled?" cried Villefort; "how is it
that it has escaped from the depths of the tomb and the
recesses of our heartswhere it was buriedto visit us
nowlike a phantomwhitening our cheeks and flushing our
brows with shame?"

Alas,said Herminedoubtless it is chance.

Chance?replied Villefort; "Nonomadamethere is no
such thing as chance."

Oh, yes; has not a fatal chance revealed all this? Was it
not by chance the Count of Monte Cristo bought that house?
Was it not by chance he caused the earth to be dug up? Is it
not by chance that the unfortunate child was disinterred
under the trees? -- that poor innocent offspring of mine,
which I never even kissed, but for whom I wept many, many
tears. Ah, my heart clung to the count when he mentioned the
dear spoil found beneath the flowers.

Well, no, madame, -- this is the terrible news I have to


tell you,said Villefort in a hollow voice -- "nonothing
was found beneath the flowers; there was no child
disinterred -- no. You must not weepnoyou must not
groanyou must tremble!"

What can you mean?asked Madame Danglarsshuddering.

I mean that M. de Monte Cristo, digging underneath these
trees, found neither skeleton nor chest, because neither of
them was there!

Neither of them there?repeated Madame Danglarsher
staringwide-open eyes expressing her alarm.

Neither of them there!she again saidas though striving
to impress herself with the meaning of the words which
escaped her.

No,said Villefortburying his face in his handsno, a
hundred times no!

Then you did not bury the poor child there, sir? Why did
you deceive me? Where did you place it? tell me -- where?

There! But listen to me -- listen -- and you will pity me
who has for twenty years alone borne the heavy burden of
grief I am about to reveal, without casting the least
portion upon you.

Oh, you frighten me! But speak; I will listen.

You recollect that sad night, when you were half-expiring
on that bed in the red damask room, while I, scarcely less
agitated than you, awaited your delivery. The child was
born, was given to me -- motionless, breathless, voiceless;
we thought it dead.Madame Danglars moved rapidlyas
though she would spring from her chairbut Villefort
stoppedand clasped his hands as if to implore her
attention. "We thought it dead he repeated; I placed it
in the chestwhich was to take the place of a coffin; I
descended to the gardenI dug a holeand then flung it
down in haste. Scarcely had I covered it with earthwhen
the arm of the Corsican was stretched towards me; I saw a
shadow riseandat the same timea flash of light. I felt
pain; I wished to cry outbut an icy shiver ran through my
veins and stifled my voice; I fell lifelessand fancied
myself killed. Never shall I forget your sublime courage
whenhaving returned to consciousnessI dragged myself to
the foot of the stairsand youalmost dying yourselfcame
to meet me. We were obliged to keep silent upon the dreadful
catastrophe. You had the fortitude to regain the house
assisted by your nurse. A duel was the pretext for my wound.
Though we scarcely expected itour secret remained in our
own keeping alone. I was taken to Versailles; for three
months I struggled with death; at lastas I seemed to cling
to lifeI was ordered to the South. Four men carried me
from Paris to Chalonswalking six leagues a day; Madame de
Villefort followed the litter in her carriage. At Chalons I
was put upon the Saonethence I passed on to he Rhone
whence I descendedmerely with the currentto Arles; at
Arles I was again placed on my litterand continued my
journey to Marseilles. My recovery lasted six months. I
never heard you mentionedand I did not dare inquire for
you. When I returned to ParisI learned that youthe widow


of M. de Nargonnehad married M. Danglars.

What was the subject of my thoughts from the time
consciousness returned to me? Always the same -- always the
child's corpse, coming every night in my dreams, rising from
the earth, and hovering over the grave with menacing look
and gesture. I inquired immediately on my return to Paris;
the house had not been inhabited since we left it, but it
had just been let for nine years. I found the tenant. I
pretended that I disliked the idea that a house belonging to
my wife's father and mother should pass into the hands of
strangers. I offered to pay them for cancelling the lease;
they demanded 6,000 francs. I would have given 10,000 -- I
would have given 20,000. I had the money with me; I made the
tenant sign the deed of resilition, and when I had obtained
what I so much wanted, I galloped to Auteuil.

No one had entered the house since I had left it. It was
five o'clock in the afternoon; I ascended into the red room
and waited for night. There all the thoughts which had
disturbed me during my year of constant agony came back with
double force. The Corsicanwho had declared the vendetta
against mewho had followed me from Nimes to Pariswho had
hid himself in the gardenwho had struck mehad seen me
dig the gravehad seen me inter the child-- he might
become acquainted with your person-- nayhe might even
then have known it. Would he not one day make you pay for
keeping this terrible secret? Would it not be a sweet
revenge for him when he found that I had not died from the
blow of his dagger? It was therefore necessarybefore
everything elseand at all risksthat I should cause all
traces of the past to disappear -- that I should destroy
every material vestige; too much reality would always remain
in my recollection. It was for this I had annulled the lease
-- it was for this I had come -- it was for this I was
waiting. Night arrived; I allowed it to become quite dark. I
was without a light in that room; when the wind shook all
the doorsbehind which I continually expected to see some
spy concealedI trembled. I seemed everywhere to hear your
moans behind me in the bedand I dared not turn around. My
heart beat so violently that I feared my wound would open.
At lengthone by oneall the noises in the neighborhood
ceased. I understood that I had nothing to fearthat I
should neither be seen nor heardso I decided upon
descending to the garden.

Listen, Hermine; I consider myself as brave as most men,
but when I drew from my breast the little key of the
staircase, which I had found in my coat -- that little key
we both used to cherish so much, which you wished to have
fastened to a golden ring -- when I opened the door, and saw
the pale moon shedding a long stream of white light on the
spiral staircase like a spectre, I leaned against the wall,
and nearly shrieked. I seemed to be going mad. At last I
mastered my agitation. I descended the staircase step by
step; the only thing I could not conquer was a strange
trembling in my knees. I grasped the railings; if I had
relaxed my hold for a moment, I should have fallen. I
reached the lower door. Outside this door a spade was placed
against the wall; I took it, and advanced towards the
thicket. I had provided myself with a dark lantern. In the
middle of the lawn I stopped to light it, then I continued
my path.


It was the end of Novemberall the verdure of the garden
had disappearedthe trees were nothing more than skeletons
with their long bony armsand the dead leaves sounded on
the gravel under my feet. My terror overcame me to such a
degree as I approached the thicketthat I took a pistol
from my pocket and armed myself. I fancied continually that
I saw the figure of the Corsican between the branches. I
examined the thicket with my dark lantern; it was empty. I
looked carefully around; I was indeed alone-- no noise
disturbed the silence but the owlwhose piercing cry seemed
to be calling up the phantoms of the night. I tied my
lantern to a forked branch I had noticed a year before at
the precise spot where I stopped to dig the hole.

The grass had grown very thickly there during the summer,
and when autumn arrived no one had been there to mow it.
Still one place where the grass was thin attracted my
attention; it evidently was there I had turned up the
ground. I went to work. The hour, then, for which I had been
waiting during the last year had at length arrived. How I
worked, how I hoped, how I struck every piece of turf,
thinking to find some resistance to my spade! But no, I
found nothing, though I had made a hole twice as large as
the first. I thought I had been deceived -- had mistaken the
spot. I turned around, I looked at the trees, I tried to
recall the details which had struck me at the time. A cold,
sharp wind whistled through the leafless branches, and yet
the drops fell from my forehead. I recollected that I was
stabbed just as I was trampling the ground to fill up the
hole; while doing so I had leaned against a laburnum; behind
me was an artificial rockery, intended to serve as a
resting-place for persons walking in the garden; in falling,
my hand, relaxing its hold of the laburnum, felt the
coldness of the stone. On my right I saw the tree, behind me
the rock. I stood in the same attitude, and threw myself
down. I rose, and again began digging and enlarging the
hole; still I found nothing, nothing -- the chest was no
longer there!

The chest no longer there?murmured Madame Danglars
choking with fear.

Think not I contented myself with this one effort
continued Villefort. No; I searched the whole thicket. I
thought the assassinhaving discovered the chestand
supposing it to be a treasurehad intended carrying it off
butperceiving his errorhad dug another holeand
deposited it there; but I could find nothing. Then the idea
struck me that he had not taken these precautionsand had
simply thrown it in a corner. In the last case I must wait
for daylight to renew my search. I remained the room and
waited."

Oh, heavens!

When daylight dawned I went down again. My first visit was
to the thicket. I hoped to find some traces which had
escaped me in the darkness. I had turned up the earth over a
surface of more than twenty feet squareand a depth of two
feet. A laborer would not have done in a day what occupied
me an hour. But I could find nothing -- absolutely nothing.
Then I renewed the search. Supposing it had been thrown
asideit would probably be on the path which led to the
little gate; but this examination was as useless as the


firstand with a bursting heart I returned to the thicket
which now contained no hope for me."

Oh,cried Madame Danglarsit was enough to drive you
mad!

I hoped for a moment that it might,said Villefort; "but
that happiness was denied me. Howeverrecovering my
strength and my ideas`Why' said I`should that man have
carried away the corpse?'"

But you said,replied Madame Danglarshe would require
it as a proof.

Ah, no, madame, that could not be. Dead bodies are not kept
a year; they are shown to a magistrate, and the evidence is
taken. Now, nothing of the kind has happened.

What then?asked Herminetrembling violently.

Something more terrible, more fatal, more alarming for us
-- the child was, perhaps, alive, and the assassin may have
saved it!

Madame Danglars uttered a piercing cryandseizing
Villefort's handsexclaimedMy child was alive?said
she; "you buried my child alive? You were not certain my
child was deadand you buried it? Ah" -


Madame Danglars had risenand stood before the procureur
whose hands she wrung in her feeble grasp. "I know not; I
merely suppose soas I might suppose anything else
replied Villefort with a look so fixed, it indicated that
his powerful mind was on the verge of despair and madness.
Ahmy childmy poor child!" cried the baronessfalling
on her chairand stifling her sobs in her handkerchief.
Villefortbecoming somewhat reassuredperceived that to
avert the maternal storm gathering over his headhe must
inspire Madame Danglars with the terror he felt. "You
understandthenthat if it were so said he, rising in
his turn, and approaching the baroness, to speak to her in a
lower tone, we are lost. This child livesand some one
knows it lives -- some one is in possession of our secret;
and since Monte Cristo speaks before us of a child
disinterredwhen that child could not be foundit is he
who is in possession of our secret."

Just God, avenging God!murmured Madame Danglars.

Villefort's only answer was a stifled groan.

But the child -- the child, sir?repeated the agitated
mother.

How I have searched for him,replied Villefortwringing
his hands; "how I have called him in my long sleepless
nights; how I have longed for royal wealth to purchase a
million of secrets from a million of menand to find mine
among them! At lastone daywhen for the hundredth time I
took up my spadeI asked myself again and again what the
Corsican could have done with the child. A child encumbers a
fugitive; perhapson perceiving it was still alivehe had
thrown it into the river."


Impossible!cried Madame Danglars: "a man may murder
another out of revengebut he would not deliberately drown
a child."

Perhaps,continued Villeforthe had put it in the
foundling hospital.

Oh, yes, yes,cried the baroness; "my child is there!"

I ran to the hospital, and learned that the same night -the
night of the 20th of September -- a child had been
brought there, wrapped in part of a fine linen napkin,
purposely torn in half. This portion of the napkin was
marked with half a baron's crown, and the letter H.

Truly, truly,said Madame Danglarsall my linen is
marked thus; Monsieur de Nargonne was a baronet, and my name
is Hermine. Thank God, my child was not then dead!

No, it was not dead.

And you can tell me so without fearing to make me die of
joy? Where is the child?Villefort shrugged his shoulders.
Do I know?said he; "and do you believe that if I knew I
would relate to you all its trials and all its adventures as
would a dramatist or a novel writer? AlasnoI know not. A
womanabout six months aftercame to claim it with the
other half of the napkin. This woman gave all the requisite
particularsand it was intrusted to her."

But you should have inquired for the woman; you should have
traced her.

And what do you think I did? I feigned a criminal process,
and employed all the most acute bloodhounds and skilful
agents in search of her. They traced her to Chalons, and
there they lost her.

They lost her?

Yes, forever.Madame Danglars had listened to this recital
with a sigha tearor a shriek for every detail. "And this
is all?" said she; "and you stopped there?"

Oh, no,said Villefort; "I never ceased to search and to
inquire. Howeverthe last two or three years I had allowed
myself some respite. But now I will begin with more
perseverance and fury than eversince fear urges menot my
conscience."

But,replied Madame Danglarsthe Count of Monte Cristo
can know nothing, or he would not seek our society as he
does.

Oh, the wickedness of man is very great,said Villefort
since it surpasses the goodness of God. Did you observe
that man's eyes while he was speaking to us?

No.

But have you ever watched him carefully?

Doubtless he is capricious, but that is all; one thing
alone struck me, -- of all the exquisite things he placed


before us, he touched nothing. I might have suspected he was
poisoning us.


And you see you would have been deceived.


Yes, doubtless.


But believe me, that man has other projects. For that
reason I wished to see you, to speak to you, to warn you
against every one, but especially against him. Tell me,
cried Villefortfixing his eyes more steadfastly on her
than he had ever done beforedid you ever reveal to any
one our connection?


Never, to any one.


You understand me,replied Villefortaffectionately;
when I say any one, -- pardon my urgency, -- to any one
living I mean?


Yes, yes, I understand very well,ejaculated the baroness;
never, I swear to you.


Were you ever in the habit of writing in the evening what
had transpired in the morning? Do you keep a journal?


No, my life has been passed in frivolity; I wish to forget
it myself.


Do you talk in your sleep?


I sleep soundly, like a child; do you not remember?The
color mounted to the baroness's faceand Villefort turned
awfully pale.


It is true,said hein so low a tone that he could hardly
be heard.


Well?said the baroness.


Well, I understand what I now have to do,replied
Villefort. "In less than one week from this time I will
ascertain who this M. de Monte Cristo iswhence he comes
where he goesand why he speaks in our presence of children
that have been disinterred in a garden." Villefort
pronounced these words with an accent which would have made
the count shudder had he heard him. Then he pressed the hand
the baroness reluctantly gave himand led her respectfully
back to the door. Madame Danglars returned in another cab to
the passageon the other side of which she found her
carriageand her coachman sleeping peacefully on his box
while waiting for her.


Chapter 68
A Summer Ball.


The same day during the interview between Madame Danglars
and the procureura travelling-carriage entered the Rue du
Helderpassed through the gateway of No. 27and stopped in
the yard. In a moment the door was openedand Madame de
Morcerf alightedleaning on her son's arm. Albert soon left
herordered his horsesand having arranged his toilet



drove to the Champs Elyseesto the house of Monte Cristo.
The count received him with his habitual smile. It was a
strange thing that no one ever appeared to advance a step in
that man's favor. Those who wouldas it wereforce a
passage to his heartfound an impassable barrier. Morcerf
who ran towards him with open armswas chilled as he drew
nearin spite of the friendly smileand simply held out
his hand. Monte Cristo shook it coldlyaccording to his
invariable practice. "Here I amdear count."

Welcome home again.

I arrived an hour since.

From Dieppe?

No, from Treport.

Indeed?

And I have come at once to see you.

That is extremely kind of you,said Monte Cristo with a
tone of perfect indifference.

And what is the news?

You should not ask a stranger, a foreigner, for news.

I know it, but in asking for news, I mean, have you done
anything for me?

Had you commissioned me?said Monte Cristofeigning
uneasiness.

Come, come,said Albertdo not assume so much
indifference. It is said, sympathy travels rapidly, and when
at Treport, I felt the electric shock; you have either been
working for me or thinking of me.

Possibly,said Monte CristoI have indeed thought of
you, but the magnetic wire I was guiding acted, indeed,
without my knowledge.

Indeed? Pray tell me how it happened?

Willingly. M. Danglars dined with me.

I know it; to avoid meeting him, my mother and I left
town.

But he met here M. Andrea Cavalcanti.

Your Italian prince?

Not so fast; M. Andrea only calls himself count.

Calls himself, do you say?

Yes, calls himself.

Is he not a count?

What can I know of him? He calls himself so. I, of course,


give him the same title, and every one else does likewise.

What a strange man you are! What next? You say M. Danglars
dined here?

Yes, with Count Cavalcanti, the marquis his father, Madame
Danglars, M. and Madame de Villefort, -- charming people, -


M. Debray, Maximilian Morrel, and M. de Chateau-Renaud.
Did they speak of me?

Not a word.

So much the worse.

Why so? I thought you wished them to forget you?

If they did not speak of me, I am sure they thought about
me, and I am in despair.

How will that affect you, since Mademoiselle Danglars was
not among the number here who thought of you? Truly, she
might have thought of you at home.

I have no fear of that; or, if she did, it was only in the
same way in which I think of her.

Touching sympathy! So you hate each other?said the count.

Listen,said Morcerf -- "if Mademoiselle Danglars were
disposed to take pity on my supposed martyrdom on her
accountand would dispense with all matrimonial formalities
between our two familiesI am ready to agree to the
arrangement. In a wordMademoiselle Danglars would make a
charming mistress -- but a wife -- diable!"

And this,said Monte Cristois your opinion of your
intended spouse?

Yes; it is rather unkind, I acknowledge, but it is true.
But as this dream cannot be realized, since Mademoiselle
Danglars must become my lawful wife, live perpetually with
me, sing to me, compose verses and music within ten paces of
me, and that for my whole life, it frightens me. One may
forsake a mistress, but a wife, -- good heavens! There she
must always be; and to marry Mademoiselle Danglars would be
awful.

You are difficult to please, viscount.

Yes, for I often wish for what is impossible.

What is that?

To find such a wife as my father found.Monte Cristo
turned paleand looked at Albertwhile playing with some
magnificent pistols.

Your father was fortunate, then?said he.

You know my opinion of my mother, count; look at her, -still
beautiful, witty, more charming than ever. For any
other son to have stayed with his mother for four days at
Treport, it would have been a condescension or a martyrdom,


while I return, more contented, more peaceful -- shall I say
more poetic! -- than if I had taken Queen Mab or Titania as
my companion.

That is an overwhelming demonstration, and you would make
every one vow to live a single life.

Such are my reasons for not liking to marry Mademoiselle
Danglars. Have you ever noticed how much a thing is
heightened in value when we obtain possession of it? The
diamond which glittered in the window at Marle's or Fossin's
shines with more splendor when it is our own; but if we are
compelled to acknowledge the superiority of another, and
still must retain the one that is inferior, do you not know
what we have to endure?

Worldling,murmured the count.

Thus I shall rejoice when Mademoiselle Eugenie perceives I
am but a pitiful atom, with scarcely as many hundred
thousand francs as she has millions.Monte Cristo smiled.
One plan occurred to me,continued Albert; "Franz likes
all that is eccentric; I tried to make him fall in love with
Mademoiselle Danglars; but in spite of four letterswritten
in the most alluring stylehe invariably answered: `My
eccentricity may be greatbut it will not make me break my
promise.'"

That is what I call devoted friendship, to recommend to
another one whom you would not marry yourself.Albert
smiled. -- "Apropos continued he, Franz is coming soon
but it will not interest you; you dislike himI think?"

I?said Monte Cristo; "my dear Viscounthow have you
discovered that I did not like M. Franz! I like every one."

And you include me in the expression every one -- many
thanks!

Let us not mistake,said Monte Cristo; "I love every one
as God commands us to love our neighboras Christians; but
I thoroughly hate but a few. Let us return to M. Franz
d'Epinay. Did you say he was coming?"

Yes; summoned by M. de Villefort, who is apparently as
anxious to get Mademoiselle Valentine married as M. Danglars
is to see Mademoiselle Eugenie settled. It must be a very
irksome office to be the father of a grown-up daughter; it
seems to make one feverish, and to raise one's pulse to
ninety beats a minute until the deed is done.

But M. d'Epinay, unlike you, bears his misfortune
patiently.

Still more, he talks seriously about the matter, puts on a
white tie, and speaks of his family. He entertains a very
high opinion of M. and Madame de Villefort.

Which they deserve, do they not?

I believe they do. M. de Villefort has always passed for a
severe but a just man.

There is, then, one,said Monte Cristowhom you do not


condemn like poor Danglars?

Because I am not compelled to marry his daughter perhaps,
replied Albertlaughing.

Indeed, my dear sir,said Monte Cristoyou are
revoltingly foppish.

I foppish? how do you mean?

Yes; pray take a cigar, and cease to defend yourself, and
to struggle to escape marrying Mademoiselle Danglars. Let
things take their course; perhaps you may not have to
retract.

Bah,said Albertstaring.

Doubtless, my dear viscount, you will not be taken by
force; and seriously, do you wish to break off your
engagement?

I would give a hundred thousand francs to be able to do
so.

Then make yourself quite easy. M. Danglars would give
double that sum to attain the same end.

Am I, indeed, so happy?said Albertwho still could not
prevent an almost imperceptible cloud passing across his
brow. "Butmy dear counthas M. Danglars any reason?"

Ah, there is your proud and selfish nature. You would
expose the self-love of another with a hatchet, but you
shrink if your own is attacked with a needle.

But yet M. Danglars appeared-


Delighted with you, was he not? Well, he is a man of bad
taste, and is still more enchanted with another. I know not
whom; look and judge for yourself.

Thank you, I understand. But my mother -- no, not my
mother; I mistake -- my father intends giving a ball.

A ball at this season?

Summer balls are fashionable.

If they were not, the countess has only to wish it, and
they would become so.

You are right; You know they are select affairs; those who
remain in Paris in July must be true Parisians. Will you
take charge of our invitation to Messieurs Cavalcanti?

When will it take place?

On Saturday.

M. Cavalcanti's father will be gone.

But the son will be here; will you invite young M.
Cavalcanti?


I do not know him, viscount.

You do not know him?

No, I never saw him until a few days since, and am not
responsible for him.

But you receive him at your house?

That is another thing: he was recommended to me by a good
abbe, who may be deceived. Give him a direct invitation, but
do not ask me to present him. If he were afterwards to marry
Mademoiselle Danglars, you would accuse me of intrigue, and
would be challenging me, -- besides, I may not be there
myself.

Where?

At your ball.

Why should you not be there?

Because you have not yet invited me.

But I come expressly for that purpose.

You are very kind, but I may be prevented.

If I tell you one thing, you will be so amiable as to set
aside all impediments.

Tell me what it is.

My mother begs you to come.

The Comtesse de Morcerf?said Monte Cristostarting.

Ah, count,said AlbertI assure you Madame de Morcerf
speaks freely to me, and if you have not felt those
sympathetic fibres of which I spoke just now thrill within
you, you must be entirely devoid of them, for during the
last four days we have spoken of no one else.

You have talked of me?

Yes, that is the penalty of being a living puzzle!

Then I am also a puzzle to your mother? I should have
thought her too reasonable to be led by imagination.

A problem, my dear count, for every one -- for my mother as
well as others; much studied, but not solved, you still
remain an enigma, do not fear. My mother is only astonished
that you remain so long unsolved. I believe, while the
Countess G---- takes you for Lord Ruthven, my mother
imagines you to be Cagliostro or the Count Saint-Germain.
The first opportunity you have, confirm her in her opinion;
it will be easy for you, as you have the philosophy of the
one and the wit of the other.

I thank you for the warning,said the count; "I shall
endeavor to be prepared for all suppositions."

You will, then, come on Saturday?


Yes, since Madame de Morcerf invites me.

You are very kind.

Will M. Danglars be there?

He has already been invited by my father. We shall try to
persuade the great d'Aguesseau,* M. de Villefort, to come,
but have not much hope of seeing him.

`Never despair of anything,' says the proverb.

* Magistrate and orator of great eloquence -- chancellor of
France under Louis XV.
Do you dance, count?

I dance?

Yes, you; it would not be astonishing.

That is very well before one is over forty. No, I do not
dance, but I like to see others do so. Does Madame de
Morcerf dance?

Never; you can talk to her, she so delights in your
conversation.

Indeed?

Yes, truly; and I assure you. You are the only man of whom
I have heard her speak with interest.Albert rose and took
his hat; the count conducted him to the door. "I have one
thing to reproach myself with said he, stopping Albert on
the steps. What is it?"

I have spoken to you indiscreetly about Danglars.

On the contrary, speak to me always in the same strain
about him.

I am glad to be reassured on that point. Apropos, when do
you aspect M. d'Epinay?

Five or six days hence at the latest.

And when is he to be married?

Immediately on the arrival of M. and Madame de
Saint-Meran.

Bring him to see me. Although you say I do not like him, I
assure you I shall be happy to see him.

I will obey your orders, my lord.

Good-by.

Until Saturday, when I may expect you, may I not?

Yes, I promised you.The Count watched Albertwaving his
hand to him. When he had mounted his phaetonMonte Cristo
turnedand seeing BertuccioWhat news?said he. "She


went to the Palais replied the steward.

Did she stay long there?"

An hour and a half.

Did she return home?

Directly.

Well, my dear Bertuccio,said the countI now advise you
to go in quest of the little estate I spoke to you of in
Normandy.Bertuccio bowedand as his wishes were in
perfect harmony with the order he had receivedhe started
the same evening.

Chapter 69
The Inquiry.

M. de Villefort kept the promise he had made to Madame
Danglarsto endeavor to find out how the Count of Monte
Cristo had discovered the history of the house at Auteuil.
He wrote the same day for the required information to M. de
Bovillewhofrom having been an inspector of prisonswas
promoted to a high office in the police; and the latter
begged for two days time to ascertain exactly who would be
most likely to give him full particulars. At the end of the
second day M. de Villefort received the following note: -"
The person called the Count of Monte Cristo is an intimate
acquaintance of Lord Wilmorea rich foreignerwho is
sometimes seen in Paris and who is there at this moment; he
is also known to the Abbe Busonia Sicilian priestof high
repute in the Eastwhere he has done much good."

M. de Villefort replied by ordering the strictest inquiries
to be made respecting these two persons; his orders were
executedand the following evening he received these
details: -"
The abbewho was in Paris only for a monthinhabited a
small two-storied house behind Saint-Sulpice; there were two
rooms on each floor and he was the only tenant. The two
lower rooms consisted of a dining-roomwith a table
chairsand side-board of walnut-- and a wainscoted
parlorwithout ornamentscarpetor timepiece. It was
evident that the abbe limited himself to objects of strict
necessity. He preferred to use the sitting-room upstairs
which was more library than parlorand was furnished with
theological books and parchmentsin which he delighted to
bury himself for months at a timeaccording to his valet de
chambre. His valet looked at the visitors through a sort of
wicket; and if their faces were unknown to him or displeased
himhe replied that the abbe was not in Parisan answer
which satisfied most personsbecause the abbe was known to
be a great traveller. Besideswhether at home or not
whether in Paris or Cairothe abbe always left something to
give awaywhich the valet distributed through this wicket
in his master's name. The other room near the library was a
bedroom. A bed without curtainsfour arm-chairsand a
couchcovered with yellow Utrecht velvetcomposedwith a
prie-Dieuall its furniture. Lord Wilmore resided in Rue


Fontaine-Saint-George. He was one of those English tourists
who consume a large fortune in travelling. He hired the
apartment in which he lived furnishedpassed only a few
hours in the day thereand rarely slept there. One of his
peculiarities was never to speak a word of Frenchwhich he
however wrote with great facility."

The day after this important information had been given to
the king's attorneya man alighted from a carriage at the
corner of the Rue Ferouand rapping at an olive-green door
asked if the Abbe Busoni were within. "Nohe went out early
this morning replied the valet.

I might not always be content with that answer replied
the visitor, for I come from one to whom everyone must be
at home. But have the kindness to give the Abbe Busoni" -


I told you he was not at home,repeated the valet. "Then
on his return give him that card and this sealed paper. Will
he be at home at eight o'clock this evening?"

Doubtless, unless he is at work, which is the same as if he
were out.

I will come again at that time,replied the visitorwho
then retired.

At the appointed hour the same man returned in the same
carriagewhichinstead of stopping this time at the end of
the Rue Feroudrove up to the green door. He knockedand
it opened immediately to admit him. From the signs of
respect the valet paid himhe saw that his note had
produced a good effect. "Is the abbe at home?" asked he.

Yes; he is at work in his library, but he expects you,
sir,replied the valet. The stranger ascended a rough
staircaseand before a tableillumined by a lamp whose
light was concentrated by a large shade while the rest of
the apartment was in partial darknesshe perceived the abbe
in a monk's dresswith a cowl on his head such as was used
by learned men of the Middle Ages. "Have I the honor of
addressing the Abbe Busoni?" asked the visitor.

Yes, sir,replied the abbe; "and you are the person whom

M. de Bovilleformerly an inspector of prisonssends to me
from the prefect of police?"
Exactly, sir.

One of the agents appointed to secure the safety of Paris?

Yes, sir replied the stranger with a slight hesitation,
and blushing.

The abbe replaced the large spectacles, which covered not
only his eyes but his temples, and sitting down motioned to
his visitor to do the same. I am at your servicesir
said the abbe, with a marked Italian accent.

The mission with which I am chargedsir replied the
visitor, speaking with hesitation, is a confidential one on
the part of him who fulfils itand him by whom he is
employed." The abbe bowed. "Your probity replied the
stranger, is so well known to the prefect that he wishes as


a magistrate to ascertain from you some particulars
connected with the public safetyto ascertain which I am
deputed to see you. It is hoped that no ties of friendship
or humane consideration will induce you to conceal the
truth."

Provided, sir, the particulars you wish for do not
interfere with my scruples or my conscience. I am a priest,
sir, and the secrets of confession, for instance, must
remain between me and God, and not between me and human
justice.

Do not alarm yourself, monsieur, we will duly respect your
conscience.

At this moment the abbe pressed down his side of the shade
and so raised it on the otherthrowing a bright light on
the stranger's facewhile his own remained obscured.
Excuse me, abbe,said the envoy of the prefect of the
policebut the light tries my eyes very much.The abbe
lowered the shade. "NowsirI am listening -- go on."

I will come at once to the point. Do you know the Count of
Monte Cristo?

You mean Monsieur Zaccone, I presume?

Zaccone? -- is not his name Monte Cristo?

Monte Cristo is the name of an estate, or, rather, of a
rock, and not a family name.

Well, be it so -- let us not dispute about words; and since

M. de Monte Cristo and M. Zaccone are the same-"
Absolutely the same."

Let us speak of M. Zaccone.

Agreed.

I asked you if you knew him?

Extremely well.

Who is he?

The son of a rich shipbuilder in Malta.

I know that is the report; but, as you are aware, the
police does not content itself with vague reports.

However,replied the abbewith an affable smilewhen
that report is in accordance with the truth, everybody must
believe it, the police as well as all the rest.

Are you sure of what you assert?

What do you mean by that question?

Understand, sir, I do not in the least suspect your
veracity; I ask if you are certain of it?

I knew his father, M. Zaccone.


Ah, indeed?


And when a child I often played with the son in the
timber-yards.
But whence does he derive the title of count?


You are aware that may be bought.
In Italy?


Everywhere.
And his immense riches, whence does he procure them?


They may not be so very great.
How much do you suppose he possesses?


From one hundred and fifty to two hundred thousand livres
per annum.

That is reasonable,said the visitor; "I have heard he had
three or four millions."

Two hundred thousand per annum would make four millions of
capital.

But I was told he had four millions per annum?
That is not probable.

Do you know this Island of Monte Cristo?

Certainly, every one who has come from Palermo, Naples, or
Rome to France by sea must know it, since he has passed
close to it and must have seen it.

I am told it is a delightful place?

It is a rock.
And why has the count bought a rock?


For the sake of being a count. In Italy one must have
territorial possessions to be a count.

You have, doubtless, heard the adventures of M. Zaccone's
youth?

The father's?

No, the son's.

I know nothing certain; at that period of his life, I lost
sight of my young comrade.
Was he in the wars?


I think he entered the service.
In what branch?


In the navy.
Are you not his confessor?


No, sir; I believe he is a Lutheran.
A Lutheran?


I say, I believe such is the case, I do not affirm it;
besides, liberty of conscience is established in France.

Doubtless, and we are not now inquiring into his creed, but
his actions; in the name of the prefect of police, I ask you
what you know of him.

He passes for a very charitable man. Our holy fatherthe
popehas made him a knight of Jesus Christ for the services
he rendered to the Christians in the East; he has five or
six rings as testimonials from Eastern monarchs of his
services."

Does he wear them?

No, but he is proud of them; he is better pleased with
rewards given to the benefactors of man than to his
destroyers.

He is a Quaker then?

Exactly, he is a Quaker, with the exception of the peculiar
dress.

Has he any friends?
Yes, every one who knows him is his friend.


But has he any enemies?
One only.


What is his name?
Lord Wilmore.


Where is he?
He is in Paris just now.


Can he give me any particulars?
Important ones; he was in India with Zaccone.


Do you know his abode?


It's somewhere in the Chaussee d'Antin; but I know neither
the street nor the number.

Are you at variance with the Englishman?

I love Zaccone, and he hates him; we are consequently not
friends.

Do you think the Count of Monte Cristo had ever been in
France before he made this visit to Paris?


To that question I can answer positively; no, sir, he had
not, because he applied to me six months ago for the
particulars he required, and as I did not know when I might
again come to Paris, I recommended M. Cavalcanti to him.

Andrea?

No, Bartolomeo, his father.

Now, sir, I have but one question more to ask, and I charge
you, in the name of honor, of humanity, and of religion, to
answer me candidly.

What is it, sir?

Do you know with what design M. de Monte Cristo purchased a
house at Auteuil?

Certainly, for he told me.

What is it, sir?

To make a lunatic asylum of it, similar to that founded by
the Count of Pisani at Palermo. Do you know about that
institution?

I have heard of it.

It is a magnificent charity.Having said thisthe abbe
bowed to imply he wished to pursue his studies. The visitor
either understood the abbe's meaningor had no more
questions to ask; he aroseand the abbe accompanied him to
the door. "You are a great almsgiver said the visitor,
and although you are said to be richI will venture to
offer you something for your poor people; will you accept my
offering?"

I thank you, sir; I am only jealous in one thing, and that
is that the relief I give should be entirely from my own
resources.

However-


My resolution, sir, is unchangeable, but you have only to
search for yourself and you will find, alas, but too many
objects upon whom to exercise your benevolence.The abbe
once more bowed as he opened the doorthe stranger bowed
and took his leaveand the carriage conveyed him straight
to the house of M. de Villefort. An hour afterwards the
carriage was again orderedand this time it went to the Rue
Fontaine-Saint-Georgeand stopped at No. 5where Lord
Wilmore lived. The stranger had written to Lord Wilmore
requesting an interviewwhich the latter had fixed for ten
o'clock. As the envoy of the prefect of police arrived ten
minutes before tenhe was told that Lord Wilmorewho was
precision and punctuality personifiedwas not yet come in
but that he would be sure to return as the clock struck.

The visitor was introduced into the drawing-roomwhich was
like all other furnished drawing-rooms. A mantle-piecewith
two modern Sevres vasesa timepiece representing Cupid with
his bent bowa mirror with an engraving on each side -- one
representing Homer carrying his guidethe otherBelisarius


begging -- a grayish paper; red and black tapestry -- such
was the appearance of Lord Wilmore's drawing-room. It was
illuminated by lamps with ground-glass shades which gave
only a feeble lightas if out of consideration for the
envoy's weak sight. After ten minutes' expectation the clock
struck ten; at the fifth stroke the door opened and Lord
Wilmore appeared. He was rather above the middle height
with thin reddish whiskerslight complexion and light hair
turning rather gray. He was dressed with all the English
peculiaritynamelyin a blue coatwith gilt buttons and
high collarin the fashion of 1811a white kerseymere
waistcoatand nankeen pantaloonsthree inches too short
but which were prevented by straps from slipping up to the
knee. His first remark on entering was-- "You knowsirI
do not speak French?"

I know you do not like to converse in our language,
replied the envoy. "But you may use it replied Lord
Wilmore; I understand it."

And I,replied the visitorchanging his idiomknow
enough of English to keep up the conversation. Do not put
yourself to the slightest inconvenience.

Aw?said Lord Wilmorewith that tone which is only known
to natives of Great Britain.

The envoy presented his letter of introductionwhich the
latter read with English coolnessand having finished-"
I understand said he, perfectly."

Then began the questionswhich were similar to those which
had been addressed to the Abbe Busoni. But as Lord Wilmore
in the character of the count's enemywas less restrained
in his answersthey were more numerous; he described the
youth of Monte Cristowho he saidat ten years of age
entered the service of one of the petty sovereigns of India
who make war on the English. It was there Wilmore had first
met him and fought against him; and in that war Zaccone had
been taken prisonersent to Englandand consigned to the
hulkswhence he had escaped by swimming. Then began his
travelshis duelshis caprices; then the insurrection in
Greece broke outand he had served in the Grecian ranks.
While in that service he had discovered a silver mine in the
mountains of Thessalybut he had been careful to conceal it
from every one. After the battle of Navarinowhen the Greek
government was consolidatedhe asked of King Otho a mining
grant for that districtwhich was given him. Hence that
immense fortunewhichin Lord Wilmore's opinionpossibly
amounted to one or two millions per annum-- a precarious
fortunewhich might be momentarily lost by the failure of
the mine.

But,asked the visitordo you know why he came to
France?

He is speculating in railways,said Lord Wilmoreand as
he is an expert chemist and physicist, he has invented a new
system of telegraphy, which he is seeking to bring to
perfection.

How much does he spend yearly?asked the prefect.

Not more than five or six hundred thousand francs,said


Lord Wilmore; "he is a miser." Hatred evidently inspired the
Englishmanwhoknowing no other reproach to bring on the
countaccused him of avarice. "Do you know his house at
Auteuil?"

Certainly.

What do you know respecting it?

Do you wish to know why he bought it?

Yes.

The count is a speculator, who will certainly ruin himself
in experiments. He supposes there is in the neighborhood of
the house he has bought a mineral spring equal to those at
Bagneres, Luchon, and Cauterets. He is going to turn his
house into a Badhaus, as the Germans term it. He has already
dug up all the garden two or three times to find the famous
spring, and, being unsuccessful, he will soon purchase all
the contiguous houses. Now, as I dislike him, and hope his
railway, his electric telegraph, or his search for baths,
will ruin him, I am watching for his discomfiture, which
must soon take place.

What was the cause of your quarrel?

When he was in England he seduced the wife of one of my
friends.

Why do you not seek revenge?

I have already fought three duels with him,said the
Englishmanthe first with the pistol, the second with the
sword, and the third with the sabre.

And what was the result of those duels?

The first time, he broke my arm; the second, he wounded me
in the breast; and the third time, made this large wound.
The Englishman turned down his shirt-collarand showed a
scarwhose redness proved it to be a recent one. "So that
you seethere is a deadly feud between us."

But,said the envoyyou do not go about it in the right
way to kill him, if I understand you correctly.

Aw?said the EnglishmanI practice shooting every day,
and every other day Grisier comes to my house.

This was all the visitor wished to ascertainorrather
all the Englishman appeared to know. The agent aroseand
having bowed to Lord Wilmorewho returned his salutation
with the stiff politeness of the Englishhe retired. Lord
Wilmorehaving heard the door close after himreturned to
his bedroomwhere with one hand he pulled off his light
hairhis red whiskershis false jawand his woundto
resume the black hairdark complexionand pearly teeth of
the Count of Monte Cristo. It was M. de Villefortand not
the prefectwho returned to the house of M. de Villefort.
The procureur felt more at easealthough he had learned
nothing really satisfactoryandfor the first time since
the dinner-party at Auteuilhe slept soundly.


Chapter 70
The Ball.

It was in the warmest days of Julywhen in due course of
time the Saturday arrived upon which the ball was to take
place at M. de Morcerf's. It was ten o'clock at night; the
branches of the great trees in the garden of the count's
house stood out boldly against the azure canopy of heaven
which was studded with golden starsbut where the last
fleeting clouds of a vanishing storm yet lingered. From the
apartments on the ground-floor might be heard the sound of
musicwith the whirl of the waltz and galopwhile
brilliant streams of light shone through the openings of the
Venetian blinds. At this moment the garden was only occupied
by about ten servantswho had just received orders from
their mistress to prepare the supperthe serenity of the
weather continuing to increase. Until nowit had been
undecided whether the supper should take place in the
dining-roomor under a long tent erected on the lawnbut
the beautiful blue skystudded with starshad settled the
question in favor of the lawn. The gardens were illuminated
with colored lanternsaccording to the Italian customand
as is usual in countries where the luxuries of the table -the
rarest of all luxuries in their complete form -- are
well understoodthe supper-table was loaded with wax-lights
and flowers.

At the time the Countess of Morcerf returned to the rooms
after giving her ordersmany guests were arrivingmore
attracted by the charming hospitality of the countess than
by the distinguished position of the count; forowing to
the good taste of Mercedesone was sure of finding some
devices at her entertainment worthy of describingor even
copying in case of need. Madame Danglarsin whom the events
we have related had caused deep anxietyhad hesitated about
going to Madame de Morcerf'swhen during the morning her
carriage happened to meet that of Villefort. The latter made
a signand when the carriages had drawn close together
said-- "You are going to Madame de Morcerf'sare you
not?"

No,replied Madame DanglarsI am too ill.

You are wrong,replied Villefortsignificantly; "it is
important that you should be seen there."

Do you think so?asked the baroness.

I do.

In that case I will go.And the two carriages passed on
towards their different destinations. Madame Danglars
therefore camenot only beautiful in personbut radiant
with splendor; she entered by one door at the time when
Mercedes appeared at the door. The countess took Albert to
meet Madame Danglars. He approachedpaid her some well
merited compliments on her toiletand offered his arm to
conduct her to a seat. Albert looked around him. "You are
looking for my daughter?" said the baronesssmiling.

I confess it,replied Albert. "Could you have been so
cruel as not to bring her?"


Calm yourself. She has met Mademoiselle de Villefort, and
has taken her arm; see, they are following us, both in white
dresses, one with a bouquet of camellias, the other with one
of myosotis. But tell me-


Well, what do you wish to know?

Will not the Count of Monte Cristo be here to-night?

Seventeen!replied Albert.

What do you mean?

I only mean that the count seems the rage,replied the
viscountsmilingand that you are the seventeenth person
that has asked me the same question. The count is in
fashion; I congratulate him upon it.

And have you replied to every one as you have to me?

Ah, to be sure, I have not answered you; be satisfied, we
shall have this `lion;' we are among the privileged ones.

Were you at the opera yesterday?

No.

He was there.

Ah, indeed? And did the eccentric person commit any new
originality?

Can he be seen without doing so? Elssler was dancing in the
`Diable Boiteux;' the Greek princess was in ecstasies. After
the cachucha he placed a magnificent ring on the stem of a
bouquet, and threw it to the charming danseuse, who, in the
third act, to do honor to the gift, reappeared with it on
her finger. And the Greek princess, -- will she be here?

No, you will be deprived of that pleasure; her position in
the count's establishment is not sufficiently understood.

Wait; leave me here, and go and speak to Madame de
Villefort, who is trying to attract your attention.

Albert bowed to Madame Danglarsand advanced towards Madame
de Villefortwhose lips opened as he approached. "I wager
anything said Albert, interrupting her, that I know what
you were about to say."

Well, what is it?

If I guess rightly, will you confess it?

Yes.

On your honor?

On my honor.

You were going to ask me if the Count of Monte Cristo had
arrived, or was expected.


Not at all. It is not of him that I am now thinking. I was
going to ask you if you had received any news of Monsieur
Franz.

Yes, -- yesterday.
What did he tell you?


That he was leaving at the same time as his letter.
Well, now then, the count?


The count will come, of that you may be satisfied.
You know that he has another name besides Monte Cristo?


No, I did not know it.
Monte Cristo is the name of an island, and he has a family name.


I never heard it.
Well, then, I am better informed than you; his name is Zaccone.


It is possible.
He is a Maltese.


That is also possible.
The son of a shipowner."


Really, you should relate all this aloud, you would have
the greatest success.

He served in India, discovered a mine in Thessaly, and
comes to Paris to establish a mineral water-cure at
Auteuil.

Well, I'm sure,said Morcerfthis is indeed news! Am I
allowed to repeat it?

Yes, but cautiously, tell one thing at a time, and do not
say I told you.

Why so?
Because it is a secret just discovered.


By whom?
The police.


Then the news originated--


At the prefect's last night. Paris, you can understand, is
astonished at the sight of such unusual splendor, and the
police have made inquiries.

Well, well! Nothing more is wanting than to arrest the
count as a vagabond, on the pretext of his being too rich.

Indeed, that doubtless would have happened if his
credentials had not been so favorable.


Poor count! And is he aware of the danger he has been in?

I think not.

Then it will be but charitable to inform him. When he
arrives, I will not fail to do so.

Just thena handsome young manwith bright eyesblack
hairand glossy mustacherespectfully bowed to Madame de
Villefort. Albert extended his hand. "Madame said Albert,
allow me to present to you M. Maximilian Morrelcaptain of
Spahisone of our bestandabove allof our bravest
officers."

I have already had the pleasure of meeting this gentleman
at Auteuil, at the house of the Count of Monte Cristo,
replied Madame de Villefortturning away with marked
coldness of manner. This answerand especially the tone in
which it was utteredchilled the heart of poor Morrel. But
a recompense was in store for him; turning aroundhe saw
near the door a beautiful fair facewhose large blue eyes
werewithout any marked expressionfixed upon himwhile
the bouquet of myosotis was gently raised to her lips.

The salutation was so well understood that Morrelwith the
same expression in his eyesplaced his handkerchief to his
mouth; and these two living statueswhose hearts beat so
violently under their marble aspectseparated from each
other by the whole length of the roomforgot themselves for
a momentor rather forgot the world in their mutual
contemplation. They might have remained much longer lost in
one anotherwithout any one noticing their abstraction. The
Count of Monte Cristo had just entered.

We have already said that there was something in the count
which attracted universal attention wherever he appeared. It
was not the coatunexceptional in its cutthough simple
and unornamented; it was not the plain white waistcoat; it
was not the trousersthat displayed the foot so perfectly
formed -- it was none of these things that attracted the
attention-- it was his pale complexionhis waving black
hairhis calm and serene expressionhis dark and
melancholy eyehis mouthchiselled with such marvellous
delicacywhich so easily expressed such high disdain-these
were what fixed the attention of all upon him. Many
men might have been handsomerbut certainly there could be
none whose appearance was more significantif the
expression may be used. Everything about the count seemed to
have its meaningfor the constant habit of thought which he
had acquired had given an ease and vigor to the expression
of his faceand even to the most trifling gesturescarcely
to be understood. Yet the Parisian world is so strangethat
even all this might not have won attention had there not
been connected with it a mysterious story gilded by an
immense fortune.

Meanwhile he advanced through the assemblage of guests under
a battery of curious glances towards Madame de Morcerfwho
standing before a mantle-piece ornamented with flowershad
seen his entrance in a looking-glass placed opposite the
doorand was prepared to receive him. She turned towards
him with a serene smile just at the moment he was bowing to
her. No doubt she fancied the count would speak to her


while on his side the count thought she was about to address
him; but both remained silentand after a mere bowMonte
Cristo directed his steps to Albertwho received him
cordially. "Have you seen my mother?" asked Albert.

I have just had the pleasure,replied the count; "but I
have not seen your father."

See, he is down there, talking politics with that little
group of great geniuses.

Indeed?said Monte Cristo; "and so those gentlemen down
there are men of great talent. I should not have guessed it.
And for what kind of talent are they celebrated? You know
there are different sorts."

That tall, harsh-looking man is very learned, he
discovered, in the neighborhood of Rome, a kind of lizard
with a vertebra more than lizards usually have, and he
immediately laid his discovery before the Institute. The
thing was discussed for a long time, but finally decided in
his favor. I can assure you the vertebra made a great noise
in the learned world, and the gentleman, who was only a
knight of the Legion of Honor, was made an officer.

Come,said Monte Cristothis cross seems to me to be
wisely awarded. I suppose, had he found another additional
vertebra, they would have made him a commander.

Very likely,said Albert.

And who can that person be who has taken it into his head
to wrap himself up in a blue coat embroidered with green?

Oh, that coat is not his own idea; it is the Republic's,
which deputed David* to devise a uniform for the
Academicians.

* Louis Davida famous French painter.
Indeed?said Monte Cristo; "so this gentleman is an
Academician?"

Within the last week he has been made one of the learned
assembly.

And what is his especial talent?

His talent? I believe he thrusts pins through the heads of
rabbits, he makes fowls eat madder, and punches the spinal
marrow out of dogs with whalebone.

And he is made a member of the Academy of Sciences for
this?

No; of the French Academy.

But what has the French Academy to do with all this?

I was going to tell you. It seems-


That his experiments have very considerably advanced the
cause of science, doubtless?


No; that his style of writing is very good.

This must be very flattering to the feelings of the rabbits
into whose heads he has thrust pins, to the fowls whose
bones he has dyed red, and to the dogs whose spinal marrow
he has punched out?

Albert laughed.

And the other one?demanded the count.

That one?

Yes, the third.

The one in the dark blue coat?

Yes.

He is a colleague of the count, and one of the most active
opponents to the idea of providing the Chamber of Peers with
a uniform. He was very successful upon that question. He
stood badly with the Liberal papers, but his noble
opposition to the wishes of the court is now getting him
into favor with the journalists. They talk of making him an
ambassador.

And what are his claims to the peerage?

He has composed two or three comic operas, written four or
five articles in the Siecle, and voted five or six years on
the ministerial side.

Bravo, Viscount,said Monte Cristosmiling; "you are a
delightful cicerone. And now you will do me a favorwill
you not?"

What is it?

Do not introduce me to any of these gentlemen; and should
they wish it, you will warn me.Just then the count felt
his arm pressed. He turned round; it was Danglars.

Ah, is it you, baron?said he.

Why do you call me baron?said Danglars; "you know that I
care nothing for my title. I am not like youviscount; you
like your titledo you not?"

Certainly,replied Albertseeing that without my title I
should be nothing; while you, sacrificing the baron, would
still remain the millionaire.

Which seems to me the finest title under the royalty of
July,replied Danglars.

Unfortunately,said Monte Cristoone's title to a
millionaire does not last for life, like that of baron, peer
of France, or Academician; for example, the millionaires
Franck & Poulmann, of Frankfort, who have just become
bankrupts.

Indeed?said Danglarsbecoming pale.


Yes; I received the news this evening by a courier. I had
about a million in their hands, but, warned in time, I
withdrew it a month ago.

Ah, mon Dieu,exclaimed Danglarsthey have drawn on me
for 200,000 francs!

Well, you can throw out the draft; their signature is worth
five per cent.

Yes, but it is too late,said DanglarsI have honored
their bills.

Then,said Monte Cristohere are 200,000 francs gone
after-


Hush, do not mention these things,said Danglars; then
approaching Monte Cristohe addedespecially before young

M. Cavalcanti;after which he smiledand turned towards
the young man in question. Albert had left the count to
speak to his motherDanglars to converse with young
Cavalcanti; Monte Cristo was for an instant alone. Meanwhile
the heat became excessive. The footmen were hastening
through the rooms with waiters loaded with ices. Monte
Cristo wiped the perspiration from his foreheadbut drew
back when the waiter was presented to him; he took no
refreshment. Madame de Morcerf did not lose sight of Monte
Cristo; she saw that he took nothingand even noticed his
gesture of refusal.
Albert,she askeddid you notice that?

What, mother?

That the count has never been willing to partake of food
under the roof of M. de Morcerf.

Yes; but then he breakfasted with me -- indeed, he made his
first appearance in the world on that occasion.

But your house is not M. de Morcerf's,murmured Mercedes;
and since he has been here I have watched him.

Well?

Well, he has taken nothing yet.

The count is very temperate.Mercedes smiled sadly.
Approach him,said sheand when the next waiter passes,
insist upon his taking something.

But why, mother?

Just to please me, Albert,said Mercedes. Albert kissed
his mother's handand drew near the count. Another salver
passedloaded like the preceding ones; she saw Albert
attempt to persuade the countbut he obstinately refused.
Albert rejoined his mother; she was very pale.

Well,said sheyou see he refuses?

Yes; but why need this annoy you?

You know, Albert, women are singular creatures. I should


like to have seen the count take something in my house, if
only an ice. Perhaps he cannot reconcile himself to the
French style of living, and might prefer something else.

Oh, no; I have seen him eat of everything in Italy; no
doubt he does not feel inclined this evening.

And besides,said the countessaccustomed as he is to
burning climates, possibly he does not feel the heat as we
do.

I do not think that, for he has complained of feeling
almost suffocated, and asked why the Venetian blinds were
not opened as well as the windows.

In a word,said Mercedesit was a way of assuring me
that his abstinence was intended.And she left the room. A
minute afterwards the blinds were thrown openand through
the jessamine and clematis that overhung the window one
could see the garden ornamented with lanternsand the
supper laid under the tent. Dancersplayerstalkersall
uttered an exclamation of joy -- every one inhaled with
delight the breeze that floated in. At the same time
Mercedes reappearedpaler than beforebut with that
imperturbable expression of countenance which she sometimes
wore. She went straight to the group of which her husband
formed the centre. "Do not detain those gentlemen here
count she said; they would preferI should thinkto
breathe in the garden rather than suffocate heresince they
are not playing."

Ah,said a gallant old generalwhoin 1809had sung
Partant pour la Syrie,-- "we will not go alone to the
garden."

Then,said MercedesI will lead the way.Turning
towards Monte Cristoshe addedcount, will you oblige me
with your arm?The count almost staggered at these simple
words; then he fixed his eyes on Mercedes. It was only a
momentary glancebut it seemed to the countess to have
lasted for a centuryso much was expressed in that one
look. He offered his arm to the countess; she took itor
rather just touched it with her little handand they
together descended the stepslined with rhododendrons and
camellias. Behind themby another outleta group of about
twenty persons rushed into the garden with loud exclamations
of delight.

Chapter 71
Bread and Salt.

Madame de Morcerf entered an archway of trees with her
companion. It led through a grove of lindens to a
conservatory.

It was too warm in the room, was it not, count?she asked.

Yes, madame; and it was an excellent idea of yours to open
the doors and the blinds.As he ceased speakingthe count
felt the hand of Mercedes tremble. "But you he said, with
that light dressand without anything to cover you but that
gauze scarfperhaps you feel cold?"


Do you know where I am leading you?said the countess
without replying to the question.

No, madame,replied Monte Cristo; "but you see I make no
resistance."

We are going to the greenhouse that you see at the other
end of the grove.

The count looked at Mercedes as if to interrogate herbut
she continued to walk on in silenceand he refrained from
speaking. They reached the buildingornamented with
magnificent fruitswhich ripen at the beginning of July in
the artificial temperature which takes the place of the sun
so frequently absent in our climate. The countess left the
arm of Monte Cristoand gathered a bunch of Muscatel
grapes. "Seecount she said, with a smile so sad in its
expression that one could almost detect the tears on her
eyelids -- seeour French grapes are not to be comparedI
knowwith yours of Sicily and Cyprusbut you will make
allowance for our northern sun." The count bowedbut
stepped back. "Do you refuse?" said Mercedesin a tremulous
voice. "Pray excuse memadame replied Monte Cristo, but
I never eat Muscatel grapes."

Mercedes let them falland sighed. A magnificent peach was
hanging against an adjoining wallripened by the same
artificial heat. Mercedes drew nearand plucked the fruit.
Take this peach, then,she said. The count again refused.
What, again?she exclaimedin so plaintive an accent that
it seemed to stifle a sob; "reallyyou pain me."

A long silence followed; the peachlike the grapesfell to
the ground. "Count added Mercedes with a supplicating
glance, there is a beautiful Arabian customwhich makes
eternal friends of those who have together eaten bread and
salt under the same roof."

I know it, madame,replied the count; "but we are in
Franceand not in Arabiaand in France eternal friendships
are as rare as the custom of dividing bread and salt with
one another."

But,said the countessbreathlesslywith her eyes fixed
on Monte Cristowhose arm she convulsively pressed with
both handswe are friends, are we not?

The count became pale as deaththe blood rushed to his
heartand then again risingdyed his cheeks with crimson;
his eyes swam like those of a man suddenly dazzled.
Certainly, we are friends,he replied; "why should we not
be?" The answer was so little like the one Mercedes desired
that she turned away to give vent to a sighwhich sounded
more like a groan. "Thank you she said. And they walked on
again. They went the whole length of the garden without
uttering a word. Sir suddenly exclaimed the countess,
after their walk had continued ten minutes in silence, is
it true that you have seen so muchtravelled so farand
suffered so deeply?"

I have suffered deeply, madame,answered Monte Cristo.

But now you are happy?


Doubtless,replied the countsince no one hears me
complain.

And your present happiness, has it softened your heart?

My present happiness equals my past misery,said the
count.

Are you not married?asked the countess. "I married?"
exclaimed Monte Cristoshuddering; "who could have told you
so?"

No one told me you were, but you have frequently been seen
at the opera with a young and lovely woman.

She is a slave whom I bought at Constantinople, madame, the
daughter of a prince. I have adopted her as my daughter,
having no one else to love in the world.

You live alone, then?

I do.

You have no sister -- no son -- no father?

I have no one.

How can you exist thus without any one to attach you to
life?

It is not my fault, madame. At Malta, I loved a young girl,
was on the point of marrying her, when war came and carried
me away. I thought she loved me well enough to wait for me,
and even to remain faithful to my memory. When I returned
she was married. This is the history of most men who have
passed twenty years of age. Perhaps my heart was weaker than
the hearts of most men, and I suffered more than they would
have done in my place; that is all.The countess stopped
for a momentas if gasping for breath. "Yes she said,
and you have still preserved this love in your heart -- one
can only love once -- and did you ever see her again?"

Never.

Never?

I never returned to the country where she lived.

To Malta?

Yes; Malta.

She is, then, now at Malta?

I think so.

And have you forgiven her for all she has made you suffer?

Her, -- yes.

But only her; do you then still hate those who separated
you?


I hate them? Not at all; why should I?The countess placed
herself before Monte Cristostill holding in her hand a
portion of the perfumed grapes. "Take some she said.
MadameI never eat Muscatel grapes replied Monte Cristo,
as if the subject had not been mentioned before. The
countess dashed the grapes into the nearest thicket, with a
gesture of despair. Inflexible man!" she murmured. Monte
Cristo remained as unmoved as if the reproach had not been
addressed to him. Albert at this moment ran in. "Oh
mother he exclaimed, such a misfortune his happened!"

What? What has happened?asked the countessas though
awakening from a sleep to the realities of life; "did you
say a misfortune? IndeedI should expect misfortunes."

M. de Villefort is here.

Well?

He comes to fetch his wife and daughter.

Why so?

Because Madame de Saint-Meran is just arrived in Paris,
bringing the news of M. de Saint-Meran's death, which took
place on the first stage after he left Marseilles. Madame de
Villefort, who was in very good spirits, would neither
believe nor think of the misfortune, but Mademoiselle
Valentine, at the first words, guessed the whole truth,
notwithstanding all the precautions of her father; the blow
struck her like a thunderbolt, and she fell senseless.

And how was M. de Saint-Meran related to Mademoiselle de
Villefort?said the count.

He was her grandfather on the mother's side. He was coming
here to hasten her marriage with Franz.

Ah, indeed?

So Franz must wait. Why was not M. de Saint-Meran also
grandfather to Mademoiselle Danglars?

Albert, Albert,said Madame de Morcerfin a tone of mild
reproofwhat are you saying? Ah, count, he esteems you so
highly, tell him that he has spoken amiss.And she took two
or three steps forward. Monte Cristo watched her with an air
so thoughtfuland so full of affectionate admirationthat
she turned back and grasped his hand; at the same time she
seized that of her sonand joined them together.

We are friends; are we not?she asked.

Oh, madame, I do not presume to call myself your friend,
but at all times I am your most respectful servant.The
countess left with an indescribable pang in her heartand
before she had taken ten steps the count saw her raise her
handkerchief to her eyes. "Do not my mother and you agree?"
asked Albertastonished.

On the contrary,replied the countdid you not hear her
declare that we were friends?They re-entered the
drawing-roomwhich Valentine and Madame de Villefort had
just quitted. It is perhaps needless to add that Morrel


departed almost at the same time.


Chapter 72
Madame de Saint-Meran.


A gloomy scene had indeed just passed at the house of M. de
Villefort. After the ladies had departed for the ball
whither all the entreaties of Madame de Villefort had failed
in persuading him to accompany themthe procureur had shut
himself up in his studyaccording to his custom. with a
heap of papers calculated to alarm any one elsebut which
generally scarcely satisfied his inordinate desires. But
this time the papers were a mere matter of form. Villefort
had secluded himselfnot to studybut to reflect; and with
the door locked and orders given that he should not be
disturbed excepting for important businesshe sat down in
his arm-chair and began to ponder over the eventsthe
remembrance of which had during the last eight days filled
his mind with so many gloomy thoughts and bitter
recollections. Theninstead of plunging into the mass of
documents piled before himhe opened the drawer of his
desk. touched a springand drew out a parcel of cherished
memorandaamongst which he had carefully arrangedin
characters only known to himselfthe names of all those
whoeither in his political careerin money mattersat
the baror in his mysterious love affairshad become his
enemies.


Their number was formidablenow that he had begun to fear
and yet these namespowerful though they werehad often
caused him to smile with the same kind of satisfaction
experienced by a traveller who from the summit of a mountain
beholds at his feet the craggy eminencesthe almost
impassable pathsand the fearful chasmsthrough which he
has so perilously climbed. When he had run over all these
names in his memoryagain read and studied themcommenting
meanwhile upon his listshe shook his head.


No,he murmurednone of my enemies would have waited so
patiently and laboriously for so long a space of time, that
they might now come and crush me with this secret.
Sometimes, as Hamlet says --


`Foul deeds will rise,
Tho, all the earth o'erwhelm them to men's eyes;'


but, like a phosphoric light, they rise but to mislead. The
story has been told by the Corsican to some priest, who in
his turn has repeated it. M. de Monte Cristo may have heard
it, and to enlighten himself -- but why should he wish to
enlighten himself upon the subject?asked Villefortafter
a moment's reflectionwhat interest can this M. de Monte
Cristo or M. Zaccone, -- son of a shipowner of Malta,
discoverer of a mine in Thessaly, now visiting Paris for the
first time, -- what interest, I say, can he take in
discovering a gloomy, mysterious, and useless fact like
this? However, among all the incoherent details given to me
by the Abbe Busoni and by Lord Wilmore, by that friend and
that enemy, one thing appears certain and clear in my
opinion -- that in no period, in no case, in no
circumstance, could there have been any contact between him
and me.



But Villefort uttered words which even he himself did not
believe. He dreaded not so much the revelationfor he could
reply to or deny its truth; -- he cared little for that
menetekelupharsinwhich appeared suddenly in letters of
blood upon the wall; -- but what he was really anxious for
was to discover whose hand had traced them. While he was
endeavoring to calm his fears-- and instead of dwelling
upon the political future that had so often been the subject
of his ambitious dreamswas imagining a future limited to
the enjoyments of homein fear of awakening the enemy that
had so long slept-- the noise of a carriage sounded in the
yardthen he heard the steps of an aged person ascending
the stairsfollowed by tears and lamentationssuch as
servants always give vent to when they wish to appear
interested in their master's grief. He drew back the bolt of
his doorand almost directly an old lady entered
unannouncedcarrying her shawl on her armand her bonnet
in her hand. The white hair was thrown back from her yellow
foreheadand her eyesalready sunken by the furrows of
agenow almost disappeared beneath the eyelids swollen with
grief. "Ohsir she said; ohsirwhat a misfortune! I
shall die of it; ohyesI shall certainly die of it!"

And thenfalling upon the chair nearest the doorshe burst
into a paroxysm of sobs. The servantsstanding in the
doorwaynot daring to approach nearerwere looking at
Noirtier's old servantwho had heard the noise from his
master's roomand run there alsoremaining behind the
others. Villefort roseand ran towards his mother-in-law
for it was she.

Why, what can have happened?he exclaimedwhat has thus
disturbed you? Is M. de Saint-Meran with you?

M. de Saint-Meran is dead,answered the old marchioness
without preface and without expression; she appeared to be
stupefied. Villefort drew backand clasping his hands
togetherexclaimed -- "Dead! -- so suddenly?"

A week ago,continued Madame de Saint-Meranwe went out
together in the carriage after dinner. M. de Saint-Meran had
been unwell for some days; still, the idea of seeing our
dear Valentine again inspired him with courage, and
notwithstanding his illness he would leave. At six leagues
from Marseilles, after having eaten some of the lozenges he
is accustomed to take, he fell into such a deep sleep, that
it appeared to me unnatural; still I hesitated to wake him,
although I fancied that his face was flushed, and that the
veins of his temples throbbed more violently than usual.
However, as it became dark, and I could no longer see, I
fell asleep; I was soon aroused by a piercing shriek, as
from a person suffering in his dreams, and he suddenly threw
his head back violently. I called the valet, I stopped the
postilion, I spoke to M. de Saint-Meran, I applied my
smelling-salts; but all was over, and I arrived at Aix by
the side of a corpse.Villefort stood with his mouth half
openquite stupefied.

Of course you sent for a doctor?

Immediately; but, as I have told you, it was too late.

Yes; but then he could tell of what complaint the poor


marquis had died.

Oh, yes, sir, he told me; it appears to have been an
apoplectic stroke.

And what did you do then?

M. de Saint-Meran had always expressed a desire, in case
his death happened during his absence from Paris, that his
body might be brought to the family vault. I had him put
into a leaden coffin, and I am preceding him by a few days.

Oh, my poor mother,said Villefortto have such duties
to perform at your age after such a blow!

God has supported me through all; and then, my dear
marquis, he would certainly have done everything for me that
I performed for him. It is true that since I left him, I
seem to have lost my senses. I cannot cry; at my age they
say that we have no more tears, -- still I think that when
one is in trouble one should have the power of weeping.
Where is Valentine. sir? It is on her account I am here; I
wish to see Valentine.Villefort thought it would be
terrible to reply that Valentine was at a ball; so he only
said that she had gone out with her step-motherand that
she should be fetched. "This instantsir -- this instantI
beseech you!" said the old lady. Villefort placed the arm of
Madame de Saint-Meran within his ownand conducted her to
his apartment. "Rest yourselfmother he said.

The marchioness raised her head at this word, and beholding
the man who so forcibly reminded her of her deeply-regretted
child, who still lived for her in Valentine, she felt
touched at the name of mother, and bursting into tears, she
fell on her knees before an arm-chair, where she buried her
venerable head. Villefort left her to the care of the women,
while old Barrois ran, half-scared, to his master; for
nothing frightens old people so much as when death relaxes
its vigilance over them for a moment in order to strike some
other old person. Then, while Madame de Saint-Meran remained
on her knees, praying fervently, Villefort sent for a cab,
and went himself to fetch his wife and daughter from Madame
de Morcerf's. He was so pale when he appeared at the door of
the ball-room, that Valentine ran to him, saying -


Ohfathersome misfortune has happened!"

Your grandmamma has just arrived, Valentine,said M. de
Villefort.

And grandpapa?inquired the young girltrembling with
apprehension. M. de Villefort only replied by offering his
arm to his daughter. It was just in timefor Valentine's
head swamand she staggered; Madame de Villefort instantly
hastened to her assistanceand aided her husband in
dragging her to the carriagesaying -- "What a singular
event! Who could have thought it? Ahyesit is indeed
strange!" And the wretched family departedleaving a cloud
of sadness hanging over the rest of the evening. At the foot
of the stairsValentine found Barrois awaiting her.

M. Noirtier wishes to see you to-night, he said, in an
undertone.


Tell him I will come when I leave my dear grandmamma she
replied, feeling, with true delicacy, that the person to
whom she could be of the most service just then was Madame
de Saint-Meran. Valentine found her grandmother in bed;
silent caresses, heartwrung sobs, broken sighs, burning
tears, were all that passed in this sad interview, while
Madame de Villefort, leaning on her husband's arm,
maintained all outward forms of respect, at least towards
the poor widow. She soon whispered to her husband, I think
it would be better for me to retirewith your permission
for the sight of me appears still to afflict your
mother-in-law." Madame de Saint-Meran heard her. "Yesyes
she said softly to Valentine, let her leave; but do you
stay." Madame de Villefort leftand Valentine remained
alone beside the bedfor the procureurovercome with
astonishment at the unexpected deathhad followed his wife.
MeanwhileBarrois had returned for the first time to old
Noirtierwho having heard the noise in the househadas
we have saidsent his old servant to inquire the cause; on
his returnhis quick intelligent eye interrogated the
messenger. "Alassir exclaimed Barrois, a great
misfortune has happened. Madame de Saint-Meran has arrived
and her husband is dead!"

M. de Saint-Meran and Noirtier had never been on strict
terms of friendship; stillthe death of one old man always
considerably affects another. Noirtier let his head fall
upon his chestapparently overwhelmed and thoughtful; then
he closed one eyein token of inquiry. "Mademoiselle
Valentine?" Noirtier nodded his head. "She is at the ball
as you knowsince she came to say good-by to you in full
dress." Noirtier again closed his left eye. "Do you wish to
see her?" Noirtier again made an affirmative sign. "Well
they have gone to fetch herno doubtfrom Madame de
Morcerf's; I will await her returnand beg her to come up
here. Is that what you wish for?"
Yes,replied the invalid.

Barroisthereforeas we have seenwatched for Valentine
and informed her of her grandfather's wish. Consequently
Valentine came up to Noirtieron leaving Madame de
Saint-Meranwho in the midst of her grief had at last
yielded to fatigue and fallen into a feverish sleep. Within
reach of her hand they placed a small table upon which stood
a bottle of orangeadeher usual beverageand a glass.
Thenas we have saidthe young girl left the bedside to
see M. Noirtier. Valentine kissed the old manwho looked at
her with such tenderness that her eyes again filled with
tearswhose sources he thought must be exhausted. The old
gentleman continued to dwell upon her with the same
expression. "Yesyes said Valentine, you mean that I
have yet a kind grandfather leftdo you not." The old man
intimated that such was his meaning. "Ahyeshappily I
have replied Valentine. Without thatwhat would become
of me?"

It was one o'clock in the morning. Barroiswho wished to go
to bed himselfobserved that after such sad events every
one stood in need of rest. Noirtier would not say that the
only rest he needed was to see his childbut wished her
good-nightfor grief and fatigue had made her appear quite
ill. The next morning she found her grandmother in bed; the
fever had not abatedon the contrary her eyes glistened and


she appeared to be suffering from violent nervous
irritability. "Ohdear grandmammaare you worse?"
exclaimed Valentineperceiving all these signs of
agitation.

No, my child, no,said Madame de Saint-Meran; "but I was
impatiently waiting for your arrivalthat I might send for
your father."

My father?inquired Valentineuneasily.

Yes, I wish to speak to him.Valentine durst not oppose
her grandmother's wishthe cause of which she did not know
and an instant afterwards Villefort entered. "Sir said
Madame de Saint-Meran, without using any circumlocution, and
as if fearing she had no time to lose, you wrote to me
concerning the marriage of this child?"

Yes, madame,replied Villefortit is not only projected
but arranged.

Your intended son-in-law is named M. Franz d'Epinay?

Yes, madame.

Is he not the son of General d'Epinay who was on our side,
and who was assassinated some days before the usurper
returned from the Island of Elba?

The same.

Does he not dislike the idea of marrying the granddaughter
of a Jacobin?

Our civil dissensions are now happily extinguished,
mother,said Villefort; "M. d'Epinay was quite a child when
his father diedhe knows very little of M. Noirtierand
will meet himif not with pleasureat least with
indifference."

Is it a suitable match?

In every respect.

And the young man?

Is regarded with universal esteem.

You approve of him?

He is one of the most well-bred young men I know.During
the whole of this conversation Valentine had remained
silent. "Wellsir said Madame de Saint-Meran, after a few
minutes' reflection, I must hasten the marriagefor I have
but a short time to live."

You, madame?You, dear mamma?exclaimed M. de Villefort
and Valentine at the same time.

I know what I am saying,continued the marchioness; "I
must hurry youso thatas she has no mothershe may at
least have a grandmother to bless her marriage. I am all
that is left to her belonging to my poor Reneewhom you
have so soon forgottensir."


Ah, madame,said Villefortyou forget that I was obliged
to give a mother to my child.

A stepmother is never a mother, sir. But this is not to the
purpose, -- our business concerns Valentine, let us leave
the dead in peace.

All this was said with such exceeding rapiditythat there
was something in the conversation that seemed like the
beginning of delirium.

It shall be as you wish, madame,said Villefort; "more
especially since your wishes coincide with mineand as soon
as M. d'Epinay arrives in Paris" -


My dear grandmother,interrupted Valentineconsider
decorum -- the recent death. You would not have me marry
under such sad auspices?

My child,exclaimed the old lady sharplylet us hear
none of the conventional objections that deter weak minds
from preparing for the future. I also was married at the
death-bed of my mother, and certainly I have not been less
happy on that account.

Still that idea of death, madame,said Villefort.

Still? -- Always! I tell you I am going to die -- do you
understand? Well, before dying, I wish to see my son-in-law.
I wish to tell him to make my child happy; I wish to read in
his eyes whether he intends to obey me; -- in fact, I will
know him -- I will!continued the old ladywith a fearful
expressionthat I may rise from the depths of my grave to
find him, if he should not fulfil his duty!

Madame,said Villefortyou must lay aside these exalted
ideas, which almost assume the appearance of madness. The
dead, once buried in their graves, rise no more.

And I tell you, sir, that you are mistaken. This night I
have had a fearful sleep. It seemed as though my soul were
already hovering over my body, my eyes, which I tried to
open, closed against my will, and what will appear
impossible above all to you, sir, I saw, with my eyes shut,
in the spot where you are now standing, issuing from that
corner where there is a door leading into Madame Villefort's
dressing-room -- I saw, I tell you, silently enter, a white
figure.Valentine screamed. "It was the fever that
disturbed youmadame said Villefort.

Doubtif you pleasebut I am sure of what I say. I saw a
white figureand as if to prevent my discrediting the
testimony of only one of my sensesI heard my glass removed
-- the same which is there now on the table."

Oh, dear mother, it was a dream.

So little was it a dream, that I stretched my hand towards
the bell; but when I did so, the shade disappeared; my maid
then entered with a light.

But she saw no one?


Phantoms are visible to those only who ought to see them.
It was the soul of my husband! -- Well, if my husband's soul
can come to me, why should not my soul reappear to guard my
granddaughter? the tie is even more direct, it seems to me.

Oh, madame,said Villefortdeeply affectedin spite of
himselfdo not yield to those gloomy thoughts; you will
long live with us, happy, loved, and honored, and we will
make you forget-


Never, never, never,said the marchioness. "when does M.
d'Epinay return?"

We expect him every moment.

It is well. As soon as he arrives inform me. We must be
expeditious. And then I also wish to see a notary, that I
may be assured that all our property returns to Valentine.

Ah, grandmamma,murmured Valentinepressing her lips on
the burning browdo you wish to kill me? Oh, how feverish
you are; we must not send for a notary, but for a doctor.

A doctor?said sheshrugging her shouldersI am not
ill; I am thirsty -- that is all.

What are you drinking, dear grandmamma?

The same as usual, my dear, my glass is there on the table
-- give it to me, Valentine.Valentine poured the orangeade
into a glass and gave it to her grandmother with a certain
degree of dreadfor it was the same glass she fancied that
had been touched by the spectre. The marchioness drained the
glass at a single draughtand then turned on her pillow
repeating-- "The notarythe notary!"

M. de Villefort left the roomand Valentine seated herself
at the bedside of her grandmother. The poor child appeared
herself to require the doctor she had recommended to her
aged relative. A bright spot burned in either cheekher
respiration was short and difficultand her pulse beat with
feverish excitement. She was thinking of the despair of
Maximilianwhen he should be informed that Madame de
Saint-Meraninstead of being an allywas unconsciously
acting as his enemy. More than once she thought of revealing
all to her grandmotherand she would not have hesitated a
momentif Maximilian Morrel had been named Albert de
Morcerf or Raoul de Chateau-Renaud; but Morrel was of
plebeian extractionand Valentine knew how the haughty
Marquise de Saint-Meran despised all who were not noble. Her
secret had each time been repressed when she was about to
reveal itby the sad conviction that it would be useless to
do so; forwere it once discovered by her father and
motherall would be lost. Two hours passed thus; Madame de
Saint-Meran was in a feverish sleepand the notary had
arrived. Though his coming was announced in a very low tone
Madame de Saint-Meran arose from her pillow. "The notary!"
she exclaimedlet him come in.
The notarywho was at the doorimmediately entered. "Go
Valentine said Madame de Saint-Meran, and leave me with
this gentleman."

But, grandmamma-



Leave me -- go!The young girl kissed her grandmotherand
left with her handkerchief to her eyes; at the door she
found the valet de chambrewho told her that the doctor was
waiting in the dining-room. Valentine instantly ran down.
The doctor was a friend of the familyand at the same time
one of the cleverest men of the dayand very fond of
Valentinewhose birth he had witnessed. He had himself a
daughter about her agebut whose life was one continued
source of anxiety and fear to him from her mother having
been consumptive.

Oh,said Valentinewe have been waiting for you with
such impatience, dear M. d'Avrigny. But, first of all, how
are Madeleine and Antoinette?Madeleine was the daughter of

M. d'Avrignyand Antoinette his niece. M. d'Avrigny smiled
sadly. "Antoinette is very well he said, and Madeleine
tolerably so. But you sent for memy dear child. It is not
your father or Madame de Villefort who is ill. As for you
although we doctors cannot divest our patients of nervesI
fancy you have no further need of me than to recommend you
not to allow your imagination to take too wide a field."
Valentine colored. M. d'Avrigny carried the science of
divination almost to a miraculous extentfor he was one of
the physicians who always work upon the body through the
mind. "No she replied, it is for my poor grandmother. You
know the calamity that has happened to usdo you not?"
I know nothing.said M. d'Avrigny.

Alas,said Valentinerestraining her tearsmy
grandfather is dead.

M. de Saint-Meran?

Yes.

Suddenly?

From an apoplectic stroke.

An apoplectic stroke?repeated the doctor.

Yes, and my poor grandmother fancies that her husband, whom
she never left, has called her, and that she must go and
join him. Oh, M. d'Avrigny, I beseech you, do something for
her!

Where is she?

In her room with the notary.

And M. Noirtier?

Just as he was, his mind perfectly clear, but the same
incapability of moving or speaking.

And the same love for you -- eh, my dear child?

Yes,said Valentinehe was very fond of me.

Who does not love you?Valentine smiled sadly. "What are
your grandmother's symptoms?"


An extreme nervous excitement and a strangely agitated
sleep; she fancied this morning in her sleep that her soul
was hovering above her body, which she at the same time
watched. It must have been delirium; she fancies, too, that
she saw a phantom enter her chamber and even heard the noise
it made on touching her glass.

It is singular,said the doctor; "I was not aware that
Madame de Saint-Meran was subject to such hallucinations."

It is the first time I ever saw her in this condition,
said Valentine; "and this morning she frightened me so that
I thought her mad; and my fatherwho you know is a
strong-minded manhimself appeared deeply impressed."

We will go and see,said the doctor; "what you tell me
seems very strange." The notary here descendedand
Valentine was informed that her grandmother was alone. "Go
upstairs she said to the doctor.

And you?"

Oh, I dare not -- she forbade my sending for you; and, as
you say, I am myself agitated, feverish and out of sorts. I
will go and take a turn in the garden to recover myself.
The doctor pressed Valentine's handand while he visited
her grandmothershe descended the steps. We need not say
which portion of the garden was her favorite walk. After
remaining for a short time in the parterre surrounding the
houseand gathering a rose to place in her waist or hair
she turned into the dark avenue which led to the bench; then
from the bench she went to the gate. As usualValentine
strolled for a short time among her flowersbut without
gathering them. The mourning in her heart forbade her
assuming this simple ornamentthough she had not yet had
time to put on the outward semblance of woe. She then turned
towards the avenue. As she advanced she fancied she heard a
voice speaking her name. She stopped astonishedthen the
voice reached her ear more distinctlyand she recognized it
to be that of Maximilian.

Chapter 73
The Promise.

It wasindeedMaximilian Morrelwho had passed a wretched
existence since the previous day. With the instinct peculiar
to lovers he had anticipated after the return of Madame de
Saint-Meran and the death of the marquisthat something
would occur at M. de Villefort's in connection with his
attachment for Valentine. His presentiments were realized
as we shall seeand his uneasy forebodings had goaded him
pale and trembling to the gate under the chestnut-trees.
Valentine was ignorant of the cause of this sorrow and
anxietyand as it was not his accustomed hour for visiting
hershe had gone to the spot simply by accident or perhaps
through sympathy. Morrel called herand she ran to the
gate. "You here at this hour?" said she. "Yesmy poor
girl replied Morrel; I come to bring and to hear bad
tidings."

This is, indeed, a house of mourning,said Valentine;
speak, Maximilian, although the cup of sorrow seems already


full.

Dear Valentine,said Morrelendeavoring to conceal his
own emotionlisten, I entreat you; what I am about to say
is very serious. When are you to be married?

I will tell you all,said Valentine; "from you I have
nothing to conceal. This morning the subject was introduced
and my dear grandmotheron whom I depended as my only
supportnot only declared herself favorable to itbut is
so anxious for itthat they only await the arrival of M.
d'Epinayand the following day the contract will be
signed." A deep sigh escaped the young manwho gazed long
and mournfully at her he loved. "Alas replied he, it is
dreadful thus to hear my condemnation from your own lips.
The sentence is passedandin a few hourswill be
executed; it must be soand I will not endeavor to prevent
it. Butsince you say nothing remains but for M. d'Epinay
to arrive that the contract may be signedand the following
day you will be histo-morrow you will be engaged to M.
d'Epinayfor he came this morning to Paris." Valentine
uttered a cry.

I was at the house of Monte Cristo an hour since,said
Morrel; "we were speakinghe of the sorrow your family had
experiencedand I of your griefwhen a carriage rolled
into the court-yard. Nevertill thenhad I placed any
confidence in presentimentsbut now I cannot help believing
themValentine. At the sound of that carriage I shuddered;
soon I heard steps on the staircasewhich terrified me as
much as the footsteps of the commander did Don Juan. The
door at last opened; Albert de Morcerf entered firstand I
began to hope my fears were vainwhenafter himanother
young man advancedand the count exclaimed -- `Ahhere is
the Baron Franz d'Epinay!' I summoned all my strength and
courage to my support. Perhaps I turned pale and trembled
but certainly I smiled; and five minutes after I left
without having heard one word that had passed."

Poor Maximilian!murmured Valentine.

Valentine, the time has arrived when you must answer me.
And remember my life depends on your answer. What do you
intend doing?Valentine held down her head; she was
overwhelmed.

Listen,said Morrel; "it is not the first time you have
contemplated our present positionwhich is a serious and
urgent one; I do not think it is a moment to give way to
useless sorrow; leave that for those who like to suffer at
their leisure and indulge their grief in secret. There are
such in the worldand God will doubtless reward them in
heaven for their resignation on earthbut those who mean to
contend must not lose one precious momentbut must return
immediately the blow which fortune strikes. Do you intend to
struggle against our ill-fortune? Tell meValentine for it
is that I came to know."

Valentine trembledand looked at him with amazement. The
idea of resisting her fatherher grandmotherand all the
familyhad never occurred to her. "What do you say
Maximilian?" asked Valentine. "What do you mean by a
struggle? Ohit would be a sacrilege. What? I resist my
father's orderand my dying grandmother's wish?


Impossible!" Morrel started. "You are too noble not to
understand meand you understand me so well that you
already yielddear Maximilian. Nono; I shall need all my
strength to struggle with myself and support my grief in
secretas you say. But to grieve my father -- to disturb my
grandmother's last moments -- never!"

You are right,said Morrelcalmly.

In what a tone you speak!cried Valentine.

I speak as one who admires you, mademoiselle.

Mademoiselle,cried Valentine; "mademoiselle! Ohselfish
man-- he sees me in despairand pretends he cannot
understand me!"

You mistake -- I understand you perfectly. You will not
oppose M. Villefort, you will not displease the marchioness,
and to-morrow you will sign the contract which will bind you
to your husband.

But, mon Dieu, tell me, how can I do otherwise?

Do not appeal to me, mademoiselle; I shall be a bad judge
in such a case; my selfishness will blind me,replied
Morrelwhose low voice and clinched hands announced his
growing desperation.

What would you have proposed, Maximilian, had you found me
willing to accede?

It is not for me to say.

You are wrong; you must advise me what to do.

Do you seriously ask my advice, Valentine?

Certainly, dear Maximilian, for if it is good, I will
follow it; you know my devotion to you.

Valentine,said Morrel pushing aside a loose plankgive
me your hand in token of forgiveness of my anger; my senses
are confused, and during the last hour the most extravagant
thoughts have passed through my brain. Oh, if you refuse my
advice-


What do you advise?said Valentineraising her eyes to
heaven and sighing. "I am free replied Maximilian, and
rich enough to support you. I swear to make you my lawful
wife before my lips even shall have approached your
forehead."

You make me tremble!said the young girl.

Follow me,said Morrel; "I will take you to my sisterwho
is worthy also to be yours. We will embark for Algiersfor
Englandfor Americaorif your prefer itretire to the
country and only return to Paris when our friends have
reconciled your family." Valentine shook her head. "I feared
itMaximilian said she; it is the counsel of a madman
and I should be more mad than youdid I not stop you at
once with the word `Impossibleimpossible!'"


You will then submit to what fate decrees for you without
even attempting to contend with it?said Morrel
sorrowfully. "Yes-- if I die!"

Well, Valentine,resumed MaximilianI can only say again
that you are right. Truly, it is I who am mad, and you prove
to me that passion blinds the most well-meaning. I
appreciate your calm reasoning. It is then understood that
to-morrow you will be irrevocably promised to M. Franz
d'Epinay, not only by that theatrical formality invented to
heighten the effect of a comedy called the signature of the
contract, but your own will?

Again you drive me to despair, Maximilian,said Valentine
again you plunge the dagger into the wound! What would you
do, tell me, if your sister listened to such a proposition?

Mademoiselle,replied Morrel with a bitter smileI am
selfish -- you have already said so -- and as a selfish man
I think not of what others would do in my situation, but of
what I intend doing myself. I think only that I have known
you not a whole year. From the day I first saw you, all my
hopes of happiness have been in securing your affection. One
day you acknowledged that you loved me, and since that day
my hope of future happiness has rested on obtaining you, for
to gain you would be life to me. Now, I think no more; I say
only that fortune has turned against me -- I had thought to
gain heaven, and now I have lost it. It is an every-day
occurrence for a gambler to lose not only what he possesses
but also what he has not.Morrel pronounced these words
with perfect calmness; Valentine looked at him a moment with
her largescrutinizing eyesendeavoring not to let Morrel
discover the grief which struggled in her heart. "Butin a
wordwhat are you going to do?" asked she.

I am going to have the honor of taking my leave of you,
mademoiselle, solemnly assuring you that I wish your life
may be so calm, so happy, and so fully occupied, that there
may be no place for me even in your memory.

Oh!murmured Valentine.

Adieu, Valentine, adieu!said Morrelbowing.

Where are you going?cried the young girlextending her
hand through the openingand seizing Maximilian by his
coatfor she understood from her own agitated feelings that
her lover's calmness could not be real; "where are you
going?"

I am going, that I may not bring fresh trouble into your
family: and to set an example which every honest and devoted
man, situated as I am, may follow.

Before you leave me, tell me what you are going to do,
Maximilian.The young man smiled sorrowfully. "Speak
speak!" said Valentine; "I entreat you."

Has your resolution changed, Valentine?

It cannot change, unhappy man; you know it must not!cried
the young girl. "Then adieuValentine!" Valentine shook the
gate with a strength of which she could not have been
supposed to be possessedas Morrel was going awayand


passing both her hands through the openingshe clasped and
wrung them. "I must know what you mean to do!" said she.
Where are you going?

Oh, fear not,said Maximilianstopping at a short
distanceI do not intend to render another man responsible
for the rigorous fate reserved for me. Another might
threaten to seek M. Franz, to provoke him, and to fight with
him; all that would be folly. What has M. Franz to do with
it? He saw me this morning for the first time, and has
already forgotten he has seen me. He did not even know I
existed when it was arranged by your two families that you
should be united. I have no enmity against M. Franz, and
promise you the punishment shall not fall on him.

On whom, then! -- on me?

On you? Valentine! Oh, heaven forbid! Woman is sacred; the
woman one loves is holy.

On yourself, then, unhappy man; on yourself?

I am the only guilty person, am I not?' said Maximilian.

Maximilian!" said ValentineMaximilian, come back, I
entreat you!He drew near with his sweet smileand but for
his paleness one might have thought him in his usual happy
mood. "Listenmy dearmy adored Valentine said he in his
melodious and grave tone; those wholike ushave never
had a thought for which we need blush before the worldsuch
may read each other's hearts. I never was romanticand am
no melancholy hero. I imitate neither Manfred nor Anthony;
but without wordsprotestationsor vowsmy life has
entwined itself with yours; you leave meand you are right
in doing so-- I repeat ityou are right; but in losing
youI lose my life.

The moment you leave me, Valentine, I am alone in the
world. My sister is happily married; her husband is only my
brother-in-law, that is, a man whom the ties of social life
alone attach to me; no one then longer needs my useless
life. This is what I shall do; I will wait until the very
moment you are married, for I will not lose the shadow of
one of those unexpected chances which are sometimes reserved
for us, since M. Franz may, after all, die before that time,
a thunderbolt may fall even on the altar as you approach it,
-- nothing appears impossible to one condemned to die, and
miracles appear quite reasonable when his escape from death
is concerned. I will, then, wait until the last moment, and
when my misery is certain, irremediable, hopeless, I will
write a confidential letter to my brother-in-law, another to
the prefect of police, to acquaint them with my intention,
and at the corner of some wood, on the brink of some abyss,
on the bank of some river, I will put an end to my
existence, as certainly as I am the son of the most honest
man who ever lived in France.

Valentine trembled convulsively; she loosened her hold of
the gateher arms fell by her sideand two large tears
rolled down her cheeks. The young man stood before her
sorrowful and resolute. "Ohfor pity's sake said she,
you will livewill you not?"

No, on my honor,said Maximilian; "but that will not


affect you. You have done your dutyand your conscience
will be at rest." Valentine fell on her kneesand pressed
her almost bursting heart. "Maximilian said she,
Maximilianmy friendmy brother on earthmy true husband
in heavenI entreat youdo as I dolive in suffering;
perhaps we may one day be united."

Adieu, Valentine,repeated Morrel.

My God,said Valentineraising both her hands to heaven
with a sublime expressionI have done my utmost to remain
a submissive daughter; I have begged, entreated, implored;
he has regarded neither my prayers, my entreaties, nor my
tears. It is done,cried shewilling away her tearsand
resuming her firmnessI am resolved not to die of remorse,
but rather of shame. Live, Maximilian, and I will be yours.
Say when shall it be? Speak, command, I will obey.Morrel
who had already gone some few steps awayagain returned
and pale with joy extended both hands towards Valentine
through the opening. "Valentine said he, dear Valentine
you must not speak thus -- rather let me die. Why should I
obtain you by violenceif our love is mutual? Is it from
mere humanity you bid me live? I would then rather die."

Truly,murmured Valentinewho on this earth cares for
me, if he does not? Who has consoled me in my sorrow but he?
On whom do my hopes rest? On whom does my bleeding heart
repose? On him, on him, always on him! Yes, you are right,
Maximilian, I will follow you. I will leave the paternal
home, I will give up all. Oh, ungrateful girl that I am,
cried ValentinesobbingI will give up all, even my dear
old grandfather, whom I had nearly forgotten.

No,said Maximilianyou shall not leave him. M. Noirtier
has evinced, you say, a kind feeling towards me. Well,
before you leave, tell him all; his consent would be your
justification in God's sight. As soon as we are married, he
shall come and live with us, instead of one child, he shall
have two. You have told me how you talk to him and how he
answers you; I shall very soon learn that language by signs,
Valentine, and I promise you solemnly, that instead of
despair, it is happiness that awaits us.

Oh, see, Maximilian, see the power you have over me, you
almost make me believe you; and yet, what you tell me is
madness, for my father will curse me -- he is inflexible -he
will never pardon me. Now listen to me, Maximilian; if by
artifice, by entreaty, by accident -- in short, if by any
means I can delay this marriage, will you wait?

Yes, I promise you, as faithfully as you have promised me
that this horrible marriage shall not take place, and that
if you are dragged before a magistrate or a priest, you will
refuse.

I promise you by all that is most sacred to me in the
world, namely, by my mother.

We will wait, then,said Morrel.

Yes, we will wait,replied Valentinewho revived at these
words; "there are so many things which may save unhappy
beings such as we are."


I rely on you, Valentine,said Morrel; "all you do will be
well done; only if they disregard your prayersif your
father and Madame de Saint-Meran insist that M. d'Epinay
should be called to-morrow to sign the contract" -


Then you have my promise, Maximilian.

Instead of signing-


I will go to you, and we will fly; but from this moment
until then, let us not tempt providence, let us not see each
other. It is a miracle, it is a providence that we have not
been discovered. If we were surprised, if it were known that
we met thus, we should have no further resource.

You are right, Valentine; but how shall I ascertain?

From the notary, M. Deschamps.

I know him.

And for myself -- I will write to you, depend on me. I
dread this marriage, Maximilian, as much as you.

Thank you, my adored Valentine, thank you; that is enough.
When once I know the hour, I will hasten to this spot, you
can easily get over this fence with my assistance, a
carriage will await us at the gate, in which you will
accompany me to my sister's; there living, retired or
mingling in society, as you wish, we shall be enabled to use
our power to resist oppression, and not suffer ourselves to
be put to death like sheep, which only defend themselves by
sighs.

Yes,said ValentineI will now acknowledge you are
right, Maximilian; and now are you satisfied with your
betrothal?said the young girl sorrowfully.

My adored Valentine, words cannot express one half of my
satisfaction.Valentine had approachedor ratherhad
placed her lips so near the fencethat they nearly touched
those of Morrelwhich were pressed against the other side
of the cold and inexorable barrier. "Adieuthentill we
meet again said Valentine, tearing herself away. I shall
hear from you?"

Yes.

Thanks, thanks, dear love, adieu!The sound of a kiss was
heardand Valentine fled through the avenue. Morrel
listened to catch the last sound of her dress brushing the
branchesand of her footstep on the gravelthen raised his
eyes with an ineffable smile of thankfulness to heaven for
being permitted to be thus lovedand then also disappeared.
The young man returned home and waited all the evening and
all the next day without getting any message. It was only on
the following dayat about ten o'clock in the morningas
he was starting to call on M. Deschampsthe notarythat he
received from the postman a small billetwhich he knew to
be from Valentinealthough he had not before seen her
writing. It was to this effect: --

Tearsentreatiesprayershave availed me nothing.
Yesterdayfor two hoursI was at the church of


Saint-Phillippe du Rouleand for two hours I prayed most
fervently. Heaven is as inflexible as manand the signature
of the contract is fixed for this evening at nine o'clock. I
have but one promise and but one heart to give; that promise
is pledged to youthat heart is also yours. This evening
thenat a quarter to nine at the gate.

Your betrothed

Valentine de Villefort.

P.S. -- My poor grandmother gets worse and worse; yesterday
her fever amounted to delirium; to-day her delirium is
almost madness. You will be very kind to mewill you not
Morrelto make me forget my sorrow in leaving her thus? I
think it is kept a secret from grandpapa Noirtierthat the
contract is to be signed this evening.
Morrel went also to the notarywho confirmed the news that
the contract was to be signed that evening. Then he went to
call on Monte Cristo and heard still more. Franz had been to
announce the ceremonyand Madame de Villefort had also
written to beg the count to excuse her not inviting him; the
death of M. de Saint-Meran and the dangerous illness of his
widow would cast a gloom over the meeting which she would
regret should be shared by the count whom she wished every
happiness. The day before Franz had been presented to Madame
de Saint-Meranwho had left her bed to receive himbut had
been obliged to return to it immediately after. It is easy
to suppose that Morrel's agitation would not escape the
count's penetrating eye. Monte Cristo was more affectionate
than ever-- indeedhis manner was so kind that several
times Morrel was on the point of telling him all. But he
recalled the promise he had made to Valentineand kept his
secret.

The young man read Valentine's letter twenty times in the
course of the day. It was her firstand on what an
occasion! Each time he read it he renewed his vow to make
her happy. How great is the power of a woman who has made so
courageous a resolution! What devotion does she deserve from
him for whom she has sacrificed everything! How ought she
really to be supremely loved! She becomes at once a queen
and a wifeand it is impossible to thank and love her
sufficiently. Morrel longed intensely for the moment when he
should hear Valentine sayHere I am, Maximilian; come and
help me.He had arranged everything for her escape; two
ladders were hidden in the clover-field; a cabriolet was
ordered for Maximilian alonewithout a servantwithout
lights; at the turning of the first street they would light
the lampsas it would be foolish to attract the notice of
the police by too many precautions. Occasionally he
shuddered; he thought of the moment whenfrom the top of
that wallhe should protect the descent of his dear
Valentinepressing in his arms for the first time her of
whom he had yet only kissed the delicate hand.

When the afternoon arrived and he felt that the hour was
drawing nearhe wished for solitudehis agitation was
extreme; a simple question from a friend would have
irritated him. He shut himself in his roomand tried to
readbut his eye glanced over the page without
understanding a wordand he threw away the bookand for
the second time sat down to sketch his planthe ladders and


the fence. At length the hour drew near. Never did a man
deeply in love allow the clocks to go on peacefully. Morrel
tormented his so effectually that they struck eight at
half-past six. He then saidIt is time to start; the
signature was indeed fixed to take place at nine o'clock,
but perhaps Valentine will not wait for that. Consequently,
Morrel, having left the Rue Meslay at half-past eight by his
timepiece, entered the clover-field while the clock of
Saint-Phillippe du Roule was striking eight. The horse and
cabriolet were concealed behind a small ruin, where Morrel
had often waited.

The night gradually drew on, and the foliage in the garden
assumed a deeper hue. Then Morrel came out from his
hiding-place with a beating heart, and looked through the
small opening in the gate; there was yet no one to be seen.
The clock struck half-past eight, and still another
half-hour was passed in waiting, while Morrel walked to and
fro, and gazed more and more frequently through the opening.
The garden became darker still, but in the darkness he
looked in vain for the white dress, and in the silence he
vainly listened for the sound of footsteps. The house, which
was discernible through the trees, remained in darkness, and
gave no indication that so important an event as the
signature of a marriage-contract was going on. Morrel looked
at his watch, which wanted a quarter to ten; but soon the
same clock he had already heard strike two or three times
rectified the error by striking half-past nine.

This was already half an hour past the time Valentine had
fixed. It was a terrible moment for the young man. The
slightest rustling of the foliage, the least whistling of
the wind, attracted his attention, and drew the perspiration
to his brow; then he tremblingly fixed his ladder, and, not
to lose a moment, placed his foot on the first step. Amidst
all these alternations of hope and fear, the clock struck
ten. It is impossible said Maximilian, that the signing
of a contract should occupy so long a time without
unexpected interruptions. I have weighed all the chances
calculated the time required for all the forms; something
must have happened." And then he walked rapidly to and fro
and pressed his burning forehead against the fence. Had
Valentine fainted? or had she been discovered and stopped in
her flight? These were the only obstacles which appeared
possible to the young man.

The idea that her strength had failed her in attempting to
escapeand that she had fainted in one of the pathswas
the one that most impressed itself upon his mind. "In that
case said he, I should lose herand by my own fault." He
dwelt on this idea for a momentthen it appeared reality.
He even thought he could perceive something on the ground at
a distance; he ventured to calland it seemed to him that
the wind wafted back an almost inarticulate sigh. At last
the half-hour struck. It was impossible to wait longerhis
temples throbbed violentlyhis eyes were growing dim; he
passed one leg over the walland in a moment leaped down on
the other side. He was on Villefort's premises -- had
arrived there by scaling the wall. What might be the
consequences? Howeverhe had not ventured thus far to draw
back. He followed a short distance close under the wall
then crossed a pathhid entered a clump of trees. In a
moment he had passed through themand could see the house
distinctly. Then Morrel saw that he had been right in


believing that the house was not illuminated. Instead of
lights at every windowas is customary on days of ceremony
he saw only a gray masswhich was veiled also by a cloud
which at that moment obscured the moon's feeble light. A
light moved rapidly from time to time past three windows of
the second floor. These three windows were in Madame de
Saint-Meran's room. Another remained motionless behind some
red curtains which were in Madame de Villefort's bedroom.
Morrel guessed all this. So many timesin order to follow
Valentine in thought at every hour in the dayhad he made
her describe the whole housethat without having seen it he
knew it all.

This darkness and silence alarmed Morrel still more than
Valentine's absence had done. Almost mad with griefand
determined to venture everything in order to see Valentine
once moreand be certain of the misfortune he feared
Morrel gained the edge of the clump of treesand was going
to pass as quickly as possible through the flower-garden
when the sound of a voicestill at some distancebut which
was borne upon the windreached him.

At this soundas he was already partially exposed to view
he stepped back and concealed himself completelyremaining
perfectly motionless. He had formed his resolution. If it
was Valentine alonehe would speak as she passed; if she
was accompaniedand he could not speakstill he should see
herand know that she was safe; if they were strangershe
would listen to their conversationand might understand
something of this hitherto incomprehensible mystery. The
moon had just then escaped from behind the cloud which had
concealed itand Morrel saw Villefort come out upon the
stepsfollowed by a gentleman in black. They descendedand
advanced towards the clump of treesand Morrel soon
recognized the other gentleman as Doctor d'Avrigny.

The young manseeing them approachdrew back mechanically
until he found himself stopped by a sycamore-tree in the
centre of the clump; there he was compelled to remain. Soon
the two gentlemen stopped also.

Ah, my dear doctor,said the procureurheaven declares
itself against my house! What a dreadful death -- what a
blow! Seek not to console me; alas, nothing can alleviate so
great a sorrow -- the wound is too deep and too fresh! Dead,
dead!The cold sweat sprang to the young man's browand
his teeth chattered. Who could be dead in that housewhich
Villefort himself had called accursed? "My dear M. de
Villefort replied the doctor, with a tone which redoubled
the terror of the young man, I have not led you here to
console you; on the contrary" -


What can you mean?asked the procureuralarmed.

I mean that behind the misfortune which has just happened
to you, there is another, perhaps, still greater.

Can it be possible?murmured Villefortclasping his
hands. "What are you going to tell me?"

Are we quite alone, my friend?

Yes, quite; but why all these precautions?


Because I have a terrible secret to communicate to you,
said the doctor. "Let us sit down."

Villefort fellrather than seated himself The doctor stood
before himwith one hand placed on his shoulder. Morrel
horrifiedsupported his head with one handand with the
other pressed his heartlest its beatings should be heard.
Dead, dead!repeated he within himself; and he felt as if
he were also dying.

Speak, doctor -- I am listening,said Villefort; "strike
-- I am prepared for everything!"

Madame de Saint-Meran was, doubtless, advancing in years,
but she enjoyed excellent health.Morrel began again to
breathe freelywhich he had not done during the last ten
minutes.

Grief has consumed her,said Villefort -- "yesgrief
doctor! After living forty years with the marquis" -


It is not grief, my dear Villefort,said the doctor;
grief may kill, although it rarely does, and never in a
day, never in an hour, never in ten minutes.Villefort
answered nothinghe simply raised his headwhich had been
cast down beforeand looked at the doctor with amazement.

Were you present during the last struggle?asked M.
d'Avrigny.

I was,replied the procureur; "you begged me not to
leave."

Did you notice the symptoms of the disease to which Madame
de Saint-Meran has fallen a victim?

I did. Madame de Saint-Meran had three successive attacks,
at intervals of some minutes, each one more serious than the
former. When you arrived, Madame de Saint-Meran had already
been panting for breath some minutes; she then had a fit,
which I took to be simply a nervous attack, and it was only
when I saw her raise herself in the bed, and her limbs and
neck appear stiffened, that I became really alarmed. Then I
understood from your countenance there was more to fear than
I had thought. This crisis past, I endeavored to catch your
eye, but could not. You held her hand -- you were feeling
her pulse -- and the second fit came on before you had
turned towards me. This was more terrible than the first;
the same nervous movements were repeated, and the mouth
contracted and turned purple.

And at the third she expired.

At the end of the first attack I discovered symptoms of
tetanus; you confirmed my opinion.

Yes, before others,replied the doctor; "but now we are
alone" -


What are you going to say? Oh, spare me!

That the symptoms of tetanus and poisoning by vegetable
substances are the same.M. de Villefort started from his
seatthen in a moment fell down againsilent and


motionless. Morrel knew not if he were dreaming or awake.
Listen,said the doctor; "I know the full importance of the
statement I have just madeand the disposition of the man
to whom I have made it."

Do you speak to me as a magistrate or as a friend?asked
Villefort.

As a friend, and only as a friend, at this moment. The
similarity in the symptoms of tetanus and poisoning by
vegetable substances is so great, that were I obliged to
affirm by oath what I have now stated, I should hesitate; I
therefore repeat to you, I speak not to a magistrate, but to
a friend. And to that friend I say. `During the
three-quarters of an hour that the struggle continued, I
watched the convulsions and the death of Madame de
Saint-Meran, and am thoroughly convinced that not only did
her death proceed from poison, but I could also specify the
poison.'

Can it be possible?

The symptoms are marked, do you see? -- sleep broken by
nervous spasms, excitation of the brain, torpor of the nerve
centres. Madame de Saint-Meran succumbed to a powerful dose
of brucine or of strychnine, which by some mistake, perhaps,
has been given to her.Villefort seized the doctor's hand.
Oh, it is impossible,said heI must be dreaming! It is
frightful to hear such things from such a man as you! Tell
me, I entreat you, my dear doctor, that you may be
deceived.

Doubtless I may, but-


But?

But I do not think so.

Have pity on me doctor! So many dreadful things have
happened to me lately that I am on the verge of madness.

Has any one besides me seen Madame de Saint-Meran?

No.

Has anything been sent for from a chemist's that I have not
examined?

Nothing.

Had Madame de Saint-Meran any enemies?

Not to my knowledge.

Would her death affect any one's interest?

It could not indeed, my daughter is her only heiress --
Valentine alone. Oh, if such a thought could present itself,
I would stab myself to punish my heart for having for one
instant harbored it.

Indeed, my dear friend,said M. d'AvrignyI would not
accuse any one; I speak only of an accident, you understand,
-- of a mistake, -- but whether accident or mistake, the


fact is there; it is on my conscience and compels me to
speak aloud to you. Make inquiry.

Of whom? -- how? -- of what?

May not Barrois, the old servant, have made a mistake, and
have given Madame de Saint-Meran a dose prepared for his
master?

For my father?

Yes.

But how could a dose prepared for M. Noirtier poison Madame
de Saint-Meran?

Nothing is more simple. You know poisons become remedies in
certain diseases, of which paralysis is one. For instance,
having tried every other remedy to restore movement and
speech to M. Noirtier, I resolved to try one last means, and
for three months I have been giving him brucine; so that in
the last dose I ordered for him there were six grains. This
quantity, which is perfectly safe to administer to the
paralyzed frame of M. Noirtier, which has become gradually
accustomed to it, would be sufficient to kill another
person.

My dear doctor, there is no communication between M.
Noirtier's apartment and that of Madame de Saint-Meran, and
Barrois never entered my mother-in-law's room. In short,
doctor although I know you to be the most conscientious man
in the world, and although I place the utmost reliance in
you, I want, notwithstanding my conviction, to believe this
axiom, errare humanum est.

Is there one of my brethren in whom you have equal
confidence with myself?

Why do you ask me that? -- what do you wish?

Send for him; I will tell him what I have seen, and we will
consult together, and examine the body.

And you will find traces of poison?

No, I did not say of poison, but we can prove what was the
state of the body; we shall discover the cause of her sudden
death, and we shall say, `Dear Villefort, if this thing has
been caused by negligence, watch over your servants; if from
hatred, watch your enemies.'

What do you propose to me, d'Avrigny?said Villefort in
despair; "so soon as another is admitted into our secretan
inquest will become necessary; and an inquest in my house -impossible!
Still continued the procureur, looking at the
doctor with uneasiness, if you wish it -- if you demand it
why then it shall be done. Butdoctoryou see me already
so grieved -- how can I introduce into my house so much
scandalafter so much sorrow? My wife and my daughter would
die of it! And Idoctor -- you know a man does not arrive
at the post I occupy -- one has not been king's attorney
twenty-five years without having amassed a tolerable number
of enemies; mine are numerous. Let this affair be talked of
it will be a triumph for themwhich will make them rejoice


and cover me with shame. Pardon medoctorthese worldly
ideas; were you a priest I should not dare tell you that
but you are a manand you know mankind. Doctorpray recall
your words; you have said nothinghave you?"

My dear M. de Villefort,replied the doctormy first
duty is to humanity. I would have saved Madame de
Saint-Meran, if science could have done it; but she is dead
and my duty regards the living. Let us bury this terrible
secret in the deepest recesses of our hearts; I am willing,
if any one should suspect this, that my silence on the
subject should be imputed to my ignorance. Meanwhile, sir,
watch always -- watch carefully, for perhaps the evil may
not stop here. And when you have found the culprit, if you
find him, I will say to you, `You are a magistrate, do as
you will!'

I thank you, doctor,said Villefort with indescribable
joy; "I never had a better friend than you." Andas if he
feared Doctor d'Avrigny would recall his promisehe hurried
him towards the house.

When they were goneMorrel ventured out from under the
treesand the moon shone upon his facewhich was so pale
it might have been taken for that of a ghost. "I am
manifestly protected in a most wonderfulbut most terrible
manner said he; but Valentinepoor girlhow will she
bear so much sorrow?"

As he thought thushe looked alternately at the window with
red curtains and the three windows with white curtains. The
light had almost disappeared from the former; doubtless
Madame de Villefort had just put out her lampand the
nightlamp alone reflected its dull light on the window. At
the extremity of the buildingon the contraryhe saw one
of the three windows open. A wax-light placed on the
mantle-piece threw some of its pale rays withoutand a
shadow was seen for one moment on the balcony. Morrel
shuddered; he thought he heard a sob.

It cannot be wondered at that his mindgenerally so
courageousbut now disturbed by the two strongest human
passionslove and fearwas weakened even to the indulgence
of superstitious thoughts. Although it was impossible that
Valentine should see himhidden as he washe thought he
heard the shadow at the window call him; his disturbed mind
told him so. This double error became an irresistible
realityand by one of the incomprehensible transports of
youthhe bounded from his hiding-placeand with two
stridesat the risk of being seenat the risk of alarming
Valentineat the risk of being discovered by some
exclamation which might escape the young girlhe crossed
the flower-gardenwhich by the light of the moon resembled
a large white lakeand having passed the rows of
orange-trees which extended in front of the househe
reached the stepran quickly up and pushed the doorwhich
opened without offering any resistance. Valentine had not
seen him. Her eyesraised towards heavenwere watching a
silvery cloud gliding over the azureits form that of a
shadow mounting towards heaven. Her poetic and excited mind
pictured it as the soul of her grandmother.

MeanwhileMorrel had traversed the anteroom and found the
staircasewhichbeing carpetedprevented his approach


being heardand he had regained that degree of confidence
that the presence of M. de Villefort even would not have
alarmed him. He was quite prepared for any such encounter.
He would at once approach Valentine's father and acknowledge
allbegging Villefort to pardon and sanction the love which
united two fond and loving hearts. Morrel was mad. Happily
he did not meet any one. Nowespeciallydid he find the
description Valentine had given of the interior of the house
useful to him; he arrived safely at the top of the
staircaseand while he was feeling his waya sob indicated
the direction he was to take. He turned backa door partly
open enabled him to see his roadand to hear the voice of
one in sorrow. He pushed the door open and entered. At the
other end of the roomunder a white sheet which covered it
lay the corpsestill more alarming to Morrel since the
account he had so unexpectedly overheard. By its sideon
her kneesand with her head buried in the cushion of an
easy-chairwas Valentinetrembling and sobbingher hands
extended above her headclasped and stiff. She had turned
from the windowwhich remained openand was praying in
accents that would have affected the most unfeeling; her
words were rapidincoherentunintelligiblefor the
burning weight of grief almost stopped her utterance. The
moon shining through the open blinds made the lamp appear to
burn palerand cast a sepulchral hue over the whole scene.
Morrel could not resist this; he was not exemplary for
pietyhe was not easily impressedbut Valentine suffering
weepingwringing her hands before himwas more than he
could bear in silence. He sighedand whispered a nameand
the head bathed in tears and pressed on the velvet cushion
of the chair -- a head like that of a Magdalen by Correggio
-- was raised and turned towards him. Valentine perceived
him without betraying the least surprise. A heart
overwhelmed with one great grief is insensible to minor
emotions. Morrel held out his hand to her. Valentineas her
only apology for not having met himpointed to the corpse
under the sheetand began to sob again. Neither dared for
some time to speak in that room. They hesitated to break the
silence which death seemed to impose; at length Valentine
ventured.

My friend,said shehow came you here? Alas, I would say
you are welcome, had not death opened the way for you into
this house.

Valentine,said Morrel with a trembling voiceI had
waited since half-past eight, and did not see you come; I
became uneasy, leaped the wall, found my way through the
garden, when voices conversing about the fatal event-


What voices ?asked Valentine. Morrel shuddered as he
thought of the conversation of the doctor and M. de
Villefortand he thought he could see through the sheet the
extended handsthe stiff neckand the purple lips.

Your servants,said hewho were repeating the whole of
the sorrowful story; from them I learned it all.

But it was risking the failure of our plan to come up here,
love.

Forgive me,replied Morrel; "I will go away."

No,said Valentineyou might meet some one; stay.


But if any one should come here--

The young girl shook her head. "No one will come said she;
do not fearthere is our safeguard pointing to the bed.

But what has become of M. d'Epinay?" replied Morrel.

M. Franz arrived to sign the contract just as my dear
grandmother was dying.

Alas,said Morrel with a feeling of selfish joy; for he
thought this death would cause the wedding to be postponed
indefinitely. "But what redoubles my sorrow continued the
young girl, as if this feeling was to receive its immediate
punishment, is that the poor old ladyon her death-bed
requested that the marriage might take place as soon as
possible; she alsothinking to protect mewas acting
against me."

Hark!said Morrel. They both listened; steps were
distinctly heard in the corridor and on the stairs.

It is my father, who has just left his study.

To accompany the doctor to the door,added Morrel.

How do you know it is the doctor?asked Valentine
astonished.

I imagined it must be,said Morrel. Valentine looked at
the young man; they heard the street door closethen M. de
Villefort locked the garden doorand returned up-stairs. He
stopped a moment in the anteroomas if hesitating whether
to turn to his own apartment or into Madame de
Saint-Meran's; Morrel concealed himself behind a door;
Valentine remained motionlessgrief seeming to deprive her
of all fear. M. de Villefort passed on to his own room.
Now,said Valentineyou can neither go out by the front
door nor by the garden.Morrel looked at her with
astonishment. "There is but one way left you that is safe
said she; it is through my grandfather's room." She rose
Come,she added. -- "Where?" asked Maximilian.

To my grandfather's room.

I in M. Noirtier's apartment?

Yes.

Can you mean it, Valentine?

I have long wished it; he is my only remaining friend and
we both need his help, -- come.

Be careful, Valentine,said Morrelhesitating to comply
with the young girl's wishes; "I now see my error -- I acted
like a madman in coming in here. Are you sure you are more
reasonable?"

Yes,said Valentine; "and I have but one scruple-- that
of leaving my dear grandmother's remainswhich I had
undertaken to watch."


Valentine,said Morreldeath is in itself sacred.

Yes,said Valentine; "besidesit will not be for long."
She then crossed the corridorand led the way down a narrow
staircase to M. Noirtier's room; Morrel followed her on
tiptoe; at the door they found the old servant. "Barrois
said Valentine, shut the doorand let no one come in." She
passed first. Noirtierseated in his chairand listening
to every soundwas watching the door; he saw Valentineand
his eye brightened. There was something grave and solemn in
the approach of the young girl which struck the old manand
immediately his bright eye began to interrogate. "Dear
grandfather." said she hurriedlyyou know poor grandmamma
died an hour since, and now I have no friend in the world
but you.His expressive eyes evinced the greatest
tenderness. "To you alonethenmay I confide my sorrows
and my hopes?" The paralytic motioned "Yes." Valentine took
Maximilian's hand. "Look attentivelythenat this
gentleman." The old man fixed his scrutinizing gaze with
slight astonishment on Morrel. "It is M. Maximilian Morrel
said she; the son of that good merchant of Marseilleswhom
you doubtless recollect."

Yes,said the old man. "He brings an irreproachable name
which Maximilian is likely to render glorioussince at
thirty years of age he is a captainan officer of the
Legion of Honor." The old man signified that he recollected
him. "Wellgrandpapa said Valentine, kneeling before him,
and pointing to Maximilian, I love himand will be only
his; were I compelled to marry anotherI would destroy
myself."

The eyes of the paralytic expressed a multitude of
tumultuous thoughts. "You like M. Maximilian Morreldo you
notgrandpapa?" asked Valentine.

Yes.

And you will protect us, who are your children, against the
will of my father?-- Noirtier cast an intelligent glance
at Morrelas if to sayperhaps I may.Maximilian
understood him.

Mademoiselle,said heyou have a sacred duty to fulfil
in your deceased grandmother's room, will you allow me the
honor of a few minutes' conversation with M. Noirtier?

That is it,said the old man's eye. Then he looked
anxiously at Valentine.

Do you fear he will not understand?

Yes.

Oh, we have so often spoken of you, that he knows exactly
how I talk to you.Then turning to Maximilianwith an
adorable smile; although shaded by sorrow-- "He knows
everything I know said she.

Valentine arose, placed a chair for Morrel, requested
Barrois not to admit any one, and having tenderly embraced
her grandfather, and sorrowfully taken leave of Morrel, she
went away. To prove to Noirtier that he was in Valentine's
confidence and knew all their secrets, Morrel took the


dictionary, a pen, and some paper, and placed them all on a
table where there was a light.

But first said Morrel, allow mesirto tell you who I
amhow much I love Mademoiselle Valentineand what are my
designs respecting her." Noirtier made a sign that he would
listen.

It was an imposing sight to witness this old manapparently
a mere useless burdenbecoming the sole protectorsupport
and adviser of the lovers who were both youngbeautiful
and strong. His remarkably noble and austere expression
struck Morrelwho began his story with trembling. He
related the manner in which he had become acquainted with
Valentineand how he had loved herand that Valentinein
her solitude and her misfortunehad accepted the offer of
his devotion. He told him his birthhis positionhis
fortuneand more than oncewhen he consulted the look of
the paralyticthat look answeredThat is good, proceed.

And now,said Morrelwhen he had finished the first part
of his recitalnow I have told you of my love and my
hopes, may I inform you of my intentions?

Yes,signified the old man.

This was our resolution; a cabriolet was in waiting at the
gate, in which I intended to carry off Valentine to my
sister's house, to marry her, and to wait respectfully M. de
Villefort's pardon.

No,said Noirtier.

We must not do so?

No.

You do not sanction our project?

No.

There is another way,said Morrel. The old man's
interrogative eye saidWhat?

I will go,continued MaximilianI will seek M. Franz
d'Epinay -- I am happy to be able to mention this in
Mademoiselle de Villefort's absence -- and will conduct
myself toward him so as to compel him to challenge me.
Noirtier's look continued to interrogate. "You wish to know
what I will do?"

Yes.

I will find him, as I told you. I will tell him the ties
which bind me to Mademoiselle Valentine; if he be a sensible
man, he will prove it by renouncing of his own accord the
hand of his betrothed, and will secure my friendship, and
love until death; if he refuse, either through interest or
ridiculous pride, after I have proved to him that he would
be forcing my wife from me, that Valentine loves me, and
will have no other, I will fight with him, give him every
advantage, and I shall kill him, or he will kill me; if I am
victorious, he will not marry Valentine, and if I die, I am
very sure Valentine will not marry him.Noirtier watched


with indescribable pleasurethis noble and sincere
countenanceon which every sentiment his tongue uttered was
depictedadding by the expression of his fine features all
that coloring adds to a sound and faithful drawing. Still
when Morrel had finishedhe shut his eyes several times
which was his manner of saying "No."

No?said Morrel; "you disapprove of this second project
as you did of the first?"

I do,signified the old man.

But what then must be done?asked Morrel. "Madame de
Saint-Meran's last request wasthat the marriage might not
be delayed; must I let things take their course?" Noirtier
did not move. "I understand said Morrel; I am to wait."

Yes.

But delay may ruin our plan, sir,replied the young man.
Alone, Valentine has no power; she will be compelled to
submit. I am here almost miraculously, and can scarcely hope
for so good an opportunity to occur again. Believe me, there
are only the two plans I have proposed to you; forgive my
vanity, and tell me which you prefer. Do you authorize
Mademoiselle Valentine to intrust herself to my honor?

No.

Do you prefer I should seek M. d'Epinay?

No.

Whence then will come the help we need -- from chance?
resumed Morrel.

No.

From you?

Yes.

You thoroughly understand me, sir? Pardon my eagerness, for
my life depends on your answer. Will our help come from
you?

Yes.

You are sure of it?

Yes.There was so much firmness in the look which gave
this answerno one couldat any ratedoubt his willif
they did his power. "Ohthank you a thousand times! But
howunless a miracle should restore your speechyour
gestureyour movementhow can youchained to that
arm-chairdumb and motionlessoppose this marriage?" A
smile lit up the old man's facea strange smile of the eyes
in a paralyzed face. "Then I must wait?" asked the young
man.

Yes.

But the contract?The same smile returned. "Will you
assure me it shall not be signed?"


Yes,said Noirtier.


The contract shall not be signed!cried Morrel. "Oh
pardon mesir; I can scarcely realize so great a happiness.
Will they not sign it?"


No,said the paralytic. Notwithstanding that assurance
Morrel still hesitated. This promise of an impotent old man
was so strange thatinstead of being the result of the
power of his willit might emanate from enfeebled organs.
Is it not natural that the madmanignorant of his folly
should attempt things beyond his power? The weak man talks
of burdens he can raisethe timid of giants he can
confrontthe poor of treasures he spendsthe most humble
peasantin the height of his pridecalls himself Jupiter.
Whether Noirtier understood the young man's indecisionor
whether he had not full confidence in his docilityhe
looked uneasily at him. "What do you wishsir?" asked
Morrel; "that I should renew my promise of remaining
tranquil?" Noirtier's eye remained fixed and firmas if to
imply that a promise did not suffice; then it passed from
his face to his hands.


Shall I swear to you, sir?asked Maximilian.


Yes?said the paralytic with the same solemnity. Morrel
understood that the old man attached great importance to an
oath. He extended his hand.


I swear to you, on my honor,said heto await your
decision respecting the course I am to pursue with M.
d'Epinay.


That is right,said the old man.


Now,said Morreldo you wish me to retire?


Yes.


Without seeing Mademoiselle Valentine?


Yes.


Morrel made a sign that he was ready to obey. "But said
he, first allow me to embrace you as your daughter did just
now." Noirtier's expression could not be understood. The
young man pressed his lips on the same spoton the old
man's foreheadwhere Valentine's had been. Then he bowed a
second time and retired. He found outside the door the old
servantto whom Valentine had given directions. Morrel was
conducted along a dark passagewhich led to a little door
opening on the gardensoon found the spot where he had
enteredwith the assistance of the shrubs gained the top of
the walland by his ladder was in an instant in the
clover-field where his cabriolet was still waiting for him.
He got in itand thoroughly wearied by so many emotions
arrived about midnight in the Rue Meslaythrew himself on
his bed and slept soundly.


Chapter 74
The Villefort Family Vault.



Two days aftera considerable crowd was assembledtowards
ten o'clock in the morningaround the door of M. de
Villefort's houseand a long file of mourning-coaches and
private carriages extended along the Faubourg Saint-Honore
and the Rue de la Pepiniere. Among them was one of a very
singular formwhich appeared to have come from a distance.
It was a kind of covered wagonpainted blackand was one
of the first to arrive. Inquiry was madeand it was
ascertained thatby a strange coincidencethis carriage
contained the corpse of the Marquis de Saint-Meranand that
those who had come thinking to attend one funeral would
follow two. Their number was great. The Marquis de
Saint-Meranone of the most zealous and faithful
dignitaries of Louis XVIII. and King Charles X.had
preserved a great number of friendsand theseadded to the
personages whom the usages of society gave Villefort a claim
onformed a considerable body.

Due information was given to the authoritiesand permission
obtained that the two funerals should take place at the same
time. A second hearsedecked with the same funereal pomp
was brought to M. de Villefort's doorand the coffin
removed into it from the post-wagon. The two bodies were to
be interred in the cemetery of Pere-la-Chaisewhere M. de
Villefort had long since had a tomb prepared for the
reception of his family. The remains of poor Renee were
already deposited thereand nowafter ten years of
separationher father and mother were to be reunited with
her. The Parisiansalways curiousalways affected by
funereal displaylooked on with religious silence while the
splendid procession accompanied to their last abode two of
the number of the old aristocracy -- the greatest protectors
of commerce and sincere devotees to their principles. In one
of the mourning-coaches BeauchampDebrayand
Chateau-Renaud were talking of the very sudden death of the
marchioness. "I saw Madame de Saint-Meran only last year at
Marseilleswhen I was coming back from Algiers said
Chateau-Renaud; she looked like a woman destined to live to
be a hundred years oldfrom her apparent sound health and
great activity of mind and body. How old was she?"

Franz assured me,replied Albertthat she was sixty-six
years old. But she has not died of old age, but of grief; it
appears that since the death of the marquis, which affected
her very deeply, she has not completely recovered her
reason.

But of what disease, then, did she die?asked Debray.

It is said to have been a congestion of the brain, or
apoplexy, which is the same thing, is it not?

Nearly.

It is difficult to believe that it was apoplexy,said
Beauchamp. "Madame de Saint-Meranwhom I once sawwas
shortof slender formand of a much more nervous than
sanguine temperament; grief could hardly produce apoplexy in
such a constitution as that of Madame de Saint-Meran."

At any rate,said Albertwhatever disease or doctor may
have killed her, M. de Villefort, or rather, Mademoiselle
Valentine, -- or, still rather, our friend Franz, inherits a


magnificent fortune, amounting, I believe, to 80,000 livres
per annum.

And this fortune will be doubled at the death of the old
Jacobin, Noirtier.

That is a tenacious old grandfather,said Beauchamp.
Tenacem propositi virum. I think he must have made an
agreement with death to outlive all his heirs, and he
appears likely to succeed. He resembles the old
Conventionalist of '93, who said to Napoleon, in 1814, `You
bend because your empire is a young stem, weakened by rapid
growth. Take the Republic for a tutor; let us return with
renewed strength to the battle-field, and I promise you
500,000 soldiers, another Marengo, and a second Austerlitz.
Ideas do not become extinct, sire; they slumber sometimes,
but only revive the stronger before they sleep entirely.'
Ideas and men appeared the same to him. One thing only
puzzles me, namely, how Franz d'Epinay will like a
grandfather who cannot be separated from his wife. But where
is Franz?

In the first carriage, with M. de Villefort, who considers
him already as one of the family.

Such was the conversation in almost all the carriages; these
two sudden deathsso quickly following each other
astonished every onebut no one suspected the terrible
secret which M. d'Avrigny had communicatedin his nocturnal
walk to M. de Villefort. They arrived in about an hour at
the cemetery; the weather was mildbut dulland in harmony
with the funeral ceremony. Among the groups which flocked
towards the family vaultChateau-Renaud recognized Morrel
who had come alone in a cabrioletand walked silently along
the path bordered with yew-trees. "You here?" said
Chateau-Renaudpassing his arms through the young
captain's; "are you a friend of Villefort's? How is it that
I have never met you at his house?"

I am no acquaintance of M. de Villefort's.answered
Morrelbut I was of Madame de Saint-Meran.Albert came up
to them at this moment with Franz.

The time and place are but ill-suited for an introduction.
said Albert; "but we are not superstitious. M. Morrelallow
me to present to you M. Franz d'Epinaya delightful
travelling companionwith whom I made the tour of Italy. My
dear FranzM. Maximilian Morrelan excellent friend I have
acquired in your absenceand whose name you will hear me
mention every time I make any allusion to affectionwitor
amiability." Morrel hesitated for a moment; he feared it
would be hypocritical to accost in a friendly manner the man
whom he was tacitly opposingbut his oath and the gravity
of the circumstances recurred to his memory; he struggled to
conceal his emotion and bowed to Franz. "Mademoiselle de
Villefort is in deep sorrowis she not?" said Debray to
Franz.

Extremely,replied he; "she looked so pale this morningI
scarcely knew her." These apparently simple words pierced
Morrel to the heart. This man had seen Valentineand spoken
to her! The young and high-spirited officer required all his
strength of mind to resist breaking his oath. He took the
arm of Chateau-Renaudand turned towards the vaultwhere


the attendants had already placed the two coffins. "This is
a magnificent habitation said Beauchamp, looking towards
the mausoleum; a summer and winter palace. You willin
turnenter itmy dear d'Epinayfor you will soon be
numbered as one of the family. Ias a philosophershould
like a little country-housea cottage down there under the
treeswithout so many free-stones over my poor body. In
dyingI will say to those around me what Voltaire wrote to
Piron: `Eo rusand all will be over.' But comeFranztake
courageyour wife is an heiress."

Indeed, Beauchamp, you are unbearable. Politics has made
you laugh at everything, and political men have made you
disbelieve everything. But when you have the honor of
associating with ordinary men, and the pleasure of leaving
politics for a moment, try to find your affectionate heart,
which you leave with your stick when you go to the Chamber.

But tell me,said Beauchampwhat is life? Is it not a
hall in Death's anteroom?

I am prejudiced against Beauchamp,said Albertdrawing
Franz awayand leaving the former to finish his
philosophical dissertation with Debray. The Villefort vault
formed a square of white stonesabout twenty feet high; an
interior partition separated the two familiesand each
apartment had its entrance door. Here were notas in other
tombsignoble drawersone above anotherwhere thrift
bestows its dead and labels them like specimens in a museum;
all that was visible within the bronze gates was a
gloomy-looking roomseparated by a wall from the vault
itself. The two doors before mentioned were in the middle of
this walland enclosed the Villefort and Saint-Meran
coffins. There grief might freely expend itself without
being disturbed by the trifling loungers who came from a
picnic party to visit Pere-la-Chaiseor by lovers who make
it their rendezvous.

The two coffins were placed on trestles previously prepared
for their reception in the right-hand crypt belonging to the
Saint-Meran family. VillefortFranzand a few near
relatives alone entered the sanctuary.

As the religious ceremonies had all been performed at the
doorand there was no address giventhe party all
separated; Chateau-RenaudAlbertand Morrelwent one way
and Debray and Beauchamp the other. Franz remained with M.
de Villefort; at the gate of the cemetery Morrel made an
excuse to wait; he saw Franz and M. de Villefort get into
the same mourning coachand thought this meeting forboded
evil. He then returned to Parisand although in the same
carriage with Chateau-Renaud and Alberthe did not hear one
word of their conversation. As Franz was about to take leave
of M. de VillefortWhen shall I see you again?said the
latter.

At what time you please, sir,replied Franz.

As soon as possible.

I am at your command, sir; shall we return together?

If not unpleasant to you.


On the contrary, I shall feel much pleasure.Thusthe
future father and son-in-law stepped into the same carriage
and Morrelseeing them passbecame uneasy. Villefort and
Franz returned to the Faubourg Saint-Honore. The procureur
without going to see either his wife or his daughterwent
at once to his studyandoffering the young man a chair
-- "M. d'Epinay said he, allow me to remind you at this
moment-- which is perhaps not so ill-chosen as at first
sight may appearfor obedience to the wishes of the
departed is the first offering which should be made at their
tomb-- allow me then to remind you of the wish expressed
by Madame de Saint-Meran on her death-bedthat Valentine's
wedding might not be deferred. You know the affairs of the
deceased are in perfect orderand her will bequeaths to
Valentine the entire property of the Saint-Meran family; the
notary showed me the documents yesterdaywhich will enable
us to draw up the contract immediately. You may call on the
notaryM. DeschampsPlace BeauveauFaubourg Saint-Honore
and you have my authority to inspect those deeds."

Sir,replied M. d'Epinayit is not, perhaps, the moment
for Mademoiselle Valentine, who is in deep distress, to
think of a husband; indeed, I fear-


Valentine will have no greater pleasure than that of
fulfilling her grandmother's last injunctions; there will be
no obstacle from that quarter, I assure you.

In that case,replied Franzas I shall raise none, you
may make arrangements when you please; I have pledged my
word, and shall feel pleasure and happiness in adhering to
it.

Then,said Villefortnothing further is required. The
contract was to have been signed three days since; we shall
find it all ready, and can sign it to-day.

But the mourning?said Franzhesitating.

Don't be uneasy on that score,replied Villefort; "no
ceremony will be neglected in my house. Mademoiselle de
Villefort may retire during the prescribed three months to
her estate of Saint-Meran; I say hersfor she inherits it
to-day. Thereafter a few daysif you likethe civil
marriage shall be celebrated without pomp or ceremony.
Madame de Saint-Meran wished her daughter should be married
there. When that is overyousircan return to Paris
while your wife passes the time of her mourning with her
mother-in-law."

As you please, sir,said Franz.

Then,replied M. de Villeforthave the kindness to wait
half an hour; Valentine shall come down into the
drawing-room. I will send for M. Deschamps; we will read and
sign the contract before we separate, and this evening
Madame de Villefort; shall accompany Valentine to her
estate, where we will rejoin them in a week.

Sir,said FranzI have one request to make.

What is it?

I wish Albert de Morcerf and Raoul de Chateau-Renaud to be


present at this signature; you know they are my witnesses.

Half an hour will suffice to apprise them; will you go for
them yourself, or shall you send?

I prefer going, sir.

I shall expect you, then, in half an hour, baron, and
Valentine will be ready.Franz bowed and left the room.
Scarcely had the door closedwhen M. de Villefort sent to
tell Valentine to be ready in the drawing-room in half an
houras he expected the notary and M. d'Epinay and his
witnesses. The news caused a great sensation throughout the
house; Madame de Villefort would not believe itand
Valentine was thunderstruck. She looked around for helpand
would have gone down to her grandfather's roombut on the
stairs she met M. de Villefortwho took her arm and led her
into the drawing-room. In the anteroomValentine met
Barroisand looked despairingly at the old servant. A
moment laterMadame de Villefort entered the drawing-room
with her little Edward. It was evident that she had shared
the grief of the familyfor she was pale and looked
fatigued. She sat downtook Edward on her kneesand from
time to time pressed this childon whom her affections
appeared centredalmost convulsively to her bosom. Two
carriages were soon heard to enter the court yard. One was
the notary's; the otherthat of Franz and his friends. In a
moment the whole party was assembled. Valentine was so pale
one might trace the blue veins from her templesround her
eyes and down her cheeks. Franz was deeply affected.
Chateau-Renaud and Albert looked at each other with
amazement; the ceremony which was just concluded had not
appeared more sorrowful than did that which was about to
begin. Madame de Villefort had placed herself in the shadow
behind a velvet curtainand as she constantly bent over her
childit was difficult to read the expression of her face.

M. de Villefort wasas usualunmoved.
The notaryafter having according to the customary method
arranged the papers on the tabletaken his place in an
armchairand raised his spectaclesturned towards Franz:

Are you M. Franz de Quesnel, baron d'Epinay?asked he
although he knew it perfectly.

Yes, sir,replied Franz. The notary bowed. "I havethen
to inform yousirat the request of M. de Villefortthat
your projected marriage with Mademoiselle de Villefort has
changed the feeling of M. Noirtier towards his grandchild
and that he disinherits her entirely of the fortune he would
have left her. Let me hasten to add continued he, that
the testatorhaving only the right to alienate a part of
his fortuneand having alienated it allthe will will not
bear scrutinyand is declared null and void."

Yes.said Villefort; "but I warn M. d'Epinaythat during
my life-time my father's will shall never be questionedmy
position forbidding any doubt to be entertained."

Sir,said FranzI regret much that such a question has
been raised in the presence of Mademoiselle Valentine; I
have never inquired the amount of her fortune, which,
however limited it may be, exceeds mine. My family has
sought consideration in this alliance with M. de Villefort;


all I seek is happiness.Valentine imperceptibly thanked
himwhile two silent tears rolled down her cheeks.
Besides, sir,said Villefortaddressing himself to his
future son-in-lawexcepting the loss of a portion of your
hopes, this unexpected will need not personally wound you;

M. Noirtier's weakness of mind sufficiently explains it. It
is not because Mademoiselle Valentine is going to marry you
that he is angry, but because she will marry, a union with
any other would have caused him the same sorrow. Old age is
selfish, sir, and Mademoiselle de Villefort has been a
faithful companion to M. Noirtier, which she cannot be when
she becomes the Baroness d'Epinay. My father's melancholy
state prevents our speaking to him on any subjects, which
the weakness of his mind would incapacitate him from
understanding, and I am perfectly convinced that at the
present time, although, he knows that his granddaughter is
going to be married, M. Noirtier has even forgotten the name
of his intended grandson.M. de Villefort had scarcely said
thiswhen the door openedand Barrois appeared.
Gentlemen,said hein a tone strangely firm for a servant
speaking to his masters under such solemn circumstances-"
gentlemenM. Noirtier de Villefort wishes to speak
immediately to M. Franz de Quesnelbaron d'Epinay;" heas
well as the notarythat there might be no mistake in the
persongave all his titles to the bride-groom elect.

Villefort startedMadame de Villefort let her son slip from
her kneesValentine rosepale and dumb as a statue. Albert
and Chateau-Renaud exchanged a second lookmore full of
amazement than the first. The notary looked at Villefort.
It is impossible,said the procureur. "M. d'Epinay cannot
leave the drawing-room at present."

It is at this moment,replied Barrois with the same
firmnessthat M. Noirtier, my master, wishes to speak on
important subjects to M. Franz d'Epinay.

Grandpapa Noirtier can speak now, then,said Edwardwith
his habitual quickness. Howeverhis remark did not make
Madame de Villefort even smileso much was every mind
engagedand so solemn was the situation. Astonishment was
at its height. Something like a smile was perceptible on
Madame de Villefort's countenance. Valentine instinctively
raised her eyesas if to thank heaven.

Pray go, Valentine,said; M. de Villefortand see what
this new fancy of your grandfather's is.Valentine rose
quicklyand was hastening joyfully towards the doorwhen

M. de Villefort altered his intention.
Stop,said he; "I will go with you."

Excuse me, sir,said Franzsince M. Noirtier sent for
me, I am ready to attend to his wish; besides, I shall be
happy to pay my respects to him, not having yet had the
honor of doing so.

Pray, sir,said Villefort with marked uneasinessdo not
disturb yourself.

Forgive me, sir,said Franz in a resolute tone. "I would
not lose this opportunity of proving to M. Noirtier how
wrong it would be of him to encourage feelings of dislike to


mewhich I am determined to conquerwhatever they may be
by my devotion." And without listening to Villefort he
aroseand followed Valentinewho was running down-stairs
with the joy of a shipwrecked mariner who finds a rock to
cling to. M. de Villefort followed them. Chateau-Renaud and
Morcerf exchanged a third look of still increasing wonder.


Chapter 75
A Signed Statement.


Noirtier was prepared to receive themdressed in blackand
installed in his arm-chair. When the three persons he
expected had enteredhe looked at the doorwhich his valet
immediately closed.


Listen,whispered Villefort to Valentinewho could not
conceal her joy; "if M. Noirtier wishes to communicate
anything which would delay your marriageI forbid you to
understand him." Valentine blushedbut did not answer.
Villefortapproaching Noirtier -- "Here is M. Franz
d'Epinay said he; you requested to see him. We have all
wished for this interviewand I trust it will convince you
how ill-formed are your objections to Valentine's marriage."


Noirtier answered only by a look which made Villefort's
blood run cold. He motioned to Valentine to approach. In a
momentthanks to her habit of conversing with her
grandfathershe understood that he asked for a key. Then
his eye was fixed on the drawer of a small chest between the
windows. She opened the drawerand found a key; and
understanding that was what he wantedagain watched his
eyeswhich turned toward an old secretary which had been
neglected for many years and was supposed to contain nothing
but useless documents. "Shall I open the secretary?" asked
Valentine.


Yes,said the old man.


And the drawers?


Yes.


Those at the side?


No.


The middle one?


Yes.Valentine opened it and drew out a bundle of papers.
Is that what you wish for?asked she.


No.


She took successively all the other papers out till the
drawer was empty. "But there are no more said she.
Noirtier's eye was fixed on the dictionary. YesI
understandgrandfather said the young girl.


He pointed to each letter of the alphabet. At the letter S
the old man stopped her. She openedand found the word
secret.



Ah, is there a secret spring?said Valentine.

Yes,said Noirtier.

And who knows it?Noirtier looked at the door where the
servant had gone out. "Barrois?" said she.

Yes.

Shall I call him?

Yes.

Valentine went to the doorand called Barrois. Villefort's
impatience during this scene made the perspiration roll from
his foreheadand Franz was stupefied. The old servant came.
Barrois,said Valentinemy grandfather has told me to
open that drawer in the secretary, 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'Epinay?

Yes.

Franzastonishedadvanced a step. "To mesir?" said he.

Yes.Franz took them from Barrois and casting a glance at
the coverread: -


`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.'

Wellsir 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 understandbaronmy
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 chairbut
Valentine remained standing by her father's sideand Franz
before himholding the mysterious paper in his hand.
Read,said the old man. Franz untied itand in the midst
of the most profound silence read:

`Extract from the Report of a meeting of the Bonapartist
Club in the Rue Saint-Jacques, held February 5th, 1815.'

Franz stopped. "February 5th1815!" said he; "it is the day
my father was murdered." Valentine and Villefort were dumb;
the eye of the old man alone seemed to say clearlyGo on.

But it was on leaving this club,said hemy father
disappeared.Noirtier's eye continued to sayRead.He
resumed: -


`The undersigned Louis Jacques Beaurepaire,
lieutenant-colonel of artillery, Etienne Duchampy, general
of brigade, and Claude Lecharpal, keeper of woods and
forests, Declare, that on the 4th of February, a letter
arrived from the Island of Elba, recommending to the
kindness and the confidence of the Bonapartist Club, General
Flavien de Quesnel, who having served the emperor from 1804
to 1814 was supposed to be devoted to the interests of the
Napoleon dynasty, notwithstanding the title of baron which
Louis XVIII. had just granted to him with his estate of
Epinay.

`A note was in consequence addressed to General de Quesnel
begging him to be present at the meeting next daythe 5th.
The note indicated neither the street nor the number of the
house where the meeting was to be held; it bore no
signaturebut it announced to the general that some one
would call for him if he would be ready at nine o'clock. The
meetings were always held from that time till midnight. At
nine o'clock the president of the club presented himself;
the general was readythe president informed him that one
of the conditions of his introduction was that he should be
eternally ignorant of the place of meetingand that he
would allow his eyes to be bandagedswearing that he would
not endeavor to take off the bandage. General de Quesnel
accepted the conditionand promised on his honor not to
seek to discover the road they took. The general's carriage
was readybut the president told him it was impossible for
him to use itsince it was useless to blindfold the master
if the coachman knew through what streets he went. "What
must be done then?" asked the general. -- "I have my
carriage here said the president.

`"Have youthenso much confidence in your servant that
you can intrust him with a secret you will not allow me to
know?"

`Our coachman is a member of the club said the
president; we shall be driven by a State-Councillor."

`Then we run another risk said the general, laughing,
that of being upset." We insert this joke to prove that the
general was not in the least compelled to attend the
meetingbut that he came willingly. When they were seated
in the carriage the president reminded the general of his


promise to allow his eyes to be bandagedto which he made
no opposition. On the road the president thought he saw the
general make an attempt to remove the handkerchiefand
reminded him of his oath. "Sure enough said the general.
The carriage stopped at an alley leading out of the Rue
Saint-Jacques. The general alighted, leaning on the arm of
the president, of whose dignity he was not aware,
considering him simply as a member of the club; they went
through the alley, mounted a flight of stairs, and entered
the assembly-room.

`"The deliberations had already begun. The members
apprised of the sort of presentation which was to be made
that eveningwere all in attendance. When in the middle of
the room the general was invited to remove his bandagehe
did so immediatelyand was surprised to see so many
well-known faces in a society of whose existence he had till
then been ignorant. They questioned him as to his
sentimentsbut he contented himself with answeringthat
the letters from the Island of Elba ought to have informed
them'" --

Franz interrupted himself by sayingMy father was a
royalist; they need not have asked his sentiments, which
were well known.

And hence,said Villefortarose my affection for your
father, my dear M. Franz. Opinions held in common are a
ready bond of union.

Read again,said the old man. Franz continued: -


`The president then sought to make him speak more
explicitly, but M. de Quesnel replied that he wished first
to know what they wanted with him. He was then informed of
the contents of the letter from the Island of Elba, in which
he was recommended to the club as a man who would be likely
to advance the interests of their party. One paragraph spoke
of the return of Bonaparte and promised another letter and
further details, on the arrival of the Pharaon belonging to
the shipbuilder Morrel, of Marseilles, whose captain was
entirely devoted to the emperor. During all this time, the
general, on whom they thought to have relied as on a
brother, manifested evidently signs of discontent and
repugnance. When the reading was finished, he remained
silent, with knitted brows.

`"Well asked the president, what do you say to this
lettergeneral?"

`I say that it is too soon after declaring myself for
Louis XVIII. to break my vow in behalf of the ex-emperor."
This answer was too clear to permit of any mistake as to his
sentiments. "General said the president, we acknowledge
no King Louis XVIII.or an ex-emperorbut his majesty the
emperor and kingdriven from Francewhich is his kingdom
by violence and treason."

`Excuse megentlemen said the general; you may not
acknowledge Louis XVIII.but I doas he has made me a
baron and a field-marshaland I shall never forget that for
these two titles I am indebted to his happy return to
France."


`Sir said the president, rising with gravity, be
careful what you say; your words clearly show us that they
are deceived concerning you in the Island of Elbaand have
deceived us! The communication has been made to you in
consequence of the confidence placed in youand which does
you honor. Now we discover our error; a title and promotion
attach you to the government we wish to overturn. We will
not constrain you to help us; we enroll no one against his
consciencebut we will compel you to act generouslyeven
if you are not disposed to do so."

`You would call acting generouslyknowing your conspiracy
and not informing against youthat is what I should call
becoming your accomplice. You see I am more candid than
you."'"

Ah, my father!said Franzinterrupting himself. "I
understand now why they murdered him." Valentine could not
help casting one glance towards the young manwhose filial
enthusiasm it was delightful to behold. Villefort walked to
and fro behind them. Noirtier watched the expression of each
oneand preserved his dignified and commanding attitude.
Franz returned to the manuscriptand continued: -


`Sir said the president, you have been invited to join
this assembly -- you were not forced here; it was proposed
to you to come blindfolded -- you accepted. When you
complied with this twofold request you well knew we did not
wish to secure the throne of Louis XVIII.or we should not
take so much care to avoid the vigilance of the police. It
would be conceding too much to allow you to put on a mask to
aid you in the discovery of our secretand then to remove
it that you may ruin those who have confided in you. Nono
you must first say if you declare yourself for the king of a
day who now reignsor for his majesty the emperor."

`I am a royalist replied the general; I have taken the
oath of allegiance to Louis XVIII.and I will adhere to
it." These words were followed by a general murmurand it
was evident that several of the members were discussing the
propriety of making the general repent of his rashness.

`The president again arose, and having imposed silence,
said, -- Siryou are too serious and too sensible a man
not to understand the consequences of our present situation
and your candor has already dictated to us the conditions
which remain for us to offer you." The generalputting his
hand on his swordexclaimed-- "If you talk of honordo
not begin by disavowing its lawsand impose nothing by
violence."

`And yousir continued the president, with a calmness
still more terrible than the general's anger, I advise you
not to touch your sword." The general looked around him with
slight uneasiness; however he did not yieldbut calling up
all his fortitudesaid-- "I will not swear."

`Then you must die replied the president calmly. M.
d'Epinay became very pale; he looked round him a second
time, several members of the club were whispering, and
getting their arms from under their cloaks. General said
the president, do not alarm yourself; you are among men of
honor who will use every means to convince you before
resorting to the last extremitybut as you have saidyou


are among conspiratorsyou are in possession of our secret
and you must restore it to us." A significant silence
followed these wordsand as the general did not reply-"
Close the doors said the president to the door-keeper.

`The same deadly silence succeeded these words. Then the
general advancedand making a violent effort to control his
feelings-- "I have a son said he, and I ought to think
of himfinding myself among assassins."

`General said the chief of the assembly, one man may
insult fifty -- it is the privilege of weakness. But he does
wrong to use his privilege. Follow my adviceswearand do
not insult." The generalagain daunted by the superiority
of the chiefhesitated a moment; then advancing to the
president's desk-- "What is the formsaid he.

`It is this: -- `I swear by my honor not to reveal to any
one what I have seen and heard on the 5th of February1815
between nine and ten o'clock in the evening; and I plead
guilty of death should I ever violate this oath.'" The
general appeared to be affected by a nervous tremorwhich
prevented his answering for some moments; thenovercoming
his manifest repugnancehe pronounced the required oath
but in so low a tone as to be scarcely audible to the
majority of the memberswho insisted on his repeating it
clearly and distinctlywhich he did.

`Now am I at liberty to retire?" said the general. The
president roseappointed three members to accompany him
and got into the carriage with the general after bandaging
his eyes. One of those three members was the coachman who
had driven them there. The other members silently dispersed.
Where do you wish to be taken?asked the president. -"
Anywhere out of your presence replied M. d'Epinay.
Bewaresir replied the president, you are no longer in
the assemblyand have only to do with individuals; do not
insult them unless you wish to be held responsible." But
instead of listeningM. d'Epinay went on-- "You are still
as brave in your carriage as in your assembly because you
are still four against one." The president stopped the
coach. They were at that part of the Quai des Ormes where
the steps lead down to the river. "Why do you stop here?"
asked d'Epinay.

`Becausesir said the president, you have insulted a
manand that man will not go one step farther without
demanding honorable reparation."

`Another method of assassination?" said the general
shrugging his shoulders.

`Make no noisesirunless you wish me to consider you as
one of the men of whom you spoke just now as cowardswho
take their weakness for a shield. You are aloneone alone
shall answer you; you have a sword by your sideI have one
in my cane; you have no witnessone of these gentlemen will
serve you. Nowif you pleaseremove your bandage." The
general tore the handkerchief from his eyes. "At last said
he, I shall know with whom I have to do." They opened the
door and the four men alighted.'"

Franz again interrupted himselfand wiped the cold drops
from his brow; there was something awful in hearing the son


read aloud in trembling pallor these details of his father's
deathwhich had hitherto been a mystery. Valentine clasped
her hands as if in prayer. Noirtier looked at Villefort with
an almost sublime expression of contempt and pride. Franz
continued: -


`It was, as we said, the fifth of February. For three days
the mercury had been five or six degrees below freezing and
the steps were covered with ice. The general was stout and
tall, the president offered him the side of the railing to
assist him in getting down. The two witnesses followed. It
was a dark night. The ground from the steps to the river was
covered with snow and hoarfrost, the water of the river
looked black and deep. One of the seconds went for a lantern
in a coal-barge near, and by its light they examined the
weapons. The president's sword, which was simply, as he had
said, one he carried in his cane, was five inches shorter
than the general's, and had no guard. The general proposed
to cast lots for the swords, but the president said it was
he who had given the provocation, and when he had given it
he had supposed each would use his own arms. The witnesses
endeavored to insist, but the president bade them be silent.
The lantern was placed on the ground, the two adversaries
took their stations, and the duel began. The light made the
two swords appear like flashes of lightning; as for the men,
they were scarcely perceptible, the darkness was so great.

`General d'Epinay passed for one of the best swordsmen in
the armybut he was pressed so closely in the onset that he
missed his aim and fell. The witnesses thought he was dead
but his adversarywho knew he had not struck himoffered
him the assistance of his hand to rise. The circumstance
irritated instead of calming the generaland he rushed on
his adversary. But his opponent did not allow his guard to
be broken. He received him on his sword and three times the
general drew back on finding himself too closely engaged
and then returned to the charge. At the third he fell again.
They thought he slippedas at firstand the witnesses
seeing he did not moveapproached and endeavored to raise
himbut the one who passed his arm around the body found it
was moistened with blood. The generalwho had almost
faintedrevived. "Ah said he, they have sent some
fencing-master to fight with me." The presidentwithout
answeringapproached the witness who held the lanternand
raising his sleeveshowed him two wounds he had received in
his arm; then opening his coatand unbuttoning his
waistcoatdisplayed his sidepierced with a third wound.
Still he had not even uttered a sigh. General d'Epinay died
five minutes after.'"

Franz read these last words in a voice so choked that they
were hardly audibleand then stoppedpassing his hand over
his eyes as if to dispel a cloud; but after a moment's
silencehe continued: -


`The president went up the steps, after pushing his sword
into his cane; a track of blood on the snow marked his
course. He had scarcely arrived at the top when he heard a
heavy splash in the water -- it was the general's body,
which the witnesses had just thrown into the river after
ascertaining that he was dead. The general fell, then, in a
loyal duel, and not in ambush as it might have been
reported. In proof of this we have signed this paper to
establish the truth of the facts, lest the moment should


arrive when either of the actors in this terrible scene
should be accused of premeditated murder or of infringement
of the laws of honor.

`SignedBeaurepaireDeschampsand Lecharpal.'"

When Franz had finished reading this accountso dreadful
for a son; when Valentinepale with emotionhad wiped away
a tear; when Villeforttremblingand crouched in a corner
had endeavored to lessen the storm by supplicating glances
at the implacable old man-- "Sir said d'Epinay to
Noirtier, since you are well acquainted with all these
detailswhich are attested by honorable signatures-since
you appear to take some interest in mealthough you
have only manifested it hitherto by causing me sorrow
refuse me not one final satisfaction -- tell me the name of
the president of the clubthat I may at least know who
killed my father." Villefort mechanically felt for the
handle of the door; Valentinewho understood sooner than
anyone her grandfather's answerand who had often seen two
scars upon his right armdrew back a few steps.
Mademoiselle,said Franzturning towards Valentine
unite your efforts with mine to find out the name of the
man who made me an orphan at two years of age.Valentine
remained dumb and motionless.

Hold, sir,said Villefortdo not prolong this dreadful
scene. The names have been purposely concealed; my father
himself does not know who this president was, and if he
knows, he cannot tell you; proper names are not in the
dictionary.

Oh, misery,cried Franz: "the only hope which sustained me
and enabled me to read to the end was that of knowingat
leastthe name of him who killed my father! Sirsir
cried he, turning to Noirtier, do what you can -- make me
understand in some way!"

Yes,replied Noirtier.

Oh, mademoiselle, -- mademoiselle!cried Franzyour
grandfather says he can indicate the person. Help me, -lend
me your assistance!Noirtier looked at the dictionary.
Franz took it with a nervous tremblingand repeated the
letters of the alphabet successivelyuntil he came to M. At
that letter the old man signified "Yes."

M,repeated Franz. The young man's fingerglided over the
wordsbut at each one Noirtier answered by a negative sign.
Valentine hid her head between her hands. At lengthFranz
arrived at the word MYSELF.

Yes!

You?cried Franzwhose hair stood on end; "youM.
Noirtier -- you killed my father?"

Yes!replied Noirtierfixing a majestic look on the young
man. Franz fell powerless on a chair; Villefort opened the
door and escapedfor the idea had entered his mind to
stifle the little remaining life in the heart of this
terrible old man.


Chapter 76
Progress of Cavalcanti the Younger.


Meanwhile M. Cavalcanti the elder had returned to his
servicenot in the army of his majesty the Emperor of
Austriabut at the gaming-table of the baths of Luccaof
which he was one of the most assiduous courtiers. He had
spent every farthing that had been allowed for his journey
as a reward for the majestic and solemn manner in which he
had maintained his assumed character of father. M. Andrea at
his departure inherited all the papers which proved that he
had indeed the honor of being the son of the Marquis
Bartolomeo and the Marchioness Oliva Corsinari. He was now
fairly launched in that Parisian society which gives such
ready access to foreignersand treats themnot as they
really arebut as they wish to be considered. Besideswhat
is required of a young man in Paris? To speak its language
tolerablyto make a good appearanceto be a good gamester
and to pay in cash. They are certainly less particular with
a foreigner than with a Frenchman. Andrea hadthenin a
fortnightattained a very fair position. He was called
counthe was said to possess 50000 livres per annum; and
his father's immense richesburied in the quarries of
Saravezzawere a constant theme. A learned manbefore whom
the last circumstance was mentioned as a factdeclared he
had seen the quarries in questionwhich gave great weight
to assertions hitherto somewhat doubtfulbut which now
assumed the garb of reality.


Such was the state of society in Paris at the period we
bring before our readerswhen Monte Cristo went one evening
to pay M. Danglars a visit. M. Danglars was outbut the
count was asked to go and see the baronessand he accepted
the invitation. It was never without a nervous shudder
since the dinner at Auteuiland the events which followed
itthat Madame Danglars heard Monte Cristo's name
announced. If he did not comethe painful sensation became
most intense; ifon the contraryhe appearedhis noble
countenancehis brilliant eyeshis amiabilityhis polite
attention even towards Madame Danglarssoon dispelled every
impression of fear. It appeared impossible to the baroness
that a man of such delightfully pleasing manners should
entertain evil designs against her; besidesthe most
corrupt minds only suspect evil when it would answer some
interested end -- useless injury is repugnant to every mind.
When Monte Cristo entered the boudoir-- to which we have
already once introduced our readersand where the baroness
was examining some drawingswhich her daughter passed to
her after having looked at them with M. Cavalcanti-- his
presence soon produced its usual effectand it was with
smiles that the baroness received the countalthough she
had been a little disconcerted at the announcement of his
name. The latter took in the whole scene at a glance.


The baroness was partially reclining on a sofaEugenie sat
near herand Cavalcanti was standing. Cavalcantidressed
in blacklike one of Goethe's heroeswith varnished shoes
and white silk open-worked stockingspassed a white and
tolerably nice-looking hand through his light hairand so
displayed a sparkling diamondthat in spite of Monte
Cristo's advice the vain young man had been unable to resist
putting on his little finger. This movement was accompanied
by killing glances at Mademoiselle Danglarsand by sighs



launched in the same direction. Mademoiselle Danglars was
still the same -- coldbeautifuland satirical. Not one of
these glancesnor one sighwas lost on her; they might
have been said to fall on the shield of Minervawhich some
philosophers assert protected sometimes the breast of
Sappho. Eugenie bowed coldly to the countand availed
herself of the first moment when the conversation became
earnest to escape to her studywhence very soon two
cheerful and noisy voices being heard in connection with
occasional notes of the piano assured Monte Cristo that
Mademoiselle Danglars preferred to his society and to that
of M. Cavalcanti the company of Mademoiselle Louise
d'Armillyher singing teacher.

It was thenespecially while conversing with Madame
Danglarsand apparently absorbed by the charm of the
conversationthat the count noticed M. Andrea Cavalcanti's
solicitudehis manner of listening to the music at the door
he dared not passand of manifesting his admiration. The
banker soon returned. His first look was certainly directed
towards Monte Cristobut the second was for Andrea. As for
his wifehe bowed to heras some husbands do to their
wivesbut in a way that bachelors will never comprehend
until a very extensive code is published on conjugal life.

Have not the ladies invited you to join them at the piano?
said Danglars to Andrea. "Alasnosir replied Andrea
with a sigh, still more remarkable than the former ones.
Danglars immediately advanced towards the door and opened
it.

The two young ladies were seen seated on the same chair, at
the piano, accompanying themselves, each with one hand, a
fancy to which they had accustomed themselves, and performed
admirably. Mademoiselle d'Armilly, whom they then perceived
through the open doorway, formed with Eugenie one of the
tableaux vivants of which the Germans are so fond. She was
somewhat beautiful, and exquisitely formed -- a little
fairy-like figure, with large curls falling on her neck,
which was rather too long, as Perugino sometimes makes his
Virgins, and her eyes dull from fatigue. She was said to
have a weak chest, and like Antonia in the Cremona Violin
she would die one day while singing. Monte Cristo cast one
rapid and curious glance round this sanctum; it was the
first time he had ever seen Mademoiselle d'Armilly, of whom
he had heard much. Well said the banker to his daughter,
are we then all to be excluded?" He then led the young man
into the studyand either by chance or manoeuvre the door
was partially closed after Andreaso that from the place
where they sat neither the Count nor the baroness could see
anything; but as the banker had accompanied AndreaMadame
Danglars appeared to take no notice of it.

The count soon heard Andrea's voicesinging a Corsican
songaccompanied by the piano. While the count smiled at
hearing this songwhich made him lose sight of Andrea in
the recollection of BenedettoMadame Danglars was boasting
to Monte Cristo of her husband's strength of mindwho that
very morning had lost three or four hundred thousand francs
by a failure at Milan. The praise was well deservedfor had
not the count heard it from the baronessor by one of those
means by which he knew everythingthe baron's countenance
would not have led him to suspect it. "Hem thought Monte
Cristo, he begins to conceal his losses; a month since he


boasted of them." Then aloud-- "OhmadameM. Danglars is
so skilfulhe will soon regain at the Bourse what he loses
elsewhere."

I see that you participate in a prevalent error,said
Madame Danglars. "What is it?" said Monte Cristo.

That M. Danglars speculates, whereas he never does.

Truly, madame, I recollect M. Debray told me -- apropos,
what is become of him? I have seen nothing of him the last
three or four days.

Nor I,said Madame Danglars; "but you began a sentence
sirand did not finish."

Which?

M. Debray had told you-


Ah, yes; he told me it was you who sacrificed to the demon
of speculation.

I was once very fond of it, but I do not indulge now.

Then you are wrong, madame. Fortune is precarious; and if I
were a woman and fate had made me a banker's wife, whatever
might be my confidence in my husband's good fortune, still
in speculation you know there is great risk. Well, I would
secure for myself a fortune independent of him, even if I
acquired it by placing my interests in hands unknown to
him.Madame Danglars blushedin spite of all her efforts.
Stay,said Monte Cristoas though he had not observed her
confusionI have heard of a lucky hit that was made
yesterday on the Neapolitan bonds.

I have none -- nor have I ever possessed any; but really we
have talked long enough of money, count, we are like two
stockbrokers; have you heard how fate is persecuting the
poor Villeforts?

What has happened?said the countsimulating total
ignorance.

You know the Marquis of Saint-Meran died a few days after
he had set out on his journey to Paris, and the marchioness
a few days after her arrival?

Yes,said Monte CristoI have heard that; but, as
Claudius said to Hamlet, `it is a law of nature; their
fathers died before them, and they mourned their loss; they
will die before their children, who will, in their turn,
grieve for them.'

But that is not all.

Not all!

No; they were going to marry their daughter-


To M. Franz d'Epinay. Is it broken off?

Yesterday morning, it appears, Franz declined the honor.


Indeed? And is the reason known?

No.

How extraordinary! And how does M. de Villefort bear it?

As usual. Like a philosopher.Danglars returned at this
moment alone. "Well said the baroness, do you leave M.
Cavalcanti with your daughter?"

And Mademoiselle d'Armilly,said the banker; "do you
consider her no one?" Thenturning to Monte Cristohe
saidPrince Cavalcanti is a charming young man, is he not?
But is he really a prince?

I will not answer for it,said Monte Cristo. "His father
was introduced to me as a marquisso he ought to be a
count; but I do not think he has much claim to that title."

Why?said the banker. "If he is a princehe is wrong not
to maintain his rank; I do not like any one to deny his
origin."

Oh, you are a thorough democrat,said Monte Cristo
smiling.

But do you see to what you are exposing yourself?said the
baroness. "IfperchanceM. de Morcerf camehe would find

M. Cavalcanti in that roomwhere hethe betrothed of
Eugeniehas never been admitted."
You may well say, perchance,replied the banker; "for he
comes so seldomit would seem only chance that brings him."

But should he come and find that young man with your
daughter, he might be displeased.

He? You are mistaken. M. Albert would not do us the honor
to be jealous; he does not like Eugenie sufficiently.
Besides, I care not for his displeasure.

Still, situated as we are-


Yes, do you know how we are situated? At his mother's ball
he danced once with Eugenie, and M. Cavalcanti three times,
and he took no notice of it.The valet announced the
Vicomte Albert de Morcerf. The baroness rose hastilyand
was going into the studywhen Danglars stopped her. "Let
her alone said he. She looked at him in amazement. Monte
Cristo appeared to be unconscious of what passed. Albert
entered, looking very handsome and in high spirits. He bowed
politely to the baroness, familiarly to Danglars, and
affectionately to Monte Cristo. Then turning to the
baroness: May I ask how Mademoiselle Danglars is?" said he.

She is quite well,replied Danglars quickly; "she is at
the piano with M. Cavalcanti." Albert retained his calm and
indifferent manner; he might feel perhaps annoyedbut he
knew Monte Cristo's eye was on him. "M. Cavalcanti has a
fine tenor voice said he, and Mademoiselle Eugenie a
splendid sopranoand then she plays the piano like
Thalberg. The concert must be a delightful one."

They suit each other remarkably well,said Danglars.


Albert appeared not to notice this remarkwhich was
howeverso rude that Madame Danglars blushed.

I, too,said the young manam a musician -- at least, my
masters used to tell me so; but it is strange that my voice
never would suit any other, and a soprano less than any.
Danglars smiledand seemed to sayIt is of no
consequence.Thenhoping doubtless to effect his purpose
he said-- "The prince and my daughter were universally
admired yesterday. You were not of the partyM. de
Morcerf?"

What prince?asked Albert. "Prince Cavalcanti said
Danglars, who persisted in giving the young man that title.

Pardon me said Albert, I was not aware that he was a
prince. And Prince Cavalcanti sang with Mademoiselle Eugenie
yesterday? It must have been charmingindeed. I regret not
having heard them. But I was unable to accept your
invitationhaving promised to accompany my mother to a
German concert given by the Baroness of Chateau-Renaud."
This was followed by rather an awkward silence. "May I also
be allowed said Morcerf, to pay my respects to
Mademoiselle Danglars?" "Wait a moment said the banker,
stopping the young man; do you hear that delightful
cavatina? Tatatatitatitata; it is charming
let them finish -- one moment. Bravobravibrava!" The
banker was enthusiastic in his applause.

Indeed,said Albertit is exquisite; it is impossible to
understand the music of his country better than Prince
Cavalcanti does. You said prince, did you not? But he can
easily become one, if he is not already; it is no uncommon
thing in Italy. But to return to the charming musicians -you
should give us a treat, Danglars, without telling them
there is a stranger. Ask them to sing one more song; it is
so delightful to hear music in the distance, when the
musicians are unrestrained by observation.

Danglars was quite annoyed by the young man's indifference.
He took Monte Cristo aside. "What do you think of our
lover?" said he.

He appears cool. But, then your word is given.

Yes, doubtless I have promised to give my daughter to a man
who loves her, but not to one who does not. See him there,
cold as marble and proud like his father. If he were rich,
if he had Cavalcanti's fortune, that might be pardoned. Ma
foi, I haven't consulted my daughter; but if she has good
taste-


Oh,said Monte Cristomy fondness may blind me, but I
assure you I consider Morcerf a charming young man who will
render your daughter happy and will sooner or later attain a
certain amount of distinction, and his father's position is
good.

Hem,said Danglars.

Why do you doubt?

The past -- that obscurity on the past.


But that does not affect the son.

Very true.

Now, I beg of you, don't go off your head. It's a month now
that you have been thinking of this marriage, and you must
see that it throws some responsibility on me, for it was at
my house you met this young Cavalcanti, whom I do not really
know at all.

But I do.

Have you made inquiry?

Is there any need of that! Does not his appearance speak
for him? And he is very rich.

I am not so sure of that.

And yet you said he had money.

Fifty thousand livres -- a mere trifle.

He is well educated.

Hem,said Monte Cristo in his turn.

He is a musician.

So are all Italians.

Come, count, you do not do that young man justice.

Well, I acknowledge it annoys me, knowing your connection
with the Morcerf family, to see him throw himself in the
way.Danglars burst out laughing. "What a Puritan you are!"
said he; "that happens every day."

But you cannot break it off in this way; the Morcerfs are
depending on this union.

Indeed.

Positively.

Then let them explain themselves; you should give the
father a hint, you are so intimate with the family.

I? -- where the devil did you find out that?

At their ball; it was apparent enough. Why, did not the
countess, the proud Mercedes, the disdainful Catalane, who
will scarcely open her lips to her oldest acquaintances,
take your arm, lead you into the garden, into the private
walks, and remain there for half an hour?

Ah, baron, baron,said Albertyou are not listening -what
barbarism in a megalomaniac like you!

Oh, don't worry about me, Sir Mocker,said Danglars; then
turning to the count he saidbut will you undertake to
speak to the father?

Willingly, if you wish it.


But let it be done explicitly and positively. If he demands
my daughter let him fix the day -- declare his conditions;
in short, let us either understand each other, or quarrel.
You understand -- no more delay.

Yes. sir, I will give my attention to the subject.

I do not say that I await with pleasure his decision, but I
do await it. A banker must, you know, be a slave to his
promise.And Danglars sighed as M. Cavalcanti had done half
an hour before. "Bravibravobrava!" cried Morcerf
parodying the bankeras the selection came to an end.
Danglars began to look suspiciously at Morcerfwhen some
one came and whispered a few words to him. "I shall soon
return said the banker to Monte Cristo; wait for me. I
shallperhapshave something to say to you." And he went
out.

The baroness took advantage of her husband's absence to push
open the door of her daughter's studyand M. Andreawho
was sitting before the piano with Mademoiselle Eugenie
started up like a jack-in-the-box. Albert bowed with a smile
to Mademoiselle Danglarswho did not appear in the least
disturbedand returned his bow with her usual coolness.
Cavalcanti was evidently embarrassed; he bowed to Morcerf
who replied with the most impertinent look possible. Then
Albert launched out in praise of Mademoiselle Danglars'
voiceand on his regretafter what he had just heardthat
he had been unable to be present the previous evening.
Cavalcantibeing left aloneturned to Monte Cristo.

Come,said Madame Danglarsleave music and compliments,
and let us go and take tea.

Come, Louise,said Mademoiselle Danglars to her friend.
They passed into the next drawing-roomwhere tea was
prepared. Just as they were beginningin the English
fashionto leave the spoons in their cupsthe door again
opened and Danglars enteredvisibly agitated. Monte Cristo
observed it particularlyand by a look asked the banker for
an explanation. "I have just received my courier from
Greece said Danglars.

Ahyes said the count; that was the reason of your
running away from us."

Yes.

How is King Otho getting on?asked Albert in the most
sprightly tone. Danglars cast another suspicious look
towards him without answeringand Monte Cristo turned away
to conceal the expression of pity which passed over his
featuresbut which was gone in a moment. "We shall go
togethershall we not?" said Albert to the count.

If you like,replied the latter. Albert could not
understand the banker's lookand turning to Monte Cristo
who understood it perfectly-- "Did you see said he, how
he looked at me?"

Yes,said the count; "but did you think there was anything
particular in his look?"


Indeed, I did; and what does he mean by his news from
Greece?

How can I tell you?

Because I imagine you have correspondents in that country.
Monte Cristo smiled significantly.

Stop,said Alberthere he comes. I shall compliment
Mademoiselle Danglars on her cameo, while the father talks
to you.

If you compliment her at all, let it be on her voice, at
least,said Monte Cristo.

No, every one would do that.

My dear viscount, you are dreadfully impertinent.Albert
advanced towards Eugeniesmiling. MeanwhileDanglars
stooping to Monte Cristo's earYour advice was excellent,
said he; "there is a whole history connected with the names
Fernand and Yanina."

Indeed?said Monte Cristo.

Yes, I will tell you all; but take away the young man; I
cannot endure his presence.

He is going with me. Shall I send the father to you?

Immediately.

Very well.The count made a sign to Albert and they bowed
to the ladiesand took their leaveAlbert perfectly
indifferent to Mademoiselle Danglars' contemptMonte Cristo
reiterating his advice to Madame Danglars on the prudence a
banker's wife should exercise in providing for the future.

M. Cavalcanti remained master of the field.
Chapter 77
Haidee.

Scarcely had the count's horses cleared the angle of the
boulevardthan Albertturning towards the countburst
into a loud fit of laughter -- much too loud in fact not to
give the idea of its being rather forced and unnatural.
Well,said heI will ask you the same question which
Charles IX. put to Catherine de Medicis, after the massacre
of Saint Bartholomew, `How have I played my little part?'

To what do you allude?asked Monte Cristo.

To the installation of my rival at M. Danglars'.

What rival?

Ma foi, what rival? Why, your protege, M. Andrea
Cavalcanti!

Ah, no joking, viscount, if you please; I do not patronize

M. Andrea -- at least, not as concerns M. Danglars.

And you would be to blame for not assisting him, if the
young man really needed your help in that quarter, but,
happily for me, he can dispense with it.

What, do you think he is paying his addresses?

I am certain of it; his languishing looks and modulated
tones when addressing Mademoiselle Danglars fully proclaim
his intentions. He aspires to the hand of the proud
Eugenie.

What does that signify, so long as they favor your suit?

But it is not the case, my dear count: on the contrary. I
am repulsed on all sides.

What!

It is so indeed; Mademoiselle Eugenie scarcely answers me,
and Mademoiselle d'Armilly, her confidant, does not speak to
me at all.

But the father has the greatest regard possible for you,
said Monte Cristo.

He? Oh, no, he has plunged a thousand daggers into my
heart, tragedy-weapons, I own, which instead of wounding
sheathe their points in their own handles, but daggers which
he nevertheless believed to be real and deadly.

Jealousy indicates affection.

True; but I am not jealous.

He is.

Of whom? -- of Debray?

No, of you.

Of me? I will engage to say that before a week is past the
door will be closed against me.

You are mistaken, my dear viscount.

Prove it to me.

Do you wish me to do so?

Yes.

Well, I am charged with the commission of endeavoring to
induce the Comte de Morcerf to make some definite
arrangement with the baron.

By whom are you charged?

By the baron himself.

Oh,said Albert with all the cajolery of which he was
capable. "You surely will not do thatmy dear count?"

Certainly I shall, Albert, as I have promised to do it.


Well,said Albertwith a sighit seems you are
determined to marry me.

I am determined to try and be on good terms with everybody,
at all events,said Monte Cristo. "But apropos of Debray
how is it that I have not seen him lately at the baron's
house?"

There has been a misunderstanding.

What, with the baroness?

No, with the baron.

Has he perceived anything?

Ah, that is a good joke!

Do you think he suspects?said Monte Cristo with charming
artlessness.

Where have you come from, my dear count?said Albert.

From Congo, if you will.

It must be farther off than even that.

But what do I know of your Parisian husbands?

Oh, my dear count, husbands are pretty much the same
everywhere; an individual husband of any country is a pretty
fair specimen of the whole race.

But then, what can have led to the quarrel between Danglars
and Debray? They seemed to understand each other so well,
said Monte Cristo with renewed energy.

Ah, now you are trying to penetrate into the mysteries of
Isis, in which I am not initiated. When M. Andrea Cavalcanti
has become one of the family, you can ask him that
question.The carriage stopped. "Here we are said Monte
Cristo; it is only half-past ten o'clockcome in."

Certainly I will.

My carriage shall take you back.

No, thank you; I gave orders for my coupe to follow me.

There it is, then,said Monte Cristoas he stepped out of
the carriage. They both went into the house; the
drawing-room was lighted up -- they went in there. "You will
make tea for usBaptistin said the count. Baptistin left
the room without waiting to answer, and in two seconds
reappeared, bringing on a waiter all that his master had
ordered, ready prepared, and appearing to have sprung from
the ground, like the repasts which we read of in fairy
tales. Reallymy dear count said Morcerf. what I admire
in you isnot so much your richesfor perhaps there are
people even wealthier than yourselfnor is it only your
witfor Beaumarchais might have possessed as much-- but
it is your manner of being servedwithout any questionsin
a momentin a second; it is as if they guessed what you
wanted by your manner of ringingand made a point of


keeping everything you can possibly desire in constant
readiness."

What you say is perhaps true; they know my habits. For
instance, you shall see; how do you wish to occupy yourself
during tea-time?

Ma foi, I should like to smoke.

Monte Cristo took the gong and struck it once. In about the
space of a second a private door openedand Ali appeared
bringing two chibouques filled with excellent latakia. "It
is quite wonderful said Albert.

Oh noit is as simple as possible replied Monte Cristo.
Ali knows I generally smoke while I am taking my tea or
coffee; he has heard that I ordered teaand he also knows
that I brought you home with me; when I summoned him he
naturally guessed the reason of my doing soand as he comes
from a country where hospitality is especially manifested
through the medium of smokinghe naturally concludes that
we shall smoke in companyand therefore brings two
chibouques instead of one -- and now the mystery is solved."

Certainly you give a most commonplace air to your
explanation, but it is not the less true that you -- Ah, but
what do I hear?and Morcerf inclined his head towards the
doorthrough which sounds seemed to issue resembling those
of a guitar.

Ma foi, my dear viscount, you are fated to hear music this
evening; you have only escaped from Mademoiselle Danglars'
piano, to be attacked by Haidee's guzla.

Haidee -- what an adorable name! Are there, then, really
women who bear the name of Haidee anywhere but in Byron's
poems?

Certainly there are. Haidee is a very uncommon name in
France, but is common enough in Albania and Epirus; it is as
it you said, for example, Chastity, Modesty, Innocence, -it
is a kind of baptismal name, as you Parisians call it.

Oh, that is charming,said Alberthow I should like to
hear my countrywomen called Mademoiselle Goodness,
Mademoiselle Silence, Mademoiselle Christian Charity! Only
think, then, if Mademoiselle Danglars, instead of being
called Claire-Marie-Eugenie, had been named Mademoiselle
Chastity-Modesty-Innocence Danglars; what a fine effect that
would have produced on the announcement of her marriage!

Hush,said the countdo not joke in so loud a tone;
Haidee may hear you, perhaps.

And you think she would be angry?

No, certainly not,said the count with a haughty
expression.

She is very amiable, then, is she not?said Albert.

It is not to be called amiability, it is her duty; a slave
does not dictate to a master.


Come; you are joking yourself now. Are there any more
slaves to be had who bear this beautiful name?

Undoubtedly.

Really, count, you do nothing, and have nothing like other
people. The slave of the Count of Monte Cristo! Why, it is a
rank of itself in France, and from the way in which you
lavish money, it is a place that must be worth a hundred
thousand francs a year.

A hundred thousand francs! The poor girl originally
possessed much more than that; she was born to treasures in
comparison with which those recorded in the `Thousand and
One Nights' would seem but poverty.

She must be a princess then.

You are right; and she is one of the greatest in her
country too.

I thought so. But how did it happen that such a great
princess became a slave?

How was it that Dionysius the Tyrant became a schoolmaster?
The fortune of war, my dear viscount, -- the caprice of
fortune; that is the way in which these things are to be
accounted for.

And is her name a secret?

As regards the generality of mankind it is; but not for
you, my dear viscount, who are one of my most intimate
friends, and on whose silence I feel I may rely, if I
consider it necessary to enjoin it -- may I not do so?

Certainly; on my word of honor.

You know the history of the pasha of Yanina, do you not?

Of Ali Tepelini?* Oh, yes; it was in his service that my
father made his fortune.

True, I had forgotten that.

* Ali PashaThe Lion,was born at Tepelinian Albanian
village at the foot of the Klissoura Mountainsin 1741. By
diplomacy and success in arms he became almost supreme ruler
of AlbaniaEpirusand adjacent territory. Having aroused
the enmity of the Sultanhe was proscribed and put to death
by treachery in 1822at the age of eighty. -- Ed.
Well, what is Haidee to Ali Tepelini?

Merely his daughter.

What? the daughter of Ali Pasha?

Of Ali Pasha and the beautiful Vasiliki.

And your slave?

Ma foi, yes.


But how did she become so?

Why, simply from the circumstance of my having bought her
one day, as I was passing through the market at
Constantinople.

Wonderful! Really, my dear count, you seem to throw a sort
of magic influence over all in which you are concerned; when
I listen to you, existence no longer seems reality, but a
waking dream. Now, I am perhaps going to make an imprudent
and thoughtless request, but-


Say on.

But, since you go out with Haidee, and sometimes even take
her to the opera-


Well?

I think I may venture to ask you this favor.

You may venture to ask me anything.

Well then, my dear count, present me to your princess.

I will do so; but on two conditions.

I accept them at once.

The first is, that you will never tell any one that I have
granted the interview.

Very well,said Albertextending his hand; "I swear I
will not."

The second is, that you will not tell her that your father
ever served hers.

I give you my oath that I will not.

Enough, viscount; you will remember those two vows, will
you not? But I know you to be a man of honor.The count
again struck the gong. Ali reappeared. "Tell Haidee said
he, that I will take coffee with herand give her to
understand that I desire permission to present one of my
friends to her." Ali bowed and left the room. "Now
understand me said the count, no direct questionsmy
dear Morcerf; if you wish to know anythingtell meand I
will ask her."

Agreed.Ali reappeared for the third timeand drew back
the tapestried hanging which concealed the doorto signify
to his master and Albert that they were at liberty to pass
on. "Let us go in said Monte Cristo.

Albert passed his hand through his hair, and curled his
mustache, then, having satisfied himself as to his personal
appearance, followed the count into the room, the latter
having previously resumed his hat and gloves. Ali was
stationed as a kind of advanced guard, and the door was kept
by the three French attendants, commanded by Myrtho. Haidee
was awaiting her visitors in the first room of her
apartments, which was the drawing-room. Her large eyes were
dilated with surprise and expectation, for it was the first


time that any man, except Monte Cristo, had been accorded an
entrance into her presence. She was sitting on a sofa placed
in an angle of the room, with her legs crossed under her in
the Eastern fashion, and seemed to have made for herself, as
it were, a kind of nest in the rich Indian silks which
enveloped her. Near her was the instrument on which she had
just been playing; it was elegantly fashioned, and worthy of
its mistress. On perceiving Monte Cristo, she arose and
welcomed him with a smile peculiar to herself, expressive at
once of the most implicit obedience and also of the deepest
love. Monte Cristo advanced towards her and extended his
hand, which she as usual raised to her lips.

Albert had proceeded no farther than the door, where he
remained rooted to the spot, being completely fascinated by
the sight of such surpassing beauty, beheld as it was for
the first time, and of which an inhabitant of more northern
climes could form no adequate idea.

Whom do you bring?" asked the young girl in Romaicof
Monte Cristo; "is it a frienda brothera simple
acquaintanceor an enemy."

A friend,said Monte Cristo in the same language.

What is his name?

Count Albert; it is the same man whom I rescued from the
hands of the banditti at Rome.

In what language would you like me to converse with him?

Monte Cristo turned to Albert. "Do you know modern Greek
asked he.

Alasno said Albert; nor even ancient Greekmy dear
count; never had Homer or Plato a more unworthy scholar than
myself."

Then,said Haideeproving by her remark that she had
quite understood Monte Cristo's question and Albert's
answerthen I will speak either in French or Italian, if
my lord so wills it.

Monte Cristo reflected one instant. "You will speak in
Italian said he. Then, turning towards Albert, -- It is a
pity you do not understand either ancient or modern Greek
both of which Haidee speaks so fluently; the poor child will
be obliged to talk to you in Italianwhich will give you
but a very false idea of her powers of conversation." The
count made a sign to Haidee to address his visitor. "Sir
she said to Morcerf, you are most welcome as the friend of
my lord and master." This was said in excellent Tuscanand
with that soft Roman accent which makes the language of
Dante as sonorous as that of Homer. Thenturning to Ali
she directed him to bring coffee and pipesand when he had
left the room to execute the orders of his young mistress
she beckoned Albert to approach nearer to her. Monte Cristo
and Morcerf drew their seats towards a small tableon which
were arranged musicdrawingsand vases of flowers. Ali
then entered bringing coffee and chibouques; as to M.
Baptistinthis portion of the building was interdicted to
him. Albert refused the pipe which the Nubian offered him.
Oh, take it -- take it,said the count; "Haidee is almost


as civilized as a Parisian; the smell of an Havana is
disagreeable to herbut the tobacco of the East is a most
delicious perfumeyou know."

Ali left the room. The cups of coffee were all prepared
with the addition of sugarwhich had been brought for
Albert. Monte Cristo and Haidee took the beverage in the
original Arabian mannerthat is to saywithout sugar.
Haidee took the porcelain cup in her little slender fingers
and conveyed it to her mouth with all the innocent
artlessness of a child when eating or drinking something
which it likes. At this moment two women enteredbringing
salvers filled with ices and sherbetwhich they placed on
two small tables appropriated to that purpose. "My dear
hostand yousignora said Albert, in Italian, excuse my
apparent stupidity. I am quite bewilderedand it is natural
that it should be so. Here I am in the heart of Paris; but a
moment ago I heard the rumbling of the omnibuses and the
tinkling of the bells of the lemonade-sellersand now I
feel as if I were suddenly transported to the East; not such
as I have seen itbut such as my dreams have painted it.
Ohsignoraif I could but speak Greekyour conversation
added to the fairy-scene which surrounds mewould furnish
an evening of such delight as it would be impossible for me
ever to forget."

I speak sufficient Italian to enable me to converse with
you, sir,said Haidee quietly; "and if you like what is
EasternI will do my best to secure the gratification of
your tastes while you are here."

On what subject shall I converse with her?said Albertin
a low tone to Monte Cristo.

Just what you please; you may speak of her country and of
her youthful reminiscences, or if you like it better you can
talk of Rome, Naples, or Florence.

Oh,said Albertit is of no use to be in the company of
a Greek if one converses just in the same style as with a
Parisian; let me speak to her of the East.

Do so then, for of all themes which you could choose that
will be the most agreeable to her taste.Albert turned
towards Haidee. "At what age did you leave Greecesignora?"
asked he.

I left it when I was but five years old,replied Haidee.

And have you any recollection of your country?

When I shut my eyes and think, I seem to see it all again.
The mind can see as well as the body. The body forgets
sometimes -- but the mind never forgets.

And how far back into the past do your recollections
extend?

I could scarcely walk when my mother, who was called
Vasiliki, which means royal,said the young girltossing
her head proudlytook me by the hand, and after putting in
our purse all the money we possessed, we went out, both
covered with veils, to solicit alms for the prisoners,
saying, `He who giveth to the poor lendeth to the Lord.'


Then when our purse was full we returned to the palace, and
without saying a word to my father, we sent it to the
convent, where it was divided amongst the prisoners.

And how old were you at that time?

I was three years old,said Haidee.

Then you remember everything that went on about you from
the time when you were three years old?said Albert.

Everything.

Count,said Albertin a low tone to Monte Cristodo
allow the signora to tell me something of her history. You
prohibited my mentioning my father's name to her, but
perhaps she will allude to him of her own accord in the
course of the recital, and you have no idea how delighted I
should be to hear our name pronounced by such beautiful
lips.Monte Cristo turned to Haideeand with an expression
of countenance which commanded her to pay the most implicit
attention to his wordshe said in Greek-- "Tell us the
fate of your father; but neither the name of the traitor nor
the treason." Haidee sighed deeplyand a shade of sadness
clouded her beautiful brow.

What are you saying to her?said Morcerf in an undertone.

I again reminded her that you were a friend, and that she
need not conceal anything from you.

Then,said Albertthis pious pilgrimage in behalf of the
prisoners was your first remembrance; what is the next?

Oh, then I remember as if it were but yesterday sitting
under the shade of some sycamore-trees, on the borders of a
lake, in the waters of which the trembling foliage was
reflected as in a mirror. Under the oldest and thickest of
these trees, reclining on cushions, sat my father; my mother
was at his feet, and I, childlike, amused myself by playing
with his long white beard which descended to his girdle, or
with the diamond-hilt of the scimitar attached to his
girdle. Then from time to time there came to him an Albanian
who said something to which I paid no attention, but which
he always answered in the same tone of voice, either `Kill,'
or `Pardon.'

It is very strange,said Albertto hear such words
proceed from the mouth of any one but an actress on the
stage, and one needs constantly to be saying to one's self,
`This is no fiction, it is all reality,' in order to believe
it. And how does France appear in your eyes, accustomed as
they have been to gaze on such enchanted scenes?

I think it is a fine country,said Haideebut I see
France as it really is, because I look on it with the eyes
of a woman; whereas my own country, which I can only judge
of from the impression produced on my childish mind, always
seems enveloped in a vague atmosphere, which is luminous or
otherwise, according as my remembrances of it are sad or
joyous.

So young,said Albertforgetting at the moment the
Count's command that he should ask no questions of the slave


herselfis it possible that you can have known what
suffering is except by name?

Haidee turned her eyes towards Monte Cristowhomaking at
the same time some imperceptible signmurmured-- "Go on."

Nothing is ever so firmly impressed on the mind as the
memory of our early childhood, and with the exception of the
two scenes I have just described to you, all my earliest
reminiscences are fraught with deepest sadness.

Speak, speak, signora,said AlbertI am listening with
the most intense delight and interest to all you say.

Haidee answered his remark with a melancholy smile. "You
wish methento relate the history of my past sorrows?"
said she.

I beg you to do so,replied Albert.

Well, I was but four years old when one night I was
suddenly awakened by my mother. We were in the palace of
Yanina; she snatched me from the cushions on which I was
sleeping, and on opening my eyes I saw hers filled with
tears. She took me away without speaking. When I saw her
weeping I began to cry too. `Hush, child!' said she. At
other times in spite of maternal endearments or threats, I
had with a child's caprice been accustomed to indulge my
feelings of sorrow or anger by crying as much as I felt
inclined; but on this occasion there was an intonation of
such extreme terror in my mother's voice when she enjoined
me to silence, that I ceased crying as soon as her command
was given. She bore me rapidly away.

I saw then that we were descending a large staircase;
around us were all my mother's servants carrying trunks
bagsornamentsjewelspurses of goldwith which they
were hurrying away in the greatest distraction.

Behind the women came a guard of twenty men armed with long
guns and pistols, and dressed in the costume which the
Greeks have assumed since they have again become a nation.
You may imagine there was something startling and ominous,
said Haideeshaking her head and turning pale at the mere
remembrance of the scenein this long file of slaves and
women only half-aroused from sleep, or at least so they
appeared to me, who was myself scarcely awake. Here and
there on the walls of the staircase, were reflected gigantic
shadows, which trembled in the flickering light of the
pine-torches till they seemed to reach to the vaulted roof
above.

`Quick!' said a voice at the end of the gallery. This voice
made every one bow before itresembling in its effect the
wind passing over a field of wheatby its superior strength
forcing every ear to yield obeisance. As for meit made me
tremble. This voice was that of my father. He came last
clothed in his splendid robes and holding in his hand the
carbine which your emperor presented him. He was leaning on
the shoulder of his favorite Selimand he drove us all
before himas a shepherd would his straggling flock. My
father said Haidee, raising her head, was that
illustrious man known in Europe under the name of Ali
Tepelinipasha of Yaninaand before whom Turkey trembled."


Albertwithout knowing whystarted on hearing these words
pronounced with such a haughty and dignified accent; it
appeared to him as if there was something supernaturally
gloomy and terrible in the expression which gleamed from the
brilliant eyes of Haidee at this moment; she appeared like a
Pythoness evoking a spectreas she recalled to his mind the
remembrance of the fearful death of this manto the news of
which all Europe had listened with horror. "Soon said
Haidee, we halted on our marchand found ourselves on the
borders of a lake. My mother pressed me to her throbbing
heartand at the distance of a few paces I saw my father
who was glancing anxiously around. Four marble steps led
down to the water's edgeand below them was a boat floating
on the tide.

From where we stood I could see in the middle of the lake a
large blank mass; it was the kiosk to which we were going.
This kiosk appeared to me to be at a considerable distance,
perhaps on account of the darkness of the night, which
prevented any object from being more than partially
discerned. We stepped into the boat. I remember well that
the oars made no noise whatever in striking the water, and
when I leaned over to ascertain the cause I saw that they
were muffled with the sashes of our Palikares.* Besides the
rowers, the boat contained only the women, my father,
mother, Selim, and myself. The Palikares had remained on the
shore of the lake, ready to cover our retreat; they were
kneeling on the lowest of the marble steps, and in that
manner intended making a rampart of the three others, in
case of pursuit. Our bark flew before the wind. `Why does
the boat go so fast?' asked I of my mother.

* Greek militiamen in the war for independence. -- Ed.
`Silencechild! Hushwe are flying!' I did not
understand. Why should my father fly? -- hethe
all-powerful -- hebefore whom others were accustomed to
fly -- hewho had taken for his device`They hate me; then
they fear me!' It wasindeeda flight which my father was
trying to effect. I have been told since that the garrison
of the castle of Yaninafatigued with long service" --

Here Haidee cast a significant glance at Monte Cristowhose
eyes had been riveted on her countenance during the whole
course of her narrative. The young girl then continued
speaking slowlylike a person who is either inventing or
suppressing some feature of the history which he is
relating. "You were sayingsignora said Albert, who was
paying the most implicit attention to the recital, that the
garrison of Yaninafatigued with long service" -


Had treated with the Serasker* Koorshid, who had been sent
by the sultan to gain possession of the person of my father;
it was then that Ali Tepelini -- after having sent to the
sultan a French officer in whom he reposed great confidence
-- resolved to retire to the asylum which he had long before
prepared for himself, and which he called kataphygion, or
the refuge.

And this officer,asked Albertdo you remember his name,
signora?Monte Cristo exchanged a rapid glance with the
young girlwhich was quite unperceived by Albert. "No
said she, I do not remember it just at this moment; but if


it should occur to me presentlyI will tell you." Albert
was on the point of pronouncing his father's namewhen
Monte Cristo gently held up his finger in token of reproach;
the young man recollected his promiseand was silent.

* A Turkish pasha in command of the troops of a province. -Ed.
It was towards this kiosk that we were rowing. A
ground-floor, ornamented with arabesques, bathing its
terraces in the water, and another floor, looking on the
lake, was all which was visible to the eye. But beneath the
ground-floor, stretching out into the island, was a large
subterranean cavern, to which my mother, myself, and the
women were conducted. In this place were together 60,000
pouches and 200 barrels; the pouches contained 25,000,000 of
money in gold, and the barrels were filled with 30,000
pounds of gunpowder.

Near the barrels stood Selimmy father's favoritewhom I
mentioned to you just now. He stood watch day and night with
a lance provided with a lighted slowmatch in his handand
he had orders to blow up everything -- kioskguardswomen
goldand Ali Tepelini himself -- at the first signal given
by my father. I remember well that the slavesconvinced of
the precarious tenure on which they held their livespassed
whole days and nights in prayingcryingand groaning. As
for meI can never forget the pale complexion and black
eyes of the young soldierand whenever the angel of death
summons me to another worldI am quite sure I shall
recognize Selim. I cannot tell you how long we remained in
this state; at that period I did not even know what time
meant. Sometimesbut very rarelymy father summoned me and
my mother to the terrace of the palace; these were hours of
recreation for meas I never saw anything in the dismal
cavern but the gloomy countenances of the slaves and Selim's
fiery lance. My father was endeavoring to pierce with his
eager looks the remotest verge of the horizonexamining
attentively every black speck which appeared on the lake
while my motherreclining by his siderested her head on
his shoulderand I played at his feetadmiring everything
I saw with that unsophisticated innocence of childhood which
throws a charm round objects insignificant in themselves
but which in its eyes are invested with the greatest
importance. The heights of Pindus towered above us; the
castle of Yanina rose white and angular from the blue waters
of the lakeand the immense masses of black vegetation
whichviewed in the distancegave the idea of lichens
clinging to the rockswere in reality gigantic fir-trees
and myrtles.

One morning my father sent for us; my mother had been
crying all the night, and was very wretched; we found the
pasha calm, but paler than usual. `Take courage, Vasiliki,'
said he; `to-day arrives the firman of the master, and my
fate will be decided. If my pardon be complete, we shall
return triumphant to Yanina; if the news be inauspicious, we
must fly this night.' -- `But supposing our enemy should not
allow us to do so?' said my mother. `Oh, make yourself easy
on that head,' said Ali, smiling; `Selim and his flaming
lance will settle that matter. They would be glad to see me
dead, but they would not like themselves to die with me.'

My mother only answered by sighs to consolations which she


knew did not come from my father's heart. She prepared the
iced water which he was in the habit of constantly drinking
-- for since his sojourn at the kiosk he had been parched by
the most violent fever-- after which she anointed his
white beard with perfumed oiland lighted his chibouque
which he sometimes smoked for hours togetherquietly
watching the wreaths of vapor that ascended in spiral clouds
and gradually melted away in the surrounding atmosphere.
Presently he made such a sudden movement that I was
paralyzed with fear. Thenwithout taking his eyes from the
object which had first attracted his attentionhe asked for
his telescope. My mother gave it him. and as she did so
looked whiter than the marble against which she leaned. I
saw my father's hand tremble. `A boat! -- two! -- three!'
murmured myfather; -- `four!' He then aroseseizing his
arms and priming his pistols. `Vasiliki' said he to my
mothertrembling perceptibly`the instant approaches which
will decide everything. In the space of half an hour we
shall know the emperor's answer. Go into the cavern with
Haidee.' -- `I will not quit you' said Vasiliki; `if you
diemy lordI will die with you.' -- `Go to Selim!' cried
my father. `Adieumy lord' murmured my motherdetermining
quietly to await the approach of death. `Take away
Vasiliki!' said my father to his Palikares.

As for me, I had been forgotten in the general confusion; I
ran toward Ali Tepelini; he saw me hold out my arms to him,
and he stooped down and pressed my forehead with his lips.
Oh, how distinctly I remember that kiss! -- it was the last
he ever gave me, and I feel as if it were still warm on my
forehead. On descending, we saw through the lattice-work
several boats which were gradually becoming more distinct to
our view. At first they appeared like black specks, and now
they looked like birds skimming the surface of the waves.
During this time, in the kiosk at my father's feet, were
seated twenty Palikares, concealed from view by an angle of
the wall and watching with eager eyes the arrival of the
boats. They were armed with their long guns inlaid with
mother-of-pearl and silver, and cartridges in great numbers
were lying scattered on the floor. My father looked at his
watch, and paced up and down with a countenance expressive
of the greatest anguish. This was the scene which presented
itself to my view as I quitted my father after that last
kiss. My mother and I traversed the gloomy passage leading
to the cavern. Selim was still at his post, and smiled sadly
on us as we entered. We fetched our cushions from the other
end of the cavern, and sat down by Selim. In great dangers
the devoted ones cling to each other; and, young as I was, I
quite understood that some imminent danger was hanging over
our heads.

Albert had often heard -- not from his fatherfor he never
spoke on the subjectbut from strangers -- the description
of the last moments of the vizier of Yanina; he had read
different accounts of his deathbut the story seemed to
acquire fresh meaning from the voice and expression of the
young girland her sympathetic accent and the melancholy
expression of her countenance at once charmed and horrified
him. As to Haideethese terrible reminiscences seemed to
have overpowered her for a momentfor she ceased speaking
her head leaning on her hand like a beautiful flower bowing
beneath the violence of the storm; and her eyes gazing on
vacancy indicated that she was mentally contemplating the
green summit of the Pindus and the blue waters of the lake


of Yaninawhichlike a magic mirrorseemed to reflect the
sombre picture which she sketched. Monte Cristo looked at
her with an indescribable expression of interest and pity.

Go on,said the count in the Romaic language.

Haidee looked up abruptlyas if the sonorous tones of Monte
Cristo's voice had awakened her from a dream; and she
resumed her narrative. "It was about four o'clock in the
afternoonand although the day was brilliant out-of-doors
we were enveloped in the gloomy darkness of the cavern. One
singlesolitary light was burning thereand it appeared
like a star set in a heaven of blackness; it was Selim's
flaming lance. My mother was a Christianand she prayed.
Selim repeated from time to time the sacred words: `God is
great!' Howevermy mother had still some hope. As she was
coming downshe thought she recognized the French officer
who had been sent to Constantinopleand in whom my father
placed so much confidence; for he knew that all the soldiers
of the French emperor were naturally noble and generous. She
advanced some steps towards the staircaseand listened.
`They are approaching' said she; `perhaps they bring us
peace and liberty!' -- `What do you fearVasiliki?' said
Selimin a voice at once so gentle and yet so proud. `If
they do not bring us peacewe will give them war; if they
do not bring lifewe will give them death.' And he renewed
the flame of his lance with a gesture which made one think
of Dionysus of Crete.* But Ibeing only a little childwas
terrified by this undaunted couragewhich appeared to me
both ferocious and senselessand I recoiled with horror
from the idea of the frightful death amidst fire and flames
which probably awaited us.

* The god of fruitfulness in Grecian mythology. In Crete he
was supposed to be slain in winter with the decay of
vegetation and to revive in the spring. Haidee's learned
reference is to the behavior of an actor in the Dionysian
festivals. -- Ed.
My mother experienced the same sensations, for I felt her
tremble. `Mamma, mamma,' said I, `are we really to be
killed?' And at the sound of my voice the slaves redoubled
their cries and prayers and lamentations. `My child,' said
Vasiliki, `may God preserve you from ever wishing for that
death which to-day you so much dread!' Then, whispering to
Selim, she asked what were her master's orders. `If he send
me his poniard, it will signify that the emperor's
intentions are not favorable, and I am to set fire to the
powder; if, on the contrary, he send me his ring, it will be
a sign that the emperor pardons him, and I am to extinguish
the match and leave the magazine untouched.' -- `My friend,'
said my mother, `when your master's orders arrive, if it is
the poniard which he sends, instead of despatching us by
that horrible death which we both so much dread, you will
mercifully kill us with this same poniard, will you not?' -`
Yes, Vasiliki,' replied Selim tranquilly.

Suddenly we heard loud cries; andlisteningdiscerned
that they were cries of joy. The name of the French officer
who had been sent to Constantinople resounded on all sides
amongst our Palikares; it was evident that he brought the
answer of the emperorand that it was favorable."

And do you not remember the Frenchman's name?said


Morcerfquite ready to aid the memory of the narrator.
Monte Cristo made a sign to him to be silent.

I do not recollect it,said Haidee.

The noise increased; steps were heard approaching nearer
and nearer: they were descending the steps leading to the
cavern. Selim made ready his lance. Soon a figure appeared
in the gray twilight at the entrance of the cave, formed by
the reflection of the few rays of daylight which had found
their way into this gloomy retreat. `Who are you?' cried
Selim. `But whoever you may be, I charge you not to advance
another step.' -- `Long live the emperor!' said the figure.
`He grants a full pardon to the Vizier Ali, and not only
gives him his life, but restores to him his fortune and his
possessions.' My mother uttered a cry of joy, and clasped me
to her bosom. `Stop,' said Selim, seeing that she was about
to go out; `you see I have not yet received the ring,' -`
True,' said my mother. And she fell on her knees, at the
same time holding me up towards heaven, as if she desired,
while praying to God in my behalf, to raise me actually to
his presence.

And for the second time Haidee stoppedovercome by such
violent emotion that the perspiration stood upon her pale
browand her stifled voice seemed hardly able to find
utteranceso parched and dry were her throat and lips.
Monte Cristo poured a little iced water into a glassand
presented it to hersaying with a mildness in which was
also a shade of command-- "Courage."

Haidee dried her eyesand continued: "By this time our
eyeshabituated to the darknesshad recognized the
messenger of the pasha-- it was a friend. Selim had also
recognized himbut the brave young man only acknowledged
one dutywhich was to obey. `In whose name do you come?'
said he to him. `I come in the name of our masterAli
Tepelini.' -- `If you come from Ali himself' said Selim
`you know what you were charged to remit to me?' -- `Yes'
said the messenger`and I bring you his ring.' At these
words he raised his hand above his headto show the token;
but it was too far offand there was not light enough to
enable Selimwhere he was standingto distinguish and
recognize the object presented to his view. `I do not see
what you have in your hand' said Selim. `Approach then'
said the messenger`or I will come nearer to youif you
prefer it.' -- `I will agree to neither one nor the other'
replied the young soldier; `place the object which I desire
to see in the ray of light which shines thereand retire
while I examine it.' -- `Be it so' said the envoy; and he
retiredafter having first deposited the token agreed on in
the place pointed out to him by Selim.

Oh, how our hearts palpitated; for it did, indeed, seem to
be a ring which was placed there. But was it my father's
ring? that was the question. Selim, still holding in his
hand the lighted match, walked towards the opening in the
cavern, and, aided by the faint light which streamed in
through the mouth of the cave, picked up the token.

`It is well' said hekissing it; `it is my master's
ring!' And throwing the match on the groundhe trampled on
it and extinguished it. The messenger uttered a cry of joy
and clapped his hands. At this signal four soldiers of the


Serasker Koorshid suddenly appearedand Selim fellpierced
by five blows. Each man had stabbed him separatelyand
intoxicated by their crimethough still pale with fear
they sought all over the cavern to discover if there was any
fear of fireafter which they amused themselves by rolling
on the bags of gold. At this moment my mother seized me in
her armsand hurrying noiselessly along numerous turnings
and windings known only to ourselvesshe arrived at a
private staircase of the kioskwhere was a scene of
frightful tumult and confusion. The lower rooms were
entirely filled with Koorshid's troops; that is to saywith
our enemies. Just as my mother was on the point of pushing
open a small doorwe heard the voice of the pasha sounding
in a loud and threatening tone. My mother applied her eye to
the crack between the boards; I luckily found a small
opening which afforded me a view of the apartment and what
was passing within. `What do you want?' said my father to
some people who were holding a paper inscribed with
characters of gold. `What we want' replied one`is to
communicate to you the will of his highness. Do you see this
firman?' -- `I do' said my father. `Wellread it; he
demands your head.'

My father answered with a loud laugh, which was more
frightful than even threats would have been, and he had not
ceased when two reports of a pistol were heard; he had fired
them himself, and had killed two men. The Palikares, who
were prostrated at my father's feet, now sprang up and
fired, and the room was filled with fire and smoke. At the
same instant the firing began on the other side, and the
balls penetrated the boards all round us. Oh, how noble did
the grand vizier my father look at that moment, in the midst
of the flying bullets, his scimitar in his hand, and his
face blackened with the powder of his enemies! and how he
terrified them, even then, and made them fly before him!
`Selim, Selim!' cried he, `guardian of the fire, do your
duty!' -- `Selim is dead,' replied a voice which seemed to
come from the depths of the earth, `and you are lost, Ali!'
At the same moment an explosion was heard, and the flooring
of the room in which my father was sitting was suddenly torn
up and shivered to atoms -- the troops were firing from
underneath. Three or four Palikares fell with their bodies
literally ploughed with wounds.

My father howled aloudplunged his fingers into the holes
which the balls had madeand tore up one of the planks
entire. But immediately through this opening twenty more
shots were firedand the flamerushing up like fire from
the crater of a volcanosoon reached the tapestrywhich it
quickly devoured. In the midst of all this frightful tumult
and these terrific criestwo reportsfearfully distinct
followed by two shrieks more heartrending than allfroze me
with terror. These two shots had mortally wounded my father
and it was he who had given utterance to these frightful
cries. Howeverhe remained standingclinging to a window.
My mother tried to force the doorthat she might go and die
with himbut it was fastened on the inside. All around him
were lying the Palikareswrithing in convulsive agonies
while two or three who were only slightly wounded were
trying to escape by springing from the windows. At this
crisis the whole flooring suddenly gave way. my father fell
on one kneeand at the same moment twenty hands were thrust
fortharmed with sabrespistolsand poniards -- twenty
blows were instantaneously directed against one manand my


father disappeared in a whirlwind of fire and smoke kindled
by these demonsand which seemed like hell itself opening
beneath his feet. I felt myself fall to the groundmy
mother had fainted."

Haidee's arms fell by her sideand she uttered a deep
groanat the same time looking towards the count as if to
ask if he were satisfied with her obedience to his commands.
Monte Cristo arose and approached hertook her handand
said to her in RomaicCalm yourself, my dear child, and
take courage in remembering that there is a God who will
punish traitors.

It is a frightful story, count,said Albertterrified at
the paleness of Haidee's countenanceand I reproach myself
now for having been so cruel and thoughtless in my request.

Oh, it is nothing,said Monte Cristo. Thenpatting the
young girl on the headhe continuedHaidee is very
courageous, and she sometimes even finds consolation in the
recital of her misfortunes.

Because, my lord.said Haidee eagerlymy miseries recall
to me the remembrance of your goodness.

Albert looked at her with curiosityfor she had not yet
related what he most desired to know-- how she had become
the slave of the count. Haidee saw at a glance the same
expression pervading the countenances of her two auditors;
she exclaimed`When my mother recovered her senses we were
before the serasker. `Kill' said she`but spare the honor
of the widow of Ali.' -- `It is not to me to whom you must
address yourself' said Koorshid.

`To whom, then?' -- `To your new master.'

`Who and where is he?' -- `He is here.'

And Koorshid pointed out one who had more than any
contributed to the death of my father,said Haideein a
tone of chastened anger. "Then said Albert, you became
the property of this man?"

No,replied Haideehe did not dare to keep us, so we
were sold to some slave-merchants who were going to
Constantinople. We traversed Greece, and arrived half dead
at the imperial gates. They were surrounded by a crowd of
people, who opened a way for us to pass, when suddenly my
mother, having looked closely at an object which was
attracting their attention, uttered a piercing cry and fell
to the ground, pointing as she did so to a head which was
placed over the gates, and beneath which were inscribed
these words:

`This is the head of Ali Tepelini Pasha of Yanina.' I cried
bitterlyand tried to raise my mother from the earthbut
she was dead! I was taken to the slave-marketand was
purchased by a rich Armenian. He caused me to be instructed
gave me mastersand when I was thirteen years of age he
sold me to the Sultan Mahmood."

Of whom I bought her,said Monte Cristoas I told you,
Albert, with the emerald which formed a match to the one I
had made into a box for the purpose of holding my hashish


pills.


Oh, you are good, you are great, my lord!said Haidee
kissing the count's handand I am very fortunate in
belonging to such a master!Albert remained quite
bewildered with all that he had seen and heard. "Come
finish your cup of coffee said Monte Cristo; the history
is ended."


Chapter 78
We hear From Yanina.


If Valentine could have seen the trembling step and agitated
countenance of Franz when he quitted the chamber of M.
Noirtiereven she would have been constrained to pity him.
Villefort had only just given utterance to a few incoherent
sentencesand then retired to his studywhere he received
about two hours afterwards the following letter: --


After all the disclosures which were made this morning, M.
Noirtier de Villefort must see the utter impossibility of
any alliance being formed between his family and that of M.
Franz d'Epinay. M. d'Epinay must say that he is shocked and
astonished that M. de Villefort, who appeared to be aware of
all the circumstances detailed this morning, should not have
anticipated him in this announcement.


No one who had seen the magistrate at this momentso
thoroughly unnerved by the recent inauspicious combination
of circumstanceswould have supposed for an instant that he
had anticipated the annoyance; although it certainly never
had occurred to him that his father would carry candoror
rather rudenessso far as to relate such a history. And in
justice to Villefortit must be understood that M.
Noirtierwho never cared for the opinion of his son on any
subjecthad always omitted to explain the affair to
Villefortso that he had all his life entertained the
belief that General de Quesnelor the Baron d'Epinayas he
was alternately styledaccording as the speaker wished to
identify him by his own family nameor by the title which
had been conferred on himfell the victim of assassination
and not that he was killed fairly in a duel. This harsh
lettercoming as it did from a man generally so polite and
respectfulstruck a mortal blow at the pride of Villefort.
Hardly had he read the letterwhen his wife entered. The
sudden departure of Franzafter being summoned by M.
Noirtierhad so much astonished every onethat the
position of Madame de Villefortleft alone with the notary
and the witnessesbecame every moment more embarrassing.
Determined to bear it no longershe arose and left the
room; saying she would go and make some inquiries into the
cause of his sudden disappearance.


M. de Villefort's communications on the subject were very
limited and concise; he told herin factthat an
explanation had taken place between M. NoirtierM.
d'Epinayand himselfand that the marriage of Valentine
and Franz would consequently be broken off. This was an
awkward and unpleasant thing to have to report to those who
were awaiting her return in the chamber of her
father-in-law. She therefore contented herself with saying
that M. Noirtier having at the commencement of the

discussion been attacked by a sort of apoplectic fitthe
affair would necessarily be deferred for some days longer.
This newsfalse as it was following so singularly in the
train of the two similar misfortunes which had so recently
occurredevidently astonished the auditorsand they
retired without a word. During this time Valentineat once
terrified and happyafter having embraced and thanked the
feeble old man for thus breaking with a single blow the
chain which she had been accustomed to consider as
irrefragableasked leave to retire to her own roomin
order to recover her composure. Noirtier looked the
permission which she solicited. But instead of going to her
own roomValentinehaving once gained her libertyentered
the galleryandopening a small door at the end of it.
found herself at once in the garden.

In the midst of all the strange events which had crowded one
on the otheran indefinable sentiment of dread had taken
possession of Valentine's mind. She expected every moment
that she should see Morrel appearpale and tremblingto
forbid the signing of the contractlike the Laird of
Ravenswood in "The Bride of Lammermoor." It was high time
for her to make her appearance at the gatefor Maximilian
had long awaited her coming. He had half guessed what was
going on when he saw Franz quit the cemetery with M. de
Villefort. He followed M. d'Epinaysaw him enter
afterwards go outand then re-enter with Albert and
Chateau-Renaud. He had no longer any doubts as to the nature
of the conference; he therefore quickly went to the gate in
the clover-patchprepared to hear the result of the
proceedingsand very certain that Valentine would hasten to
him the first moment she should be set at liberty. He was
not mistaken; peering through the crevices of the wooden
partitionhe soon discovered the young girlwho cast aside
all her usual precautions and walked at once to the barrier.
The first glance which Maximilian directed towards her
entirely reassured himand the first words she spoke made
his heart bound with delight.

We are saved!said Valentine. "Saved?" repeated Morrel
not being able to conceive such intense happiness; "by
whom?"

By my grandfather. Oh, Morrel, pray love him for all his
goodness to us!Morrel swore to love him with all his soul;
and at that moment he could safely promise to do sofor he
felt as though it were not enough to love him merely as a
friend or even as a father. "But tell meValentinehow has
it all been effected? What strange means has he used to
compass this blessed end?"

Valentine was on the point of relating all that had passed
but she suddenly remembered that in doing so she must reveal
a terrible secret which concerned others as well as her
grandfatherand she saidAt some future time I will tell
you all about it.

But when will that be?

When I am your wife.

The conversation had now turned upon a topic so pleasing to
Morrelthat he was ready to accede to anything that
Valentine thought fit to proposeand he likewise felt that


a piece of intelligence such as he just heard ought to be
more than sufficient to content him for one day. Howeverhe
would not leave without the promise of seeing Valentine
again the next night. Valentine promised all that Morrel
required of herand certainly it was less difficult now for
her to believe that she should marry Maximilian than it was
an hour ago to assure herself that she should not marry
Franz. During the time occupied by the interview we have
just detailedMadame de Villefort had gone to visit M.
Noirtier. The old man looked at her with that stern and
forbidding expression with which he was accustomed to
receive her.

Sir,said sheit is superfluous for me to tell you that
Valentine's marriage is broken off, since it was here that
the affair was concluded.Noirtier's countenance remained
immovable. "But one thing I can tell youof which I do not
think you are aware; that isthat I have always been
opposed to this marriageand that the contract was entered
into entirely without my consent or approbation." Noirtier
regarded his daughter-in-law with the look of a man desiring
an explanation. "Now that this marriagewhich I know you so
much dislikedis done away withI come to you on an errand
which neither M. de Villefort nor Valentine could
consistently undertake." Noirtier's eyes demanded the nature
of her mission. "I come to entreat yousir continued
Madame de Villefort, as the only one who has the right of
doing soinasmuch as I am the only one who will receive no
personal benefit from the transaction-- I come to entreat
you to restorenot your lovefor that she has always
possessedbut to restore your fortune to your
granddaughter."

There was a doubtful expression in Noirtier's eyes; he was
evidently trying to discover the motive of this proceeding
and he could not succeed in doing so. "May I hopesir
said Madame de Villefort, that your intentions accord with
my request?" Noirtier made a sign that they did. "In that
casesir rejoined Madame de Villefort, I will leave you
overwhelmed with gratitude and happiness at your prompt
acquiescence to my wishes." She then bowed to M. Noirtier
and retired.

The next day M. Noirtier sent for the notary; the first will
was torn up and a second madein which he left the whole of
his fortune to Valentineon condition that she should never
be separated from him. It was then generally reported that
Mademoiselle de Villefortthe heiress of the marquis and
marchioness of Saint-Meranhad regained the good graces of
her grandfatherand that she would ultimately be in
possession of an income of 300000 livres.

While all the proceedings relative to the dissolution of the
marriage-contract were being carried on at the house of M.
de VillefortMonte Cristo had paid his visit to the Count
of Morcerfwhoin order to lose no time in responding to

M. Danglars' wishesand at the same time to pay all due
deference to his position in societydonned his uniform of
lieutenant-generalwhich he ornamented with all his
crossesand thus attiredordered his finest horses and
drove to the Rue de la Chausse d'Antin.
Danglars was balancing his monthly accountsand it was
perhaps not the most favorable moment for finding him in his


best humor. At the first sight of his old friendDanglars
assumed his majestic airand settled himself in his
easy-chair. Morcerfusually so stiff and formalaccosted
the banker in an affable and smiling mannerandfeeling
sure that the overture he was about make would be well
receivedhe did not consider it necessary to adopt any
manoeuvres in order to gain his endbut went at once
straight to the point.

Well, baron,said hehere I am at last; some time has
elapsed since our plans were formed, and they are not yet
executed.Morcerf paused at these wordsquietly waiting
till the cloud should have dispersed which had gathered on
the brow of Danglarsand which he attributed to his
silence; buton the contraryto his great surpriseit
grew darker and darker. "To what do you alludemonsieur?"
said Danglars; as if he were trying in vain to guess at the
possible meaning of the general's words.

Ah,said MorcerfI see you are a stickler for forms, my
dear sir, and you would remind me that the ceremonial rites
should not be omitted. Ma foi, I beg your pardon, but as I
have but one son, and it is the first time I have ever
thought of marrying him, I am still serving my
apprenticeship, you know; come, I will reform.And Morcerf
with a forced smile aroseandmaking a low bow to M.
Danglarssaid: "BaronI have the honor of asking of you
the hand of Mademoiselle Eugenie Danglars for my sonthe
Vicomte Albert de Morcerf."

But Danglarsinstead of receiving this address in the
favorable manner which Morcerf had expectedknit his brow
and without inviting the countwho was still standingto
take a seat. he said: "Monsieurit will be necessary to
reflect before I give you an answer."

To reflect?said Morcerfmore and more astonished; "have
you not had enough time for reflection during the eight
years which have elapsed since this marriage was first
discussed between us?"

Count,said the bankerthings are constantly occurring
in the world to induce us to lay aside our most established
opinions, or at all events to cause us to remodel them
according to the change of circumstances, which may have
placed affairs in a totally different light to that in which
we at first viewed them.

I do not understand you, baron,said Morcerf.

What I mean to say is this, sir, -- that during the last
fortnight unforeseen circumstances have occurred-


Excuse me,said Morcerfbut is it a play we are acting?

A play?

Yes, for it is like one; pray let us come more to the
point, and endeavor thoroughly to understand each other.

That is quite my desire.

You have seen M. de Monte Cristo have you not?


I see him very often,said Danglarsdrawing himself up;
he is a particular friend of mine.

Well, in one of your late conversations with him, you said
that I appeared to be forgetful and irresolute concerning
this marriage, did you not?

I did say so.

Well, here I am, proving at once that I am really neither
the one nor the other, by entreating you to keep your
promise on that score.

Danglars did not answer. "Have you so soon changed your
mind added Morcerf, or have you only provoked my request
that you may have the pleasure of seeing me humbled?"
Danglarsseeing that if he continued the conversation in
the same tone in which he had begun itthe whole thing
might turn out to his own disadvantageturned to Morcerf
and said: "Countyou must doubtless be surprised at my
reserveand I assure you it costs me much to act in such a
manner towards you; butbelieve me when I say that
imperative necessity has imposed the painful task upon me."

These are all so many empty words, my dear sir,said
Morcerf: "they might satisfy a new acquaintancebut the
Comte de Morcerf does not rank in that list; and when a man
like him comes to anotherrecalls to him his plighted word
and this man fails to redeem the pledgehe has at least a
right to exact from him a good reason for so doing."
Danglars was a cowardbut did not wish to appear so; he was
piqued at the tone which Morcerf had just assumed. "I am not
without a good reason for my conduct replied the banker.

What do you mean to say?"

I mean to say that I have a good reason, but that it is
difficult to explain.

You must be aware, at all events, that it is impossible for
me to understand motives before they are explained to me;
but one thing at least is clear, which is, that you decline
allying yourself with my family.

No, sir,said Danglars; "I merely suspend my decision
that is all."

And do you really flatter yourself that I shall yield to
all your caprices, and quietly and humbly await the time of
again being received into your good graces?

Then, count, if you will not wait, we must look upon these
projects as if they had never been entertained.The count
bit his lips till the blood almost startedto prevent the
ebullition of anger which his proud and irritable temper
scarcely allowed him to restrain; understandinghowever
that in the present state of things the laugh would
decidedly be against himhe turned from the doortowards
which he had been directing his stepsand again confronted
the banker. A cloud settled on his browevincing decided
anxiety and uneasinessinstead of the expression of
offended pride which had lately reigned there. "My dear
Danglars said Morcerf, we have been acquainted for many
yearsand consequently we ought to make some allowance for


each other's failings. You owe me an explanationand really
it is but fair that I should know what circumstance has
occurred to deprive my son of your favor."

It is from no personal ill-feeling towards the viscount,
that is all I can say, sir,replied Danglarswho resumed
his insolent manner as soon as he perceived that Morcerf was
a little softened and calmed down. "And towards whom do you
bear this personal ill-feelingthen?" said Morcerfturning
pale with anger. The expression of the count's face had not
remained unperceived by the banker; he fixed on him a look
of greater assurance than beforeand said: "You may
perhapsbe better satisfied that I should not go farther
into particulars."

A tremor of suppressed rage shook the whole frame of the
countand making a violent effort over himselfhe said: "I
have a right to insist on your giving me an explanation. Is
it Madame de Morcerf who has displeased you? Is it my
fortune which you find insufficient? Is it because my
opinions differ from yours?"

Nothing of the kind, sir,replied Danglars: "if such had
been the caseI only should have been to blameinasmuch as
I was aware of all these things when I made the engagement.
Nodo not seek any longer to discover the reason. I really
am quite ashamed to have been the cause of your undergoing
such severe self-examination; let us drop the subjectand
adopt the middle course of delaywhich implies neither a
rupture nor an engagement. Ma foithere is no hurry. My
daughter is only seventeen years oldand your son
twenty-one. While we waittime will be progressingevents
will succeed each other; things which in the evening look
dark and obscureappear but too clearly in the light of
morningand sometimes the utterance of one wordor the
lapse of a single daywill reveal the most cruel
calumnies."

Calumnies, did you say, sir?cried Morcerfturning livid
with rage. "Does any one dare to slander me?"

Monsieur, I told you that I considered it best to avoid all
explanation.

Then, sir, I am patiently to submit to your refusal?

Yes, sir, although I assure you the refusal is as painful
for me to give as it is for you to receive, for I had
reckoned on the honor of your alliance, and the breaking off
of a marriage contract always injures the lady more than the
gentleman.

Enough, sir,said Morcerfwe will speak no more on the
subject.And clutching his gloves in angerhe left the
apartment. Danglars observed that during the whole
conversation Morcerf had never once dared to ask if it was
on his own account that Danglars recalled his word. That
evening he had a long conference with several friends; and

M. Cavalcantiwho had remained in the drawing-room with the
ladieswas the last to leave the banker's house.
The next morningas soon as he awokeDanglars asked for
the newspapers; they were brought to him; he laid aside
three or fourand at last fixed on the Impartialthe paper


of which Beauchamp was the chief editor. He hastily tore off
the coveropened the journal with nervous precipitation
passed contemptuously over the Paris jottingsand arriving
at the miscellaneous intelligencestopped with a malicious
smileat a paragraph headed "We hear from Yanina." "Very
good observed Danglars, after having read the paragraph;
here is a little article on Colonel Fernandwhichif I am
not mistakenwould render the explanation which the Comte
de Morcerf required of me perfectly unnecessary."

At the same momentthat isat nine o'clock in the morning
Albert de Morcerfdressed in a black coat buttoned up to
his chinmight have been seen walking with a quick and
agitated step in the direction of Monte Cristo's house in
the Champs Elysees. When he presented himself at the gate
the porter informed him that the Count had gone out about
half an hour previously. "Did he take Baptistin with him?"

No, my lord.

Call him, then; I wish to speak to him.The concierge went
to seek the valet de chambreand returned with him in an
instant.

My good friend,said AlbertI beg pardon for my
intrusion, but I was anxious to know from your own mouth if
your master was really out or not.

He is really out, sir,replied Baptistin.

Out, even to me?

I know how happy my master always is to receive the
vicomte,said Baptistin; "and I should therefore never
think of including him in any general order."

You are right; and now I wish to see him on an affair of
great importance. Do you think it will be long before he
comes in?

No, I think not, for he ordered his breakfast at ten
o'clock.

Well, I will go and take a turn in the Champs Elysees, and
at ten o'clock I will return here; meanwhile, if the count
should come in, will you beg him not to go out again without
seeing me?

You may depend on my doing so, sir,said Baptistin.

Albert left the cab in which he had come at the count's
doorintending to take a turn on foot. As he was passing
the Allee des Veuveshe thought he saw the count's horses
standing at Gosset's shooting-gallery; he approachedand
soon recognized the coachman. "Is the count shooting in the
gallery?" said Morcerf.

Yes, sir,replied the coachman. While he was speaking
Albert had heard the report of two or three pistol-shots. He
enteredand on his way met the waiter. "Excuse memy
lord said the lad; but will you have the kindness to wait
a moment?"

What for, Philip?asked Albertwhobeing a constant


visitor theredid not understand this opposition to his
entrance.

Because the person who is now in the gallery prefers being
alone, and never practices in the presence of any one.

Not even before you, Philip? Then who loads his pistol?

His servant.

A Nubian?

A negro.

It is he, then.

Do you know this gentleman?

Yes, and I am come to look for him; he is a friend of
mine.

Oh, that is quite another thing, then. I will go
immediately and inform him of your arrival.And Philip
urged by his own curiosityentered the gallery; a second
afterwardsMonte Cristo appeared on the threshold. "I ask
your pardonmy dear count said Albert, for following you
hereand I must first tell you that it was not the fault of
your servants that I did so; I alone am to blame for the
indiscretion. I went to your houseand they told me you
were outbut that they expected you home at ten o'clock to
breakfast. I was walking about in order to pass away the
time till ten o'clockwhen I caught sight of your carriage
and horses."

What you have just said induces me to hope that you intend
breakfasting with me.

No, thank you, I am thinking of other things besides
breakfast just now; perhaps we may take that meal at a later
hour and in worse company.

What on earth are you talking of?

I am to fight to-day.

For what?

I am going to fight-


Yes, I understand that, but what is the quarrel? People
fight for all sorts of reasons, you know.


I fight in the cause of honor.

Ah, that is something serious.

So serious, that I come to beg you to render me a service.

What is it?

To be my second.

That is a serious matter, and we will not discuss it here;
let us speak of nothing till we get home. Ali, bring me some


water.The count turned up his sleevesand passed into the
little vestibule where the gentlemen were accustomed to wash
their hands after shooting. "Come inmy lord said Philip
in a low tone, and I will show you something droll."
Morcerf enteredand in place of the usual targethe saw
some playing-cards fixed against the wall. At a distance
Albert thought it was a complete suitfor he counted from
the ace to the ten. "Ahha said Albert, I see you were
preparing for a game of cards."

No,said the countI was making a suit.

How?said Albert.

Those are really aces and twos which you see, but my shots
have turned them into threes, fives, sevens, eights, nines,
and tens.Albert approached. In factthe bullets had
actually pierced the cards in the exact places which the
painted signs would otherwise have occupiedthe lines and
distances being as regularly kept as if they had been ruled
with pencil. "Diable said Morcerf.

What would you havemy dear viscount?" said Monte Cristo
wiping his hands on the towel which Ali had brought him; "I
must occupy my leisure moments in some way or other. But
comeI am waiting for you." Both men entered Monte Cristo's
carriagewhich in the course of a few minutes deposited
them safely at No. 30. Monte Cristo took Albert into his
studyand pointing to a seatplaced another for himself.
Now let us talk the matter over quietly,said the count.

You see I am perfectly composed,said Albert.

With whom are you going to fight?

With Beauchamp.

One of your friends!

Of course; it is always with friends that one fights.

I suppose you have some cause of quarrel?

I have.

What has he done to you?

There appeared in his journal last night -- but wait, and
read for yourself.And Albert handed over the paper to the
countwho read as follows: -


A correspondent at Yanina informs us of a fact of which
until now we had remained in ignorance. The castle which
formed the protection of the town was given up to the Turks
by a French officer named Fernand, in whom the grand vizier,
Ali Tepelini, had reposed the greatest confidence.

Well,said Monte Cristowhat do you see in that to annoy
you?

What do I see in it?

Yes; what does it signify to you if the castle of Yanina
was given up by a French officer?


It signifies to my father, the Count of Morcerf, whose
Christian name is Fernand!

Did your father serve under Ali Pasha?

Yes; that is to say, he fought for the independence of the
Greeks, and hence arises the calumny.

Oh, my dear viscount, do talk reason!

I do not desire to do otherwise.

Now, just tell me who the devil should know in France that
the officer Fernand and the Count of Morcerf are one and the
same person? and who cares now about Yanina, which was taken
as long ago as the year 1822 or 1823?

That just shows the meanness of this slander. They have
allowed all this time to elapse, and then all of a sudden
rake up events which have been forgotten to furnish
materials for scandal, in order to tarnish the lustre of our
high position. I inherit my father's name, and I do not
choose that the shadow of disgrace should darken it. I am
going to Beauchamp, in whose journal this paragraph appears,
and I shall insist on his retracting the assertion before
two witnesses.

Beauchamp will never retract.

Then he must fight.

No he will not, for he will tell you, what is very true,
that perhaps there were fifty officers in the Greek army
bearing the same name.

We will fight, nevertheless. I will efface that blot on my
father's character. My father, who was such a brave soldier,
whose career was so brilliant-


Oh, well, he will add, `We are warranted in believing that
this Fernand is not the illustrious Count of Morcerf, who
also bears the same Christian name.'

I am determined not to be content with anything short of an
entire retractation.

And you intend to make him do it in the presence of two
witnesses, do you?

Yes.

You do wrong.

Which means, I suppose, that you refuse the service which I
asked of you?

You know my theory regarding duels; I told you my opinion
on that subject, if you remember, when we were at Rome.

Nevertheless, my dear count, I found you this morning
engaged in an occupation but little consistent with the
notions you profess to entertain.


Because, my dear fellow, you understand one must never be
eccentric. If one's lot is cast among fools, it is necessary
to study folly. I shall perhaps find myself one day called
out by some harebrained scamp, who has no more real cause of
quarrel with me than you have with Beauchamp; he may take me
to task for some foolish trifle or other, he will bring his
witnesses, or will insult me in some public place, and I am
expected to kill him for all that.

You admit that you would fight, then? Well, if so, why do
you object to my doing so?

I do not say that you ought not to fight, I only say that a
duel is a serious thing, and ought not to be undertaken
without due reflection.

Did he reflect before he insulted my father?

If he spoke hastily, and owns that he did so, you ought to
be satisfied.

Ah, my dear count, you are far too indulgent.

And you are far too exacting. Supposing, for instance, and
do not be angry at what I am going to say-


Well.

Supposing the assertion to be really true?

A son ought not to submit to such a stain on his father's
honor.

Ma foi, we live in times when there is much to which we
must submit.

That is precisely the fault of the age.

And do you undertake to reform it?

Yes, as far as I am personally concerned.

Well, you the?? indeed exacting, my dear fellow!

Yes, I own it.

Are you quite impervious to good advice?

Not when it comes from a friend.

And do you account me that title?

Certainly I do.

Well, then, before going to Beauchamp with your witnesses,
seek further information on the subject.

From whom?

From Haidee.

Why, what can be the use of mixing a woman up in the
affair? -- what can she do in it?


She can declare to you, for example, that your father had
no hand whatever in the defeat and death of the vizier; or
if by chance he had, indeed, the misfortune to-


I have told you, my dear count, that I would not for one
moment admit of such a proposition.

You reject this means of information, then?

I do -- most decidedly.
Then let me offer one more word of advice.


Do so, then, but let it be the last.
You do not wish to hear it, perhaps?


On the contrary, I request it.


Do not take any witnesses with you when you go to Beauchamp
-- visit him alone.
That would be contrary to all custom.


Your case is not an ordinary one.
And what is your reason for advising me to go alone?


Because then the affair will rest between you and
Beauchamp.

Explain yourself.

I will do so. If Beauchamp be disposed to retract, you
ought at least to give him the opportunity of doing it of
his own free will, -- the satisfaction to you will be the
same. If, on the contrary, he refuses to do so, it will then
be quite time enough to admit two strangers into your
secret.

They will not be strangers, they will be friends.

Ah, but the friends of to-day are the enemies of to-morrow;
Beauchamp, for instance.

So you recommend--
I recommend you to be prudent.


Then you advise me to go alone to Beauchamp?


I do, and I will tell you why. When you wish to obtain some
concession from a man's self-love, you must avoid even the
appearance of wishing to wound it.

I believe you are right.

I am glad of it.
Then I will go alone.

Go; but you would do better still by not going at all.
That is impossible.


Do so, then; it will be a wiser plan than the first which
you proposed.

But if, in spite of all my precautions, I am at last
obliged to fight, will you not be my second?

My dear viscount,said Monte Cristo gravelyyou must
have seen before to-day that at all times and in all places
I have been at your disposal, but the service which you have
just demanded of me is one which it is out of my power to
render you.

Why?

Perhaps you may know at some future period, and in the mean
time I request you to excuse my declining to put you in
possession of my reasons.

Well, I will have Franz and Chateau-Renaud; they will be
the very men for it.

Do so, then.

But if I do fight, you will surely not object to giving me
a lesson or two in shooting and fencing?

That, too, is impossible.

What a singular being you are! -- you will not interfere in
anything.

You are right -- that is the principle on which I wish to
act.

We will say no more about it, then. Good-by, count.
Morcerf took his hatand left the room. He found his
carriage at the doorand doing his utmost to restrain his
anger he went at once to find Beauchampwho was in his
office. It was a gloomydusty-looking apartmentsuch as
journalists' offices have always been from time immemorial.
The servant announced M. Albert de Morcerf. Beauchamp
repeated the name to himselfas though he could scarcely
believe that he had heard arightand then gave orders for
him to be admitted. Albert entered. Beauchamp uttered an
exclamation of surprise on seeing his friend leap over and
trample under foot all the newspapers which were strewed
about the room. "This waythis waymy dear Albert!" said
heholding out his hand to the young man. "Are you out of
your sensesor do you come peaceably to take breakfast with
me? Try and find a seat -- there is one by that geranium
which is the only thing in the room to remind me that there
are other leaves in the world besides leaves of paper."

Beauchamp,said Albertit is of your journal that I come
to speak.

Indeed? What do you wish to say about it?

I desire that a statement contained in it should be
rectified.

To what do you refer? But pray sit down.


Thank you,said Albertwith a cold and formal bow.

Will you now have the kindness to explain the nature of the
statement which has displeased you?

An announcement has been made which implicates the honor of
a member of my family.

What is it?said Beauchampmuch surprised; "surely you
must be mistaken."

The story sent you from Yanina.

Yanina?

Yes; really you appear to be totally ignorant of the cause
which brings me here.

Such is really the case, I assure you, upon my honor!
Baptiste, give me yesterday's paper,cried Beauchamp.

Here, I have brought mine with me,replied Albert.

Beauchamp took the paperand read the article to which
Albert pointed in an undertone. "You see it is a serious
annoyance said Morcerf, when Beauchamp had finished the
perusal of the paragraph. Is the officer referred to a
relation of yoursthen?" demanded the journalist.

Yes,said Albertblushing.

Well, what do you wish me to do for you?said Beauchamp
mildly.

My dear Beauchamp, I wish you to contradict this
statement.Beauchamp looked at Albert with a benevolent
expression.

Come,said hethis matter will want a good deal of
talking over; a retractation is always a serious thing, you
know. Sit down, and I will read it again.Albert resumed
his seatand Beauchamp readwith more attention than at
firstthe lines denounced by his friend. "Well said
Albert in a determined tone, you see that your paper his
insulted a member of my familyand I insist on a
retractation being made."

You insist?

Yes, I insist.

Permit me to remind you that you are not in the Chamber, my
dear Viscount.

Nor do I wish to be there,replied the young manrising.
I repeat that I am determined to have the announcement of
yesterday contradicted. You have known me long enough,
continued Albertbiting his lips convulsivelyfor he saw
that Beauchamp's anger was beginning to rise-- "you have
been my friendand therefore sufficiently intimate with me
to be aware that I am likely to maintain my resolution on
this point."

If I have been your friend, Morcerf, your present manner of


speaking would almost lead me to forget that I ever bore
that title. But wait a moment, do not let us get angry, or
at least not yet. You are irritated and vexed -- tell me how
this Fernand is related to you?

He is merely my father,said Albert -- "M. Fernand
MondegoCount of Morcerfan old soldier who has fought in
twenty battles and whose honorable scars they would denounce
as badges of disgrace."

Is it your father?said Beauchamp; "that is quite another
thing. Then can well understand your indignationmy dear
Albert. I will look at it again;" and he read the paragraph
for the third timelaying a stress on each word as he
proceeded. "But the paper nowhere identifies this Fernand
with your father."

No; but the connection will be seen by others, and
therefore I will have the article contradicted.At the
words "I will Beauchamp steadily raised his eyes to
Albert's countenance, and then as gradually lowering them,
he remained thoughtful for a few moments. You will retract
this assertionwill you notBeauchamp?" said Albert with
increased though stifled anger.

Yes,replied Beauchamp.

Immediately?said Albert.

When I am convinced that the statement is false.

What?

The thing is worth looking into, and I will take pains to
investigate the matter thoroughly.

But what is there to investigate, sir?said Albert
enraged beyond measure at Beauchamp's last remark. "If you
do not believe that it is my fathersay so immediately; and
ifon the contraryyou believe it to be himstate your
reasons for doing so." Beauchamp looked at Albert with the
smile which was so peculiar to himand which in its
numerous modifications served to express every varied
emotion of his mind. "Sir replied he, if you came to me
with the idea of demanding satisfactionyou should have
gone at once to the pointand not have entertained me with
the idle conversation to which I have been patiently
listening for the last half hour. Am I to put this
construction on your visit?"

Yes, if you will not consent to retract that infamous
calumny.

Wait a moment -- no threats, if you please, M. Fernand
Mondego, Vicomte de Morcerf; I never allow them from my
enemies, and therefore shall not put up with them from my
friends. You insist on my contradicting the article relating
to General Fernand, an article with which, I assure you on
my word of honor, I had nothing whatever to do?

Yes, I insist on it,said Albertwhose mind was beginning
to get bewildered with the excitement of his feelings.

And if I refuse to retract, you wish to fight, do you?


said Beauchamp in a calm tone.

Yes,replied Albertraising his voice.

Well,said Beauchamphere is my answer, my dear sir. The
article was not inserted by me -- I was not even aware of
it; but you have, by the step you have taken, called my
attention to the paragraph in question, and it will remain
until it shall be either contradicted or confirmed by some
one who has a right to do so.

Sir,said AlbertrisingI will do myself the honor of
sending my seconds to you, and you will be kind enough to
arrange with them the place of meeting and the weapons.

Certainly, my dear sir.

And this evening, if you please, or to-morrow at the
latest, we will meet.

No, no, I will be on the ground at the proper time; but in
my opinion (and I have a right to dictate the preliminaries,
as it is I who have received the provocation) -- in my
opinion the time ought not to be yet. I know you to be well
skilled in the management of the sword, while I am only
moderately so; I know, too, that you are a good marksman -there
we are about equal. I know that a duel between us two
would be a serious affair, because you are brave, and I am
brave also. I do not therefore wish either to kill you, or
to be killed myself without a cause. Now, I am going to put
a question to you, and one very much to the purpose too. Do
you insist on this retractation so far as to kill me if I do
not make it, although I have repeated more than once, and
affirmed on my honor, that I was ignorant of the thing with
which you charge me, and although I still declare that it is
impossible for any one but you to recognize the Count of
Morcerf under the name of Fernand?

I maintain my original resolution.

Very well, my dear sir; then I consent to cut throats with
you. But I require three weeks' preparation; at the end of
that time I shall come and say to you, `The assertion is
false, and I retract it,' or `The assertion is true,' when I
shall immediately draw the sword from its sheath, or the
pistols from the case, whichever you please.

Three weeks!cried Albert; "they will pass as slowly as
three centuries when I am all the time suffering dishonor."

Had you continued to remain on amicable terms with me, I
should have said, `Patience, my friend;' but you have
constituted yourself my enemy, therefore I say, `What does
that signify to me, sir?'

Well, let it be three weeks then,said Morcerf; "but
rememberat the expiration of that time no delay or
subterfuge will justify you in" -


M. Albert de Morcerf,said Beauchamprising in his turn
I cannot throw you out of window for three weeks -- that is
to say, for twenty-four days to come -- nor have you any
right to split my skull open till that time has elapsed.
To-day is the 29th of August; the 21st of September will,


therefore, be the conclusion of the term agreed on, and till
that time arrives -- and it is the advice of a gentleman
which I am about to give you -- till then we will refrain
from growling and barking like two dogs chained within sight
of each other.When he had concluded his speechBeauchamp
bowed coldly to Albertturned his back upon himand went
to the press-room.

Albert vented his anger on a pile of newspaperswhich he
sent flying all over the office by switching them violently
with his stick; after which ebullition he departed -- not
howeverwithout walking several times to the door of the
press-roomas if he had half a mind to enter. While Albert
was lashing the front of his carriage in the same manner
that he had the newspapers which were the innocent agents of
his discomfitureas he was crossing the barrier he
perceived Morrelwho was walking with a quick step and a
bright eye. He was passing the Chinese Bathsand appeared
to have come from the direction of the Porte Saint-Martin
and to be going towards the Madeleine. "Ah said Morcerf,
there goes a happy man!" And it so happened Albert was not
mistaken in his opinion.

Chapter 79
The Lemonade.

Morrel wasin factvery happy. M. Noirtier had just sent
for himand he was in such haste to know the reason of his
doing so that he had not stopped to take a cabplacing
infinitely more dependence on his own two legs than on the
four legs of a cab-horse. He had therefore set off at a
furious rate from the Rue Meslayand was hastening with
rapid strides in the direction of the Faubourg Saint-Honore.
Morrel advanced with a firmmanly treadand poor Barrois
followed him as he best might. Morrel was only thirty-one
Barrois was sixty years of age; Morrel was deeply in love
and Barrois was dying with heat and exertion. These two men
thus opposed in age and interestsresembled two parts of a
trianglepresenting the extremes of separationyet
nevertheless possessing their point of union. This point of
union was Noirtierand it was he who had just sent for
Morrelwith the request that the latter would lose no time
in coming to him -- a command which Morrel obeyed to the
letterto the great discomfiture of Barrois. On arriving at
the houseMorrel was not even out of breathfor love lends
wings to our desires; but Barroiswho had long forgotten
what it was to lovewas sorely fatigued by the expedition
he had been constrained to use.

The old servant introduced Morrel by a private entrance
closed the door of the studyand soon the rustling of a
dress announced the arrival of Valentine. She looked
marvellously beautiful in her deep mourning dressand
Morrel experienced such intense delight in gazing upon her
that he felt as if he could almost have dispensed with the
conversation of her grandfather. But the easy-chair of the
old man was heard rolling along the floorand he soon made
his appearance in the room. Noirtier acknowledged by a look
of extreme kindness and benevolence the thanks which Morrel
lavished on him for his timely intervention on behalf of
Valentine and himself -- an intervention which had saved
them from despair. Morrel then cast on the invalid an


interrogative look as to the new favor which he designed to
bestow on him. Valentine was sitting at a little distance
from themtimidly awaiting the moment when she should be
obliged to speak. Noirtier fixed his eyes on her. "Am I to
say what you told me?" asked Valentine. Noirtier made a sign
that she was to do so.

Monsieur Morrel,said Valentine to the young manwho was
regarding her with the most intense interestmy
grandfather, M. Noirtier, had a thousand things to say,
which he told me three days ago; and now, he has sent for
you, that I may repeat them to you. I will repeat them,
then; and since he has chosen me as his interpreter, I will
be faithful to the trust, and will not alter a word of his
intentions.

Oh, I am listening with the greatest impatience,replied
the young man; "speakI beg of you." Valentine cast down
her eyes; this was a good omen for Morrelfor he knew that
nothing but happiness could have the power of thus
overcoming Valentine. "My grandfather intends leaving this
house said she, and Barrois is looking out suitable
apartments for him in another."

But you, Mademoiselle de Villefort, -- you, who are
necessary to M. Noirtier's happiness-


I?interrupted Valentine; "I shall not leave my
grandfather-- that is an understood thing between us. My
apartment will be close to his. NowM. de Villefort must
either give his consent to this plan or his refusal; in the
first caseI shall leave directlyand in the secondI
shall wait till I am of agewhich will be in about ten
months. Then I shall be freeI shall have an independent
fortuneand" -


And what?demanded Morrel.

And with my grandfather's consent I shall fulfil the
promise which I have made you.Valentine pronounced these
last few words in such a low tonethat nothing but Morrel's
intense interest in what she was saying could have enabled
him to hear them. "Have I not explained your wishes
grandpapa?" said Valentineaddressing Noirtier. "Yes
looked the old man. -- Once under my grandfather's roofM.
Morrel can visit me in the presence of my good and worthy
protectorif we still feel that the union we contemplated
will be likely to insure our future comfort and happiness;
in that case I shall expect M. Morrel to come and claim me
at my own hands. ButalasI have heard it said that hearts
inflamed by obstacles to their desire grew cold in time of
security; I trust we shall never find it so in our
experience!"

Oh,cried Morrelalmost tempted to throw himself on his
knees before Noirtier and Valentineand to adore them as
two superior beingswhat have I ever done in my life to
merit such unbounded happiness?

Until that time,continued the young girl in a calm and
self-possessed tone of voicewe will conform to
circumstances, and be guided by the wishes of our friends,
so long as those wishes do not tend finally to separate us;
in a word, and I repeat it, because it expresses all I wish


to convey, -- we will wait.

And I swear to make all the sacrifices which this word
imposes, sir,said Morrelnot only with resignation, but
with cheerfulness.

Therefore,continued Valentinelooking playfully at
Maximilianno more inconsiderate actions -- no more rash
projects; for you surely would not wish to compromise one
who from this day regards herself as destined, honorably and
happily, to bear your name?

Morrel looked obedience to her commands. Noirtier regarded
the lovers with a look of ineffable tendernesswhile
Barroiswho had remained in the room in the character of a
man privileged to know everything that passedsmiled on the
youthful couple as he wiped the perspiration from his bald
forehead. "How hot you lookmy good Barrois said
Valentine.

AhI have been running very fastmademoisellebut I must
do M. Morrel the justice to say that he ran still faster."
Noirtier directed their attention to a waiteron which was
placed a decanter containing lemonade and a glass. The
decanter was nearly fullwith the exception of a little
which had been already drunk by M. Noirtier.

Come, Barrois,said the young girltake some of this
lemonade; I see you are coveting a good draught of it.

The fact is, mademoiselle,said BarroisI am dying with
thirst, and since you are so kind as to offer it me, I
cannot say I should at all object to drinking your health in
a glass of it.

Take some, then, and come back immediately.Barrois took
away the waiterand hardly was he outside the doorwhich
in his haste he forgot to shutthan they saw him throw back
his head and empty to the very dregs the glass which
Valentine had filled. Valentine and Morrel were exchanging
their adieux in the presence of Noirtier when a ring was
heard at the door-bell. It was the signal of a visit.
Valentine looked at her watch.

It is past noon,said sheand to-day is Saturday; I dare
say it is the doctor, grandpapa.Noirtier looked his
conviction that she was right in her supposition. "He will
come in hereand M. Morrel had better go-- do you not
think sograndpapa?"

Yes,signed the old man.

Barrois,cried ValentineBarrois!

I am coming, mademoiselle,replied he. "Barrois will open
the door for you said Valentine, addressing Morrel. And
now remember one thingMonsieur Officerthat my
grandfather commands you not to take any rash or ill-advised
step which would be likely to compromise our happiness."

I promised him to wait,replied Morrel; "and I will wait."

At this moment Barrois entered. "Who rang?" asked Valentine.


Doctor d'Avrigny,said Barroisstaggering as if he would
fall.

What is the matter, Barrois?said Valentine. The old man
did not answerbut looked at his master with wild staring
eyeswhile with his cramped hand he grasped a piece of
furniture to enable him to stand upright. "He is going to
fall!" cried Morrel. The rigors which had attacked Barrois
gradually increasedthe features of the face became quite
alteredand the convulsive movement of the muscles appeared
to indicate the approach of a most serious nervous disorder.
Noirtierseeing Barrois in this pitiable conditionshowed
by his looks all the various emotions of sorrow and sympathy
which can animate the heart of man. Barrois made some steps
towards his master.

Ah, sir,said hetell me what is the matter with me. I
am suffering -- I cannot see. A thousand fiery darts are
piercing my brain. Ah, don't touch me, pray don't.By this
time his haggard eyes had the appearance of being ready to
start from their sockets; his head fell backand the lower
extremities of the body began to stiffen. Valentine uttered
a cry of horror; Morrel took her in his armsas if to
defend her from some unknown danger. "M. d'AvrignyM.
d'Avrigny cried she, in a stifled voice. Helphelp!"
Barrois turned round and with a great effort stumbled a few
stepsthen fell at the feet of Noirtierand resting his
hand on the knee of the invalidexclaimedMy master, my
good master!At this moment M. de Villefortattracted by
the noiseappeared on the threshold. Morrel relaxed his
hold of Valentineand retreating to a distant corner of the
room remained half hidden behind a curtain. Pale as if he
had been gazing on a serpenthe fixed his terrified eye on
the agonized sufferer.

Noirtierburning with impatience and terrorwas in despair
at his utter inability to help his old domesticwhom he
regarded more in the light of a friend than a servant. One
might by the fearful swelling of the veins of his forehead
and the contraction of the muscles round the eyetrace the
terrible conflict which was going on between the living
energetic mind and the inanimate and helpless body. Barrois
his features convulsedhis eyes suffused with bloodand
his head thrown backwas lying at full lengthbeating the
floor with his handswhile his legs had become so stiff
that they looked as if they would break rather than bend. A
slight appearance of foam was visible around the mouthand
he breathed painfullyand with extreme difficulty.

Villefort seemed stupefied with astonishmentand remained
gazing intently on the scene before him without uttering a
word. He had not seen Morrel. After a moment of dumb
contemplationduring which his face became pale and his
hair seemed to stand on endhe sprang towards the door
crying outDoctor, doctor! come instantly, pray come!

Madame, madame!cried Valentinecalling her step-mother
and running up-stairs to meet her; "come quickquick! -and
bring your bottle of smelling-salts with you."

What is the matter?said Madame de Villefort in a harsh
and constrained tone.

Oh, come, come!


But where is the doctor?exclaimed Villefort; "where is
he?" Madame de Villefort now deliberately descended the
staircase. In one hand she held her handkerchiefwith which
she appeared to be wiping her faceand in the other a
bottle of English smelling-salts. Her first look on entering
the room was at Noirtierwhose faceindependent of the
emotion which such a scene could not fail of producing
proclaimed him to be in possession of his usual health; her
second glance was at the dying man. She turned paleand her
eye passed quickly from the servant and rested on the
master.

In the name of heaven, madame,said Villefortwhere is
the doctor? He was with you just now. You see this is a fit
of apoplexy, and he might be saved if he could but be bled!

Has he eaten anything lately?asked Madame de Villefort
eluding her husband's question. "Madame replied Valentine,
he has not even breakfasted. He has been running very fast
on an errand with which my grandfather charged himand when
he returnedtook nothing but a glass of lemonade."

Ah,said Madame de Villefortwhy did he not take wine?
Lemonade was a very bad thing for him.

Grandpapa's bottle of lemonade was standing just by his
side; poor Barrois was very thirsty, and was thankful to
drink anything he could find.Madame de Villefort started.
Noirtier looked at her with a glance of the most profound
scrutiny. "He has such a short neck said she. Madame
said Villefort, I ask where is M. d'Avrigny? In God's name
answer me!"

He is with Edward, who is not quite well,replied Madame
de Villefortno longer being able to avoid answering.

Villefort rushed up-stairs to fetch him. "Take this said
Madame de Villefort, giving her smelling-bottle to
Valentine. They willno doubtbleed him; therefore I will
retirefor I cannot endure the sight of blood;" and she
followed her husband up-stairs. Morrel now emerged from his
hiding-placewhere he had remained quite unperceivedso
great had been the general confusion. "Go away as quick as
you canMaximilian said Valentine, and stay till I send
for you. Go."

Morrel looked towards Noirtier for permission to retire. The
old manwho had preserved all his usual coolnessmade a
sign to him to do so. The young man pressed Valentine's hand
to his lipsand then left the house by a back staircase. At
the same moment that he quitted the roomVillefort and the
doctor entered by an opposite door. Barrois was now showing
signs of returning consciousness. The crisis seemed pasta
low moaning was heardand he raised himself on one knee.
D'Avrigny and Villefort laid him on a couch. "What do you
prescribedoctor?" demanded Villefort. "Give me some water
and ether. You have some in the househave you not?"

Yes.

Send for some oil of turpentine and tartar emetic.

Villefort immediately despatched a messenger. "And now let


every one retire."

Must I go too?asked Valentine timidly.

Yes, mademoiselle, you especially,replied the doctor
abruptly.

Valentine looked at M. d'Avrigny with astonishmentkissed
her grandfather on the foreheadand left the room. The
doctor closed the door after her with a gloomy air. "Look
lookdoctor said Villefort, he is quite coming round
again; I really do not thinkafter allit is anything of
consequence." M. d'Avrigny answered by a melancholy smile.
How do you feel, Barrois?asked he. "A little better
sir."

Will you drink some of this ether and water?

I will try; but don't touch me.

Why not?

Because I feel that if you were only to touch me with the
tip of your finger the fit would return.

Drink.

Barrois took the glassandraising it to his purple lips
took about half of the liquid offered him. "Where do you
suffer?" asked the doctor.

Everywhere. I feel cramps over my whole body.

Do you find any dazzling sensation before the eyes?

Yes.

Any noise in the ears?

Frightful.

When did you first feel that?

Just now.

Suddenly?

Yes, like a clap of thunder.

Did you feel nothing of it yesterday or the day before?

Nothing.

No drowsiness?

None.

What have you eaten to-day?

I have eaten nothing; I only drank a glass of my master's
lemonade -- that's all;and Barrois turned towards
Noirtierwhoimmovably fixed in his arm-chairwas
contemplating this terrible scene without allowing a word or
a movement to escape him.


Where is this lemonade?asked the doctor eagerly.

Down-stairs in the decanter.

Whereabouts downstairs?

In the kitchen.

Shall I go and fetch it, doctor?inquired Villefort.

No, stay here and try to make Barrois drink the rest of
this glass of ether and water. I will go myself and fetch
the lemonade.D'Avrigny bounded towards the doorflew down
the back staircaseand almost knocked down Madame de
Villefortin his hastewho was herself going down to the
kitchen. She cried outbut d'Avrigny paid no attention to
her; possessed with but one ideahe cleared the last four
steps with a boundand rushed into the kitchenwhere he
saw the decanter about three parts empty still standing on
the waiterwhere it had been left. He darted upon it as an
eagle would seize upon its prey. Panting with loss of
breathhe returned to the room he had just left. Madame de
Villefort was slowly ascending the steps which led to her
room. "Is this the decanter you spoke of?" asked d'Avrigny.

Yes, doctor.

Is this the same lemonade of which you partook?

I believe so.

What did it taste like?

It had a bitter taste.

The doctor poured some drops of the lemonade into the palm
of his handput his lips to itand after having rinsed his
mouth as a man does when he is tasting winehe spat the
liquor into the fireplace.

It is no doubt the same,said he. "Did you drink some too

M. Noirtier?"
Yes.

And did you also discover a bitter taste?

Yes.

Oh, doctor,cried Barroisthe fit is coming on again.
Oh, do something for me.The doctor flew to his patient.
That emetic, Villefort -- see if it is coming.Villefort
sprang into the passageexclaimingThe emetic! the
emetic! -- is it come yet?No one answered. The most
profound terror reigned throughout the house. "If I had
anything by means of which I could inflate the lungs said
d'Avrigny, looking around him, perhaps I might prevent
suffocation. But there is nothing which would do -nothing!"
Oh, sir,cried Barroisare you going to let me
die without help? Oh, I am dying! Oh, save me!

A pen, a pen!said the doctor. There was one lying on the
table; he endeavored to introduce it into the mouth of the


patientwhoin the midst of his convulsionswas making
vain attempts to vomit; but the jaws were so clinched that
the pen could not pass them. This second attack was much
more violent than the firstand he had slipped from the
couch to the groundwhere he was writhing in agony. The
doctor left him in this paroxysmknowing that he could do
nothing to alleviate itandgoing up to Noirtiersaid
abruptlyHow do you find yourself? -- well?

Yes.

Have you any weight on the chest; or does your stomach feel
light and comfortable -- eh?

Yes.

Then you feel pretty much as you generally do after you
have had the dose which I am accustomed to give you every
Sunday?

Yes.

Did Barrois make your lemonade?

Yes.

Was it you who asked him to drink some of it?

No.

Was it M. de Villefort?

No.

Madame?

No.

It was your granddaughter, then, was it not?

Yes.A groan from Barroisaccompanied by a yawn which
seemed to crack the very jawbonesattracted the attention
of M. d'Avrigny; he left M. Noirtierand returned to the
sick man. "Barrois said the doctor, can you speak?"
Barrois muttered a few unintelligible words. "Try and make
an effort to do somy good man." said d'Avrigny. Barrois
reopened his bloodshot eyes. "Who made the lemonade?"

I did.

Did you bring it to your master directly it was made?

No.

You left it somewhere, then, in the meantime?

Yes; I left it in the pantry, because I was called away.

Who brought it into this room, then?

Mademoiselle Valentine.D'Avrigny struck his forehead with
his hand. "Gracious heaven exclaimed he. Doctordoctor!"
cried Barroiswho felt another fit coming.


Will they never bring that emetic?asked the doctor.

Here is a glass with one already prepared,said Villefort
entering the room.

Who prepared it?

The chemist who came here with me.

Drink it,said the doctor to Barrois. "Impossibledoctor;
it is too late; my throat is closing up. I am choking! Oh
my heart! Ahmy head! -- Ohwhat agony! -- Shall I suffer
like this long?"

No, no, friend,replied the doctoryou will soon cease
to suffer.

Ah, I understand you,said the unhappy man. "My Godhave
mercy upon me!" anduttering a fearful cryBarrois fell
back as if he had been struck by lightning. D'Avrigny put
his hand to his heartand placed a glass before his lips.

Well?said Villefort. "Go to the kitchen and get me some
syrup of violets." Villefort went immediately. "Do not be
alarmedM. Noirtier said d'Avrigny; I am going to take
my patient into the next room to bleed him; this sort of
attack is very frightful to witness."

And taking Barrois under the armshe dragged him into an
adjoining room; but almost immediately he returned to fetch
the lemonade. Noirtier closed lids right eye. "You want
Valentinedo you not? I will tell them to send her to you."
Villefort returnedand d'Avrigny met him in the passage.
Well, how is he now?asked he. "Come in here said
d'Avrigny, and he took him into the chamber where the sick
man lay. Is he still in a fit?" said the procureur.

He is dead.

Villefort drew back a few stepsandclasping his hands
exclaimedwith real amazement and sympathyDead? -- and
so soon too!

Yes, it is very soon,said the doctorlooking at the
corpse before him; "but that ought not to astonish you;
Monsieur and Madame de Saint-Meran died as soon. People die
very suddenly in your houseM. de Villefort."

What?cried the magistratewith an accent of horror and
consternationare you still harping on that terrible
idea?

Still, sir; and I shall always do so,replied d'Avrigny
for it has never for one instant ceased to retain
possession of my mind; and that you may be quite sure I am
not mistaken this time, listen well to what I am going to
say, M. de Villefort.The magistrate trembled convulsively.
There is a poison which destroys life almost without
leaving any perceptible traces. I know it well; I have
studied it in all its forms and in the effects which it
produces. I recognized the presence of this poison in the
case of poor Barrois as well as in that of Madame de
Saint-Meran. There is a way of detecting its presence. It
restores the blue color of litmus-paper reddened by an acid,


and it turns syrup of violets green. We have no
litmus-paper, but, see, here they come with the syrup of
violets.


The doctor was right; steps were heard in the passage. M.
d'Avrigny opened the doorand took from the hands of the
chambermaid a cup which contained two or three spoonfuls of
the syruphe then carefully closed the door. "Look said
he to the procureur, whose heart beat so loudly that it
might almost be heard, here is in this cup some syrup of
violetsand this decanter contains the remainder of the
lemonade of which M. Noirtier and Barrois partook. If the
lemonade be pure and inoffensivethe syrup will retain its
color; ifon the contrarythe lemonade be drugged with
poisonthe syrup will become green. Look closely!"


The doctor then slowly poured some drops of the lemonade
from the decanter into the cupand in an instant a light
cloudy sediment began to form at the bottom of the cup; this
sediment first took a blue shadethen from the color of
sapphire it passed to that of opaland from opal to
emerald. Arrived at this last hueit changed no more. The
result of the experiment left no doubt whatever on the mind.


The unfortunate Barrois has been poisoned,said d'Avrigny
and I will maintain this assertion before God and man.
Villefort said nothingbut he clasped his handsopened his
haggard eyesandovercome with his emotionsank into a
chair.


Chapter 80
The Accusation.


M. D'Avrigny soon restored the magistrate to consciousness
who had looked like a second corpse in that chamber of
death. "Ohdeath is in my house!" cried Villefort.
Say, rather, crime!replied the doctor.

M. d'Avrigny,cried VillefortI cannot tell you all I
feel at this moment, -- terror, grief, madness.

Yes,said M. d'Avrignywith an imposing calmnessbut I
think it is now time to act. I think it is time to stop this
torrent of mortality. I can no longer bear to be in
possession of these secrets without the hope of seeing the
victims and society generally revenged.Villefort cast a
gloomy look around him. "In my house murmured he, in my
house!"

Come, magistrate,said M. d'Avrignyshow yourself a man;
as an interpreter of the law, do honor to your profession by
sacrificing your selfish interests to it.

You make me shudder, doctor. Do you talk of a sacrifice?

I do.

Do you then suspect any one?

I suspect no one; death raps at your door -- it enters -it
goes, not blindfolded, but circumspectly, from room to


room. Well, I follow its course, I track its passage; I
adopt the wisdom of the ancients, and feel my way, for my
friendship for your family and my respect for you are as a
twofold bandage over my eyes; well-


Oh, speak, speak, doctor; I shall have courage.

Well, sir, you have in your establishment, or in your
family, perhaps, one of the frightful monstrosities of which
each century produces only one. Locusta and Agrippina,
living at the same time, were an exception, and proved the
determination of providence to effect the entire ruin of the
Roman empire, sullied by so many crimes. Brunehilde and
Fredegonde were the results of the painful struggle of
civilization in its infancy, when man was learning to
control mind, were it even by an emissary from the realms of
darkness. All these women had been, or were, beautiful. The
same flower of innocence had flourished, or was still
flourishing, on their brow, that is seen on the brow of the
culprit in your house.Villefort shriekedclasped his
handsand looked at the doctor with a supplicating air. But
the latter went on without pity: -


`Seek whom the crime will profit,' says an axiom of
jurisprudence.

Doctor,cried Villefortalas, doctor, how often has
man's justice been deceived by those fatal words. I know not
why, but I feel that this crime-


You acknowledge, then, the existence of the crime?

Yes, I see too plainly that it does exist. But it seems
that it is intended to affect me personally. I fear an
attack myself, after all these disasters.

Oh, man,murmured d'Avrignythe most selfish of all
animals, the most personal of all creatures, who believes
the earth turns, the sun shines, and death strikes for him
alone, -- an ant cursing God from the top of a blade of
grass! And have those who have lost their lives lost
nothing? -- M. de Saint-Meran, Madame de Saint-Meran, M.
Noirtier-


How? M. Noirtier?

Yes; think you it was the poor servant's life was coveted?
No, no; like Shakespeare's `Polonius,' he died for another.
It was Noirtier the lemonade was intended for -- it is
Noirtier, logically speaking, who drank it. The other drank
it only by accident, and, although Barrois is dead, it was
Noirtier whose death was wished for.

But why did it not kill my father?

I told you one evening in the garden after Madame de
Saint-Meran's death -- because his system is accustomed to
that very poison, and the dose was trifling to him, which
would be fatal to another; because no one knows, not even
the assassin, that, for the last twelve months, I have given

M. Noirtier brucine for his paralytic affection, while the
assassin is not ignorant, for he has proved that brucine is
a violent poison.

Oh, have pity -- have pity!murmured Villefortwringing
his hands.

Follow the culprit's steps; he first kills M. de
Saint-Meran-


O doctor!

I would swear to it; what I heard of his symptoms agrees
too well with what I have seen in the other cases.
Villefort ceased to contend; he only groaned. "He first
kills M. de Saint-Meran repeated the doctor, then Madame
de Saint-Meran-- a double fortune to inherit." Villefort
wiped the perspiration from his forehead. "Listen
attentively."

Alas,stammered VillefortI do not lose a single word.

M. Noirtier,resumed M. d'Avrigny in the same pitiless
tone-- "M. Noirtier had once made a will against you -against
your family -- in favor of the poorin fact; M.
Noirtier is sparedbecause nothing is expected from him.
But he has no sooner destroyed his first will and made a
secondthanfor fear he should make a thirdhe is struck
down. The will was made the day before yesterdayI believe;
you see there has been no time lost."

Oh, mercy, M. d'Avrigny!

No mercy, sir! The physician has a sacred mission on earth;
and to fulfil it he begins at the source of life, and goes
down to the mysterious darkness of the tomb. When crime has
been committed, and God, doubtless in anger, turns away his
face, it is for the physician to bring the culprit to
justice.

Have mercy on my child, sir,murmured Villefort.

You see it is yourself who have first named her -- you, her
father.

Have pity on Valentine! Listen -- it is impossible! I would
as willingly accuse myself! Valentine, whose heart is pure
as a diamond or a lily.

No pity, procureur; the crime is fragrant. Mademoiselle
herself packed all the medicines which were sent to M. de
Saint-Meran; and M. de Saint-Meran is dead. Mademoiselle de
Villefort prepared all the cooling draughts which Madame de
Saint-Meran took, and Madame de Saint-Meran is dead.
Mademoiselle de Villefort took from the hands of Barrois,
who was sent out, the lemonade which M. Noirtier had every
morning, and he has escaped by a miracle. Mademoiselle de
Villefort is the culprit -- she is the poisoner! To you, as
the king's attorney, I denounce Mademoiselle de Villefort,
do your duty.

Doctor, I resist no longer -- I can no longer defend myself
-- I believe you; but, for pity's sake, spare my life, my
honor!

M. de Villefort,replied the doctorwith increased
vehemencethere are occasions when I dispense with all
foolish human circumspection. If your daughter had committed


only one crime, and I saw her meditating another, I would
say `Warn her, punish her, let her pass the remainder of her
life in a convent, weeping and praying.' If she had
committed two crimes, I would say, `Here, M. de Villefort,
is a poison that the prisoner is not acquainted with, -- one
that has no known antidote, quick as thought, rapid as
lightning, mortal as the thunderbolt; give her that poison,
recommending her soul to God, and save your honor and your
life, for it is yours she aims at; and I can picture her
approaching your pillow with her hypocritical smiles and her
sweet exhortations. Woe to you, M. de Villefort, if you do
not strike first!' This is what I would say had she only
killed two persons but she has seen three deaths, -- has
contemplated three murdered persons, -- has knelt by three
corpses! To the scaffold with the poisoner -- to the
scaffold! Do you talk of your honor? Do what I tell you, and
immortality awaits you!

Villefort fell on his knees. "Listen said he; I have not
the strength of mind you haveor rather that which you
would not haveif instead of my daughter Valentine your
daughter Madeleine were concerned." The doctor turned pale.
Doctor, every son of woman is born to suffer and to die; I
am content to suffer and to await death.

Beware,said M. d'Avrignyit may come slowly; you will
see it approach after having struck your father, your wife,
perhaps your son.

Villefortsuffocatingpressed the doctor's arm. "Listen
cried he; pity me -- help me! Nomy daughter is not
guilty. If you drag us both before a tribunal I will still
say`Nomy daughter is not guilty; -- there is no crime in
my house. I will not acknowledge a crime in my house; for
when crime enters a dwellingit is like death -- it does
not come alone.' Listen. What does it signify to you if I am
murdered? Are you my friend? Are you a man? Have you a
heart? Noyou are a physician! WellI tell you I will not
drag my daughter before a tribunaland give her up to the
executioner! The bare idea would kill me -- would drive me
like a madman to dig my heart out with my finger-nails! And
if you were mistakendoctor -- if it were not my daughter
-- if I should come one daypale as a spectreand say to
you`Assassinyou have killed my child!' -- hold -- if
that should happenalthough I am a ChristianM. d'Avrigny
I should kill myself."

Well,said the doctorafter a moment's silenceI will
wait.Villefort looked at him as if he had doubted his
words. "Only continued M. d'Avrigny, with a slow and
solemn tone, if any one falls ill in your houseif you
feel yourself attackeddo not send for mefor I will come
no more. I will consent to share this dreadful secret with
youbut I will not allow shame and remorse to grow and
increase in my conscienceas crime and misery will in your
house."

Then you abandon me, doctor?

Yes, for I can follow you no farther, and I only stop at
the foot of the scaffold. Some further discovery will be
made, which will bring this dreadful tragedy to a close.
Adieu.


I entreat you, doctor!


All the horrors that disturb my thoughts make your house
odious and fatal. Adieu, sir.


One word -- one single word more, doctor! You go, leaving
me in all the horror of my situation, after increasing it by
what you have revealed to me. But what will be reported of
the sudden death of the poor old servant?


True,said M. d'Avrigny; "we will return." The doctor went
out firstfollowed by M. de Villefort. The terrified
servants were on the stairs and in the passage where the
doctor would pass. "Sir said d'Avrigny to Villefort, so
loud that all might hear, poor Barrois has led too
sedentary a life of late; accustomed formerly to ride on
horsebackor in the carriageto the four corners of
Europethe monotonous walk around that arm-chair has killed
him -- his blood has thickened. He was stouthad a short
thick neck; he was attacked with apoplexyand I was called
in too late. By the way added he in a low tone, take care
to throw away that cup of syrup of violets in the ashes."


The doctorwithout shaking hands with Villefortwithout
adding a word to what he had saidwent outamid the tears
and lamentations of the whole household. The same evening
all Villefort's servantswho had assembled in the kitchen
and had a long consultationcame to tell Madame de
Villefort that they wished to leave. No entreatyno
proposition of increased wagescould induce them to remain;
to every argument they repliedWe must go, for death is in
this house.They all leftin spite of prayers and
entreatiestestifying their regret at leaving so good a
master and mistressand especially Mademoiselle Valentine
so goodso kindand so gentle. Villefort looked at
Valentine as they said this. She was in tearsandstrange
as it wasin spite of the emotions he felt at the sight of
these tearshe looked also at Madame de Villefortand it
appeared to him as if a slight gloomy smile had passed over
her thin lipslike a meteor seen passing inauspiciously
between two clouds in a stormy sky.


Chapter 81
The Room of the Retired Baker.


The evening of the day on which the Count of Morcerf had
left Danglars' house with feelings of shame and anger at the
rejection of the projected allianceM. Andrea Cavalcanti
with curled hairmustaches in perfect orderand white
gloves which fitted admirablyhad entered the courtyard of
the banker's house in La Chaussee d'Antin. He had not been
more than ten minutes in the drawing-room before he drew
Danglars aside into the recess of a bow-windowandafter
an ingenious preamblerelated to him all his anxieties and
cares since his noble father's departure. He acknowledged
the extreme kindness which had been shown him by the
banker's familyin which he had been received as a sonand
wherebesideshis warmest affections had found an object
on which to centre in Mademoiselle Danglars. Danglars
listened with the most profound attention; he had expected
this declaration for the last two or three daysand when at
last it came his eyes glistened as much as they had lowered



on listening to Morcerf. He would nothoweveryield
immediately to the young man's requestbut made a few
conscientious objections. "Are you not rather youngM.
Andreato think of marrying?"

I think not, sir,replied M. Cavalcanti; "in Italy the
nobility generally marry young. Life is so uncertainthat
we ought to secure happiness while it is within our reach."

Well, sir,said Danglarsin case your proposals, which
do me honor, are accepted by my wife and daughter, by whom
shall the preliminary arrangements be settled? So important
a negotiation should, I think, be conducted by the
respective fathers of the young people.

Sir, my father is a man of great foresight and prudence.
Thinking that I might wish to settle in France, he left me
at his departure, together with the papers establishing my
identity, a letter promising, if he approved of my choice,
150,000 livres per annum from the day I was married. So far
as I can judge, I suppose this to be a quarter of my
father's revenue.

I,said Danglarshave always intended giving my daughter
500,000 francs as her dowry; she is, besides, my sole
heiress.

All would then be easily arranged if the baroness and her
daughter are willing. We should command an annuity of
175,000 livres. Supposing, also, I should persuade the
marquis to give me my capital, which is not likely, but
still is possible, we would place these two or three
millions in your hands, whose talent might make it realize
ten per cent.

I never give more than four per cent, and generally only
three and a half; but to my son-in-law I would give five,
and we would share the profit.

Very good, father-in-law,said Cavalcantiyielding to his
low-born naturewhich would escape sometimes through the
aristocratic gloss with which he sought to conceal it.
Correcting himself immediatelyhe saidExcuse me, sir;
hope alone makes me almost mad, -- what will not reality
do?

But,said Danglars-- whoon his partdid not perceive
how soon the conversationwhich was at first disinterested
was turning to a business transaction-- "there is
doubtlessa part of your fortune your father could not
refuse you?"

Which?asked the young man.

That you inherit from your mother.

Truly, from my mother, Leonora Corsinari.

How much may it amount to?

Indeed, sir,said AndreaI assure you I have never given
the subject a thought, but I suppose it must have been at
least two millions.Danglars felt as much overcome with joy
as the miser who finds a lost treasureor as the


shipwrecked mariner who feels himself on solid ground
instead of in the abyss which he expected would swallow him
up.

Well, sir,said Andreabowing to the banker respectfully
may I hope?

You may not only hope,said Danglarsbut consider it a
settled thing, if no obstacle arises on your part.

I am, indeed, rejoiced,said Andrea.

But,said Danglars thoughtfullyhow is it that your
patron, M. de Monte Cristo, did not make his proposal for
you?Andrea blushed imperceptibly. "I have just left the
countsir said he; he isdoubtlessa delightful man
but inconceivably peculiar in his ideas. He esteems me
highly. He even told me he had not the slightest doubt that
my father would give me the capital instead of the interest
of my property. He has promised to use his influence to
obtain it for me; but he also declared that he never had
taken on himself the responsibility of making proposals for
anotherand he never would. I musthoweverdo him the
justice to add that he assured me if ever he had regretted
the repugnance he felt to such a step it was on this
occasionbecause he thought the projected union would be a
happy and suitable one. Besidesif he will do nothing
officiallyhe will answer any questions you propose to him.
And now continued he, with one of his most charming
smiles, having finished talking to the father-in-lawI
must address myself to the banker."

And what may you have to say to him?said Danglars
laughing in his turn.

That the day after to-morrow I shall have to draw upon you
for about four thousand francs; but the count, expecting my
bachelor's revenue could not suffice for the coming month's
outlay, has offered me a draft for twenty thousand francs.
It bears his signature, as you see, which is
all-sufficient.

Bring me a million such as that,said DanglarsI shall
be well pleased,putting the draft in his pocket. "Fix your
own hour for to-morrowand my cashier shall call on you
with a check for eighty thousand francs."

At ten o'clock then, if you please; I should like it early,
as I am going into the country to-morrow.

Very well, at ten o'clock;, you are still at the Hotel des
Princes?

Yes.

The following morningwith the banker's usual punctuality
the eighty thousand francs were placed in the young man's
hands as he was on the point of startingafter having left
two hundred francs for Caderousse. He went out chiefly to
avoid this dangerous enemyand returned as late as possible
in the evening. But scarcely had be stepped out of his
carriage when the porter met him with a parcel in his hand.
Sir,said hethat man has been here.


What man?said Andrea carelesslyapparently forgetting
him whom he but too well recollected.

Him to whom your excellency pays that little annuity.

Oh,said Andreamy father's old servant. Well, you gave
him the two hundred francs I had left for him?

Yes, your excellency.Andrea had expressed a wish to be
thus addressed. "But continued the porter, he would not
take them." Andrea turned palebut as it was dark his
pallor was not perceptible. "What? he would not take them?"
said he with slight emotion.

No, he wished to speak to your excellency; I told him you
were gone out, and after some dispute he believed me and
gave me this letter, which he had brought with him already
sealed.

Give it me,said Andreaand he read by the light of his
carriage-lamp-- "You know where I live; I expect you
tomorrow morning at nine o'clock."

Andrea examined it carefullyto ascertain if the letter had
been openedor if any indiscreet eyes had seen its
contents; but it was so carefully foldedthat no one could
have read itand the seal was perfect. "Very well said
he. Poor manhe is a worthy creature." He left the porter
to ponder on these wordsnot knowing which most to admire
the master or the servant. "Take out the horses quicklyand
come up to me said Andrea to his groom. In two seconds the
young man had reached his room and burnt Caderousse's
letter. The servant entered just as he had finished. You
are about my heightPierre said he.

I have that honoryour excellency."

You had a new livery yesterday?

Yes, sir.

I have an engagement with a pretty little girl for this
evening, and do not wish to be known; lend me your livery
till to-morrow. I may sleep, perhaps, at an inn.Pierre
obeyed. Five minutes afterAndrea left the hotel
completely disguisedtook a cabrioletand ordered the
driver to take him to the Cheval Rougeat Picpus. The next
morning he left that inn as he had left the Hotel des
Princeswithout being noticedwalked down the Faubourg St.
Antoinealong the boulevard to Rue Menilmontantand
stopping at the door of the third house on the left looked
for some one of whom to make inquiry in the porter's
absence. "For whom are you lookingmy fine fellow?" asked
the fruiteress on the opposite side.

Monsieur Pailletin, if you please, my good woman,replied
Andrea.

A retired baker?asked the fruiteress.

Exactly.

He lives at the end of the yard, on the left, on the third
story.Andrea went as she directed himand on the third


floor he found a hare's pawwhichby the hasty ringing of
the bellit was evident he pulled with considerable
ill-temper. A moment after Caderousse's face appeared at the
grating in the door. "Ahyou are punctual said he, as he
drew back the door.

Confound you and your punctuality!" said Andreathrowing
himself into a chair in a manner which implied that he would
rather have flung it at the head of his host.

Come, come, my little fellow, don't be angry. See, I have
thought about you -- look at the good breakfast we are going
to have; nothing but what you are fond of.Andreaindeed
inhaled the scent of something cooking which was not
unwelcome to himhungry as he was; it was that mixture of
fat and garlic peculiar to provincial kitchens of an
inferior orderadded to that of dried fishand above all
the pungent smell of musk and cloves. These odors escaped
from two deep dishes which were covered and placed on a
stoveand from a copper pan placed in an old iron pot. In
an adjoining room Andrea saw also a tolerably clean table
prepared for twotwo bottles of wine sealedthe one with
greenthe other with yellowa supply of brandy in a
decanterand a measure of fruit in a cabbage-leafcleverly
arranged on an earthenware plate.

What do you think of it, my little fellow?said
Caderousse. "Aythat smells good! You know I used to be a
famous cook; do you recollect how you used to lick your
fingers? You were among the first who tasted any of my
dishesand I think you relished them tolerably." While
speakingCaderousse went on peeling a fresh supply of
onions.

But,said Andreaill-temperedlyby my faith, if it was
only to breakfast with you, that you disturbed me, I wish
the devil had taken you!

My boy,said Caderousse sententiouslyone can talk while
eating. And then, you ungrateful being, you are not pleased
to see an old friend? I am weeping with joy.He was truly
cryingbut it would have been difficult to say whether joy
or the onions produced the greatest effect on the lachrymal
glands of the old inn-keeper of the Pont-du-Gard. "Hold your
tonguehypocrite said Andrea; you love me!"

Yes, I do, or may the devil take me. I know it is a
weakness,said Caderoussebut it overpowers me.

And yet it has not prevented your sending for me to play me
some trick.

Come,said Caderoussewiping his large knife on his
apronif I did not like you, do you think I should endure
the wretched life you lead me? Think for a moment. You have
your servant's clothes on -- you therefore keep a servant; I
have none, and am obliged to prepare my own meals. You abuse
my cookery because you dine at the table d'hote of the Hotel
des Princes, or the Cafe de Paris. Well, I too could keep a
servant; I too could have a tilbury; I too could dine where
I like; but why do I not? Because I would not annoy my
little Benedetto. Come, just acknowledge that I could, eh?
This address was accompanied by a look which was by no means
difficult to understand. "Well said Andrea, admitting


your lovewhy do you want me to breakfast with you?"

That I may have the pleasure of seeing you, my little
fellow.

What is the use of seeing me after we have made all our
arrangements?

Eh, dear friend,said Caderousseare wills ever made
without codicils? But you first came to breakfast, did you
not? Well, sit down, and let us begin with these pilchards,
and this fresh butter; which I have put on some vine-leaves
to please you, wicked one. Ah, yes; you look at my room, my
four straw chairs, my images, three francs each. But what do
you expect? This is not the Hotel des Princes.

Come, you are growing discontented, you are no longer
happy; you, who only wish to live like a retired baker.
Caderousse sighed. "Wellwhat have you to say? you have
seen your dream realized."

I can still say it is a dream; a retired baker, my poor
Benedetto, is rich -- he has an annuity.

Well, you have an annuity.

I have?

Yes, since I bring you your two hundred francs.Caderousse
shrugged his shoulders. "It is humiliating said he, thus
to receive money given grudgingly---an uncertain supply
which may soon fail. You see I am obliged to economizein
case your prosperity should cease. Wellmy friendfortune
is inconstantas the chaplain of the regiment said. I know
your prosperity is greatyou rascal; you are to marry the
daughter of Danglars."

What? of Danglars?

Yes, to be sure; must I say Baron Danglars? I might as well
say Count Benedetto. He was an old friend of mine and if he
had not so bad a memory he ought to invite me to your
wedding, seeing he came to mine. Yes, yes, to mine; gad, he
was not so proud then, -- he was an under-clerk to the good

M. Morrel. I have dined many times with him and the Count of
Morcerf, so you see I have some high connections and were I
to cultivate them a little, we might meet in the same
drawing-rooms.
Come, your jealousy represents everything to you in the
wrong light.

That is all very fine, Benedetto mio, but I know what I am
saying. Perhaps I may one day put on my best coat, and
presenting myself at the great gate, introduce myself.
Meanwhile let us sit down and eat.Caderousse set the
example and attacked the breakfast with good appetite
praising each dish he set before his visitor. The latter
seemed to have resigned himself; he drew the corksand
partook largely of the fish with the garlic and fat. "Ah
mate said Caderousse, you are getting on better terms
with your old landlord!"

Faith, yes,replied Andreawhose hunger prevailed over


every other feeling.

So you like it, you rogue?

So much that I wonder how a man who can cook thus can
complain of hard living.

Do you see,said Caderousseall my happiness is marred
by one thought?

What is that?

That I am dependent on another, I who have always gained my
own livelihood honestly.

Do not let that disturb you, I have enough for two.

No, truly; you may believe me if you will; at the end of
every month I am tormented by remorse.

Good Caderousse!

So much so, that yesterday I would not take the two hundred
francs.

Yes, you wished to speak to me; but was it indeed remorse,
tell me?

True remorse; and, besides, an idea had struck me.Andrea
shuddered; he always did so at Caderousse's ideas. "It is
miserable -- do you see? -- always to wait till the end of
the month. -- "Oh said Andrea philosophically, determined
to watch his companion narrowly, does not life pass in
waiting? Do Ifor instancefare better? WellI wait
patientlydo I not?"

Yes; because instead of expecting two hundred wretched
francs, you expect five or six thousand, perhaps ten,
perhaps even twelve, for you take care not to let any one
know the utmost. Down there, you always had little presents
and Christmas-boxes which you tried to hide from your poor
friend Caderousse. Fortunately he is a cunning fellow, that
friend Caderousse.

There you are beginning again to ramble, to talk again and
again of the past! But what is the use of teasing me with
going all over that again?

Ah, you are only one and twenty, and can forget the past; I
am fifty, and am obliged to recollect it. But let us return
to business.

Yes.

I was going to say, if I were in your place-


Well.

I would realize-


How would you realize?

I would ask for six months' in advance, under pretence of
being able to purchase a farm, then with my six months I


would decamp.

Well, well,said Andreathat isn't a bad idea.

My dear friend,said Caderousseeat of my bread, and
take my advice; you will be none the worse off, physically
or morally.

But,said Andreawhy do you not act on the advice you
gave me? Why do you not realize a six months', a year's
advance even, and retire to Brussels? Instead of living the
retired baker, you might live as a bankrupt, using his
privileges; that would be very good.

But how the devil would you have me retire on twelve
hundred francs?

Ah, Caderousse,said Andreahow covetous you are! Two
months ago you were dying with hunger.

The appetite grows by what it feeds on,said Caderousse
grinning and showing his teethlike a monkey laughing or a
tiger growling. "And added he, biting off with his large
white teeth an enormous mouthful of bread, I have formed a
plan." Caderousse's plans alarmed Andrea still more than his
ideas; ideas were but the germthe plan was reality. "Let
me see your plan; I dare say it is a pretty one."

Why not? Who formed the plan by which we left the
establishment of M ---- ! eh? was it not I? and it was no
bad one I believe, since here we are!

I do not say,replied Andreathat you never make a good
one; but let us see your plan.

Well,pursued Caderoussecan you without expending one
sou, put me in the way of getting fifteen thousand francs?
No, fifteen thousand are not enough, -- I cannot again
become an honest man with less than thirty thousand francs.

No,replied Andreadrylyno, I cannot.

I do not think you understand me,replied Caderousse
calmly; "I said without your laying out a sou."

Do you want me to commit a robbery, to spoil all my good
fortune -- and yours with mine -- and both of us to be
dragged down there again?

It would make very little difference to me,said
Caderousseif I were retaken, I am a poor creature to live
alone, and sometimes pine for my old comrades; not like you,
heartless creature, who would be glad never to see them
again.Andrea did more than tremble this timehe turned
pale.

Come, Caderousse, no nonsense!said he.

Don't alarm yourself, my little Benedetto, but just point
out to me some means of gaining those thirty thousand francs
without your assistance, and I will contrive it.

Well, I'll see -- I'll try to contrive some way,said
Andrea.


Meanwhile you will raise my monthly allowance to five
hundred francs, my little fellow? I have a fancy, and mean
to get a housekeeper.

Well, you shall have your five hundred francs,said
Andrea; "but it is very hard for memy poor Caderousse -you
take advantage" -


Bah,said Caderoussewhen you have access to countless
stores.One would have said Andrea anticipated his
companion's wordsso did his eye flash like lightningbut
it was but for a moment. "True he replied, and my
protector is very kind."

That dear protector,said Caderousse; "and how much does
he give you monthly?"

Five thousand francs.

As many thousands as you give me hundreds! Truly, it is
only bastards who are thus fortunate. Five thousand francs
per month! What the devil can you do with all that?

Oh, it is no trouble to spend that; and I am like you, I
want capital.

Capital? -- yes -- I understand -- every one would like
capital.

Well, and I shall get it.

Who will give it to you -- your prince?

Yes, my prince. But unfortunately I must wait.

You must wait for what?asked Caderousse.

For his death

The death of your prince?

Yes.

How so?

Because he has made his will in my favor.

Indeed?

On my honor.

For how much?

For five hundred thousand.

Only that? It's little enough

But so it is.

No it cannot be!

Are you my friend, Caderousse?


Yes, in life or death.
Well, I will tell you a secret.


What is it?
But remember--


Ah, pardieu, mute as a carp.
Well, I think-- Andrea stopped and looked around.


You think? Do not fear; pardieu, we are alone.
I think I have discovered my father.


Your true father?
Yes.


Not old Cavalcanti?
No, for he has gone again; the true one, as you say.


And that father is--
Well, Caderousse, it is Monte Cristo.


Bah!


Yes, you understand, that explains all. He cannot
acknowledge me openly, it appears, but he does it through M.
Cavalcanti, and gives him fifty thousand francs for it.

Fifty thousand francs for being your father? I would have
done it for half that, for twenty thousand, for fifteen
thousand; why did you not think of me, ungrateful man?

Did I know anything about it, when it was all done when I
was down there?

Ah, truly? And you say that by his will-"
He leaves me five hundred thousand livres."

Are you sure of it?

He showed it me; but that is not all -- there is a codicil,
as I said just now.
Probably.


And in that codicil he acknowledges me.


Oh, the good father, the brave father, the very honest
father!said Caderoussetwirling a plate in the air
between his two hands.

Now say if I conceal anything from you?

No, and your confidence makes you honorable in my opinion;
and your princely father, is he rich, very rich?

Yes, he is that; he does not himself know the amount of his


fortune.

Is it possible?

It is evident enough to me, who am always at his house. The
other day a banker's clerk brought him fifty thousand francs
in a portfolio about the size of your plate; yesterday his
banker brought him a hundred thousand francs in gold.
Caderousse was filled with wonder; the young man's words
sounded to him like metaland he thought he could hear the
rushing of cascades of louis. "And you go into that house?"
cried he briskly.

When I like.

Caderousse was thoughtful for a moment. It was easy to
perceive he was revolving some unfortunate idea in his mind.
Then suddenly-- "How I should like to see all that cried
he; how beautiful it must be!"

It is, in fact, magnificent,said Andrea.

And does he not live in the Champs-Elysees?

Yes, No. 30.

Ah,said CaderousseNo. 30.

Yes, a fine house standing alone, between a court-yard and
a garden, -- you must know it.

Possibly; but it is not the exterior I care for, it is the
interior. What beautiful furniture there must be in it!

Have you ever seen the Tuileries?

No.

Well, it surpasses that.

It must be worth one's while to stoop, Andrea, when that
good M. Monte Cristo lets fall his purse.

It is not worth while to wait for that,said Andrea;
money is as plentiful in that house as fruit in an
orchard.

But you should take me there one day with you.

How can I? On what plea?

You are right; but you have made my mouth water. I must
absolutely see it; I shall find a way.

No nonsense, Caderousse!

I will offer myself as floor-polisher.

The rooms are all carpeted.

Well, then, I must be contented to imagine it.

That is the best plan, believe me.


Try, at least, to give me an idea of what it is.

How can I?

Nothing is easier. Is it large?

Middling.

How is it arranged?

Faith, I should require pen, ink, and paper to make a
plan.

They are all here,said Caderoussebriskly. He fetched
from an old secretary a sheet of white paper and pen and
ink. "Here said Caderousse, draw me all that on the
papermy boy." Andrea took the pen with an imperceptible
smile and began. "The houseas I saidis between the court
and the garden; in this waydo you see?" Andrea drew the
gardenthe court and the house.

High walls?

Not more than eight or ten feet.

That is not prudent,said Caderousse.

In the court are orange-trees in pots, turf, and clumps of
flowers.

And no steel-traps?

No.

The stables?

Are on either side of the gate, which you see there.And
Andrea continued his plan.

Let us see the ground floor,said Caderousse.

On the ground-floor, dining-room, two drawing-rooms,
billiard-room, staircase in the hall, and a little back
staircase.

Windows?

Magnificent windows, so beautiful, so large, that I believe
a man of your size should pass through each frame.

Why the devil have they any stairs with such windows?

Luxury has everything.

But shutters?

Yes, but they are never used. That Count of Monte Cristo is
an original, who loves to look at the sky even at night.

And where do the servants sleep?

Oh, they have a house to themselves. Picture to yourself a
pretty coach-house at the right-hand side where the ladders
are kept. Well, over that coach-house are the servants'


rooms, with bells corresponding with the different
apartments.

Ah, diable -- bells did you say?

What do you mean?

Oh. nothing! I only say they cost a load of money to hang,
and what is the use of them, I should like to know?

There used to be a dog let loose in the yard at night, but
it has been taken to the house at Auteuil, to that you went
to, you know.

Yes.

I was saying to him only yesterday, `You are imprudent,
Monsieur Count; for when you go to Auteuil and take your
servants the house is left unprotected.' Well,' said he,
`what next?' `Well, next, some day you will be robbed.'

What did he answer?

He quietly said, `What do I care if I am?'

Andrea, he has some secretary with a spring.

How do you know?

Yes, which catches the thief in a trap and plays a tune. I
was told there were such at the last exhibition.

He has simply a mahogany secretary, in which the key is
always kept.

And he is not robbed?

No; his servants are all devoted to him.

There ought to be some money in that secretary?

There may be. No one knows what there is.

And where is it?

On the first floor.

Sketch me the plan of that floor, as you have done of the
ground floor, my boy.

That is very simple.Andrea took the pen. "On the first
storydo you seethere is the anteroom and the
drawing-room; to the right of the drawing-rooma library
and a study; to the lefta bedroom and a dressing-room. The
famous secretary is in the dressing-room."

Is there a window in the dressing-room?

Two, -- one here and one there.Andrea sketched two
windows in the roomwhich formed an angle on the planand
appeared as a small square added to the rectangle of the
bedroom. Caderousse became thoughtful. "Does he often go to
Auteuil?" added he.


Two or three times a week. To-morrow, for instance, he is
going to spend the day and night there.

Are you sure of it?

He has invited me to dine there.

There's a life for you,said Caderousse; "a town house and
a country house."

That is what it is to be rich.

And shall you dine there?

Probably.

When you dine there, do you sleep there?

If I like; I am at home there.Caderousse looked at the
young manas if to get at the truth from the bottom of his
heart. But Andrea drew a cigar-case from his pockettook a
havanaquietly lit itand began smoking. "When do you want
your twelve hundred francs?" said he to Caderousse.

Now, if you have them.Andrea took five and twenty louis
from his pocket.

Yellow boys?said Caderousse; "noI thank you."

Oh, you despise them.

On the contrary, I esteem them, but will not have them.

You can change them, idiot; gold is worth five sous.

Exactly; and he who changes them will follow friend
Caderousse, lay hands on him, and demand what farmers pay
him their rent in gold. No nonsense, my good fellow; silver
simply, round coins with the head of some monarch or other
on them. Anybody may possess a five-franc piece.

But do you suppose I carry five hundred francs about with
me? I should want a porter.

Well, leave them with your porter; he is to be trusted. I
will call for them.

To-day?

No, to-morrow; I shall not have time to day.

Well, to-morrow I will leave them when I go to Auteuil.

May I depend on it?

Certainly.

Because I shall secure my housekeeper on the strength of
it.

Now see here, will that be all? Eh? And will you not
torment me any more?

Never.Caderousse had become so gloomy that Andrea feared


he should be obliged to notice the change. He redoubled his
gayety and carelessness. "How sprightly you are said
Caderousse; One would say you were already in possession of
your property."

No, unfortunately; but when I do obtain it-


Well?

I shall remember old friends, I can tell you that.

Yes, since you have such a good memory.

What do you want? It looks as if you were trying to fleece
me?

I? What an idea! I, who am going to give you another piece
of good advice.

What is it?

To leave behind you the diamond you have on your finger. We
shall both get into trouble. You will ruin both yourself and
me by your folly.

How so?said Andrea.

How? You put on a livery, you disguise yourself as a
servant, and yet keep a diamond on your finger worth four or
five thousand francs.

You guess well.

I know something of diamonds; I have had some.

You do well to boast of it,said Andreawhowithout
becoming angryas Caderousse fearedat this new extortion
quietly resigned the ring. Caderousse looked so closely at
it that Andrea well knew that he was examining to see if all
the edges were perfect.

It is a false diamond,said Caderousse.

You are joking now,replied Andrea.

Do not be angry, we can try it.Caderousse went to the
windowtouched the glass with itand found it would cut.

Confiteor,said Caderousseputting the diamond on his
little finger; "I was mistaken; but those thieves of
jewellers imitate so well that it is no longer worth while
to rob a jeweller's shop -- it is another branch of industry
paralyzed."

Have you finished?said Andrea-- "do you want anything
more? -- will you have my waistcoat or my hat? Make free
now you have begun."

No; you are, after all, a good companion; I will not detain
you, and will try to cure myself of my ambition.

But take care the same thing does not happen to you in
selling the diamond you feared with the gold.


I shall not sell it -- do not fear.

Not at least till the day after to-morrow,thought the
young man.

Happy rogue,said Caderousse; "you are going to find your
servantsyour horsesyour carriageand your betrothed!"

Yes,said Andrea.

Well, I hope you will make a handsome wedding-present the
day you marry Mademoiselle Danglars.

I have already told you it is a fancy you have taken in
your head.

What fortune has she?

But I tell you-


A million?Andrea shrugged his shoulders.

Let it be a million,said Caderousse; "you can never have
so much as I wish you."

Thank you,said the young man.

Oh, I wish it you with all my heart!added Caderousse with
his hoarse laugh. "Stoplet me show you the way."

It is not worth while.

Yes, it is.

Why?

Because there is a little secret, a precaution I thought it
desirable to take, one of Huret & Fitchet's locks, revised
and improved by Gaspard Caderousse; I will manufacture you a
similar one when you are a capitalist.

Thank you,said Andrea; "I will let you know a week
beforehand." They parted. Caderousse remained on the landing
until he had not only seen Andrea go down the three stories
but also cross the court. Then he returned hastilyshut his
door carefullyand began to studylike a clever architect
the plan Andrea had left him.

Dear Benedetto,said heI think he will not be sorry to
inherit his fortune, and he who hastens the day when he can
touch his five hundred thousand will not be his worst
friend.

Chapter 82
The Burglary.

The day following that on which the conversation we have
related took placethe Count of Monte Cristo set out for
Auteuilaccompanied by Ali and several attendantsand also
taking with him some horses whose qualities he was desirous
of ascertaining. He was induced to undertake this journey
of which the day before he had not even thought and which


had not occurred to Andrea eitherby the arrival of
Bertuccio from Normandy with intelligence respecting the
house and sloop. The house was readyand the sloop which
had arrived a week before lay at anchor in a small creek
with her crew of six menwho had observed all the requisite
formalities and were ready again to put to sea.

The count praised Bertuccio's zealand ordered him to
prepare for a speedy departureas his stay in France would
not be prolonged more than a mouth. "Now said he, I may
require to go in one night from Paris to Treport; let eight
fresh horses be in readiness on the roadwhich will enable
me to go fifty leagues in ten hours."

Your highness had already expressed that wish,said
Bertuccioand the horses are ready. I have bought them,
and stationed them myself at the most desirable posts, that
is, in villages, where no one generally stops.

That's well,said Monte Cristo; "I remain here a day or
two -- arrange accordingly." As Bertuccio was leaving the
room to give the requisite ordersBaptistin opened the
door: he held a letter on a silver waiter.

What are you doing here?asked the countseeing him
covered with dust; "I did not send for youI think?"

Baptistinwithout answeringapproached the countand
presented the letter. "Important and urgent said he. The
count opened the letter, and read: -


M. de Monte Cristo is apprised that this night a man will
enter his house in the Champs-Elysees with the intention of
carrying off some papers supposed to be in the secretary in
the dressing-room. The count's well-known courage will
render unnecessary the aid of the policewhose interference
might seriously affect him who sends this advice. The count
by any opening from the bedroomor by concealing himself in
the dressing-roomwould be able to defend his property
himself. Many attendants or apparent precautions would
prevent the villain from the attemptand M. de Monte Cristo
would lose the opportunity of discovering an enemy whom
chance has revealed to him who now sends this warning to the
count-- a warning he might not be able to send another
timeif this first attempt should fail and another be
made."

The count's first idea was that this was an artifice -- a
gross deceptionto draw his attention from a minor danger
in order to expose him to a greater. He was on the point of
sending the letter to the commissary of police
notwithstanding the advice of his anonymous friendor
perhaps because of that advicewhen suddenly the idea
occurred to him that it might be some personal enemywhom
he alone should recognize and over whomif such were the
casehe alone would gain any advantageas Fiesco* had done
over the Moor who would have killed him. We know the Count's
vigorous and daring minddenying anything to be impossible
with that energy which marks the great man. From his past
lifefrom his resolution to shrink from nothingthe count
had acquired an inconceivable relish for the contests in
which he had engagedsometimes against naturethat is to
sayagainst Godand sometimes against the worldthat is
against the devil.


* The Genoese conspirator.
They do not want my papers,said Monte Cristothey want
to kill me; they are no robbers, but assassins. I will not
allow the prefect of police to interfere with my private
affairs. I am rich enough, forsooth, to distribute his
authority on this occasion.The count recalled Baptistin
who had left the room after delivering the letter. "Return
to Paris said he; assemble the servants who remain there.
I want all my household at Auteuil."

But will no one remain in the house, my lord?asked
Baptistin.

Yes, the porter.

My lord will remember that the lodge is at a distance from
the house.

Well?

The house might be stripped without his hearing the least
noise.

By whom?

By thieves.

You are a fool, M. Baptistin. Thieves might strip the house
-- it would annoy me less than to be disobeyed.Baptistin
bowed.

You understand me?said the count. "Bring your comrades
hereone and all; but let everything remain as usualonly
close the shutters of the ground floor."

And those of the second floor?

You know they are never closed. Go!

The count signified his intention of dining aloneand that
no one but Ali should attend him. Having dined with his
usual tranquillity and moderationthe countmaking a
signal to Ali to follow himwent out by the side-gate and
on reaching the Bois de Boulogne turnedapparently without
design towards Paris and at twilight; found himself opposite
his house in the Champs-Elysees. All was dark; one solitary
feeble light was burning in the porter's lodgeabout forty
paces distant from the houseas Baptistin had said. Monte
Cristo leaned against a treeand with that scrutinizing
glance which was so rarely deceivedlooked up and down the
avenueexamined the passers-byand carefully looked down
the neighboring streetsto see that no one was concealed.
Ten minutes passed thusand he was convinced that no one
was watching him. He hastened to the side-door with Ali
entered hurriedlyand by the servants' staircaseof which
he had the keygained his bedroom without opening or
disarranging a single curtainwithout even the porter
having the slightest suspicion that the housewhich he
supposed emptycontained its chief occupant.

Arrived in his bedroomthe count motioned to Ali to stop;
then he passed into the dressing-roomwhich he examined.


Everything appeared as usual -- the precious secretary in
its placeand the key in the secretary. He double locked
ittook the keyreturned to the bedroom doorremoved the
double staple of the boltand went in. Meanwhile Ali had
procured the arms the count required -- namelya short
carbine and a pair of double-barrelled pistolswith which
as sure an aim might be taken as with a single-barrelled
one. Thus armedthe count held the lives of five men in his
hands. It was about half-past nine. The count and Ali ate in
haste a crust of bread and drank a glass of Spanish wine;
then Monte Cristo slipped aside one of the movable panels
which enabled him to see into the adjoining room. He had
within his reach his pistols and carbineand Alistanding
near himheld one of the small Arabian hatchetswhose form
has not varied since the Crusades. Through one of the
windows of the bedroomon a line with that in the
dressing-roomthe count could see into the street.

Two hours passed thus. It was intensely dark; still Ali
thanks to his wild natureand the countthanks doubtless
to his long confinementcould distinguish in the darkness
the slightest movement of the trees. The little light in the
lodge had long been extinct. It might be expected that the
attackif indeed an attack was projectedwould be made
from the staircase of the ground floorand not from a
window; in Monte Cristo's opinionthe villains sought his
lifenot his money. It would be his bedroom they would
attackand they must reach it by the back staircaseor by
the window in the dressing-room. The clock of the Invalides
struck a quarter to twelve; the west wind bore on its
moistened gusts the doleful vibration of the three strokes.

As the last stroke died awaythe count thought he heard a
slight noise in the dressing-room; this first soundor
rather this first grindingwas followed by a secondthen a
third; at the fourththe count knew what to expect. A firm
and well-practised hand was engaged in cutting the four
sides of a pane of glass with a diamond. The count felt his
heart beat more rapidly. Inured as men may be to danger
forewarned as they may be of perilthey understandby the
fluttering of the heart and the shuddering of the framethe
enormous difference between a dream and a realitybetween
the project and the execution. HoweverMonte Cristo only
made a sign to apprise Aliwhounderstanding that danger
was approaching from the other sidedrew nearer to his
master. Monte Cristo was eager to ascertain the strength and
number of his enemies.

The window whence the noise proceeded was opposite the
opening by which the count could see into the dressing-room.
He fixed his eyes on that window -- he distinguished a
shadow in the darkness; then one of the panes became quite
opaqueas if a sheet of paper were stuck on the outside
then the square cracked without falling. Through the opening
an arm was passed to find the fasteningthen a second; the
window turned on its hingesand a man entered. He was
alone.

That's a daring rascal,whispered the count.

At that moment Ali touched him slightly on the shoulder. He
turned; Ali pointed to the window of the room in which they
werefacing the street. "I see!" said hethere are two of
them; one does the work while the other stands guard.He


made a sign to Ali not to lose sight of the man in the
streetand turned to the one in the dressing-room.

The glass-cutter had enteredand was feeling his wayhis
arms stretched out before him. At last he appeared to have
made himself familiar with his surroundings. There were two
doors; he bolted them both.

When he drew near to the bedroom doorMonte Cristo expected
that he was coming inand raised one of his pistols; but he
simply heard the sound of the bolts sliding in their copper
rings. It was only a precaution. The nocturnal visitor
ignorant of the fact that the count had removed the staples
might now think himself at homeand pursue his purpose with
full security. Alone and free to act as he wishedthe man
then drew from his pocket something which the count could
not discernplaced it on a standthen went straight to the
secretaryfelt the lockand contrary to his expectation
found that the key was missing. But the glass-cutter was a
prudent man who had provided for all emergencies. The count
soon heard the rattling of a bunch of skeleton keyssuch as
the locksmith brings when called to force a lockand which
thieves call nightingalesdoubtless from the music of their
nightly song when they grind against the bolt. "Ahha
whispered Monte Cristo with a smile of disappointment, he
is only a thief."

But the man in the dark could not find the right key. He
reached the instrument he had placed on the standtouched a
springand immediately a pale lightjust bright enough to
render objects distinctwas reflected on his hands and
countenance. "By heavens exclaimed Monte Cristo, starting
back, it is" -


Ali raised his hatchet. "Don't stir whispered Monte
Cristo, and put down your hatchet; we shall require no
arms." Then he added some words in a low tonefor the
exclamation which surprise had drawn from the countfaint
as it had beenhad startled the man who remained in the
pose of the old knife-grinder. It was an order the count had
just givenfor immediately Ali went noiselesslyand
returnedbearing a black dress and a three-cornered hat.
Meanwhile Monte Cristo had rapidly taken off his great-coat
waistcoatand shirtand one might distinguish by the
glimmering through the open panel that he wore a pliant
tunic of steel mailof which the last in Francewhere
daggers are no longer dreadedwas worn by King Louis XVI.
who feared the dagger at his breastand whose head was
cleft with a hatchet. The tunic soon disappeared under a
long cassockas did his hair under a priest's wig; the
three-cornered hat over this effectually transformed the
count into an abbe.

The manhearing nothing morestood erectand while Monte
Cristo was completing his disguise had advanced straight to
the secretarywhose lock was beginning to crack under his
nightingale.

Try again,whispered the countwho depended on the secret
springwhich was unknown to the picklockclever as he
might be -- "try againyou have a few minutes' work there."
And he advanced to the window. The man whom he had seen
seated on a fence had got downand was still pacing the
street; butstrange as it appearedhe cared not for those


who might pass from the avenue of the Champs-Elysees or by
the Faubourg St. Honore; his attention was engrossed with
what was passing at the count'sand his only aim appeared
to be to discern every movement in the dressing-room.

Monte Cristo suddenly struck his finger on his forehead and
a smile passed over his lips; then drawing near to Alihe
whispered-


Remain here, concealed in the dark, and whatever noise you
hear, whatever passes, only come in or show yourself if I
call you.Ali bowed in token of strict obedience. Monte
Cristo then drew a lighted taper from a closetand when the
thief was deeply engaged with his locksilently opened the
doortaking care that the light should shine directly on
his face. The door opened so quietly that the thief heard no
sound; butto his astonishmentthe room was suddenly
illuminated. He turned.

Ah, good-evening, my dear M. Caderousse,said Monte
Cristo; "what are you doing hereat such an hour?"

The Abbe Busoni!exclaimed Caderousse; andnot knowing
how this strange apparition could have entered when he had
bolted the doorshe let fall his bunch of keysand
remained motionless and stupefied. The count placed himself
between Caderousse and the windowthus cutting off from the
thief his only chance of retreat. "The Abbe Busoni!"
repeated Caderoussefixing his haggard gaze on the count.

Yes, undoubtedly, the Abbe Busoni himself,replied Monte
Cristo. "And I am very glad you recognize medear M.
Caderousse; it proves you have a good memoryfor it must be
about ten years since we last met." This calmness of Busoni
combined with his irony and boldnessstaggered Caderousse.

The abbe, the abbe!murmured heclinching his fistsand
his teeth chattering.

So you would rob the Count of Monte Cristo?continued the
false abbe.

Reverend sir,murmured Caderousseseeking to regain the
windowwhich the count pitilessly blocked -- "reverend sir
I don't know -- believe me -- I take my oath" -


A pane of glass out,continued the counta dark lantern,
a bunch of false keys, a secretary half forced -- it is
tolerably evident--

Caderousse was choking; he looked around for some corner to
hide insome way of escape.

Come, come,continued the countI see you are still the
same, -- an assassin.

Reverend sir, since you know everything, you know it was
not I -- it was La Carconte; that was proved at the trial,
since I was only condemned to the galleys.

Is your time, then, expired, since I find you in a fair way
to return there?

No, reverend sir; I have been liberated by some one.


That some one has done society a great kindness.

Ah,said CaderousseI had promised-


And you are breaking your promise!interrupted Monte
Cristo.

Alas, yes!said Caderousse very uneasily.

A bad relapse, that will lead you, if I mistake not, to the
Place de Greve. So much the worse, so much the worse -diavolo,
as they say in my country.

Reverend sir, I am impelled-


Every criminal says the same thing.

Poverty-


Pshaw!said Busoni disdainfully; "poverty may make a man
begsteal a loaf of bread at a baker's doorbut not cause
him to open a secretary in a house supposed to be inhabited.
And when the jeweller Johannes had just paid you 40000
francs for the diamond I had given youand you killed him
to get the diamond and the money bothwas that also
poverty?"

Pardon, reverend sir,said Caderousse; "you have saved my
life oncesave me again!"

That is but poor encouragement.

Are you alone, reverend sir, or have you there soldiers
ready to seize me?

I am alone,said the abbeand I will again have pity on
you, and will let you escape, at the risk of the fresh
miseries my weakness may lead to, if you tell me the truth.

Ah, reverend sir,cried Caderousseclasping his hands
and drawing nearer to Monte CristoI may indeed say you
are my deliverer!

You mean to say you have been freed from confinement?

Yes, that is true, reverend sir.

Who was your liberator?

An Englishman.

What was his name?

Lord Wilmore.

I know him; I shall know if you lie.

Ah, reverend sir, I tell you the simple truth.

Was this Englishman protecting you?

No, not me, but a young Corsican, my companion.


What was this young Corsican's name?
Benedetto.
Is that his Christian name?
He had no other; he was a foundling.
Then this young man escaped with you?
He did.
In what way?
We were working at St. Mandrier, near Toulon. Do you know


St. Mandrier?
I do.
In the hour of rest, between noon and one o'clock--
Galley-slaves having a nap after dinner! We may well pity


the poor fellows!said the abbe.


Nay,said Caderousseone can't always work -- one is not
a dog.
So much the better for the dogs,said Monte Cristo.
While the rest slept, then, we went away a short distance;


we severed our fetters with a file the Englishman had given
us, and swam away.
And what is become of this Benedetto?
I don't know.


You ought to know.
No, in truth; we parted at Hyeres.Andto give more
weight to his protestationCaderousse advanced another step
towards the abbewho remained motionless in his placeas
calm as everand pursuing his interrogation. "You lie
said the Abbe Busoni, with a tone of irresistible authority.


Reverend sir!"


You lie! This man is still your friend, and you, perhaps,
make use of him as your accomplice.
Oh, reverend sir!
Since you left Toulon what have you lived on? Answer me!
On what I could get.
You lie,repeated the abbe a third timewith a still more


imperative tone. Caderousseterrifiedlooked at the count.


You have lived on the money he has given you.
True,said Caderousse; "Benedetto has become the son of a
great lord."


How can he be the son of a great lord?



A natural son.

And what is that great lord's name?

The Count of Monte Cristo, the very same in whose house we
are.

Benedetto the count's son?replied Monte Cristo
astonished in his turn.

Well, I should think so, since the count has found him a
false father -- since the count gives him four thousand
francs a month, and leaves him 500,000 francs in his will.

Ah, yes,said the factitious abbewho began to
understand; "and what name does the young man bear
meanwhile?"

Andrea Cavalcanti.

Is it, then, that young man whom my friend the Count of
Monte Cristo has received into his house, and who is going
to marry Mademoiselle Danglars?

Exactly.

And you suffer that, you wretch -- you, who know his life
and his crime?

Why should I stand in a comrade's way?said Caderousse.

You are right; it is not you who should apprise M.
Danglars, it is I.

Do not do so, reverend sir.

Why not?

Because you would bring us to ruin.

And you think that to save such villains as you I will
become an abettor of their plot, an accomplice in their
crimes?

Reverend sir,said Caderoussedrawing still nearer.

I will expose all.

To whom?

To M. Danglars.

By heaven!cried Caderoussedrawing from his waistcoat an
open knifeand striking the count in the breastyou shall
disclose nothing, reverend sir!To Caderousse's great
astonishmentthe knifeinstead of piercing the count's
breastflew back blunted. At the same moment the count
seized with his left hand the assassin's wristand wrung it
with such strength that the knife fell from his stiffened
fingersand Caderousse uttered a cry of pain. But the
countdisregarding his crycontinued to wring the bandit's
wristuntilhis arm being dislocatedhe fell first on his
kneesthen flat on the floor. The count then placed his


foot on his headsayingI know not what restrains me from
crushing thy skull, rascal.

Ah, mercy -- mercy!cried Caderousse. The count withdrew
his foot. "Rise!" said he. Caderousse rose.

What a wrist you have, reverend sir!said Caderousse.
stroking his armall bruised by the fleshy pincers which
had held it; "what a wrist!"

Silence! God gives me strength to overcome a wild beast
like you; in the name of that God I act, -- remember that,
wretch, -- and to spare thee at this moment is still serving
him.

Oh!said Caderoussegroaning with pain.

Take this pen and paper, and write what I dictate.

I don't know how to write, reverend sir.

You lie! Take this pen, and write!Caderousseawed by the
superior power of the abbesat down and wrote: --

Sir-- The man whom you are receiving at your houseand to
whom you intend to marry your daughteris a felon who
escaped with me from confinement at Toulon. He was No. 59
and I No. 58. He was called Benedettobut he is ignorant of
his real namehaving never known his parents.

Sign it!continued the count.

But would you ruin me?

If I sought your ruin, fool, I should drag you to the first
guard-house; besides, when that note is delivered, in all
probability you will have no more to fear. Sign it, then!

Caderousse signed it. "The address`To monsieur the Baron
DanglarsbankerRue de la Chaussee d'Antin.'" Caderousse
wrote the address. The abbe took the note. "Now said he,
that suffices -- begone!"

Which way?

The way you came.

You wish me to get out at that window?

You got in very well.

Oh, you have some design against me, reverend sir.

Idiot! what design can I have?

Why, then, not let me out by the door?

What would be the advantage of waking the porter?-


Ah, reverend sir, tell me, do you wish me dead?

I wish what God wills.

But swear that you will not strike me as I go down.


Cowardly fool!

What do you intend doing with me?

I ask you what can I do? I have tried to make you a happy
man, and you have turned out a murderer.

Oh, monsieur,said Caderoussemake one more attempt -try
me once more!

I will,said the count. "Listen -- you know if I may be
relied on."

Yes,said Caderousse.

If you arrive safely at home-


What have I to fear, except from you?

If you reach your home safely, leave Paris, leave France,
and wherever you may be, so long as you conduct yourself
well, I will send you a small annuity; for, if you return
home safely, then-


Then?asked Caderousseshuddering.

Then I shall believe God has forgiven you, and I will
forgive you too.

As true as I am a Christian,stammered Caderousseyou
will make me die of fright!

Now begone,said the countpointing to the window.

Caderoussescarcely yet relying on this promiseput his
legs out of the window and stood on the ladder. "Now go
down said the abbe, folding his arms. Understanding he had
nothing more to fear from him, Caderousse began to go down.
Then the count brought the taper to the window, that it
might be seen in the Champs-Elysees that a man was getting
out of the window while another held a light.

What are you doingreverend sir? Suppose a watchman should
pass?" And he blew out the light. He then descendedbut it
was only when he felt his foot touch the ground that he was
satisfied of his safety.

Monte Cristo returned to his bedroomandglancing rapidly
from the garden to the streethe saw first Caderoussewho
after walking to the end of the gardenfixed his ladder
against the wall at a different part from where he came in.
The count then looking over into the streetsaw the man who
appeared to be waiting run in the same directionand place
himself against the angle of the wall where Caderousse would
come over. Caderousse climbed the ladder slowlyand looked
over the coping to see if the street was quiet. No one could
be seen or heard. The clock of the Invalides struck one.
Then Caderousse sat astride the copingand drawing up his
ladder passed it over the wall; then he began to descendor
rather to slide down by the two stanchionswhich he did
with an ease which proved how accustomed he was to the
exercise. Butonce startedhe could not stop. In vain did
he see a man start from the shadow when he was halfway down


-- in vain did he see an arm raised as he touched the
ground. Before he could defend himself that arm struck him
so violently in the back that he let go the laddercrying
Help!A second blow struck him almost immediately in the
sideand he fellcallingHelp, murder!Thenas he
rolled on the groundhis adversary seized him by the hair
and struck him a third blow in the chest. This time
Caderousse endeavored to call againbut he could only utter
a groanand he shuddered as the blood flowed from his three
wounds. The assassinfinding that he no longer cried out
lifted his head up by the hair; his eyes were closedand
the mouth was distorted. The murderersupposing him dead
let fall his head and disappeared. Then Caderoussefeeling
that he was leaving himraised himself on his elbowand
with a dying voice cried with great effortMurder! I am
dying! Help, reverend sir, -- help!


This mournful appeal pierced the darkness. The door of the
back-staircase openedthen the side-gate of the gardenand
Ali and his master were on the spot with lights.


Chapter 83
The Hand of God.


Caderousse continued to call piteouslyHelp, reverend sir,
help!


What is the matter?asked Monte Cristo.


Help,cried Caderousse; "I am murdered!"


We are here; -- take courage.


Ah, it's all over! You are come too late -- you are come to
see me die. What blows, what blood!He fainted. Ali and his
master conveyed the wounded man into a room. Monte Cristo
motioned to Ali to undress himand he then examined his
dreadful wounds. "My God!" he exclaimedthy vengeance is
sometimes delayed, but only that it may fall the more
effectually.Ali looked at his master for further
instructions. "Bring here immediately the king's attorney


M. de Villefortwho lives in the Faubourg St. Honore. As
you pass the lodgewake the porterand send him for a
surgeon." Ali obeyedleaving the abbe alone with
Caderoussewho had not yet revived.
When the wretched man again opened his eyesthe count
looked at him with a mournful expression of pityand his
lips moved as if in prayer. "A surgeonreverend sir -- a
surgeon!" said Caderousse.

I have sent for one,replied the abbe.

I know he cannot save my life, but he may strengthen me to
give my evidence.

Against whom?

Against my murderer.

Did you recognize him?


Yes; it was Benedetto.

The young Corsican?

Himself.

Your comrade?

Yes. After giving me the plan of this house, doubtless
hoping I should kill the count and he thus become his heir,
or that the count would kill me and I should be out of his
way, he waylaid me, and has murdered me.

I have also sent for the procureur.

He will not come in time; I feel my life fast ebbing.

Wait a moment,said Monte Cristo. He left the roomand
returned in five minutes with a phial. The dying man's eyes
were all the time riveted on the doorthrough which he
hoped succor would arrive. "Hastenreverend sirhasten! I
shall faint again!" Monte Cristo approachedand dropped on
his purple lips three or four drops of the contents of the
phial. Caderousse drew a deep breath. "Oh said he, that
is life to me; moremore!"

Two drops more would kill you,replied the abbe.

Oh, send for some one to whom I can denounce the wretch!

Shall I write your deposition? You can sign it.

Yes yes,said Caderousse; and his eyes glistened at the
thought of this posthumous revenge. Monte Cristo wrote: -


I die, murdered by the Corsican Benedetto, my comrade in
the galleys at Toulouse, No. 59.

Quick, quick!said Caderousseor I shall be unable to
sign it.

Monte Cristo gave the pen to Caderoussewho collected all
his strengthsigned itand fell back on his bedsaying:
You will relate all the rest, reverend sir; you will say he
calls himself Andrea Cavalcanti. He lodges at the Hotel des
Princes. Oh, I am dying!He again fainted. The abbe made
him smell the contents of the phialand he again opened his
eyes. His desire for revenge had not forsaken him.

Ah, you will tell all I have said, will you not, reverend
sir?

Yes, and much more.

What more will you say?

I will say he had doubtless given you the plan of this
house, in the hope the count would kill you. I will say,
likewise, he had apprised the count, by a note, of your
intention, and, the count being absent, I read the note and
sat up to await you.

And he will be guillotined, will be not?said Caderousse.
Promise me that, and I will die with that hope.


I will say,continued the countthat he followed and
watched you the whole time, and when he saw you leave the
house, ran to the angle of the wall to conceal himself.

Did you see all that?

Remember my words: `If you return home safely, I shall
believe God has forgiven you, and I will forgive you also.'

And you did not warn me!cried Caderousseraising himself
on his elbows. "You knew I should be killed on leaving this
houseand did not warn me!"

No; for I saw God's justice placed in the hands of
Benedetto, and should have thought it sacrilege to oppose
the designs of providence.

God's justice! Speak not of it, reverend sir. If God were
just, you know how many would be punished who now escape.

Patience,said the abbein a tone which made the dying
man shudder; "have patience!" Caderousse looked at him with
amazement. "Besides said the abbe, God is merciful to
allas he has been to you; he is first a fatherthen a
judge."

Do you then believe in God?said Caderousse.

Had I been so unhappy as not to believe in him until now,
said Monte CristoI must believe on seeing you.
Caderousse raised his clinched hands towards heaven.

Listen,said the abbeextending his hand over the wounded
manas if to command him to believe; "this is what the God
in whomon your death-bedyou refuse to believehas done
for you -- he gave you healthstrengthregular employment
even friends -- a lifein factwhich a man might enjoy
with a calm conscience. Instead of improving these gifts
rarely granted so abundantlythis has been your course -you
have given yourself up to sloth and drunkennessand in
a fit of intoxication have ruined your best friend."

Help!cried Caderousse; "I require a surgeonnot a
priest; perhaps I am not mortally wounded -- I may not die;
perhaps they can yet save my life."

Your wounds are so far mortal that, without the three drops
I gave you, you would now be dead. Listen, then.

Ah,murmured Caderoussewhat a strange priest you are;
you drive the dying to despair, instead of consoling them.

Listen,continued the abbe. "When you had betrayed your
friend God began not to strikebut to warn you. Poverty
overtook you. You had already passed half your life in
coveting that which you might have honorably acquired; and
already you contemplated crime under the excuse of want
when God worked a miracle in your behalfsending youby my
handsa fortune -- brilliantindeedfor youwho had
never possessed any. But this unexpectedunhoped-for
unheard-of fortune sufficed you no longer when you once
possessed it; you wished to double itand how? -- by a
murder! You succeededand then God snatched it from you


and brought you to justice."

It was not I who wished to kill the Jew,said Caderousse;
it was La Carconte.

Yes,said Monte Cristoand God, -- I cannot say in
justice, for his justice would have slain you, -- but God,
in his mercy, spared your life.

Pardieu, to transport me for life, how merciful!

You thought it a mercy then, miserable wretch! The coward
who feared death rejoiced at perpetual disgrace; for like
all galley-slaves, you said, `I may escape from prison, I
cannot from the grave.' And you said truly; the way was
opened for you unexpectedly. An Englishman visited Toulon,
who had vowed to rescue two men from infamy, and his choice
fell on you and your companion. You received a second
fortune, money and tranquillity were restored to you, and
you, who had been condemned to a felon's life, might live as
other men. Then, wretched creature, then you tempted God a
third time. `I have not enough,' you said, when you had more
than you before possessed, and you committed a third crime,
without reason, without excuse. God is wearied; he has
punished you.Caderousse was fast sinking. "Give me drink
said he: I thirst -- I burn!" Monte Cristo gave him a glass
of water. "And yet that villainBenedettowill escape!"

No one, I tell you, will escape; Benedetto will be
punished.

Then, you, too, will be punished, for you did not do your
duty as a priest -- you should have prevented Benedetto from
killing me.

I?said the countwith a smile which petrified the dying
manwhen you had just broken your knife against the coat
of mail which protected my breast! Yet perhaps if I had
found you humble and penitent, I might have prevented
Benedetto from killing you; but I found you proud and
blood-thirsty, and I left you in the hands of God.

I do not believe there is a God,howled Caderousse; "you
do not believe it; you lie -- you lie!"

Silence,said the abbe; "you will force the last drop of
blood from your veins. What! you do not believe in God when
he is striking you dead? you will not believe in himwho
requires but a prayera worda tearand he will forgive?
Godwho might have directed the assassin's dagger so as to
end your career in a momenthas given you this quarter of
an hour for repentance. Reflectthenwretched manand
repent."

No,said Caderousseno; I will not repent. There is no
God; there is no providence -- all comes by chance.-


There is a providence; there is a God,said Monte Cristo
of whom you are a striking proof, as you lie in utter
despair, denying him, while I stand before you, rich, happy,
safe and entreating that God in whom you endeavor not to
believe, while in your heart you still believe in him.

But who are you, then?asked Caderoussefixing his dying


eyes on the count. "Look well at me!" said Monte Cristo
putting the light near his face. "Wellthe abbe -- the Abbe
Busoni." Monte Cristo took off the wig which disfigured him
and let fall his black hairwhich added so much to the
beauty of his pallid features. "Oh?" said Caderousse
thunderstruckbut for that black hair, I should say you
were the Englishman, Lord Wilmore.

I am neither the Abbe Busoni nor Lord Wilmore,said Monte
Cristo; "think again-- do you not recollect me?" Those was
a magic effect in the count's wordswhich once more revived
the exhausted powers of the miserable man. "Yesindeed
said he; I think I have seen you and known you formerly."

Yes, Caderousse, you have seen me; you knew me once.

Who, then, are you? and why, if you knew me, do you let me
die?

Because nothing can save you; your wounds are mortal. Had
it been possible to save you, I should have considered it
another proof of God's mercy, and I would again have
endeavored to restore you, I swear by my father's tomb.

By your father's tomb!said Caderoussesupported by a
supernatural powerand half-raising himself to see more
distinctly the man who had just taken the oath which all men
hold sacred; "whothenare you?" The count had watched the
approach of death. He knew this was the last struggle. He
approached the dying manandleaning over him with a calm
and melancholy lookhe whisperedI am -- I am-- And his
almost closed lips uttered a name so low that the count
himself appeared afraid to hear it. Caderoussewho had
raised himself on his kneesand stretched out his arm
tried to draw backthen clasping his handsand raising
them with a desperate effortO my God, my God!said he
pardon me for having denied thee; thou dost exist, thou art
indeed man's father in heaven, and his judge on earth. My
God, my Lord, I have long despised thee! Pardon me, my God;
receive me, O my Lord!Caderousse sighed deeplyand fell
back with a groan. The blood no longer flowed from his
wounds. He was dead.

One!said the count mysteriouslyhis eyes fixed on the
corpsedisfigured by so awful a death. Ten minutes
afterwards the surgeon and the procureur arrivedthe one
accompanied by the porterthe other by Aliand were
received by the Abbe Busoniwho was praying by the side of
the corpse.

Chapter 84
Beauchamp.

The daring attempt to rob the count was the topic of
conversation throughout Paris for the next fortnight. The
dying man had signed a deposition declaring Benedetto to be
the assassin. The police had orders to make the strictest
search for the murderer. Caderousse's knifedark lantern
bunch of keysand clothingexcepting the waistcoatwhich
could not be foundwere deposited at the registry; the
corpse was conveyed to the morgue. The count told every one
that this adventure had happened during his absence at


Auteuiland that he only knew what was related by the Abbe
Busoniwho that eveningby mere chancehad requested to
pass the night in his houseto examine some valuable books
in his library. Bertuccio alone turned pale whenever
Benedetto's name was mentioned in his presencebut there
was no reason why any one should notice his doing so.
Villefortbeing called on to prove the crimewas preparing
his brief with the same ardor that he was accustomed to
exercise when required to speak in criminal cases.

But three weeks had already passedand the most diligent
search had been unsuccessful; the attempted robbery and the
murder of the robber by his comrade were almost forgotten in
anticipation of the approaching marriage of Mademoiselle
Danglars to the Count Andrea Cavalcanti. It was expected
that this wedding would shortly take placeas the young man
was received at the banker's as the betrothed. Letters had
been despatched to M. Cavalcantias the count's fatherwho
highly approved of the unionregretted his inability to
leave Parma at that timeand promised a wedding gift of a
hundred and fifty thousand livres. It was agreed that the
three millions should be intrusted to Danglars to invest;
some persons had warned the young man of the circumstances
of his future father-in-lawwho had of late sustained
repeated losses; but with sublime disinterestedness and
confidence the young man refused to listenor to express a
single doubt to the baron. The baron adored Count Andrea
Cavalcanti: not so Mademoiselle Eugenie Danglars. With an
instinctive hatred of matrimonyshe suffered Andrea's
attentions in order to get rid of Morcerf; but when Andrea
urged his suitshe betrayed an entire dislike to him. The
baron might possibly have perceived itbutattributing it
to a capricefeigned ignorance.

The delay demanded by Beauchamp had nearly expired. Morcerf
appreciated the advice of Monte Cristo to let things die
away of their own accord. No one had taken up the remark
about the generaland no one had recognized in the officer
who betrayed the castle of Yanina the noble count in the
House of Peers. Alberthowever felt no less insulted; the
few lines which had irritated him were certainly intended as
an insult. Besidesthe manner in which Beauchamp had closed
the conference left a bitter recollection in his heart. He
cherished the thought of the duelhoping to conceal its
true cause even from his seconds. Beauchamp had not been
seen since the day he visited Albertand those of whom the
latter inquired always told him he was out on a journey
which would detain him some days. Where he was no one knew.

One morning Albert was awakened by his valet de chambrewho
announced Beauchamp. Albert rubbed his eyesordered his
servant to introduce him into the small smoking-room on the
ground-floordressed himself quicklyand went down. He
found Beauchamp pacing the room; on perceiving him Beauchamp
stopped. "Your arrival herewithout waiting my visit at
your house to-daylooks wellsir said Albert. Tell me
may I shake hands with yousaying`Beauchampacknowledge
you have injured meand retain my friendship' or must I
simply propose to you a choice of arms?"

Albert,said Beauchampwith a look of sorrow which
stupefied the young manlet us first sit down and talk.

Rather, sir, before we sit down, I must demand your


answer.

Albert,said the journalistthese are questions which it
is difficult to answer.

I will facilitate it by repeating the question, `Will you,
or will you not, retract?'

Morcerf, it is not enough to answer `yes' or `no' to
questions which concern the honor, the social interest, and
the life of such a man as Lieutenant-general the Count of
Morcerf, peer of France.

What must then be done?

What I have done, Albert. I reasoned thus -- money, time,
and fatigue are nothing compared with the reputation and
interests of a whole family; probabilities will not suffice,
only facts will justify a deadly combat with a friend. If I
strike with the sword, or discharge the contents of a pistol
at man with whom, for three years, I have been on terms of
intimacy, I must, at least, know why I do so; I must meet
him with a heart at ease, and that quiet conscience which a
man needs when his own arm must save his life.

Well,said Morcerfimpatientlywhat does all this
mean?

It means that I have just returned from Yanina.

From Yanina?

Yes.

Impossible!

Here is my passport; examine the visa -- Geneva, Milan,
Venice, Trieste, Delvino, Yanina. Will you believe the
government of a republic, a kingdom, and an empire?Albert
cast his eyes on the passportthen raised them in
astonishment to Beauchamp. "You have been to Yanina?" said
he.

Albert, had you been a stranger, a foreigner, a simple
lord, like that Englishman who came to demand satisfaction
three or four months since, and whom I killed to get rid of,
I should not have taken this trouble; but I thought this
mark of consideration due to you. I took a week to go,
another to return, four days of quarantine, and forty-eight
hours to stay there; that makes three weeks. I returned last
night, and here I am.

What circumlocution! How long you are before you tell me
what I most wish to know?

Because, in truth, Albert-


You hesitate?

Yes, -- I fear.

You fear to acknowledge that your correspondent his
deceived you? Oh, no self-love, Beauchamp. Acknowledge it,
Beauchamp; your courage cannot be doubted.


Not so,murmured the journalist; "on the contrary" --

Albert turned frightfully pale; he endeavored to speakbut
the words died on his lips. "My friend said Beauchamp, in
the most affectionate tone, I should gladly make an
apology; butalas -


But what?"

The paragraph was correct, my friend.

What? That French officer-


Yes.

Fernand?

Yes.

The traitor who surrendered the castle of the man in whose
service he was-


Pardon me, my friend, that man was your father!Albert
advanced furiously towards Beauchampbut the latter
restrained him more by a mild look than by his extended
hand.

My friend,said hehere is a proof of it.

Albert opened the paperit was an attestation of four
notable inhabitants of Yaninaproving that Colonel Fernand
Mondegoin the service of Ali Tepelinihad surrendered the
castle for two million crowns. The signatures were perfectly
legal. Albert tottered and fell overpowered in a chair. It
could no longer be doubted; the family name was fully given.
After a moment's mournful silencehis heart overflowedand
he gave way to a flood of tears. Beauchampwho had watched
with sincere pity the young man's paroxysm of grief
approached him. "NowAlbert said he, you understand me
-- do you not? I wished to see alland to judge of
everything for myselfhoping the explanation would be in
your father's favorand that I might do him justice. But
on the contrarythe particulars which are given prove that
Fernand Mondegoraised by Ali Pasha to the rank of
governor-generalis no other than Count Fernand of Morcerf;
thenrecollecting the honor you had done mein admitting
me to your friendshipI hastened to you."

Albertstill extended on the chaircovered his face with
both handsas if to prevent the light from reaching him. "I
hastened to you continued Beauchamp, to tell youAlbert
that in this changing agethe faults of a father cannot
revert upon his children. Few have passed through this
revolutionary periodin the midst of which we were born
without some stain of infamy or blood to soil the uniform of
the soldieror the gown of the magistrate. Now I have these
proofsAlbertand I am in your confidenceno human power
can force me to a duel which your own conscience would
reproach you with as criminalbut I come to offer you what
you can no longer demand of me. Do you wish these proofs
these attestationswhich I alone possessto be destroyed?
Do you wish this frightful secret to remain with us?
Confided to meit shall never escape my lips; sayAlbert


my frienddo you wish it?"

Albert threw himself on Beauchamp's neck. "Ahnoble
fellow!" cried he.

Take these,said Beauchamppresenting the papers to
Albert.

Albert seized them with a convulsive handtore them in
piecesand trembling lest the least vestige should escape
and one day appear to confront himhe approached the
wax-lightalways kept burning for cigarsand burned every
fragment. "Dearexcellent friend murmured Albert, still
burning the papers.

Let all be forgotten as a sorrowful dream said Beauchamp;
let it vanish as the last sparks from the blackened paper
and disappear as the smoke from those silent ashes."

Yes, yes,said Albertand may there remain only the
eternal friendship which I promised to my deliverer, which
shall be transmitted to our children's children, and shall
always remind me that I owe my life and the honor of my name
to you, -- for had this been known, oh, Beauchamp, I should
have destroyed myself; or, -- no, my poor mother! I could
not have killed her by the same blow, -- I should have fled
from my country.

Dear Albert,said Beauchamp. But this sudden and
factitious joy soon forsook the young manand was succeeded
by a still greater grief.

Well,said Beauchampwhat still oppresses you, my
friend?

I am broken-hearted,said Albert. "ListenBeauchamp! I
cannot thusin a moment relinquish the respectthe
confidenceand pride with which a father's untarnished name
inspires a son. OhBeauchampBeauchamphow shall I now
approach mine? Shall I draw back my forehead from his
embraceor withhold my hand from his? I am the most
wretched of men. Ahmy mothermy poor mother!" said
Albertgazing through his tears at his mother's portrait;
if you know this, how much must you suffer!

Come,said Beauchamptaking both his handstake
courage, my friend.

But how came that first note to be inserted in your
journal? Some unknown enemy -- an invisible foe -- has done
this.

The more must you fortify yourself, Albert. Let no trace of
emotion be visible on your countenance, bear your grief as
the cloud bears within it ruin and death -- a fatal secret,
known only when the storm bursts. Go, my friend, reserve
your strength for the moment when the crash shall come.

You think, then, all is not over yet?said Albert
horror-stricken.

I think nothing, my friend; but all things are possible. By
the way-



What?said Albertseeing that Beauchamp hesitated.

Are you going to marry Mademoiselle Danglars?

Why do you ask me now?

Because the rupture or fulfilment of this engagement is
connected with the person of whom we were speaking.

How?said Albertwhose brow reddened; "you think M.
Danglars" -


I ask you only how your engagement stands? Pray put no
construction on my words I do not mean they should convey,
and give them no undue weight.

No.said Albertthe engagement is broken off.

Well,said Beauchamp. Thenseeing the young man was about
to relapse into melancholyLet us go out, Albert,said
he; "a ride in the wood in the phaetonor on horseback
will refresh you; we will then return to breakfastand you
shall attend to your affairsand I to mine."

Willingly,said Albert; "but let us walk. I think a little
exertion would do me good." The two friends walked out on
the fortress. When arrived at the Madeleine-- "Since we
are out said Beauchamp, let us call on M. de Monte
Cristo; he is admirably adapted to revive one's spirits
because he never interrogatesand in my opinion those who
ask no questions are the best comforters."

Gladly,said Albert; "I love him -- let us call."

Chapter 85
The Journey.

Monte Cristo uttered a joyful exclamation on seeing the
young men together. "Ahha!" said heI hope all is over,
explained and settled.

Yes,said Beauchamp; "the absurd reports have died away
and should they be renewedI would be the first to oppose
them; so let us speak no more of it."

Albert will tell you,replied the count "that I gave him
the same advice. Look added he. I am finishing the most
execrable morning's work."

What is it?said Albert; "arranging your papers
apparently."

My papers, thank God, no, -- my papers are all in capital
order, because I have none; but M. Cavalcanti's.

M. Cavalcanti's?asked Beauchamp.

Yes; do you not know that this is a young man whom the
count is introducing?said Morcerf.

Let us not misunderstand each other,replied Monte Cristo;
I introduce no one, and certainly not M. Cavalcanti.


And who,said Albert with a forced smileis to marry
Mademoiselle Danglars instead of me, which grieves me
cruelly.

What? Cavalcanti is going to marry Mademoiselle Danglars?
asked Beauchamp.

Certainly; do you come from the end of the world?said
Monte Cristo; "youa journalistthe husband of renown? It
is the talk of all Paris."

And you, count, have made this match?asked Beauchamp.

I? Silence, purveyor of gossip, do not spread that report.
I make a match? No, you do not know me; I have done all in
my power to oppose it.

Ah, I understand,said Beauchampon our friend Albert's
account.

On my account?said the young man; "ohnoindeedthe
count will do me the justice to assert that I haveon the
contraryalways entreated him to break off my engagement
and happily it is ended. The count pretends I have not him
to thank; -- so be it -- I will erect an altar Deo ignoto."

Listen,said Monte Cristo; "I have had little to do with
itfor I am at variance both with the father-in-law and the
young man; there is only Mademoiselle Eugeniewho appears
but little charmed with the thoughts of matrimonyand who
seeing how little I was disposed to persuade her to renounce
her dear libertyretains any affection for me."

And do you say this wedding is at hand?

Oh, yes, in spite of all I could say. I do not know the
young man; he is said to be of good family and rich, but I
never trust to vague assertions. I have warned M. Danglars
of it till I am tired, but he is fascinated with his
Luccanese. I have even informed him of a circumstance I
consider very serious; the young man was either charmed by
his nurse, stolen by gypsies, or lost by his tutor, I
scarcely know which. But I do know his father lost sight of
him for more than ten years; what he did during these ten
years, God only knows. Well, all that was useless. They have
commissioned me to write to the major to demand papers, and
here they are. I send them, but like Pilate -- washing my
hands.

And what does Mademoiselle d'Armilly say to you for robbing
her of her pupil?

Oh, well, I don't know; but I understand that she is going
to Italy. Madame Danglars asked me for letters of
recommendation for the impresari; I gave her a few lines for
the director of the Valle Theatre, who is under some
obligation to me. But what is the matter, Albert? you look
dull; are you, after all, unconsciously in love with
Mademoiselle Eugenie?

I am not aware of it,said Albertsmiling sorrowfully.
Beauchamp turned to look at some paintings. "But continued
Monte Cristo, you are not in your usual spirits?"


I have a dreadful headache,said Albert.

Well, my dear viscount,said Monte CristoI have an
infallible remedy to propose to you.

What is that?asked the young man.

A change.

Indeed?said Albert.

Yes; and as I am just now excessively annoyed, I shall go
from home. Shall we go together?

You annoyed, count?said Beauchamp; "and by what?"

Ah, you think very lightly of it; I should like to see you
with a brief preparing in your house.

What brief?

The one M. de Villefort is preparing against my amiable
assassin -- some brigand escaped from the gallows
apparently.

True,said Beauchamp; "I saw it in the paper. Who is this
Caderousse?"

Some provincial, it appears. M. de Villefort heard of him
at Marseilles, and M. Danglars recollects having seen him.
Consequently, the procureur is very active in the affair,
and the prefect of police very much interested; and, thanks
to that interest, for which I am very grateful, they send me
all the robbers of Paris and the neighborhood, under
pretence of their being Caderousse's murderers, so that in
three months, if this continue, every robber and assassin in
France will have the plan of my house at his fingers' end. I
am resolved to desert them and go to some remote corner of
the earth, and shall be happy if you will accompany me,
viscount.

Willingly.

Then it is settled?

Yes, but where?

I have told you, where the air is pure, where every sound
soothes, where one is sure to be humbled, however proud may
be his nature. I love that humiliation, I, who am master of
the universe, as was Augustus.

But where are you really going?

To sea, viscount; you know I am a sailor. I was rocked when
an infant in the arms of old ocean, and on the bosom of the
beautiful Amphitrite; I have sported with the green mantle
of the one and the azure robe of the other; I love the sea
as a mistress, and pine if I do not often see her.

Let us go, count.

To sea?


Yes.

You accept my proposal?

I do.

Well, Viscount, there will be in my court-yard this evening
a good travelling britzka, with four post-horses, in which
one may rest as in a bed. M. Beauchamp, it holds four very
well, will you accompany us?

Thank you, I have just returned from sea.

What? you have been to sea?

Yes; I have just made a little excursion to the Borromean
Islands.*

* Lake Maggiore.
What of that? come with us,said Albert.

No, dear Morcerf; you know I only refuse when the thing is
impossible. Besides, it is important,added he in a low
tonethat I should remain in Paris just now to watch the
paper.

Ah, you are a good and an excellent friend,said Albert;
yes, you are right; watch, watch, Beauchamp, and try to
discover the enemy who made this disclosure.Albert and
Beauchamp partedthe last pressure of their hands
expressing what their tongues could not before a stranger.

Beauchamp is a worthy fellow,said Monte Cristowhen the
journalist was gone; "is he notAlbert?"

Yes, and a sincere friend; I love him devotedly. But now we
are alone, -- although it is immaterial to me, -- where are
we going?

Into Normandy, if you like.

Delightful; shall we be quite retired? have no society, no
neighbors?

Our companions will be riding-horses, dogs to hunt with,
and a fishing-boat.

Exactly what I wish for; I will apprise my mother of my
intention, and return to you.

But shall you be allowed to go into Normandy?

I may go where I please.

Yes, I am aware you may go alone, since I once met you in
Italy -- but to accompany the mysterious Monte Cristo?

You forget, count, that I have often told you of the deep
interest my mother takes in you.

`Woman is fickle.' said Francis I.; `woman is like a wave
of the sea,' said Shakespeare; both the great king and the


great poet ought to have known woman's nature well.

Woman's, yes; my mother is not woman, but a woman.

As I am only a humble foreigner, you must pardon me if I do
not understand all the subtle refinements of your language.

What I mean to say is, that my mother is not quick to give
her confidence, but when she does she never changes.

Ah, yes, indeed,said Monte Cristo with a sigh; "and do
you think she is in the least interested in me?"

I repeat it, you must really be a very strange and superior
man, for my mother is so absorbed by the interest you have
excited, that when I am with her she speaks of no one else.

And does she try to make you dislike me?

On the contrary, she often says, `Morcerf, I believe the
count has a noble nature; try to gain his esteem.'

Indeed?said Monte Cristosighing.

You see, then,said Albertthat instead of opposing, she
will encourage me.

Adieu, then, until five o'clock; be punctual, and we shall
arrive at twelve or one.

At Treport?

Yes; or in the neighborhood.

But can we travel forty-eight leagues in eight hours?

Easily,said Monte Cristo.

You are certainly a prodigy; you will soon not only surpass
the railway, which would not be very difficult in France,
but even the telegraph.

But, viscount, since we cannot perform the journey in less
than seven or eight hours, do not keep me waiting.

Do not fear, I have little to prepare.Monte Cristo smiled
as he nodded to Albertthen remained a moment absorbed in
deep meditation. But passing his hand across his forehead as
if to dispel his reveryhe rang the bell twice and
Bertuccio entered. "Bertuccio said he, I intend going
this evening to Normandyinstead of to-morrow or the next
day. You will have sufficient time before five o'clock;
despatch a messenger to apprise the grooms at the first
station. M. de Morcerf will accompany me." Bertuccio obeyed
and despatched a courier to Pontoise to say the
travelling-carriage would arrive at six o'clock. From
Pontoise another express was sent to the next stageand in
six hours all the horses stationed on the road were ready.
Before his departurethe count went to Haidee's apartments
told her his intentionand resigned everything to her care.
Albert was punctual. The journey soon became interesting
from its rapidityof which Morcerf had formed no previous
idea. "Truly said Monte Cristo, with your posthorses
going at the rate of two leagues an hourand that absurd


law that one traveller shall not pass another without
permissionso that an invalid or ill-tempered traveller may
detain those who are well and activeit is impossible to
move; I escape this annoyance by travelling with my own
postilion and horses; do I notAli?"

The count put his head out of the window and whistledand
the horses appeared to fly. The carriage rolled with a
thundering noise over the pavementand every one turned to
notice the dazzling meteor. Alismilingrepeated the
soundgrasped the reins with a firm handand spurred his
horseswhose beautiful manes floated in the breeze. This
child of the desert was in his elementand with his black
face and sparkling eyes appearedin the cloud of dust he
raisedlike the genius of the simoom and the god of the
hurricane. "I never knew till now the delight of speed
said Morcerf, and the last cloud disappeared from his brow;
but where the devil do you get such horses? Are they made
to order?"

Precisely,said the count; "six years since I bought a
horse in Hungary remarkable for its swiftness. The
thirty-two that we shall use to-night are its progeny; they
are all entirely blackwith the exception of a star upon
the forehead."

That is perfectly admirable; but what do you do, count,
with all these horses?

You see, I travel with them.

But you are not always travelling.

When I no longer require them, Bertuccio will sell them,
and he expects to realize thirty or forty thousand francs by
the sale.

But no monarch in Europe will be wealthy enough to purchase
them.

Then he will sell them to some Eastern vizier, who will
empty his coffers to purchase them, and refill them by
applying the bastinado to his subjects.

Count, may I suggest one idea to you?

Certainly.

It is that, next to you, Bertuccio must be the richest
gentleman in Europe.

You are mistaken, viscount; I believe he has not a franc in
his possession.

Then he must be a wonder. My dear count, if you tell me
many more marvellous things, I warn you I shall not believe
them.

I countenance nothing that is marvellous, M. Albert. Tell
me, why does a steward rob his master?

Because, I suppose, it is his nature to do so, for the love
of robbing.


You are mistaken; it is because he has a wife and family,
and ambitious desires for himself and them. Also because he
is not sure of always retaining his situation, and wishes to
provide for the future. Now, M. Bertuccio is alone in the
world; he uses my property without accounting for the use he
makes of it; he is sure never to leave my service.

Why?

Because I should never get a better.

Probabilities are deceptive.

But I deal in certainties; he is the best servant over whom
one has the power of life and death.

Do you possess that right over Bertuccio?

Yes.

There are words which close a conversation with an iron
door; such was the count's "yes." The whole journey was
performed with equal rapidity; the thirty-two horses
dispersed over seven stagesbrought them to their
destination in eight hours. At midnight they arrived at the
gate of a beautiful park. The porter was in attendance; he
had been apprised by the groom of the last stage of the
count's approach. At half past two in the morning Morcerf
was conducted to his apartmentswhere a bath and supper
were prepared. The servant who had travelled at the back of
the carriage waited on him; Baptistinwho rode in front
attended the count. Albert bathedtook his supperand went
to bed. All night he was lulled by the melancholy noise of
the surf. On risinghe went to his windowwhich opened on
a terracehaving the sea in frontand at the back a pretty
park bounded by a small forest. In a creek lay a little
sloopwith a narrow keel and high mastsbearing on its
flag the Monte Cristo arms which were a mountain on a sea
azurewith a cross gules on the shield. Around the schooner
lay a number of small fishing-boats belonging to the
fishermen of the neighboring villagelike humble subjects
awaiting orders from their queen. Thereas in every spot
where Monte Cristo stoppedif but for two daysluxury
abounded and life went on with the utmost ease.

Albert found in his anteroom two gunswith all the
accoutrements for hunting; a lofty room on the ground-floor
containing all the ingenious instruments the English -eminent
in piscatory pursuitssince they are patient and
sluggish -- have invented for fishing. The day passed in
pursuing those exercises in which Monte Cristo excelled.
They killed a dozen pheasants in the parkas many trout in
the streamdined in a summer-house overlooking the ocean
and took tea in the library.

Towards the evening of the third day. Albertcompletely
exhausted with the exercise which invigorated Monte Cristo
was sleeping in an arm-chair near the windowwhile the
count was designing with his architect the plan of a
conservatory in his housewhen the sound of a horse at full
speed on the high road made Albert look up. He was
disagreeably surprised to see his own valet de chambrewhom
he had not broughtthat he might not inconvenience Monte
Cristo.


Florentin here!cried hestarting up; "is my mother ill?"
And he hastened to the door. Monte Cristo watched and saw
him approach the valetwho drew a small sealed parcel from
his pocketcontaining a newspaper and a letter. "From whom
is this?" said he eagerly. "From M. Beauchamp replied
Florentin.

Did he send you?"

Yes, sir; he sent for me to his house, gave me money for my
journey, procured a horse, and made me promise not to stop
till I had reached you, I have come in fifteen hours.

Albert opened the letter with fearuttered a shriek on
reading the first lineand seized the paper. His sight was
dimmedhis legs sank under himand he would have fallen
had not Florentin supported him.

Poor young man,said Monte Cristo in a low voice; "it is
then true that the sin of the father shall fall on the
children to the third and fourth generation." Meanwhile
Albert had revivedandcontinuing to readhe threw back
his headsayingFlorentin, is your horse fit to return
immediately?

It is a poor lame post-horse.

In what state was the house when you left?

All was quiet, but on returning from M. Beauchamp's, I
found madame in tears: she had sent for me to know when you
would return. I told her my orders from M. Beauchamp; she
first extended her arms to prevent me, but after a moment's
reflection, `Yes, go, Florentin,' said she, `and may he come
quickly.'

Yes, my mother,said AlbertI will return, and woe to
the infamous wretch! But first of all I must get there.

He went back to the room where he had left Monte Cristo.
Five minutes had sufficed to make a complete transformation
in his appearance. His voice had become rough and hoarse;
his face was furrowed with wrinkles; his eyes burned under
the blue-veined lidsand he tottered like a drunken man.
Count,said heI thank you for your hospitality, which I
would gladly have enjoyed longer; but I must return to
Paris.

What has happened?

A great misfortune, more important to me than life. Don't
question me, I beg of you, but lend me a horse.

My stables are at your command, viscount; but you will kill
yourself by riding on horseback. Take a post-chaise or a
carriage.

No, it would delay me, and I need the fatigue you warn me
of; it will do me good.Albert reeled as if he had been
shotand fell on a chair near the door. Monte Cristo did
not see this second manifestation of physical exhaustion; he
was at the windowcallingAli, a horse for M. de Morcerf
-- quick! he is in a hurry!These words restored Albert; he


darted from the roomfollowed by the count. "Thank you!"
cried hethrowing himself on his horse. "Return as soon as
you canFlorentin. Must I use any password to procure a
horse?"

Only dismount; another will be immediately saddled.Albert
hesitated a moment. "You may think my departure strange and
foolish said the young man; you do not know how a
paragraph in a newspaper may exasperate one. Read that
said he, when I am gonethat you may not be witness of my
anger."

While the count picked up the paper he put spurs to his
horsewhich leaped in astonishment at such an unusual
stimulusand shot away with the rapidity of an arrow. The
count watched him with a feeling of compassionand when he
had completely disappearedread as follows: -


The French officer in the service of Ali Pasha of Yanina
alluded to three weeks since in the Impartial, who not only
surrendered the castle of Yanina, but sold his benefactor to
the Turks, styled himself truly at that time Fernand, as our
esteemed contemporary states; but he has since added to his
Christian name a title of nobility and a family name. He now
calls himself the Count of Morcerf, and ranks among the
peers.

Thus the terrible secretwhich Beauchamp had so generously
destroyedappeared again like an armed phantom; and another
paperderiving its information from some malicious source
had published two days after Albert's departure for Normandy
the few lines which had rendered the unfortunate young man
almost crazy.

Chapter 86
The Trial.

At eight o'clock in the morning Albert had arrived at
Beauchamp's door. The valet de chambre had received orders
to usher him in at once. Beauchamp was in his bath. "Here I
am said Albert.

Wellmy poor friend replied Beauchamp, I expected you."

I need not say I think you are too faithful and too kind to
have spoken of that painful circumstance. Your having sent
for me is another proof of your affection. So, without
losing time, tell me, have you the slightest idea whence
this terrible blow proceeds?

I think I have some clew.

But first tell me all the particulars of this shameful
plot.Beauchamp proceeded to relate to the young manwho
was overwhelmed with shame and griefthe following facts.
Two days previouslythe article had appeared in another
paper besides the Impartialandwhat was more seriousone
that was well known as a government paper. Beauchamp was
breakfasting when he read the paragraph. He sent immediately
for a cabrioletand hastened to the publisher's office.
Although professing diametrically opposite principles from
those of the editor of the other paperBeauchamp -- as it


sometimeswe may say oftenhappens -- was his intimate
friend. The editor was readingwith apparent delighta
leading article in the same paper on beet-sugarprobably a
composition of his own.

Ah, pardieu,said Beauchampwith the paper in your hand,
my friend, I need not tell you the cause of my visit.

Are you interested in the sugar question?asked the editor
of the ministerial paper.

No,replied BeauchampI have not considered the
question; a totally different subject interests me.

What is it?

The article relative to Morcerf.

Indeed? Is it not a curious affair?

So curious, that I think you are running a great risk of a
prosecution for defamation of character.

Not at all; we have received with the information all the
requisite proofs, and we are quite sure M. de Morcerf will
not raise his voice against us; besides, it is rendering a
service to one's country to denounce these wretched
criminals who are unworthy of the honor bestowed on them.
Beauchamp was thunderstruck. "Whothenhas so correctly
informed you?" asked he; "for my paperwhich gave the first
information on the subjecthas been obliged to stop for
want of proof; and yet we are more interested than you in
exposing M. de Morcerfas he is a peer of Franceand we
are of the opposition."

Oh, that is very simple; we have not sought to scandalize.
This news was brought to us. A man arrived yesterday from
Yanina, bringing a formidable array of documents; and when
we hesitated to publish the accusatory article, he told us
it should be inserted in some other paper.

Beauchamp understood that nothing remained but to submit
and left the office to despatch a courier to Morcerf. But he
had been unable to send to Albert the following particulars
as the events had transpired after the messenger's
departure; namelythat the same day a great agitation was
manifest in the House of Peers among the usually calm
members of that dignified assembly. Every one had arrived
almost before the usual hourand was conversing on the
melancholy event which was to attract the attention of the
public towards one of their most illustrious colleagues.
Some were perusing the articleothers making comments and
recalling circumstances which substantiated the charges
still more. The Count of Morcerf was no favorite with his
colleagues. Like all upstartshe had had recourse to a
great deal of haughtiness to maintain his position. The true
nobility laughed at himthe talented repelled himand the
honorable instinctively despised him. He wasin factin
the unhappy position of the victim marked for sacrifice; the
finger of God once pointed at himevery one was prepared to
raise the hue and cry.

The Count of Morcerf alone was ignorant of the news. He did
not take in the paper containing the defamatory articleand


had passed the morning in writing letters and in trying a
horse. He arrived at his usual hourwith a proud look and
insolent demeanor; he alightedpassed through the
corridorsand entered the house without observing the
hesitation of the door-keepers or the coolness of his
colleagues. Business had already been going on for half an
hour when he entered. Every one held the accusing paper
butas usualno one liked to take upon himself the
responsibility of the attack. At length an honorable peer
Morcerf's acknowledged enemyascended the tribune with that
solemnity which announced that the expected moment had
arrived. There was an impressive silence; Morcerf alone knew
not why such profound attention was given to an orator who
was not always listened to with so much complacency. The
count did not notice the introductionin which the speaker
announced that his communication would be of that vital
importance that it demanded the undivided attention of the
House; but at the mention of Yanina and Colonel Fernandhe
turned so frightfully pale that every member shuddered and
fixed his eyes upon him. Moral wounds have this peculiarity
-- they may be hiddenbut they never close; always painful
always ready to bleed when touchedthey remain fresh and
open in the heart.

The article having been read during the painful hush that
followeda universal shudder pervaded the assembly. and
immediately the closest attention was given to the orator as
he resumed his remarks. He stated his scruples and the
difficulties of the case; it was the honor of M. de Morcerf
and that of the whole Househe proposed to defendby
provoking a debate on personal questionswhich are always
such painful themes of discussion. He concluded by calling
for an investigationwhich might dispose of the calumnious
report before it had time to spreadand restore M. de
Morcerf to the position he had long held in public opinion.
Morcerf was so completely overwhelmed by this great and
unexpected calamity that he could scarcely stammer a few
words as he looked around on the assembly. This timidity
which might proceed from the astonishment of innocence as
well as the shame of guiltconciliated some in his favor;
for men who are truly generous are always ready to
compassionate when the misfortune of their enemy surpasses
the limits of their hatred.

The president put it to the voteand it was decided that
the investigation should take place. The count was asked
what time he required to prepare his defence. Morcerf's
courage had revived when he found himself alive after this
horrible blow. "My lords answered he, it is not by time I
could repel the attack made on me by enemies unknown to me
anddoubtlesshidden in obscurity; it is immediatelyand
by a thunderboltthat I must repel the flash of lightning
whichfor a momentstartled me. Ohthat I couldinstead
of taking up this defenceshed my last drop of blood to
prove to my noble colleagues that I am their equal in
worth." These words made a favorable impression on behalf of
the accused. "I demandthenthat the examination shall
take place as soon as possibleand I will furnish the house
with all necessary information."

What day do you fix?asked the president.

To-day I am at your service,replied the count. The
president rang the bell. "Does the House approve that the


examination should take place to-day?"

Yes,was the unanimous answer.

A committee of twelve members was chosen to examine the
proofs brought forward by Morcerf. The investigation would
begin at eight o'clock that evening in the committee-room
and if postponement were necessarythe proceedings would be
resumed each evening at the same hour. Morcerf asked leave
to retire; he had to collect the documents he had long been
preparing against this stormwhich his sagacity had
foreseen.

Albert listenedtrembling now with hopethen with anger
and then again with shamefor from Beauchamp's confidence
he knew his father was guiltyand he asked himself how
since he was guiltyhe could prove his innocence. Beauchamp
hesitated to continue his narrative. "What next?" asked
Albert.

What next? My friend, you impose a painful task on me. Must
you know all?

Absolutely; and rather from your lips than another's.

Muster up all your courage, then, for never have you
required it more.Albert passed his hand over his forehead
as if to try his strengthas a man who is preparing to
defend his life proves his shield and bends his sword. He
thought himself strong enoughfor he mistook fever for
energy. "Go on said he.

The evening arrived; all Paris was in expectation. Many
said your father had only to show himself to crush the
charge against him; many others said he would not appear;
while some asserted that they had seen him start for
Brussels; and others went to the police-office to inquire if
he had taken out a passport. I used all my influence with
one of the committeea young peer of my acquaintanceto
get admission to one of the galleries. He called for me at
seven o'clockandbefore any one had arrivedasked one of
the door-keepers to place me in a box. I was concealed by a
columnand might witness the whole of the terrible scene
which was about to take place. At eight o'clock all were in
their placesand M. de Morcerf entered at the last stroke.
He held some papers in his hand; his countenance was calm
and his step firmand he was dressed with great care in his
military uniformwhich was buttoned completely up to the
chin. His presence produced a good effect. The committee was
made up of Liberalsseveral of whom came forward to shake
hands with him."

Albert felt his heart bursting at these particularsbut
gratitude mingled with his sorrow: he would gladly have
embraced those who had given his father this proof of esteem
at a moment when his honor was so powerfully attacked. "At
this moment one of the door-keepers brought in a letter for
the president. `You are at liberty to speakM. de Morcerf'
said the presidentas he unsealed the letter; and the count
began his defenceI assure youAlbertin a most eloquent
and skilful manner. He produced documents proving that the
Vizier of Yanina had up to the last moment honored him with
his entire confidencesince he had interested him with a
negotiation of life and death with the emperor. He produced


the ringhis mark of authoritywith which Ali Pasha
generally sealed his lettersand which the latter had given
himthat he mighton his return at any hour of the day or
nightgain access to the presenceeven in the harem.
Unfortunatelythe negotiation failedand when he returned
to defend his benefactorhe was dead. `But' said the
count`so great was Ali Pasha's confidencethat on his
death-bed he resigned his favorite mistress and her daughter
to my care.'" Albert started on hearing these words; the
history of Haidee recurred to himand he remembered what
she had said of that message and the ringand the manner in
which she had been sold and made a slave. "And what effect
did this discourse produce?" anxiously inquired Albert. "I
acknowledge it affected meandindeedall the committee
also said Beauchamp.

Meanwhilethe president carelessly opened the letter which
had been brought to him; but the first lines aroused his
attention; he read them again and againand fixing his eyes
on M. de Morcerf`Count' said he`you have said that the
Vizier of Yanina confided his wife and daughter to your
care?' -- `Yessir' replied Morcerf; `but in thatlike
all the restmisfortune pursued me. On my returnVasiliki
and her daughter Haidee had disappeared.' -- `Did you know
them?' -- `My intimacy with the pasha and his unlimited
confidence had gained me an introduction to themand I had
seen them above twenty times.'

`Have you any idea what became of them?' -- `Yes, sir; I
heard they had fallen victims to their sorrow, and, perhaps,
to their poverty. I was not rich; my life was in constant
danger; I could not seek them, to my great regret.' The
president frowned imperceptibly. `Gentlemen,' said he, `you
have heard the Comte de Morcerf's defence. Can you, sir,
produce any witnesses to the truth of what you have
asserted?' -- `Alas, no, monsieur,' replied the count; `all
those who surrounded the vizier, or who knew me at his
court, are either dead or gone away, I know not where. I
believe that I alone, of all my countrymen, survived that
dreadful war. I have only the letters of Ali Tepelini, which
I have placed before you; the ring, a token of his
good-will, which is here; and, lastly, the most convincing
proof I can offer, after an anonymous attack, and that is
the absence of any witness against my veracity and the
purity of my military life.' A murmur of approbation ran
through the assembly; and at this moment, Albert, had
nothing more transpired, your father's cause had been
gained. It only remained to put it to the vote, when the
president resumed: `Gentlemen and you, monsieur, -- you will
not be displeased, I presume, to listen to one who calls
himself a very important witness, and who has just presented
himself. He is, doubtless, come to prove the perfect
innocence of our colleague. Here is a letter I have just
received on the subject; shall it be read, or shall it be
passed over? and shall we take no notice of this incident?'

M. de Morcerf turned pale, and clinched his hands on the
papers he held. The committee decided to hear the letter;
the count was thoughtful and silent. The president read: -`
Mr. President-- I can furnish the committee of inquiry
into the conduct of the Lieutenant-General the Count of
Morcerf in Epirus and in Macedonia with important
particulars.'


The president paused, and the count turned pale. The
president looked at his auditors. `Proceed,' was heard on
all sides. The president resumed: -


`I was on the spot at the death of Ali Pasha. I was present
during his last moments. I know what is become of Vasiliki
and Haidee. I am at the command of the committeeand even
claim the honor of being heard. I shall be in the lobby when
this note is delivered to you.'

`And who is this witness, or rather this enemy?' asked the
count, in a tone in which there was a visible alteration.
`We shall know, sir,' replied the president. `Is the
committee willing to hear this witness?' -- `Yes, yes,' they
all said at once. The door-keeper was called. `Is there any
one in the lobby?' said the president.

`Yessir.' -- `Who is it?' -- `A womanaccompanied by a
servant.' Every one looked at his neighbor. `Bring her in'
said the president. Five minutes after the door-keeper again
appeared; all eyes were fixed on the doorand I said
Beauchamp, shared the general expectation and anxiety.
Behind the door-keeper walked a woman enveloped in a large
veilwhich completely concealed her. It was evidentfrom
her figure and the perfumes she had about herthat she was
young and fastidious in her tastesbut that was all. The
president requested her to throw aside her veiland it was
then seen that she was dressed in the Grecian costumeand
was remarkably beautiful."

Ah,said Albertit was she.

Who?

Haidee.

Who told you that?

Alas, I guess it. But go on, Beauchamp. You see I am calm
and strong. And yet we must be drawing near the disclosure.

M. de Morcerf,continued Beauchamplooked at this woman
with surprise and terror. Her lips were about to pass his
sentence of life or death. To the committee the adventure
was so extraordinary and curious, that the interest they had
felt for the count's safety became now quite a secondary
matter. The president himself advanced to place a seat for
the young lady; but she declined availing herself of it. As
for the count, he had fallen on his chair; it was evident
that his legs refused to support him.

`Madame' said the president`you have engaged to furnish
the committee with some important particulars respecting the
affair at Yaninaand you have stated that you were an
eyewitness of the event.' -- `I wasindeed' said the
strangerwith a tone of sweet melancholyand with the
sonorous voice peculiar to the East.

`But allow me to say that you must have been very young
then.' -- `I was four years old; but as those events deeply
concerned me, not a single detail has escaped my memory.' -`
In what manner could these events concern you? and who are
you, that they should have made so deep an impression on
you?' -- `On them depended my father's life,' replied she.


`I am Haidee, the daughter of Ali Tepelini, pasha of Yanina,
and of Vasiliki, his beloved wife.'

The blush of mingled pride and modesty which suddenly
suffused the cheeks of the young womanthe brilliancy of
her eyeand her highly important communicationproduced an
indescribable effect on the assembly. As for the counthe
could not have been more overwhelmed if a thunderbolt had
fallen at his feet and opened an immense gulf before him.
`Madame' replied the presidentbowing with profound
respect`allow me to ask one question; it shall be the
last: Can you prove the authenticity of what you have now
stated?' -- `I cansir' said Haideedrawing from under
her veil a satin satchel highly perfumed; `for here is the
register of my birthsigned by my father and his principal
officersand that of my baptismmy father having consented
to my being brought up in my mother's faith-- this latter
has been sealed by the grand primate of Macedonia and
Epirus; and lastly (and perhaps the most important)the
record of the sale of my person and that of my mother to the
Armenian merchant El-Kobbirby the French officerwhoin
his infamous bargain with the Portehad reserved as his
part of the booty the wife and daughter of his benefactor
whom he sold for the sum of four hundred thousand francs.' A
greenish pallor spread over the count's cheeksand his eyes
became bloodshot at these terrible imputationswhich were
listened to by the assembly with ominous silence.

Haidee, still calm, but with a calmness more dreadful than
the anger of another would have been, handed to the
president the record of her sale, written in Arabic. It had
been supposed some of the papers might be in the Arabian,
Romaic, or Turkish language, and the interpreter of the
House was in attendance. One of the noble peers, who was
familiar with the Arabic language, having studied it during
the famous Egyptian campaign, followed with his eye as the
translator read aloud: -


`IEl-Kobbira slave-merchantand purveyor of the harem
of his highnessacknowledge having received for
transmission to the sublime emperorfrom the French lord
the Count of Monte Cristoan emerald valued at eight
hundred thousand francs; as the ransom of a young Christian
slave of eleven years of agenamed Haideethe acknowledged
daughter of the late lord Ali Tepelinipasha of Yaninaand
of Vasilikihis favorite; she having been sold to me seven
years previouslywith her motherwho had died on arriving
at Constantinopleby a French colonel in the service of the
Vizier Ali Tepelininamed Fernand Mondego. The
above-mentioned purchase was made on his highness's account
whose mandate I hadfor the sum of four hundred thousand
francs.

`Given at Constantinople, by authority of his highness, in
the year 1247 of the Hegira.

`Signed El-Kobbir.'

`That this record should have all due authority, it shall
bear the imperial seal, which the vendor is bound to have
affixed to it.'

Near the merchant's signature there wasindeedthe seal
of the sublime emperor. A dreadful silence followed the


reading of this document; the count could only stareand
his gazefixed as if unconsciously on Haideeseemed one of
fire and blood. `Madame' said the president`may reference
be made to the Count of Monte Cristowho is nowI believe
in Paris?' -- `Sir' replied Haidee`the Count of Monte
Cristomy foster-fatherhas been in Normandy the last
three days.'

`Who, then, has counselled you to take this step, one for
which the court is deeply indebted to you, and which is
perfectly natural, considering your birth and your
misfortunes?' -- `Sir,' replied Haidee, `I have been led to
take this step from a feeling of respect and grief. Although
a Christian, may God forgive me, I have always sought to
revenge my illustrious father. Since I set my foot in
France, and knew the traitor lived in Paris, I have watched
carefully. I live retired in the house of my noble
protector, but I do it from choice. I love retirement and
silence, because I can live with my thoughts and
recollections of past days. But the Count of Monte Cristo
surrounds me with every paternal care, and I am ignorant of
nothing which passes in the world. I learn all in the
silence of my apartments, -- for instance, I see all the
newspapers, every periodical, as well as every new piece of
music; and by thus watching the course of the life of
others, I learned what had transpired this morning in the
House of Peers, and what was to take place this evening;
then I wrote.'

`Then' remarked the president`the Count of Monte Cristo
knows nothing of your present proceedings?' -- `He is quite
unaware of themand I have but one fearwhich is that he
should disapprove of what I have done. But it is a glorious
day for me' continued the young girlraising her ardent
gaze to heaven`that on which I find at last an opportunity
of avenging my father!'

The count had not uttered one word the whole of this time.
His colleagues looked at him, and doubtless pitied his
prospects, blighted under the perfumed breath of a woman.
His misery was depicted in sinister lines on his
countenance. `M. de Morcerf,' said the president, `do you
recognize this lady as the daughter of Ali Tepelini, pasha
of Yanina?' -- `No,' said Morcerf, attempting to rise, `it
is a base plot, contrived by my enemies.' Haidee, whose eyes
had been fixed on the door, as if expecting some one, turned
hastily, and, seeing the count standing, shrieked, `You do
not know me?' said she. `Well, I fortunately recognize you!
You are Fernand Mondego, the French officer who led the
troops of my noble father! It is you who surrendered the
castle of Yanina! It is you who, sent by him to
Constantinople, to treat with the emperor for the life or
death of your benefactor, brought back a false mandate
granting full pardon! It is you who, with that mandate,
obtained the pasha's ring, which gave you authority over
Selim, the fire-keeper! It is you who stabbed Selim. It is
you who sold us, my mother and me, to the merchant,
El-Kobbir! Assassin, assassin, assassin, you have still on
your brow your master's blood! Look, gentlemen, all!'

These words had been pronounced with such enthusiasm and
evident truththat every eye was fixed on the count's
foreheadand he himself passed his hand across itas if he
felt Ali's blood still lingering there. `You positively


recognize M. de Morcerf as the officerFernand Mondego?' -`
Indeed I do!' cried Haidee. `Ohmy motherit was you who
saidYou were free, you had a beloved father, you were
destined to be almost a queen. Look well at that man; it is
he who raised your father's head on the point of a spear; it
is he who sold us; it is he who forsook us! Look well at his
right hand, on which he has a large wound; if you forgot his
features, you would know him by that hand, into which fell,
one by one, the gold pieces of the merchant El-Kobbir!I
know him! Ahlet him say now if he does not recognize me!'
Each word fell like a dagger on Morcerfand deprived him of
a portion of his energy; as she uttered the lasthe hid his
mutilated hand hastily in his bosomand fell back on his
seatoverwhelmed by wretchedness and despair. This scene
completely changed the opinion of the assembly respecting
the accused count.

`Count of Morcerf,' said the president, `do not allow
yourself to be cast down; answer. The justice of the court
is supreme and impartial as that of God; it will not suffer
you to be trampled on by your enemies without giving you an
opportunity of defending yourself. Shall further inquiries
be made? Shall two members of the House be sent to Yanina?
Speak!' Morcerf did not reply. Then all the members looked
at each other with terror. They knew the count's energetic
and violent temper; it must be, indeed, a dreadful blow
which would deprive him of courage to defend himself. They
expected that his stupefied silence would be followed by a
fiery outburst. `Well,' asked the president, `what is your
decision?'

`I have no reply to make' said the count in a low tone.

`Has the daughter of Ali Tepelini spoken the truth?' said
the president. `Is she, then, the terrible witness to whose
charge you dare not plead Not guilty"? Have you really
committed the crimes of which you are accused?' The count
looked around him with an expression which might have
softened tigersbut which could not disarm his judges. Then
he raised his eyes towards the ceilingbut withdrew then
immediatelyas if he feared the roof would open and reveal
to his distressed view that second tribunal called heaven
and that other judge named God. Thenwith a hasty movement
he tore open his coatwhich seemed to stifle himand flew
from the room like a madman; his footstep was heard one
moment in the corridorthen the rattling of his
carriage-wheels as he was driven rapidly away. `Gentlemen'
said the presidentwhen silence was restored`is the Count
of Morcerf convicted of felonytreasonand conduct
unbecoming a member of this House?' -- `Yes' replied all
the members of the committee of inquiry with a unanimous
voice.

Haidee had remained until the close of the meeting. She
heard the count's sentence pronounced without betraying an
expression of joy or pity; then drawing her veil over her
face she bowed majestically to the councillors, and left
with that dignified step which Virgil attributes to his
goddesses.

Chapter 87
The Challenge.


Then,continued BeauchampI took advantage of the
silence and the darkness to leave the house without being
seen. The usher who had introduced me was waiting for me at
the door, and he conducted me through the corridors to a
private entrance opening into the Rue de Vaugirard. I left
with mingled feelings of sorrow and delight. Excuse me,
Albert, -- sorrow on your account, and delight with that
noble girl, thus pursuing paternal vengeance. Yes, Albert,
from whatever source the blow may have proceeded -- it may
be from an enemy, but that enemy is only the agent of
providence.Albert held his head between his hands; he
raised his facered with shame and bathed in tearsand
seizing Beauchamp's armMy friend,said hemy life is
ended. I cannot calmly say with you, `Providence has struck
the blow;' but I must discover who pursues me with this
hatred, and when I have found him I shall kill him, or he
will kill me. I rely on your friendship to assist me,
Beauchamp, if contempt has not banished it from your heart.

Contempt, my friend? How does this misfortune affect you?
No, happily that unjust prejudice is forgotten which made
the son responsible for the father's actions. Review your
life, Albert; although it is only just beginning, did a
lovely summer's day ever dawn with greater purity than has
marked the commencement of your career? No, Albert, take my
advice. You are young and rich -- leave Paris -- all is soon
forgotten in this great Babylon of excitement and changing
tastes. You will return after three or four years with a
Russian princess for a bride, and no one will think more of
what occurred yesterday than if it had happened sixteen
years ago.

Thank you, my dear Beauchamp, thank you for the excellent
feeling which prompts your advice; but it cannot be. I have
told you my wish, or rather my determination. You understand
that, interested as I am in this affair, I cannot see it in
the same light as you do. What appears to you to emanate
from a celestial source, seems to me to proceed from one far
less pure. Providence appears to me to have no share in this
affair; and happily so, for instead of the invisible,
impalpable agent of celestial rewards and punishments, I
shall find one both palpable and visible, on whom I shall
revenge myself, I assure you, for all I have suffered during
the last month. Now, I repeat, Beauchamp, I wish to return
to human and material existence, and if you are still the
friend you profess to be, help me to discover the hand that
struck the blow.

Be it so,said Beauchamp; "if you must have me descend to
earthI submit; and if you will seek your enemyI will
assist youand I will engage to find himmy honor being
almost as deeply interested as yours."

Well, then, you understand, Beauchamp, that we begin our
search immediately. Each moment's delay is an eternity for
me. The calumniator is not yet punished, and he may hope
that he will not be; but, on my honor, it he thinks so, he
deceives himself.

Well, listen, Morcerf.

Ah, Beauchamp, I see you know something already; you will
restore me to life.


I do not say there is any truth in what I am going to tell
you, but it is, at least, a ray of light in a dark night; by
following it we may, perhaps, discover something more
certain.

Tell me; satisfy my impatience.

Well, I will tell you what I did not like to mention on my
return from Yanina.

Say on.

I went, of course, to the chief banker of the town to make
inquiries. At the first word, before I had even mentioned
your father's name-


`Ah,' said he. `I guess what brings you here.'

`Howand why?'

`Because a fortnight since I was questioned on the same
subject.'

`By whom?' -- `By a Paris bankermy correspondent.'

`Whose name is' -


`Danglars.'"

He!cried Albert; "yesit is indeed he who has so long
pursued my father with jealous hatred. Hethe man who would
be popularcannot forgive the Count of Morcerf for being
created a peer; and this marriage broken off without a
reason being assigned -- yesit is all from the same
cause."

Make inquiries, Albert, but do not be angry without reason;
make inquiries, and if it be true-


Oh, yes, if it be true,cried the young manhe shall pay
me all I have suffered.

Beware, Morcerf, he is already an old man.

I will respect his age as he has respected the honor of my
family; if my father had offended him, why did he not attack
him personally? Oh, no, he was afraid to encounter him face
to face.

I do not condemn you, Albert; I only restrain you. Act
prudently.

Oh, do not fear; besides, you will accompany me. Beauchamp,
solemn transactions should be sanctioned by a witness.
Before this day closes, if M. Danglars is guilty, he shall
cease to live, or I shall die. Pardieu, Beauchamp, mine
shall be a splendid funeral!

When such resolutions are made, Albert, they should be
promptly executed. Do you wish to go to M. Danglars? Let us
go immediately.They sent for a cabriolet. On entering the
banker's mansionthey perceived the phaeton and servant of

M. Andrea Cavalcanti. "Ahparbleuthat's good said

Albert, with a gloomy tone. If M. Danglars will not fight
with meI will kill his son-in-law; Cavalcanti will
certainly fight." The servant announced the young man; but
the bankerrecollecting what had transpired the day before
did not wish him admitted. It washowevertoo late; Albert
had followed the footmanandhearing the order given
forced the door openand followed by Beauchamp found
himself in the banker's study. "Sir cried the latter, am
I no longer at liberty to receive whom I choose in my house?
You appear to forget yourself sadly."

No, sir,said Albertcoldly; "there are circumstances in
which one cannotexcept through cowardice-- I offer you
that refuge-- refuse to admit certain persons at least."

What is your errand, then, with me, sir?

I mean,said Albertdrawing nearand without apparently
noticing Cavalcantiwho stood with his back towards the
fireplace -- "I mean to propose a meeting in some retired
corner where no one will interrupt us for ten minutes; that
will be sufficient -- where two men having metone of them
will remain on the ground." Danglars turned pale; Cavalcanti
moved a step forwardand Albert turned towards him. "And
youtoo said he, comeif you likemonsieur; you have a
claimbeing almost one of the familyand I will give as
many rendezvous of that kind as I can find persons willing
to accept them." Cavalcanti looked at Danglars with a
stupefied airand the lattermaking an effortarose and
stepped between the two young men. Albert's attack on Andrea
had placed him on a different footingand he hoped this
visit had another cause than that he had at first supposed.

Indeed, sir,said he to Albertif you are come to
quarrel with this gentleman because I have preferred him to
you, I shall resign the case to the king's attorney.

You mistake, sir,said Morcerf with a gloomy smile; "I am
not referring in the least to matrimonyand I only
addressed myself to M. Cavalcanti because he appeared
disposed to interfere between us. In one respect you are
rightfor I am ready to quarrel with every one to-day; but
you have the first claimM. Danglars."

Sir,replied Danglarspale with anger and fearI warn
you, when I have the misfortune to meet with a mad dog, I
kill it; and far from thinking myself guilty of a crime, I
believe I do society a kindness. Now, if you are mad and try
to bite me, I will kill you without pity. Is it my fault
that your father has dishonored himself?

Yes, miserable wretch!cried Morcerfit is your fault.
Danglars retreated a few steps. "My fault?" said he; "you
must be mad! What do I know of the Grecian affair? Have I
travelled in that country? Did I advise your father to sell
the castle of Yanina -- to betray" -


Silence!said Albertwith a thundering voice. "No; it is
not you who have directly made this exposure and brought
this sorrow on usbut you hypocritically provoked it."

I?

Yes; you! How came it known?


I suppose you read it in the paper in the account from
Yanina?

Who wrote to Yanina?

To Yanina?

Yes. Who wrote for particulars concerning my father?

I imagine any one may write to Yanina.

But one person only wrote!

One only?

Yes; and that was you!

I, doubtless, wrote. It appears to me that when about to
marry your daughter to a young man, it is right to make some
inquiries respecting his family; it is not only a right, but
a duty.

You wrote, sir, knowing what answer you would receive.

I, indeed? I assure you,cried Danglarswith a confidence
and security proceeding less from fear than from the
interest he really felt for the young manI solemnly
declare to you, that I should never have thought of writing
to Yanina, did I know anything of Ali Pasha's misfortunes.

Who, then, urged you to write? Tell me.

Pardieu, it was the most simple thing in the world. I was
speaking of your father's past history. I said the origin of
his fortune remained obscure. The person to whom I addressed
my scruples asked me where your father had acquired his
property? I answered, `In Greece.' -- `Then,' said he,
`write to Yanina.'

And who thus advised you?

No other than your friend, Monte Cristo.

The Count of Monte Cristo told you to write to Yanina?

Yes; and I wrote, and will show you my correspondence, if
you like.Albert and Beauchamp looked at each other. "Sir
said Beauchamp, who had not yet spoken, you appear to
accuse the countwho is absent from Paris at this moment
and cannot justify himself."

I accuse no one, sir,said Danglars; "I relateand I will
repeat before the count what I have said to you."

Does the count know what answer you received?

Yes; I showed it to him.

Did he know my father's Christian name was Fernand, and his
family name Mondego?

Yes, I had told him that long since, and I did only what
any other would have done in my circumstances, and perhaps


less. When, the day after the arrival of this answer, your
father came by the advice of Monte Cristo to ask my
daughter's hand for you, I decidedly refused him, but
without any explanation or exposure. In short, why should I
have any more to do with the affair? How did the honor or
disgrace of M. de Morcerf affect me? It neither increased
nor decreased my income.

Albert felt the blood mounting to his brow; there was no
doubt upon the subject. Danglars defended himself with the
basenessbut at the same time with the assuranceof a man
who speaks the truthat least in partif not wholly -- not
for conscience' sakebut through fear. Besideswhat was
Morcerf seeking? It was not whether Danglars or Monte Cristo
was more or less guilty; it was a man who would answer for
the offencewhether trifling or serious; it was a man who
would fightand it was evident Danglars's would not fight.
Andin addition to thiseverything forgotten or
unperceived before presented itself now to his recollection.
Monte Cristo knew everythingas he had bought the daughter
of Ali Pasha; andknowing everythinghe had advised
Danglars to write to Yanina. The answer knownhe had
yielded to Albert's wish to be introduced to Haideeand
allowed the conversation to turn on the death of Aliand
had not opposed Haidee's recital (but havingdoubtless
warned the young girlin the few Romaic words he spoke to
hernot to implicate Morcerf's father). Besideshad he not
begged of Morcerf not to mention his father's name before
Haidee? Lastlyhe had taken Albert to Normandy when he knew
the final blow was near. There could be no doubt that all
had been calculated and previously arranged; Monte Cristo
then was in league with his father's enemies. Albert took
Beauchamp asideand communicated these ideas to him.

You are right,said the latter; "M. Danglars has only been
a secondary agent in this sad affairand it is of M. de
Monte Cristo that you must demand an explanation." Albert
turned. "Sir said he to Danglars, understand that I do
not take a final leave of you; I must ascertain if your
insinuations are justand am going now to inquire of the
Count of Monte Cristo." He bowed to the bankerand went out
with Beauchampwithout appearing to notice Cavalcanti.
Danglars accompanied him to the doorwhere he again assured
Albert that no motive of personal hatred had influenced him
against the Count of Morcerf.

Chapter 88
The Insult.

At the banker's door Beauchamp stopped Morcerf. "Listen
said he; just now I told you it was of M. de Monte Cristo
you must demand an explanation."

Yes; and we are going to his house.

Reflect, Morcerf, one moment before you go.

On what shall I reflect?

On the importance of the step you are taking.

Is it more serious than going to M. Danglars?


Yes; M. Danglars is a money-lover, and those who love
money, you know, think too much of what they risk to be
easily induced to fight a duel. The other is, on the
contrary, to all appearance a true nobleman; but do you not
fear to find him a bully?

I only fear one thing; namely, to find a man who will not
fight.

Do not be alarmed,said Beauchamp; "he will meet you. My
only fear is that he will be too strong for you."

My friend,said Morcerfwith a sweet smilethat is what
I wish. The happiest thing that could occur to me, would be
to die in my father's stead; that would save us all.

Your mother would die of grief.

My poor mother!said Albertpassing his hand across his
eyesI know she would; but better so than die of shame.

Are you quite decided, Albert?

Yes; let us go.

But do you think we shall find the count at home?

He intended returning some hours after me, and doubtless he
is now at home.They ordered the driver to take them to No.
30 Champs-Elysees. Beauchamp wished to go in alonebut
Albert observed that as this was an unusual circumstance he
might be allowed to deviate from the usual etiquette in
affairs of honor. The cause which the young man espoused was
one so sacred that Beauchamp had only to comply with all his
wishes; he yielded and contented himself with following
Morcerf. Albert sprang from the porter's lodge to the steps.
He was received by Baptistin. The count hadindeedjust
arrivedbut he was in his bathand had forbidden that any
one should be admitted. "But after his bath?" asked Morcerf.

My master will go to dinner.

And after dinner?

He will sleep an hour.

Then?

He is going to the opera.

Are you sure of it?asked Albert.

Quite, sir; my master has ordered his horses at eight
o'clock precisely.

Very good,replied Albert; "that is all I wished to know."
Thenturning towards BeauchampIf you have anything to
attend to, Beauchamp, do it directly; if you have any
appointment for this evening, defer it till tomorrow. I
depend on you to accompany me to the opera; and if you can,
bring Chateau-Renaud with you.

Beauchamp availed himself of Albert's permissionand left


himpromising to call for him at a quarter before eight. On
his return homeAlbert expressed his wish to Franz Debray
and Morrelto see them at the opera that evening. Then he
went to see his motherwho since the events of the day
before had refused to see any oneand had kept her room. He
found her in bedoverwhelmed with grief at this public
humiliation. The sight of Albert produced the effect which
might naturally be expected on Mercedes; she pressed her
son's hand and sobbed aloudbut her tears relieved her.
Albert stood one moment speechless by the side of his
mother's bed. It was evident from his pale face and knit
brows that his resolution to revenge himself was growing
weaker. "My dear mother said he, do you know if M. de
Morcerf has any enemy?" Mercedes started; she noticed that
the young man did not say "my father." "My son she said,
persons in the count's situation have many secret enemies.
Those who are known are not the most dangerous."

I know it, and appeal to your penetration. You are of so
superior a mind, nothing escapes you.

Why do you say so?

Because, for instance, you noticed on the evening of the
ball we gave, that M. de Monte Cristo would eat nothing in
our house.Mercedes raised herself on her feverish arm. "M.
de Monte Cristo!" she exclaimed; "and how is he connected
with the question you asked me?"

You know, mother, M. de Monte Cristo is almost an Oriental,
and it is customary with the Orientals to secure full
liberty for revenge by not eating or drinking in the houses
of their enemies.

Do you say M. de Monte Cristo is our enemy?replied
Mercedesbecoming paler than the sheet which covered her.
Who told you so? Why, you are mad, Albert! M. de Monte
Cristo has only shown us kindness. M. de Monte Cristo saved
your life; you yourself presented him to us. Oh, I entreat
you, my son, if you had entertained such an idea, dispel it;
and my counsel to you -- nay, my prayer -- is to retain his
friendship.

Mother,replied the young manyou have especial reasons
for telling me to conciliate that man.

I?said Mercedesblushing as rapidly as she had turned
paleand again becoming paler than ever.

Yes, doubtless; and is it not that he may never do us any
harm?Mercedes shudderedandfixing on her son a
scrutinizing gazeYou speak strangely,said she to
Albertand you appear to have some singular prejudices.
What has the count done? Three days since you were with him
in Normandy; only three days since we looked on him as our
best friend.

An ironical smile passed over Albert's lips. Mercedes saw it
and with the double instinct of woman and mother guessed
all; but as she was prudent and strong-minded she concealed
both her sorrows and her fears. Albert was silent; an
instant afterthe countess resumed: "You came to inquire
after my health; I will candidly acknowledge that I am not
well. You should install yourself hereand cheer my


solitude. I do not wish to be left alone."

Mother,said the young manyou know how gladly I would
obey your wish, but an urgent and important affair obliges
me to leave you for the whole evening.

Well,replied Mercedessighinggo, Albert; I will not
make you a slave to your filial piety.Albert pretended he
did not hearbowed to his motherand quitted her. Scarcely
had he shut her doorwhen Mercedes called a confidential
servantand ordered him to follow Albert wherever he should
go that eveningand to come and tell her immediately what
he observed. Then she rang for her lady's maidandweak as
she wasshe dressedin order to be ready for whatever
might happen. The footman's mission was an easy one. Albert
went to his roomand dressed with unusual care. At ten
minutes to eight Beauchamp arrived; he had seen
Chateau-Renaudwho had promised to be in the orchestra
before the curtain was raised. Both got into Albert's coupe;
andas the young man had no reason to conceal where he was
goinghe called aloudTo the opera.In his impatience he
arrived before the beginning of the performance.

Chateau-Renaud was at his post; apprised by Beauchamp of the
circumstanceshe required no explanation from Albert. The
conduct of the son in seeking to avenge his father was so
natural that Chateau-Renaud did not seek to dissuade him
and was content with renewing his assurances of devotion.
Debray was not yet comebut Albert knew that he seldom lost
a scene at the opera. Albert wandered about the theatre
until the curtain was drawn up. He hoped to meet with M. de
Monte Cristo either in the lobby or on the stairs. The bell
summoned him to his seatand he entered the orchestra with
Chateau-Renaud and Beauchamp. But his eyes scarcely quitted
the box between the columnswhich remained obstinately
closed during the whole of the first act. At lastas Albert
was looking at his watch for about the hundredth timeat
the beginning of the second act the door openedand Monte
Cristo entereddressed in blackandleaning over the
front of the boxlooked around the pit. Morrel followed
himand looked also for his sister and brother in-law; he
soon discovered them in another boxand kissed his hand to
them.

The countin his survey of the pitencountered a pale face
and threatening eyeswhich evidently sought to gain his
attention. He recognized Albertbut thought it better not
to notice himas he looked so angry and discomposed.
Without communicating his thoughts to his companionhe sat
downdrew out his opera-glassand looked another way.
Although apparently not noticing Alberthe did not
howeverlose sight of himand when the curtain fell at the
end of the second acthe saw him leave the orchestra with
his two friends. Then his head was seen passing at the back
of the boxesand the count knew that the approaching storm
was intended to fall on him. He was at the moment conversing
cheerfully with Morrelbut he was well prepared for what
might happen. The door openedand Monte Cristoturning
roundsaw Albertpale and tremblingfollowed by Beauchamp
and Chateau-Renaud.

Well,cried hewith that benevolent politeness which
distinguished his salutation from the common civilities of
the worldmy cavalier has attained his object.


Good-evening, M. de Morcerf.The countenance of this man
who possessed such extraordinary control over his feelings
expressed the most perfect cordiality. Morrel only then
recollected the letter he had received from the viscountin
whichwithout assigning any reasonhe begged him to go to
the operabut he understood that something terrible was
brooding.

We are not come here, sir, to exchange hypocritical
expressions of politeness, or false professions of
friendship,said Albertbut to demand an explanation.
The young man's trembling voice was scarcely audible. "An
explanation at the opera?" said the countwith that calm
tone and penetrating eye which characterize the man who
knows his cause is good. "Little acquainted as I am with the
habits of ParisiansI should not have thought this the
place for such a demand."

Still, if people will shut themselves up,said Albert
and cannot be seen because they are bathing, dining, or
asleep, we must avail ourselves of the opportunity whenever
they are to be seen.

I am not difficult of access, sir; for yesterday, if my
memory does not deceive me, you were at my house.

Yesterday I was at your house, sir,said the young man;
because then I knew not who you were.In pronouncing these
words Albert had raised his voice so as to be heard by those
in the adjoining boxes and in the lobby. Thus the attention
of many was attracted by this altercation. "Where are you
come fromsir? You do not appear to be in the possession of
your senses."

Provided I understand your perfidy, sir, and succeed in
making you understand that I will be revenged, I shall be
reasonable enough,said Albert furiously.

I do not understand you, sir,replied Monte Cristo; "and
if I didyour tone is too high. I am at home hereand I
alone have a right to raise my voice above another's. Leave
the boxsir!" Monte Cristo pointed towards the door with
the most commanding dignity. "AhI shall know how to make
you leave your home!" replied Albertclasping in his
convulsed grasp the glovewhich Monte Cristo did not lose
sight of.

Well, well,said Monte Cristo quietlyI see you wish to
quarrel with me; but I would give you one piece of advice,
which you will do well to keep in mind. It is in poor taste
to make a display of a challenge. Display is not becoming to
every one, M. de Morcerf.

At this name a murmur of astonishment passed around the
group of spectators of this scene. They had talked of no one
but Morcerf the whole day. Albert understood the allusion in
a momentand was about to throw his glove at the count
when Morrel seized his handwhile Beauchamp and
Chateau-Renaudfearing the scene would surpass the limits
of a challengeheld him back. But Monte Cristowithout
risingand leaning forward in his chairmerely stretched
out his arm andtaking the dampcrushed glove from the
clinched hand of the young manSir,said he in a solemn
toneI consider your glove thrown, and will return it to


you wrapped around a bullet. Now leave me or I will summon
my servants to throw you out at the door.

Wildalmost unconsciousand with eyes inflamedAlbert
stepped backand Morrel closed the door. Monte Cristo took
up his glass again as if nothing had happened; his face was
like marbleand his heart was like bronze. Morrel
whisperedWhat have you done to him?

I? Nothing -- at least personally,said Monte Cristo.

But there must be some cause for this strange scene.

The Count of Morcerf's adventure exasperates the young
man.

Have you anything to do with it?

It was through Haidee that the Chamber was informed of his
father's treason.

Indeed?said Morrel. "I had been toldbut would not
credit itthat the Grecian slave I have seen with you here
in this very box was the daughter of Ali Pasha."

It is true, nevertheless.

Then,said MorrelI understand it all, and this scene
was premeditated.

How so?

Yes. Albert wrote to request me to come to the opera,
doubtless that I might be a witness to the insult he meant
to offer you.

Probably,said Monte Cristo with his imperturbable
tranquillity.

But what shall you do with him?

With whom?

With Albert.

What shall I do with Albert? As certainly, Maximilian, as I
now press your hand, I shall kill him before ten o'clock
to-morrow morning.Morrelin his turntook Monte Cristo's
hand in both of hisand he shuddered to feel how cold and
steady it was.

Ah, Count,said hehis father loves him so much!

Do not speak to me of that,said Monte Cristowith the
first movement of anger he had betrayed; "I will make him
suffer." Morrelamazedlet fall Monte Cristo's hand.
Count, count!said he.

Dear Maximilian,interrupted the countlisten how
adorably Duprez is singing that line, -


`O Mathilde! idole de mon ame!'

I was the first to discover Duprez at Naplesand the first


to applaud him. Bravobravo!" Morrel saw it was useless to
say moreand refrained. The curtainwhich had risen at the
close of the scene with Albertagain felland a rap was
heard at the door.

Come in,said Monte Cristo with a voice that betrayed not
the least emotion; and immediately Beauchamp appeared.
Good-evening, M. Beauchamp,said Monte Cristoas if this
was the first time he had seen the journalist that evening;
be seated.

Beauchamp bowedandsitting downSir,said heI just
now accompanied M. de Morcerf, as you saw.

And that means,replied Monte Cristolaughingthat you
had, probably, just dined together. I am happy to see, M.
Beauchamp, that you are more sober than he was.

Sir,said M. BeauchampAlbert was wrong, I acknowledge,
to betray so much anger, and I come, on my own account, to
apologize for him. And having done so, entirely on my own
account, be it understood, I would add that I believe you
too gentlemanly to refuse giving him some explanation
concerning your connection with Yanina. Then I will add two
words about the young Greek girl.Monte Cristo motioned him
to be silent. "Come said he, laughing, there are all my
hopes about to be destroyed."

How so?asked Beauchamp.

Doubtless you wish to make me appear a very eccentric
character. I am, in your opinion, a Lara, a Manfred, a Lord
Ruthven; then, just as I am arriving at the climax, you
defeat your own end, and seek to make an ordinary man of me.
You bring me down to your own level, and demand
explanations! Indeed, M. Beauchamp, it is quite laughable.

Yet,replied Beauchamp haughtilythere are occasions
when probity commands-


M. Beauchamp,interposed this strange manthe Count of
Monte Cristo bows to none but the Count of Monte Cristo
himself. Say no more, I entreat you. I do what I please, M.
Beauchamp, and it is always well done.

Sir,replied the young manhonest men are not to be paid
with such coin. I require honorable guaranties.

I am, sir, a living guaranty,replied Monte Cristo
motionlessbut with a threatening look; "we have both blood
in our veins which we wish to shed -- that is our mutual
guaranty. Tell the viscount soand that to-morrowbefore
ten o'clockI shall see what color his is."

Then I have only to make arrangements for the duel,said
Beauchamp.

It is quite immaterial to me,said Monte Cristoand it
was very unnecessary to disturb me at the opera for such a
trifle. In France people fight with the sword or pistol, in
the colonies with the carbine, in Arabia with the dagger.
Tell your client that, although I am the insulted party, in
order to carry out my eccentricity, I leave him the choice
of arms, and will accept without discussion, without


dispute, anything, even combat by drawing lots, which is
always stupid, but with me different from other people, as I
am sure to gain.


Sure to gain!repeated Beauchamplooking with amazement
at the count.


Certainly,said Monte Cristoslightly shrugging his
shoulders; "otherwise I would not fight with M. de Morcerf.
I shall kill him -- I cannot help it. Only by a single line
this evening at my house let me know the arms and the hour;
I do not like to be kept waiting."


Pistols, then, at eight o'clock, in the Bois de Vincennes,
said Beauchampquite disconcertednot knowing if he was
dealing with an arrogant braggadocio or a supernatural
being.


Very well, sir,said Monte Cristo. "Now all that is
settleddo let me see the performanceand tell your friend
Albert not to come any more this evening; he will hurt
himself with all his ill-chosen barbarisms: let him go home
and go to sleep." Beauchamp left the boxperfectly amazed.
Now,said Monte Cristoturning towards MorrelI may
depend upon you, may I not?


Certainly,said MorrelI am at your service, count;
still--


What?


It is desirable I should know the real cause.


That is to say, you would rather not?


No.


The young man himself is acting blindfolded, and knows not
the true cause, which is known only to God and to me; but I
give you my word, Morrel, that God, who does know it, will
be on our side.


Enough,said Morrel; "who is your second witness?"


I know no one in Paris, Morrel, on whom I could confer that
honor besides you and your brother Emmanuel. Do you think
Emmanuel would oblige me?


I will answer for him, count.


Well? that is all I require. To-morrow morning, at seven
o'clock, you will be with me, will you not?


We will.


Hush, the curtain is rising. Listen! I never lose a note of
this opera if I can avoid it; the music of William Tell is
so sweet.


Chapter 89
A Nocturnal Interview.



Monte Cristo waitedaccording to his usual customuntil
Duprez had sung his famous "Suivez-moi;" then he rose and
went out. Morrel took leave of him at the doorrenewing his
promise to be with him the next morning at seven o'clock
and to bring Emmanuel. Then he stepped into his coupecalm
and smilingand was at home in five minutes. No one who
knew the count could mistake his expression whenon
enteringhe saidAli, bring me my pistols with the ivory
cross.

Ali brought the box to his masterwho examined the weapons
with a solicitude very natural to a man who is about to
intrust his life to a little powder and shot. These were
pistols of an especial patternwhich Monte Cristo had had
made for target practice in his own room. A cap was
sufficient to drive out the bulletand from the adjoining
room no one would have suspected that the count wasas
sportsmen would saykeeping his hand in. He was just taking
one up and looking for the point to aim at on a little iron
plate which served him as a targetwhen his study door
openedand Baptistin entered. Before he had spoken a word
the count saw in the next room a veiled womanwho had
followed closely after Baptistinand nowseeing the count
with a pistol in his hand and swords on the tablerushed
in. Baptistin looked at his masterwho made a sign to him
and he went outclosing the door after him. "Who are you
madame?" said the count to the veiled woman.

The stranger cast one look around herto be certain that
they were quite alone; then bending as if she would have
kneltand joining her handsshe said with an accent of
despairEdmond, you will not kill my son?The count
retreated a steputtered a slight exclamationand let fall
the pistol he held. "What name did you pronounce then
Madame de Morcerf?" said he. "Yours!" cried shethrowing
back her veil-- "yourswhich I aloneperhapshave not
forgotten. Edmondit is not Madame de Morcerf who is come
to youit is Mercedes."

Mercedes is dead, madame,said Monte Cristo; "I know no
one now of that name."

Mercedes lives, sir, and she remembers, for she alone
recognized you when she saw you, and even before she saw
you, by your voice, Edmond, -- by the simple sound of your
voice; and from that moment she has followed your steps,
watched you, feared you, and she needs not to inquire what
hand has dealt the blow which now strikes M. de Morcerf.

Fernand, do you mean?replied Monte Cristowith bitter
irony; "since we are recalling nameslet us remember them
all." Monte Cristo had pronounced the name of Fernand with
such an expression of hatred that Mercedes felt a thrill of
horror run through every vein. "You seeEdmondI am not
mistakenand have cause to say`Spare my son!'"

And who told you, madame, that I have any hostile
intentions against your son?

No one, in truth; but a mother has twofold sight. I guessed
all; I followed him this evening to the opera, and,
concealed in a parquet box, have seen all.

If you have seen all, madame, you know that the son of


Fernand has publicly insulted me,said Monte Cristo with
awful calmness.

Oh, for pity's sake!

You have seen that he would have thrown his glove in my
face if Morrel, one of my friends, had not stopped him.

Listen to me, my son has also guessed who you are, -- he
attributes his father's misfortunes to you.

Madame, you are mistaken, they are not misfortunes, -- it
is a punishment. It is not I who strike M. de Morcerf; it is
providence which punishes him.

And why do you represent providence?cried Mercedes. "Why
do you remember when it forgets? What are Yanina and its
vizier to youEdmond? What injury his Fernand Mondego done
you in betraying Ali Tepelini?"

Ah, madame,replied Monte Cristoall this is an affair
between the French captain and the daughter of Vasiliki. It
does not concern me, you are right; and if I have sworn to
revenge myself, it is not on the French captain, or the
Count of Morcerf, but on the fisherman Fernand, the husband
of Mercedes the Catalane.

Ah, sir!cried the countesshow terrible a vengeance for
a fault which fatality made me commit! -- for I am the only
culprit, Edmond, and if you owe revenge to any one, it is to
me, who had not fortitude to bear your absence and my
solitude.

But,exclaimed Monte Cristowhy was I absent? And why
were you alone?

Because you had been arrested, Edmond, and were a
prisoner.

And why was I arrested? Why was I a prisoner?

I do not know,said Mercedes. "You do notmadame; at
leastI hope not. But I will tell you. I was arrested and
became a prisoner becauseunder the arbor of La Reserve
the day before I was to marry youa man named Danglars
wrote this letterwhich the fisherman Fernand himself
posted." Monte Cristo went to a secretaryopened a drawer
by a springfrom which he took a paper which had lost its
original colorand the ink of which had become of a rusty
hue -- this he placed in the hands of Mercedes. It was
Danglars' letter to the king's attorneywhich the Count of
Monte Cristodisguised as a clerk from the house of Thomson
& Frenchhad taken from the file against Edmond Danteson
the day he had paid the two hundred thousand francs to M. de
Boville. Mercedes read with terror the following lines: -


The king's attorney is informed by a friend to the throne
and religion that one Edmond Dantes, second in command on
board the Pharaon, this day arrived from Smyrna, after
having touched at Naples and Porto-Ferrajo, is the bearer of
a letter from Murat to the usurper, and of another letter
from the usurper to the Bonapartist club in Paris. Ample
corroboration of this statement may be obtained by arresting
the above-mentioned Edmond Dantes, who either carries the


letter for Paris about with him, or has it at his father's
abode. Should it not be found in possession of either father
or son, then it will assuredly be discovered in the cabin
belonging to the said Dantes on board the Pharaon.

How dreadful!said Mercedespassing her hand across her
browmoist with perspiration; "and that letter" -


I bought it for two hundred thousand francs, madame,said
Monte Cristo; "but that is a triflesince it enables me to
justify myself to you."

And the result of that letter-


You well know, madame, was my arrest; but you do not know
how long that arrest lasted. You do not know that I remained
for fourteen years within a quarter of a league of you, in a
dungeon in the Chateau d'If. You do not know that every day
of those fourteen years I renewed the vow of vengeance which
I had made the first day; and yet I was not aware that you
had married Fernand, my calumniator, and that my father had
died of hunger!

Can it be?cried Mercedesshuddering.

That is what I heard on leaving my prison fourteen years
after I had entered it; and that is why, on account of the
living Mercedes and my deceased father, I have sworn to
revenge myself on Fernand, and -- I have revenged myself.

And you are sure the unhappy Fernand did that?

I am satisfied, madame, that he did what I have told you;
besides, that is not much more odious than that a Frenchman
by adoption should pass over to the English; that a Spaniard
by birth should have fought against the Spaniards; that a
stipendiary of Ali should have betrayed and murdered Ali.
Compared with such things, what is the letter you have just
read? -- a lover's deception, which the woman who has
married that man ought certainly to forgive; but not so the
lover who was to have married her. Well, the French did not
avenge themselves on the traitor, the Spaniards did not
shoot the traitor, Ali in his tomb left the traitor
unpunished; but I, betrayed, sacrificed, buried, have risen
from my tomb, by the grace of God, to punish that man. He
sends me for that purpose, and here I am.The poor woman's
head and arms fell; her legs bent under herand she fell on
her knees. "ForgiveEdmondforgive for my sakewho love
you still!"

The dignity of the wife checked the fervor of the lover and
the mother. Her forehead almost touched the carpetwhen the
count sprang forward and raised her. Then seated on a chair
she looked at the manly countenance of Monte Cristoon
which grief and hatred still impressed a threatening
expression. "Not crush that accursed race?" murmured he;
abandon my purpose at the moment of its accomplishment?
Impossible, madame, impossible!

Edmond,said the poor motherwho tried every meanswhen
I call you Edmond, why do you not call me Mercedes?

Mercedes!repeated Monte Cristo; "Mercedes! Well yesyou
are right; that name has still its charmsand this is the


first time for a long period that I have pronounced it so
distinctly. OhMercedesI have uttered your name with the
sigh of melancholywith the groan of sorrowwith the last
effort of despair; I have uttered it when frozen with cold
crouched on the straw in my dungeon; I have uttered it
consumed with heatrolling on the stone floor of my prison.
MercedesI must revenge myselffor I suffered fourteen
years-- fourteen years I weptI cursed; now I tell you
MercedesI must revenge myself."

The countfearing to yield to the entreaties of her he had
so ardently lovedcalled his sufferings to the assistance
of his hatred. "Revenge yourselfthenEdmond cried the
poor mother; but let your vengeance fall on the culprits
-- on himon mebut not on my son!"

It is written in the good book,said Monte Cristothat
the sins of the fathers shall fall upon their children to
the third and fourth generation. Since God himself dictated
those words to his prophet, why should I seek to make myself
better than God?

Edmond,continued Mercedeswith her arms extended towards
the countsince I first knew you, I have adored your name,
have respected your memory. Edmond, my friend, do not compel
me to tarnish that noble and pure image reflected
incessantly on the mirror of my heart. Edmond, if you knew
all the prayers I have addressed to God for you while I
thought you were living and since I have thought you must be
dead! Yes, dead, alas! I imagined your dead body buried at
the foot of some gloomy tower, or cast to the bottom of a
pit by hateful jailers, and I wept! What could I do for you,
Edmond, besides pray and weep? Listen; for ten years I
dreamed each night the same dream. I had been told that you
had endeavored to escape; that you had taken the place of
another prisoner; that you had slipped into the winding
sheet of a dead body; that you had been thrown alive from
the top of the Chateau d'If, and that the cry you uttered as
you dashed upon the rocks first revealed to your jailers
that they were your murderers. Well, Edmond, I swear to you,
by the head of that son for whom I entreat your pity, --
Edmond, for ten years I saw every night every detail of that
frightful tragedy, and for ten years I heard every night the
cry which awoke me, shuddering and cold. And I, too, Edmond
-- oh! believe me -- guilty as I was -- oh, yes, I, too,
have suffered much!

Have you known what it is to have your father starve to
death in your absence?cried Monte Cristothrusting his
hands into his hair; "have you seen the woman you loved
giving her hand to your rivalwhile you were perishing at
the bottom of a dungeon?"

No,interrupted Mercedesbut I have seen him whom I
loved on the point of murdering my son.Mercedes uttered
these words with such deep anguishwith an accent of such
intense despairthat Monte Cristo could not restrain a sob.
The lion was daunted; the avenger was conquered. "What do
you ask of me?" said he-- "your son's life? Wellhe shall
live!" Mercedes uttered a cry which made the tears start
from Monte Cristo's eyes; but these tears disappeared almost
instantaneouslyfordoubtlessGod had sent some angel to
collect them -- far more precious were they in his eyes than
the richest pearls of Guzerat and Ophir.


Oh,said sheseizing the count's hand and raising it to
her lips; "ohthank youthank youEdmond! Now you are
exactly what I dreamt you were-- the man I always loved.
Ohnow I may say so!"

So much the better,replied Monte Cristo; "as that poor
Edmond will not have long to be loved by you. Death is about
to return to the tombthe phantom to retire in darkness."

What do you say, Edmond?

I say, since you command me, Mercedes, I must die.

Die? and why so? Who talks of dying? Whence have you these
ideas of death?

You do not suppose that, publicly outraged in the face of a
whole theatre, in the presence of your friends and those of
your son -- challenged by a boy who will glory in my
forgiveness as if it were a victory -- you do not suppose
that I can for one moment wish to live. What I most loved
after you, Mercedes, was myself, my dignity, and that
strength which rendered me superior to other men; that
strength was my life. With one word you have crushed it, and
I die.

But the duel will not take place, Edmond, since you
forgive?

It will take place,said Monte Cristoin a most solemn
tone; "but instead of your son's blood to stain the ground
mine will flow." Mercedes shriekedand sprang towards Monte
Cristobutsuddenly stoppingEdmond,said shethere
is a God above us, since you live and since I have seen you
again; I trust to him from my heart. While waiting his
assistance I trust to your word; you have said that my son
should live, have you not?

Yes, madame, he shall live,said Monte Cristosurprised
that without more emotion Mercedes had accepted the heroic
sacrifice he made for her. Mercedes extended her hand to the
count.

Edmond,said sheand her eyes were wet with tears while
looking at him to whom she spokehow noble it is of you,
how great the action you have just performed, how sublime to
have taken pity on a poor woman who appealed to you with
every chance against her, Alas, I am grown old with grief
more than with years, and cannot now remind my Edmond by a
smile, or by a look, of that Mercedes whom he once spent so
many hours in contemplating. Ah, believe me, Edmond, as I
told you, I too have suffered much; I repeat, it is
melancholy to pass one's life without having one joy to
recall, without preserving a single hope; but that proves
that all is not yet over. No, it is not finished; I feel it
by what remains in my heart. Oh, I repeat it, Edmond; what
you have just done is beautiful -- it is grand; it is
sublime.

Do you say so now, Mercedes? -- then what would you say if
you knew the extent of the sacrifice I make to you? Suppose
that the Supreme Being, after having created the world and
fertilized chaos, had paused in the work to spare an angel


the tears that might one day flow for mortal sins from her
immortal eyes; suppose that when everything was in readiness
and the moment had come for God to look upon his work and
see that it was good -- suppose he had snuffed out the sun
and tossed the world back into eternal night -- then -- even
then, Mercedes, you could not imagine what I lose in
sacrificing my life at this moment.Mercedes looked at the
count in a way which expressed at the same time her
astonishmenther admirationand her gratitude. Monte
Cristo pressed his forehead on his burning handsas if his
brain could no longer bear alone the weight of its thoughts.
Edmond,said MercedesI have but one word more to say to
you.The count smiled bitterly. "Edmond continued she,
you will see that if my face is paleif my eyes are dull
if my beauty is gone; if Mercedesin shortno longer
resembles her former self in her featuresyou will see that
her heart is still the same. AdieuthenEdmond; I have
nothing more to ask of heaven -- I have seen you againand
have found you as noble and as great as formerly you were.
AdieuEdmondadieuand thank you."

But the count did not answer. Mercedes opened the door of
the study and had disappeared before he had recovered from
the painful and profound revery into which his thwarted
vengeance had plunged him. The clock of the Invalides struck
one when the carriage which conveyed Madame de Morcerf away
rolled on the pavement of the Champs-Elyseesand made Monte
Cristo raise his head. "What a fool I was said he, not to
tear my heart out on the day when I resolved to avenge
myself!"

Chapter 90
The Meeting.

After Mercedes had left Monte Cristohe fell into profound
gloom. Around him and within him the flight of thought
seemed to have stopped; his energetic mind slumberedas the
body does after extreme fatigue. "What?" said he to himself
while the lamp and the wax lights were nearly burnt outand
the servants were waiting impatiently in the anteroom;
what? this edifice which I have been so long preparing,
which I have reared with so much care and toil, is to be
crushed by a single touch, a word, a breath! Yes, this self,
of whom I thought so much, of whom I was so proud, who had
appeared so worthless in the dungeons of the Chateau d'If,
and whom I had succeeded in making so great, will be but a
lump of clay to-morrow. Alas, it is not the death of the
body I regret; for is not the destruction of the vital
principle, the repose to which everything is tending, to
which every unhappy being aspires, -- is not this the repose
of matter after which I so long sighed, and which I was
seeking to attain by the painful process of starvation when
Faria appeared in my dungeon? What is death for me? One step
farther into rest, -- two, perhaps, into silence.

Noit is not existencethenthat I regretbut the ruin
of projects so slowly carried outso laboriously framed.
Providence is now opposed to themwhen I most thought it
would be propitious. It is not God's will that they should
be accomplished. This burdenalmost as heavy as a world
which I had raisedand I had thought to bear to the end
was too great for my strengthand I was compelled to lay it


down in the middle of my career. Ohshall I thenagain
become a fatalistwhom fourteen years of despair and ten of
hope had rendered a believer in providence? And all this -all
thisbecause my heartwhich I thought deadwas only
sleeping; because it has awakened and has begun to beat
againbecause I have yielded to the pain of the emotion
excited in my breast by a woman's voice. Yet continued the
count, becoming each moment more absorbed in the
anticipation of the dreadful sacrifice for the morrow, which
Mercedes had accepted, yetit is impossible that so
noble-minded a woman should thus through selfishness consent
to my death when I am in the prime of life and strength; it
is impossible that she can carry to such a point maternal
loveor rather delirium. There are virtues which become
crimes by exaggeration. Noshe must have conceived some
pathetic scene; she will come and throw herself between us;
and what would be sublime here will there appear
ridiculous." The blush of pride mounted to the count's
forehead as this thought passed through his mind.
Ridiculous?repeated he; "and the ridicule will fall on
me. I ridiculous? NoI would rather die."

By thus exaggerating to his own mind the anticipated
ill-fortune of the next dayto which he had condemned
himself by promising Mercedes to spare her sonthe count at
last exclaimedFolly, folly, folly! -- to carry generosity
so far as to put myself up as a mark for that young man to
aim at. He will never believe that my death was suicide; and
yet it is important for the honor of my memory, -- and this
surely is not vanity, but a justifiable pride, -- it is
important the world should know that I have consented, by my
free will, to stop my arm, already raised to strike, and
that with the arm which has been so powerful against others
I have struck myself. It must be; it shall be.

Seizing a penhe drew a paper from a secret drawer in his
deskand wrote at the bottom of the document (which was no
other than his willmade since his arrival in Paris) a sort
of codicilclearly explaining the nature of his death. "I
do thisO my God said he, with his eyes raised to heaven,
as much for thy honor as for mine. I have during ten years
considered myself the agent of thy vengeanceand other
wretcheslike MorcerfDanglarsVilleforteven Morcerf
himselfmust not imagine that chance has freed them from
their enemy. Let them knowon the contrarythat their
punishmentwhich had been decreed by providenceis only
delayed by my present determinationand although they
escape it in this worldit awaits them in anotherand that
they are only exchanging time for eternity."

While he was thus agitated by gloomy uncertainties-wretched
waking dreams of grief-- the first rays of
morning pierced his windowsand shone upon the pale blue
paper on which he had just inscribed his justification of
providence. It was just five o'clock in the morning when a
slight noise like a stifled sigh reached his ear. He turned
his headlooked around himand saw no one; but the sound
was repeated distinctly enough to convince him of its
reality.

He aroseand quietly opening the door of the drawing-room
saw Haideewho had fallen on a chairwith her arms hanging
down and her beautiful head thrown back. She had been
standing at the doorto prevent his going out without


seeing heruntil sleepwhich the young cannot resisthad
overpowered her framewearied as she was with watching. The
noise of the door did not awaken herand Monte Cristo gazed
at her with affectionate regret. "She remembered that she
had a son said he; and I forgot I had a daughter." Then
shaking his head sorrowfullyPoor Haidee,said he; "she
wished to see meto speak to me; she has feared or guessed
something. OhI cannot go without taking leave of her; I
cannot die without confiding her to some one." He quietly
regained his seatand wrote under the other lines: -


I bequeath to Maximilian Morrel, captain of Spahis, -- and
son of my former patron, Pierre Morrel, shipowner at
Marseilles, -- the sum of twenty millions, a part of which
may be offered to his sister Julia and brother-in-law
Emmanuel, if he does not fear this increase of fortune may
mar their happiness. These twenty millions are concealed in
my grotto at Monte Cristo, of which Bertuccio knows the
secret. If his heart is free, and he will marry Haidee, the
daughter of Ali Pasha of Yanina, whom I have brought up with
the love of a father, and who has shown the love and
tenderness of a daughter for me, he will thus accomplish my
last wish. This will has already constituted Haidee heiress
of the rest of my fortune, consisting of lands, funds in
England, Austria, and Holland, furniture in my different
palaces and houses, and which without the twenty millions
and the legacies to my servants, may still amount to sixty
millions.

He was finishing the last line when a cry behind him made
him startand the pen fell from his hand. "Haidee said
he. did you read it?"

Oh, my lord,said shewhy are you writing thus at such
an hour? Why are you bequeathing all your fortune to me? Are
you going to leave me?

I am going on a journey, dear child,said Monte Cristo
with an expression of infinite tenderness and melancholy;
and if any misfortune should happen to me

The count stopped. "Well?" asked the young girlwith an
authoritative tone the count had never observed beforeand
which startled him. "Wellif any misfortune happen to me
replied Monte Cristo, I wish my daughter to be happy."
Haidee smiled sorrowfullyand shook her head. "Do you think
of dyingmy lord?" said she.

The wise man, my child, has said, `It is good to think of
death.'

Well, if you die,said shebequeath your fortune to
others, for if you die I shall require nothing;andtaking
the papershe tore it in four piecesand threw it into the
middle of the room. Thenthe effort having exhausted her
strengthshe fell not asleep this timebut fainting on the
floor. The count leaned over her and raised her in his arms;
and seeing that sweet pale facethose lovely eyes closed
that beautiful form motionless and to all appearance
lifelessthe idea occurred to him for the first timethat
perhaps she loved him otherwise than as a daughter loves a
father.

Alas,murmured hewith intense sufferingI might, then,


have been happy yet.Then he carried Haidee to her room
resigned her to the care of her attendantsand returning to
his studywhich he shut quickly this timehe again copied
the destroyed will. As he was finishingthe sound of a
cabriolet entering the yard was heard. Monte Cristo
approached the windowand saw Maximilian and Emmanuel
alight. "Good said he; it was time -- and he sealed his
will with three seals. A moment afterwards he heard a noise
in the drawing-room, and went to open the door himself.
Morrel was there; he had come twenty minutes before the time
appointed. I am perhaps come too sooncount said he,
but I frankly acknowledge that I have not closed my eyes
all nightnor has any one in my house. I need to see you
strong in your courageous assuranceto recover myself."
Monte Cristo could not resist this proof of affection; he
not only extended his hand to the young manbut flew to him
with open arms. "Morrel said he, it is a happy day for
meto feel that I am beloved by such a man as you.
Good-morningEmmanuel; you will come with me then
Maximilian?"

Did you doubt it?said the young captain.

But if I were wrong-


I watched you during the whole scene of that challenge
yesterday; I have been thinking of your firmness all night,
and I said to myself that justice must be on your side, or
man's countenance is no longer to be relied on.

But, Morrel, Albert is your friend?

Simply an acquaintance, sir.

You met on the same day you first saw me?

Yes, that is true; but I should not have recollected it if
you had not reminded me.

Thank you, Morrel.Then ringing the bell onceLook.
said he to Aliwho came immediatelytake that to my
solicitor. It is my will, Morrel. When I am dead, you will
go and examine it.

What?said Morrelyou dead?

Yes; must I not be prepared for everything, dear friend?
But what did you do yesterday after you left me?

I went to Tortoni's, where, as I expected, I found
Beauchamp and Chateau-Renaud. I own I was seeking them.

Why, when all was arranged?

Listen, count; the affair is serious and unavoidable.

Did you doubt it!

No; the offence was public, and every one is already
talking of it.

Well?

Well, I hoped to get an exchange of arms, -- to substitute


the sword for the pistol; the pistol is blind.

Have you succeeded?asked Monte Cristo quicklywith an
imperceptible gleam of hope.

No; for your skill with the sword is so well known.

Ah? -- who has betrayed me?

The skilful swordsman whom you have conquered.

And you failed?

They positively refused.

Morrel,said the counthave you ever seen me fire a
pistol?

Never.

Well, we have time; look.Monte Cristo took the pistols he
held in his hand when Mercedes enteredand fixing an ace of
clubs against the iron platewith four shots he
successively shot off the four sides of the club. At each
shot Morrel turned pale. He examined the bullets with which
Monte Cristo performed this dexterous featand saw that
they were no larger than buckshot. "It is astonishing said
he. LookEmmanuel." Then turning towards Monte Cristo
Count,said hein the name of all that is dear to you, I
entreat you not to kill Albert! -- the unhappy youth has a
mother.

You are right,said Monte Cristo; "and I have none." These
words were uttered in a tone which made Morrel shudder. "You
are the offended partycount."

Doubtless; what does that imply?

That you will fire first.

I fire first?

Oh, I obtained, or rather claimed that; we had conceded
enough for them to yield us that.

And at what distance?

Twenty paces.A smile of terrible import passed over the
count's lips. "Morrel said he, do not forget what you
have just seen."

The only chance for Albert's safety, then, will arise from
your emotion.

I suffer from emotion?said Monte Cristo.

Or from your generosity, my friend; to so good a marksman
as you are, I may say what would appear absurd to another.

What is that?

Break his arm -- wound him -- but do not kill him.

I will tell you, Morrel,said the countthat I do not


need entreating to spare the life of M. de Morcerf; he shall
be so well spared, that he will return quietly with his two
friends, while I-


And you?

That will be another thing; I shall be brought home.

No, no,cried Maximilianquite unable to restrain his
feelings.

As I told you, my dear Morrel, M. de Morcerf will kill me.
Morrel looked at him in utter amazement. "But what has
happenedthensince last eveningcount?"

The same thing that happened to Brutus the night before the
battle of Philippi; I have seen a ghost.

And that ghost-


Told me, Morrel, that I had lived long enough.Maximilian
and Emmanuel looked at each other. Monte Cristo drew out his
watch. "Let us go said he; it is five minutes past seven
and the appointment was for eight o'clock." A carriage was
in readiness at the door. Monte Cristo stepped into it with
his two friends. He had stopped a moment in the passage to
listen at a doorand Maximilian and Emmanuelwho had
considerately passed forward a few stepsthought they heard
him answer by a sigh to a sob from within. As the clock
struck eight they drove up to the place of meeting. "We are
first said Morrel, looking out of the window. Excuse me
sir said Baptistin, who had followed his master with
indescribable terror, but I think I see a carriage down
there under the trees."

Monte Cristo sprang lightly from the carriageand offered
his hand to assist Emmanuel and Maximilian. The latter
retained the count's hand between his. "I like said he,
to feel a hand like thiswhen its owner relies on the
goodness of his cause."

It seems to me,said Emmanuelthat I see two young men
down there, who are evidently, waiting.Monte Cristo drew
Morrel a step or two behind his brother-in-law.
Maximilian,said heare your affections disengaged?
Morrel looked at Monte Cristo with astonishment. "I do not
seek your confidencemy dear friend. I only ask you a
simple question; answer it; -- that is all I require."

I love a young girl, count.

Do you love her much?

More than my life.

Another hope defeated!said the count. Thenwith a sigh
Poor Haidee!murmured he.

To tell the truth, count, if I knew less of you, I should
think that you were less brave than you are.

Because I sigh when thinking of some one I am leaving?
Come, Morrel, it is not like a soldier to be so bad a judge
of courage. Do I regret life? What is it to me, who have


passed twenty years between life and death? Moreover, do not
alarm yourself, Morrel; this weakness, if it is such, is
betrayed to you alone. I know the world is a drawing-room,
from which we must retire politely and honestly; that is,
with a bow, and our debts of honor paid.

That is to the purpose. Have you brought your arms?

I? -- what for? I hope these gentlemen have theirs.

I will inquire,said Morrel.

Do; but make no treaty -- you understand me?

You need not fear.Morrel advanced towards Beauchamp and
Chateau-Renaudwhoseeing his intentioncame to meet him.
The three young men bowed to each other courteouslyif not
affably.

Excuse me, gentlemen,said Morrelbut I do not see M. de
Morcerf.

He sent us word this morning,replied Chateau-Renaud
that he would meet us on the ground.

Ah,said Morrel. Beauchamp pulled out his watch. "It is
only five minutes past eight said he to Morrel; there is
not much time lost yet."

Oh, I made no allusion of that kind,replied Morrel.

There is a carriage coming,said Chateau-Renaud. It
advanced rapidly along one of the avenues leading towards
the open space where they were assembled. "You are doubtless
provided with pistolsgentlemen? M. de Monte Cristo yields
his right of using his."

We had anticipated this kindness on the part of the count,
said Beauchampand I have brought some weapons which I
bought eight or ten days since, thinking to want them on a
similar occasion. They are quite new, and have not yet been
used. Will you examine them.

Oh, M. Beauchamp, if you assure me that M. de Morcerf does
not know these pistols, you may readily believe that your
word will be quite sufficient.

Gentlemen,said Chateau-Renaudit is not Morcerf coming
in that carriage; -- faith, it is Franz and Debray!The two
young men he announced were indeed approaching. "What chance
brings you heregentlemen?" said Chateau-Renaudshaking
hands with each of them. "Because said Debray, Albert
sent this morning to request us to come." Beauchamp and
Chateau-Renaud exchanged looks of astonishment. "I think I
understand his reason said Morrel.

What is it?"

Yesterday afternoon I received a letter from M. de Morcerf,
begging me to attend the opera.

And I,said Debray.

And I also,said Franz.


And we, too,added Beauchamp and Chateau-Renaud.

Having wished you all to witness the challenge, he now
wishes you to be present at the combat.

Exactly so,said the young men; "you have probably guessed
right."

But, after all these arrangements, he does not come
himself,said Chateau-Renaud. "Albert is ten minutes after
time."

There he comes,said Beauchampon horseback, at full
gallop, followed by a servant.

How imprudent,said Chateau-Renaudto come on horseback
to fight a duel with pistols, after all the instructions I
had given him.

And besides,said Beauchampwith a collar above his
cravat, an open coat and white waistcoat! Why has he not
painted a spot upon his heart? -- it would have been more
simple.Meanwhile Albert had arrived within ten paces of
the group formed by the five young men. He jumped from his
horsethrew the bridle on his servant's armsand joined
them. He was paleand his eyes were red and swollen; it was
evident that he had not slept. A shade of melancholy gravity
overspread his countenancewhich was not natural to him. "I
thank yougentlemen said he, for having complied with my
request; I feel extremely grateful for this mark of
friendship." Morrel had stepped back as Morcerf approached
and remained at a short distance. "And to you alsoM.
Morrelmy thanks are due. Comethere cannot be too many."

Sir,said Maximilianyou are not perhaps aware that I am

M. de Monte Cristo's friend?
I was not sure, but I thought it might be so. So much the
better; the more honorable men there are here the better I
shall be satisfied.

M. Morrel,said Chateau-Renaudwill you apprise the
Count of Monte Cristo that M. de Morcerf is arrived, and we
are at his disposal?Morrel was preparing to fulfil his
commission. Beauchamp had meanwhile drawn the box of pistols
from the carriage. "Stopgentlemen said Albert; I have
two words to say to the Count of Monte Cristo."

In private?asked Morrel.

No, sir; before all who are here.

Albert's witnesses looked at each other. Franz and Debray
exchanged some words in a whisperand Morrelrejoiced at
this unexpected incidentwent to fetch the countwho was
walking in a retired path with Emmanuel. "What does he want
with me?" said Monte Cristo.

I do not know, but he wishes to speak to you.

Ah?said Monte CristoI trust he is not going to tempt
me by some fresh insult!


I do not think that such is his intention,said Morrel.

The count advancedaccompanied by Maximilian and Emmanuel.
His calm and serene look formed a singular contrast to
Albert's grief-stricken facewho approached alsofollowed
by the other four young men. When at three paces distant
from each otherAlbert and the count stopped.

Approach, gentlemen,said Albert; "I wish you not to lose
one word of what I am about to have the honor of saying to
the Count of Monte Cristofor it must be repeated by you to
all who will listen to itstrange as it may appear to you."

Proceed, sir,said the count.

Sir,said Albertat first with a tremulous voicebut
which gradually because firmerI reproached you with
exposing the conduct of M. de Morcerf in Epirus, for guilty
as I knew he was, I thought you had no right to punish him;
but I have since learned that you had that right. It is not
Fernand Mondego's treachery towards Ali Pasha which induces
me so readily to excuse you, but the treachery of the
fisherman Fernand towards you, and the almost unheard-of
miseries which were its consequences; and I say, and
proclaim it publicly, that you were justified in revenging
yourself on my father, and I, his son, thank you for not
using greater severity.

Had a thunderbolt fallen in the midst of the spectators of
this unexpected sceneit would not have surprised them more
than did Albert's declaration. As for Monte Cristohis eyes
slowly rose towards heaven with an expression of infinite
gratitude. He could not understand how Albert's fiery
natureof which he had seen so much among the Roman
banditshad suddenly stooped to this humiliation. He
recognized the influence of Mercedesand saw why her noble
heart had not opposed the sacrifice she knew beforehand
would be useless. "Nowsir said Albert, if you think my
apology sufficientpray give me your hand. Next to the
merit of infallibility which you appear to possessI rank
that of candidly acknowledging a fault. But this confession
concerns me only. I acted well as a manbut you have acted
better than man. An angel alone could have saved one of us
from death -- that angel came from heavenif not to make us
friends (whichalasfatality renders impossible)at least
to make us esteem each other."

Monte Cristowith moistened eyeheaving breastand lips
half openextended to Albert a hand which the latter
pressed with a sentiment resembling respectful fear.
Gentlemen,said heM. de Monte Cristo receives my
apology. I had acted hastily towards him. Hasty actions are
generally bad ones. Now my fault is repaired. I hope the
world will not call me cowardly for acting as my conscience
dictated. But if any one should entertain a false opinion of
me,added hedrawing himself up as if he would challenge
both friends and enemiesI shall endeavor to correct his
mistake.

What happened during the night?asked Beauchamp of
Chateau-Renaud; "we appear to make a very sorry figure
here."

In truth, what Albert has just done is either very


despicable or very noble,replied the baron.

What can it mean?said Debray to Franz. "The Count of
Monte Cristo acts dishonorably to M. de Morcerfand is
justified by his son! Had I ten Yaninas in my familyI
should only consider myself the more bound to fight ten
times." As for Monte Cristohis head was bent downhis
arms were powerless. Bowing under the weight of twenty-four
years' reminiscenceshe thought not of Albertof
Beauchampof Chateau-Renaudor of any of that group; but
he thought of that courageous woman who had come to plead
for her son's lifeto whom he had offered hisand who had
now saved it by the revelation of a dreadful family secret
capable of destroying forever in that young man's heart
every feeling of filial piety.

Providence still,murmured he; "now only am I fully
convinced of being the emissary of God!"

Chapter 91
Mother and Son.

The Count of Monte Cristo bowed to the five young men with a
melancholy and dignified smileand got into his carriage
with Maximilian and Emmanuel. AlbertBeauchampand
Chateau-Renaud remained alone. Albert looked at his two
friendsnot timidlybut in a way that appeared to ask
their opinion of what he had just done.

Indeed, my dear friend,said Beauchamp firstwho had
either the most feeling or the least dissimulationallow
me to congratulate you; this is a very unhoped-for
conclusion of a very disagreeable affair.

Albert remained silent and wrapped in thought.
Chateau-Renaud contented himself with tapping his boot with
his flexible cane. "Are we not going?" said heafter this
embarrassing silence. "When you please replied Beauchamp;
allow me only to compliment M. de Morcerfwho has given
proof to-day of rare chivalric generosity."

Oh, yes,said Chateau-Renaud.

It is magnificent,continued Beauchampto be able to
exercise so much self-control!

Assuredly; as for me, I should have been incapable of it,
said Chateau-Renaudwith most significant coolness.

Gentlemen,interrupted AlbertI think you did not
understand that something very serious had passed between M.
de Monte Cristo and myself.

Possibly, possibly,said Beauchamp immediately; "but every
simpleton would not be able to understand your heroismand
sooner or later you will find yourself compelled to explain
it to them more energetically than would be convenient to
your bodily health and the duration of your life. May I give
you a friendly counsel? Set out for Naplesthe Hagueor
St. Petersburg -- calm countrieswhere the point of honor
is better understood than among our hot-headed Parisians.
Seek quietude and oblivionso that you may return peaceably


to France after a few years. Am I not rightM. de
Chateau-Renaud?"

That is quite my opinion,said the gentleman; "nothing
induces serious duels so much as a duel forsworn."

Thank you, gentlemen,replied Albertwith a smile of
indifference; "I shall follow your advice -- not because you
give itbut because I had before intended to quit France. I
thank you equally for the service you have rendered me in
being my seconds. It is deeply engraved on my heartand
after what you have just saidI remember that only."
Chateau-Renaud and Beauchamp looked at each other; the
impression was the same on both of themand the tone in
which Morcerf had just expressed his thanks was so
determined that the position would have become embarrassing
for all if the conversation had continued.

Good-by, Albert,said Beauchamp suddenlycarelessly
extending his hand to the young man. The latter did not
appear to arouse from his lethargy; in facthe did not
notice the offered hand. "Good-by said Chateau-Renaud in
his turn, keeping his little cane in his left hand, and
saluting with his right. Albert's lips scarcely whispered
Good-by but his look was more explicit; it expressed a
whole poem of restrained anger, proud disdain, and generous
indignation. He preserved his melancholy and motionless
position for some time after his two friends had regained
their carriage; then suddenly unfastening his horse from the
little tree to which his servant had tied it, he mounted and
galloped off in the direction of Paris.

In a quarter of an hour he was entering the house in the Rue
du Helder. As he alighted, he thought he saw his father's
pale face behind the curtain of the count's bedroom. Albert
turned away his head with a sigh, and went to his own
apartments. He cast one lingering look on all the luxuries
which had rendered life so easy and so happy since his
infancy; he looked at the pictures, whose faces seemed to
smile, and the landscapes, which appeared painted in
brighter colors. Then he took away his mother's portrait,
with its oaken frame, leaving the gilt frame from which he
took it black and empty. Then he arranged all his beautiful
Turkish arms, his fine English guns, his Japanese china, his
cups mounted in silver, his artistic bronzes by Feucheres
and Barye; examined the cupboards, and placed the key in
each; threw into a drawer of his secretary, which he left
open, all the pocket-money he had about him, and with it the
thousand fancy jewels from his vases and his jewel-boxes;
then he made an exact inventory of everything, and placed it
in the most conspicuous part of the table, after putting
aside the books and papers which had collected there.

At the beginning of this work, his servant, notwithstanding
orders to the contrary, came to his room. What do you
want?" asked hewith a more sorrowful than angry tone.
Pardon me, sir,replied the valet; "you had forbidden me
to disturb youbut the Count of Morcerf has called me."

Well!said Albert.

I did not like to go to him without first seeing you.

Why?


Because the count is doubtless aware that I accompanied you
to the meeting this morning.

It is probable,said Albert.

And since he has sent for me, it is doubtless to question
me on what happened there. What must I answer?

The truth.

Then I shall say the duel did not take place?

You will say I apologized to the Count of Monte Cristo.
Go.

The valet bowed and retiredand Albert returned to his
inventory. As he was finishing this workthe sound of
horses prancing in the yardand the wheels of a carriage
shaking his windowattracted his attention. He approached
the windowand saw his father get into itand drive away.
The door was scarcely closed when Albert bent his steps to
his mother's room; andno one being there to announce him
he advanced to her bed-chamberand distressed by what he
saw and guessedstopped for one moment at the door. As if
the same idea had animated these two beingsMercedes was
doing the same in her apartments that he had just done in
his. Everything was in order-- lacesdressesjewels
linenmoneyall were arranged in the drawersand the
countess was carefully collecting the keys. Albert saw all
these preparations and understood themand exclaimingMy
mother!he threw his arms around her neck.

The artist who could have depicted the expression of these
two countenances would certainly have made of them a
beautiful picture. All these proofs of an energetic
resolutionwhich Albert did not fear on his own account
alarmed him for his mother. "What are you doing?" asked he.

What were you doing?replied she.

Oh, my mother!exclaimed Albertso overcome he could
scarcely speak; "it is not the same with you and me -- you
cannot have made the same resolution I havefor I have come
to warn you that I bid adieu to your houseand -- and to
you."

I also,replied Mercedesam going, and I acknowledge I
had depended on your accompanying me; have I deceived
myself?

Mother,said Albert with firmness. "I cannot make you
share the fate I have planned for myself. I must live
henceforth without rank and fortuneand to begin this hard
apprenticeship I must borrow from a friend the loaf I shall
eat until I have earned one. Somy dear motherI am going
at once to ask Franz to lend me the small sum I shall
require to supply my present wants."

You, my poor child, suffer poverty and hunger? Oh, do not
say so; it will break my resolutions.

But not mine, mother,replied Albert. "I am young and
strong; I believe I am courageousand since yesterday I


have learned the power of will. Alasmy dear mothersome
have suffered so muchand yet liveand have raised a new
fortune on the ruin of all the promises of happiness which
heaven had made them -- on the fragments of all the hope
which God had given them! I have seen thatmother; I know
that from the gulf in which their enemies have plunged them
they have risen with so much vigor and glory that in their
turn they have ruled their former conquerorsand have
punished them. No. mother; from this moment I have done with
the pastand accept nothing from it -- not even a name
because you can understand that your son cannot bear the
name of a man who ought to blush for it before another."

Albert, my child,said Mercedesif I had a stronger
heart that is the counsel I would have given you; your
conscience has spoken when my voice became too weak; listen
to its dictates. You had friends, Albert; break off their
acquaintance. But do not despair; you have life before you,
my dear Albert, for you are yet scarcely twenty-two years
old; and as a pure heart like yours wants a spotless name,
take my father's -- it was Herrera. I am sure, my dear
Albert, whatever may be your career, you will soon render
that name illustrious. Then, my son, return to the world
still more brilliant because of your former sorrows; and if
I am wrong, still let me cherish these hopes, for I have no
future to look forward to. For me the grave opens when I
pass the threshold of this house.

I will fulfil all your wishes, my dear mother,said the
young man. "YesI share your hopes; the anger of heaven
will not pursue ussince you are pure and I am innocent.
Butsince our resolution is formedlet us act promptly. M.
de Morcerf went out about half an hour ago; the opportunity
in favorable to avoid an explanation."

I am ready, my son,said Mercedes. Albert ran to fetch a
carriage. He recollected that there was a small furnished
house to let in the Rue de Saints Pereswhere his mother
would find a humble but decent lodgingand thither he
intended conducting the countess. As the carriage stopped at
the doorand Albert was alightinga man approached and
gave him a letter. Albert recognized the bearer. "From the
count said Bertuccio. Albert took the letter, opened, and
read it, then looked round for Bertuccio, but he was gone.
He returned to Mercedes with tears in his eyes and heaving
breast, and without uttering a word he gave her the letter.
Mercedes read: --

Albert, -- While showing you that I have discovered your
plans, I hope also to convince you of my delicacy. You are
free, you leave the count's house, and you take your mother
to your home; but reflect, Albert, you owe her more than
your poor noble heart can pay her. Keep the struggle for
yourself, bear all the suffering, but spare her the trial of
poverty which must accompany your first efforts; for she
deserves not even the shadow of the misfortune which has
this day fallen on her, and providence is not willing that
the innocent should suffer for the guilty. I know you are
going to leave the Rue du Helder without taking anything
with you. Do not seek to know how I discovered it; I know it
-- that is sufficient.

Now, listen, Albert. Twenty-four years ago I returned, proud
and joyful, to my country. I had a betrothed, Albert, a


lovely girl whom I adored, and I was bringing to my
betrothed a hundred and fifty louis, painfully amassed by
ceaseless toil. This money was for her; I destined it for
her, and, knowing the treachery of the sea I buried our
treasure in the little garden of the house my father lived
in at Marseilles, on the Allees de Meillan. Your mother,
Albert, knows that poor house well. A short time since I
passed through Marseilles, and went to see the old place,
which revived so many painful recollections; and in the
evening I took a spade and dug in the corner of the garden
where I had concealed my treasure. The iron box was there -no
one had touched it -- under a beautiful fig-tree my
father had planted the day I was born, which overshadowed
the spot. Well, Albert, this money, which was formerly
designed to promote the comfort and tranquillity of the
woman I adored, may now, through strange and painful
circumstances, be devoted to the same purpose. Oh, feel for
me, who could offer millions to that poor woman, but who
return her only the piece of black bread forgotten under my
poor roof since the day I was torn from her I loved. You are
a generous man, Albert, but perhaps you may be blinded by
pride or resentment; if you refuse me, if you ask another
for what I have a right to offer you, I will say it is
ungenerous of you to refuse the life of your mother at the
hands of a man whose father was allowed by your father to
die in all the horrors of poverty and despair.

Albert stood pale and motionless to hear what his mother
would decide after she had finished reading this letter.
Mercedes turned her eyes with an ineffable look towards
heaven. I accept it said she; he has a right to pay the
dowrywhich I shall take with me to some convent!" Putting
the letter in her bosomshe took her son's armand with a
firmer step than she even herself expected she went
down-stairs.

Chapter 92
The Suicide.

Meanwhile Monte Cristo had also returned to town with
Emmanuel and Maximilian. Their return was cheerful. Emmanuel
did not conceal his joy at the peaceful termination of the
affairand was loud in his expressions of delight. Morrel
in a corner of the carriageallowed his brother-in-law's
gayety to expend itself in wordswhile he felt equal inward
joywhichhoweverbetrayed itself only in his
countenance. At the Barriere du Trone they met Bertuccio
who was waiting theremotionless as a sentinel at his post.
Monte Cristo put his head out of the windowexchanged a few
words with him in a low toneand the steward disappeared.
Count,said Emmanuelwhen they were at the end of the
Place Royaleput me down at my door, that my wife may not
have a single moment of needless anxiety on my account or
yours.

If it were not ridiculous to make a display of our triumph,
I would invite the count to our house; besides that, he
doubtless has some trembling heart to comfort. So we will
take leave of our friend, and let him hasten home.

Stop a moment,said Monte Cristo; "do not let me lose both
my companions. ReturnEmmanuelto your charming wifeand


present my best compliments to her; and do youMorrel
accompany me to the Champs Elysees."

Willingly,said Maximilian; "particularly as I have
business in that quarter."

Shall we wait breakfast for you?asked Emmanuel.

No,replied the young man. The door was closedand the
carriage proceeded. "See what good fortune I brought you!"
said Morrelwhen he was alone with the count. "Have you not
thought so?"

Yes,said Monte Cristo; "for that reason I wished to keep
you near me."

It is miraculous!continued Morrelanswering his own
thoughts.

What?said Monte Cristo.

What has just happened.

Yes,said the Countyou are right -- it is miraculous.

For Albert is brave,resumed Morrel.

Very brave,said Monte Cristo; "I have seen him sleep with
a sword suspended over his head."

And I know he has fought two duels,said Morrel. "How can
you reconcile that with his conduct this morning?"

All owing to your influence,replied Monte Cristo
smiling.

It is well for Albert he is not in the army,said Morrel.

Why?

An apology on the ground!said the young captainshaking
his head.

Come,said the count mildlydo not entertain the
prejudices of ordinary men, Morrel! Acknowledge, that if
Albert is brave, he cannot be a coward; he must then have
had some reason for acting as he did this morning, and
confess that his conduct is more heroic than otherwise.

Doubtless, doubtless,said Morrel; "but I shall saylike
the Spaniard`He has not been so brave to-day as he was
yesterday.'"

You will breakfast with me, will you not, Morrel?said the
countto turn the conversation.

No; I must leave you at ten o'clock.

Your engagement was for breakfast, then?said the count.

Morrel smiledand shook his head. "Still you must breakfast
somewhere."

But if I am not hungry?said the young man.


Oh,said the countI only know two things which destroy
the appetite, -- grief -- and as I am happy to see you very
cheerful, it is not that -- and love. Now after what you
told me this morning of your heart, I may believe-


Well, count,replied Morrel gaylyI will not dispute
it.

But you will not make me your confidant, Maximilian?said
the countin a tone which showed how gladly he would have
been admitted to the secret.

I showed you this morning that I had a heart, did I not,
count?Monte Cristo only answered by extending his hand to
the young man. "Well continued the latter, since that
heart is no longer with you in the Bois de Vincennesit is
elsewhereand I must go and find it."

Go,said the count deliberately; "godear friendbut
promise me if you meet with any obstacle to remember that I
have some power in this worldthat I am happy to use that
power in the behalf of those I loveand that I love you
Morrel."

I will remember it,said the young manas selfish
children recollect their parents when they want their aid.
When I need your assistance, and the moment arrives, I will
come to you, count.

Well, I rely upon your promise. Good-by, then.

Good-by, till we meet again.They had arrived in the
Champs Elysees. Monte Cristo opened the carriage-door
Morrel sprang out on the pavementBertuccio was waiting on
the steps. Morrel disappeared down the Avenue de Marigny
and Monte Cristo hastened to join Bertuccio.

Well?asked he.

She is going to leave her house,said the steward.

And her son?

Florentin, his valet, thinks he is going to do the same.

Come this way.Monte Cristo took Bertuccio into his study
wrote the letter we have seenand gave it to the steward.
Go,said he quickly. "But firstlet Haidee be informed
that I have returned."

Here I am,said the young girlwho at the sound of the
carriage had run down-stairs and whose face was radiant with
joy at seeing the count return safely. Bertuccio left. Every
transport of a daughter finding a fatherall the delight of
a mistress seeing an adored loverwere felt by Haidee
during the first moments of this meetingwhich she had so
eagerly expected. Doubtlessalthough less evidentMonte
Cristo's joy was not less intense. Joy to hearts which have
suffered long is like the dew on the ground after a long
drought; both the heart and the ground absorb that
beneficent moisture falling on themand nothing is
outwardly apparent.


Monte Cristo was beginning to thinkwhat he had not for a
long time dared to believethat there were two Mercedes in
the worldand he might yet be happy. His eyeelate with
happinesswas reading eagerly the tearful gaze of Haidee
when suddenly the door opened. The count knit his brow. "M.
de Morcerf!" said Baptistinas if that name sufficed for
his excuse. In factthe count's face brightened.

Which,asked hethe viscount or the count?

The count.

Oh,exclaimed Haideeis it not yet over?

I know not if it is finished, my beloved child,said Monte
Cristotaking the young girl's hands; "but I do know you
have nothing more to fear."

But it is the wretched-


That man cannot injure me, Haidee,said Monte Cristo; "it
was his son alone that there was cause to fear."

And what I have suffered,said the young girlyou shall
never know, my lord.Monte Cristo smiled. "By my father's
tomb said he, extending his hand over the head of the
young girl, I swear to youHaideethat if any misfortune
happensit will not be to me."

I believe you, my lord, as implicitly as if God had spoken
to me,said the young girlpresenting her forehead to him.
Monte Cristo pressed on that pure beautiful forehead a kiss
which made two hearts throb at oncethe one violentlythe
other heavily. "Oh murmured the count, shall I then be
permitted to love again? Ask M. de Morcerf into the
drawing-room said he to Baptistin, while he led the
beautiful Greek girl to a private staircase.

We must explain this visit, which although expected by Monte
Cristo, is unexpected to our readers. While Mercedes, as we
have said, was making a similar inventory of her property to
Albert's, while she was arranging her jewels, shutting her
drawers, collecting her keys, to leave everything in perfect
order, she did not perceive a pale and sinister face at a
glass door which threw light into the passage, from which
everything could be both seen and heard. He who was thus
looking, without being heard or seen, probably heard and saw
all that passed in Madame de Morcerf's apartments. From that
glass door the pale-faced man went to the count's bedroom
and raised with a constricted hand the curtain of a window
overlooking the court-yard. He remained there ten minutes,
motionless and dumb, listening to the beating of his own
heart. For him those ten minutes were very long. It was then
Albert, returning from his meeting with the count, perceived
his father watching for his arrival behind a curtain, and
turned aside. The count's eye expanded; he knew Albert had
insulted the count dreadfully, and that in every country in
the world such an insult would lead to a deadly duel. Albert
returned safely -- then the count was revenged.

An indescribable ray of joy illumined that wretched
countenance like the last ray of the sun before it
disappears behind the clouds which bear the aspect, not of a
downy couch, but of a tomb. But as we have said, he waited


in vain for his son to come to his apartment with the
account of his triumph. He easily understood why his son did
not come to see him before he went to avenge his father's
honor; but when that was done, why did not his son come and
throw himself into his arms?

It was then, when the count could not see Albert, that he
sent for his servant, who he knew was authorized not to
conceal anything from him. Ten minutes afterwards, General
Morcerf was seen on the steps in a black coat with a
military collar, black pantaloons, and black gloves. He had
apparently given previous orders, for as he reached the
bottom step his carriage came from the coach-house ready for
him. The valet threw into the carriage his military cloak,
in which two swords were wrapped, and, shutting the door, he
took his seat by the side of the coachman. The coachman
stooped down for his orders.

To the Champs Elysees said the general; the Count of
Monte Cristo's. Hurry!" The horses bounded beneath the whip;
and in five minutes they stopped before the count's door. M.
de Morcerf opened the door himselfand as the carriage
rolled away he passed up the walkrangand entered the
open door with his servant.

A moment afterwardsBaptistin announced the Count of
Morcerf to Monte Cristoand the latterleading Haidee
asideordered that Morcerf be asked into the drawing-room.
The general was pacing the room the third time whenin
turninghe perceived Monte Cristo at the door. "Ahit is

M. de Morcerf said Monte Cristo quietly; I thought I had
not heard aright."
Yes, it is I,said the countwhom a frightful contraction
of the lips prevented from articulating freely.

May I know the cause which procures me the pleasure of
seeing M. de Morcerf so early?

Had you not a meeting with my son this morning?asked the
general.

I had,replied the count.

And I know my son had good reasons to wish to fight with
you, and to endeavor to kill you.

Yes, sir, he had very good ones; but you see that in spite
of them he has not killed me, and did not even fight.

Yet he considered you the cause of his father's dishonor,
the cause of the fearful ruin which has fallen on my house.

It is true, sir,said Monte Cristo with his dreadful
calmness; "a secondary causebut not the principal."

Doubtless you made, then, some apology or explanation?

I explained nothing, and it is he who apologized to me.

But to what do you attribute this conduct?

To the conviction, probably, that there was one more guilty
than I.


And who was that?

His father.

That may be,said the countturning pale; "but you know
the guilty do not like to find themselves convicted."

I know it, and I expected this result.

You expected my son would be a coward?cried the count.

M. Albert de Morcerf is no coward!said Monte Cristo.

A man who holds a sword in his hand, and sees a mortal
enemy within reach of that sword, and does not fight, is a
coward! Why is he not here that I may tell him so?

Sir.replied Monte Cristo coldlyI did not expect that
you had come here to relate to me your little family
affairs. Go and tell M. Albert that, and he may know what to
answer you.

Oh, no, no,said the generalsmiling faintlyI did not
come for that purpose; you are right. I came to tell you
that I also look upon you as my enemy. I came to tell you
that I hate you instinctively; that it seems as if I had
always known you, and always hated you; and, in short, since
the young people of the present day will not fight, it
remains for us to do so. Do you think so, sir?

Certainly. And when I told you I had foreseen the result,
it is the honor of your visit I alluded to.

So much the better. Are you prepared?

Yes, sir.

You know that we shall fight till one of us is dead,said
the generalwhose teeth were clinched with rage. "Until one
of us dies repeated Monte Cristo, moving his head slightly
up and down.

Let us startthen; we need no witnesses."

Very true,said Monte Cristo; "it is unnecessarywe know
each other so well!"

On the contrary,said the countwe know so little of
each other.

Indeed?said Monte Cristowith the same indomitable
coolness; "let us see. Are you not the soldier Fernand who
deserted on the eve of the battle of Waterloo? Are you not
the Lieutenant Fernand who served as guide and spy to the
French army in Spain? Are you not the Captain Fernand who
betrayedsoldand murdered his benefactorAli? And have
not all these Fernandsunitedmade Lieutenant-Generalthe
Count of Morcerfpeer of France?"

Oh,cried the generalas it branded with a hot iron
wretch, -- to reproach me with my shame when about,
perhaps, to kill me! No, I did not say I was a stranger to
you. I know well, demon, that you have penetrated into the


darkness of the past, and that you have read, by the light
of what torch I know not, every page of my life; but perhaps
I may be more honorable in my shame than you under your
pompous coverings. No -- no, I am aware you know me; but I
know you only as an adventurer sewn up in gold and
jewellery. You call yourself in Paris the Count of Monte
Cristo; in Italy, Sinbad the Sailor; in Malta, I forget
what. But it is your real name I want to know, in the midst
of your hundred names, that I may pronounce it when we meet
to fight, at the moment when I plunge my sword through your
heart.

The Count of Monte Cristo turned dreadfully pale; his eye
seemed to burn with a devouring fire. He leaped towards a
dressing-room near his bedroomand in less than a moment
tearing off his cravathis coat and waistcoathe put on a
sailor's jacket and hatfrom beneath which rolled his long
black hair. He returned thusformidable and implacable
advancing with his arms crossed on his breasttowards the
generalwho could not understand why he had disappeared
but who on seeing him againand feeling his teeth chatter
and his legs sink under himdrew backand only stopped
when he found a table to support his clinched hand.
Fernand,cried heof my hundred names I need only tell
you one, to overwhelm you! But you guess it now, do you not?
-- or, rather, you remember it? For, notwithstanding all my
sorrows and my tortures, I show you to-day a face which the
happiness of revenge makes young again -- a face you must
often have seen in your dreams since your marriage with
Mercedes, my betrothed!

The generalwith his head thrown backhands extendedgaze
fixedlooked silently at this dreadful apparition; then
seeking the wall to support himhe glided along close to it
until he reached the doorthrough which he went out
backwardsuttering this single mournfullamentable
distressing cry-- "Edmond Dantes!" Thenwith sighs which
were unlike any human soundhe dragged himself to the door
reeled across the court-yardand falling into the arms of
his valethe said in a voice scarcely intelligible-"
Homehome." The fresh air and the shame he felt at having
exposed himself before his servantspartly recalled his
sensesbut the ride was shortand as he drew near his
house all his wretchedness revived. He stopped at a short
distance from the house and alighted.

The door was wide opena hackney-coach was standing in the
middle of the yard -- a strange sight before so noble a
mansion; the count looked at it with terrorbut without
daring to inquire its meaninghe rushed towards his
apartment. Two persons were coming down the stairs; he had
only time to creep into an alcove to avoid them. It was
Mercedes leaning on her son's arm and leaving the house.
They passed close by the unhappy beingwhoconcealed
behind the damask curtainalmost felt Mercedes dress brush
past himand his son's warm breathpronouncing these
words-- "Couragemother! Comethis is no longer our
home!" The words died awaythe steps were lost in the
distance. The general drew himself upclinging to the
curtain; he uttered the most dreadful sob which ever escaped
from the bosom of a father abandoned at the same time by his
wife and son. He soon heard the clatter of the iron step of
the hackney-coachthen the coachman's voiceand then the
rolling of the heavy vehicle shook the windows. He darted to


his bedroom to see once more all he had loved in the world;
but the hackney-coach drove on and the head of neither
Mercedes nor her son appeared at the window to take a last
look at the house or the deserted father and husband. And at
the very moment when the wheels of that coach crossed the
gateway a report was heardand a thick smoke escaped
through one of the panes of the windowwhich was broken by
the explosion.

Chapter 93
Valentine.

We may easily conceive where Morrel's appointment was. On
leaving Monte Cristo he walked slowly towards Villefort's;
we say slowlyfor Morrel had more than half an hour to
spare to go five hundred stepsbut he had hastened to take
leave of Monte Cristo because he wished to be alone with his
thoughts. He knew his time well -- the hour when Valentine
was giving Noirtier his breakfastand was sure not to be
disturbed in the performance of this pious duty. Noirtier
and Valentine had given him leave to go twice a weekand he
was now availing himself of that permission. He had arrived;
Valentine was expecting him. Uneasy and almost crazedshe
seized his hand and led him to her grandfather. This
uneasinessamounting almost to frenzyarose from the
report Morcerf's adventure had made in the worldfor the
affair at the opera was generally known. No one at
Villefort's doubted that a duel would ensue from it.
Valentinewith her woman's instinctguessed that Morrel
would be Monte Cristo's secondand from the young man's
well-known courage and his great affection for the count
she feared that he would not content himself with the
passive part assigned to him. We may easily understand how
eagerly the particulars were asked forgivenand received;
and Morrel could read an indescribable joy in the eyes of
his belovedwhen she knew that the termination of this
affair was as happy as it was unexpected.

Now,said Valentinemotioning to Morrel to sit down near
her grandfatherwhile she took her seat on his footstool
-- "now let us talk about our own affairs. You know
Maximiliangrandpapa once thought of leaving this house
and taking an apartment away from M. de Villefort's."

Yes,said MaximilianI recollect the project, of which I
highly approved.

Well,said Valentineyou may approve again, for
grandpapa is again thinking of it.

Bravo,said Maximilian.

And do you know,said Valentinewhat reason grandpapa
gives for leaving this house.Noirtier looked at Valentine
to impose silencebut she did not notice him; her looks
her eyesher smilewere all for Morrel.

Oh, whatever may be M. Noirtier's reason,answered Morrel
I can readily believe it to be a good one.

An excellent one,said Valentine. "He pretends the air of
the Faubourg St. Honore is not good for me."


Indeed?said Morrel; "in that M. Noirtier may be right;
you have not seemed to be well for the last fortnight."

Not very,said Valentine. "And grandpapa has become my
physicianand I have the greatest confidence in him
because he knows everything."

Do you then really suffer?asked Morrel quickly.

Oh, it must not be called suffering; I feel a general
uneasiness, that is all. I have lost my appetite, and my
stomach feels as if it were struggling to get accustomed to
something.Noirtier did not lose a word of what Valentine
said. "And what treatment do you adopt for this singular
complaint?"

A very simple one,said Valentine. "I swallow every
morning a spoonful of the mixture prepared for my
grandfather. When I say one spoonfulI began by one -- now
I take four. Grandpapa says it is a panacea." Valentine
smiledbut it was evident that she suffered.

Maximilianin his devotednessgazed silently at her. She
was very beautifulbut her usual pallor had increased; her
eyes were more brilliant than everand her handswhich
were generally white like mother-of-pearlnow more
resembled waxto which time was adding a yellowish hue.
From Valentine the young man looked towards Noirtier. The
latter watched with strange and deep interest the young
girlabsorbed by her affectionand he alsolike Morrel
followed those traces of inward suffering which was so
little perceptible to a common observer that they escaped
the notice of every one but the grandfather and the lover.

But,said MorrelI thought this mixture, of which you
now take four spoonfuls, was prepared for M. Noirtier?

I know it is very bitter,said Valentine; "so bitterthat
all I drink afterwards appears to have the same taste."
Noirtier looked inquiringly at his granddaughter. "Yes
grandpapa said Valentine; it is so. Just nowbefore I
came down to youI drank a glass of sugared water; I left
halfbecause it seemed so bitter." Noirtier turned pale
and made a sign that he wished to speak. Valentine rose to
fetch the dictionary. Noirtier watched her with evident
anguish. In factthe blood was rushing to the young girl's
head alreadyher cheeks were becoming red. "Oh cried she,
without losing any of her cheerfulness, this is singular! I
can't see! Did the sun shine in my eyes?" And she leaned
against the window.

The sun is not shining,said Morrelmore alarmed by
Noirtier's expression than by Valentine's indisposition. He
ran towards her. The young girl smiled. "Cheer up said she
to Noirtier. Do not be alarmedMaximilian; it is nothing
and has already passed away. But listen! Do I not hear a
carriage in the court-yard?" She opened Noirtier's doorran
to a window in the passageand returned hastily. "Yes
said she, it is Madame Danglars and her daughterwho have
come to call on us. Good-by; -- I must run awayfor they
would send here for meorratherfarewell till I see you
again. Stay with grandpapaMaximilian; I promise you not to
persuade them to stay."


Morrel watched her as she left the room; he heard her ascend
the little staircase which led both to Madame de Villefort's
apartments and to hers. As soon as she was goneNoirtier
made a sign to Morrel to take the dictionary. Morrel obeyed;
guided by Valentinehe had learned how to understand the
old man quickly. Accustomedhoweveras he was to the work
he had to repeat most of the letters of the alphabet and to
find every word in the dictionaryso that it was ten
minutes before the thought of the old man was translated by
these wordsFetch the glass of water and the decanter from
Valentine's room.

Morrel rang immediately for the servant who had taken
Barrois's situationand in Noirtier's name gave that order.
The servant soon returned. The decanter and the glass were
completely empty. Noirtier made a sign that he wished to
speak. "Why are the glass and decanter empty?" asked he;
Valentine said she only drank half the glassful.The
translation of this new question occupied another five
minutes. "I do not know said the servant, but the
housemaid is in Mademoiselle Valentine's room: perhaps she
has emptied them."

Ask her,said Morreltranslating Noirtier's thought this
time by his look. The servant went outbut returned almost
immediately. "Mademoiselle Valentine passed through the room
to go to Madame de Villefort's said he; and in passing
as she was thirstyshe drank what remained in the glass; as
for the decanterMaster Edward had emptied that to make a
pond for his ducks." Noirtier raised his eyes to heavenas
a gambler does who stakes his all on one stroke. From that
moment the old man's eyes were fixed on the doorand did
not quit it.

It was indeed Madame Danglars and her daughter whom
Valentine had seen; they had been ushered into Madame de
Villefort's roomwho had said she would receive them there.
That is why Valentine passed through her roomwhich was on
a level with Valentine'sand only separated from it by
Edward's. The two ladies entered the drawing-room with that
sort of official stiffness which preludes a formal
communication. Among worldly people manner is contagious.
Madame de Villefort received them with equal solemnity.
Valentine entered at this momentand the formalities were
resumed. "My dear friend said the baroness, while the two
young people were shaking hands, I and Eugenie are come to
be the first to announce to you the approaching marriage of
my daughter with Prince Cavalcanti." Danglars kept up the
title of prince. The popular banker found that it answered
better than count. "Allow me to present you my sincere
congratulations replied Madame de Villefort. Prince
Cavalcanti appears to be a young man of rare qualities."

Listen,said the baronesssmiling; "speaking to you as a
friend I can say that the prince does not yet appear all he
will be. He has about him a little of that foreign manner by
which French persons recognizeat first sightthe Italian
or German nobleman. Besideshe gives evidence of great
kindness of dispositionmuch keenness of witand as to
suitabilityM. Danglars assures me that his fortune is
majestic -- that is his word."

And then,said Eugeniewhile turning over the leaves of


Madame de Villefort's albumadd that you have taken a
great fancy to the young man.

And,said Madame de VillefortI need not ask you if you
share that fancy.

I?replied Eugenie with her usual candor. "Ohnot the
least in the worldmadame! My wish was not to confine
myself to domestic caresor the caprices of any manbut to
be an artistand consequently free in heartin personand
in thought." Eugenie pronounced these words with so firm a
tone that the color mounted to Valentine's cheeks. The timid
girl could not understand that vigorous nature which
appeared to have none of the timidities of woman.

At any rate,said shesince I am to be married whether I
will or not, I ought to be thankful to providence for having
released me from my engagement with M. Albert de Morcerf, or
I should this day have been the wife of a dishonored man.

It is true,said the baronesswith that strange
simplicity sometimes met with among fashionable ladiesand
of which plebeian intercourse can never entirely deprive
them-- "it is very true that had not the Morcerfs
hesitatedmy daughter would have married Monsieur Albert.
The general depended much on it; he even came to force M.
Danglars. We have had a narrow escape."

But,said Valentinetimidlydoes all the father's shame
revert upon the son? Monsieur Albert appears to me quite
innocent of the treason charged against the general.

Excuse me,said the implacable young girlMonsieur
Albert claims and well deserves his share. It appears that
after having challenged M. de Monte Cristo at the Opera
yesterday, he apologized on the ground to-day.

Impossible,said Madame de Villefort.

Ah, my dear friend,said Madame Danglarswith the same
simplicity we before noticedit is a fact. I heard it from

M. Debray, who was present at the explanation.Valentine
also knew the truthbut she did not answer. A single word
had reminded her that Morrel was expecting her in M.
Noirtier's room. Deeply engaged with a sort of inward
contemplationValentine had ceased for a moment to join in
the conversation. She wouldindeedhave found it
impossible to repeat what had been said the last few
minuteswhen suddenly Madame Danglars' handpressed on her
armaroused her from her lethargy.
What is it?said shestarting at Madame Danglarstouch
as she would have done from an electric shock. "It ismy
dear Valentine said the baroness, that you are
doubtlesssuffering."

I?said the young girlpassing her hand across her
burning forehead.

Yes, look at yourself in that glass; you have turned pale
and then red successively, three or four times in one
minute.

Indeed,cried Eugenieyou are very pale!


Oh, do not be alarmed; I have been so for many days.
Artless as she wasthe young girl knew that this was an
opportunity to leaveand besidesMadame de Villefort came
to her assistance. "RetireValentine said she; you are
really sufferingand these ladies will excuse you; drink a
glass of pure waterit will restore you." Valentine kissed
Eugeniebowed to Madame Danglarswho had already risen to
take her leaveand went out. "That poor child said Madame
de Villefort when Valentine was gone, she makes me very
uneasyand I should not be astonished if she had some
serious illness."

MeanwhileValentinein a sort of excitement which she
could not quite understandhad crossed Edward's room
without noticing some trick of the childand through her
own had reached the little staircase. She was within three
steps of the bottom; she already heard Morrel's voicewhen
suddenly a cloud passed over her eyesher stiffened foot
missed the stepher hands had no power to hold the
balusterand falling against the wall she lost her balance
wholly and toppled to the floor. Morrel bounded to the door
opened itand found Valentine stretched out at the bottom
of the stairs. Quick as a flashhe raised her in his arms
and placed her in a chair. Valentine opened her eyes.

Oh, what a clumsy thing I am,said she with feverish
volubility; "I don't know my way. I forgot there were three
more steps before the landing."

You have hurt yourself, perhaps,said Morrel. "What can I
do for youValentine?" Valentine looked around her; she saw
the deepest terror depicted in Noirtier's eyes. "Don't
worrydear grandpapa said she, endeavoring to smile; it
is nothing -- it is nothing; I was giddythat is all."

Another attack of giddiness,said Morrelclasping his
hands. "Ohattend to itValentineI entreat you."

But no,said Valentine-- "noI tell you it is all past
and it was nothing. Nowlet me tell you some news; Eugenie
is to be married in a weekand in three days there is to be
a grand feasta betrothal festival. We are all invitedmy
fatherMadame de Villefortand I -- at leastI understood
it so."

When will it be our turn to think of these things? Oh,
Valentine, you who have so much influence over your
grandpapa, try to make him answer -- Soon.

And do you,said Valentinedepend on me to stimulate the
tardiness and arouse the memory of grandpapa?

Yes,cried Morrelmake haste. So long as you are not
mine, Valentine, I shall always think I may lose you.

Oh,replied Valentine with a convulsive movementoh,
indeed, Maximilian, you are too timid for an officer, for a
soldier who, they say, never knows fear. Ah, ha, ha!she
burst into a forced and melancholy laughher arms stiffened
and twistedher head fell back on her chairand she
remained motionless. The cry of terror which was stopped on
Noirtier's lipsseemed to start from his eyes. Morrel
understood it; he knew he must call assistance. The young


man rang the bell violently; the housemaid who had been in
Mademoiselle Valentine's roomand the servant who had
replaced Barroisran in at the same moment. Valentine was
so paleso coldso inanimate that without listening to
what was said to them they were seized with the fear which
pervaded that houseand they flew into the passage crying
for help. Madame Danglars and Eugenie were going out at that
moment; they heard the cause of the disturbance. "I told you
so!" exclaimed Madame de Villefort. "Poor child!"

Chapter 94
Maximilian's Avowal.

At the same moment M. de Villefort's voice was heard calling
from his studyWhat is the matter?Morrel looked at
Noirtier who had recovered his self-commandand with a
glance indicated the closet where once before under somewhat
similar circumstanceshe had taken refuge. He had only time
to get his hat and throw himself breathless into the closet
when the procureur's footstep was heard in the passage.
Villefort sprang into the roomran to Valentineand took
her in his arms. "A physiciana physician-- M.
d'Avrigny!" cried Villefort; "or rather I will go for him
myself." He flew from the apartmentand Morrel at the same
moment darted out at the other door. He had been struck to
the heart by a frightful recollection -- the conversation he
had heard between the doctor and Villefort the night of
Madame de Saint-Meran's deathrecurred to him; these
symptomsto a less alarming extentwere the same which had
preceded the death of Barrois. At the same time Monte
Cristo's voice seemed to resound in his ear with the words
he had heard only two hours beforeWhatever you want,
Morrel, come to me; I have great power.More rapidly than
thoughthe darted down the Rue Matignonand thence to the
Avenue des Champs Elysees.

Meanwhile M. de Villefort arrived in a hired cabriolet at M.
d'Avrigny's door. He rang so violently that the porter was
alarmed. Villefort ran up-stairs without saying a word. The
porter knew himand let him passonly calling to himIn
his study, Monsieur Procureur -- in his study!Villefort
pushedor rather forcedthe door open. "Ah said the
doctor, is it you?"

Yes,said Villefortclosing the door after himit is I,
who am come in my turn to ask you if we are quite alone.
Doctor, my house is accursed!

What?said the latter with apparent coolnessbut with
deep emotionhave you another invalid?

Yes, doctor,cried Villefortclutching his hairyes!

D'Avrigny's look impliedI told you it would be so.Then
he slowly uttered these wordsWho is now dying in your
house? What new victim is going to accuse you of weakness
before God?A mournful sob burst from Villefort's heart; he
approached the doctorand seizing his arm-- "Valentine
said he, it is Valentine's turn!"

Your daughter?cried d'Avrigny with grief and surprise.


You see you were deceived,murmured the magistrate; "come
and see herand on her bed of agony entreat her pardon for
having suspected her."

Each time you have applied to me,said the doctorit has
been too late; still I will go. But let us make haste, sir;
with the enemies you have to do with there is no time to be
lost.

Oh, this time, doctor, you shall not have to reproach me
with weakness. This time I will know the assassin, and will
pursue him.

Let us try first to save the victim before we think of
revenging her,said d'Avrigny. "Come." The same cabriolet
which had brought Villefort took them back at full speed
and at this moment Morrel rapped at Monte Cristo's door. The
count was in his study and was reading with an angry look
something which Bertuccio had brought in haste. Hearing the
name of Morrelwho had left him only two hours beforethe
count raised his headaroseand sprang to meet him. "What
is the matterMaximilian?" asked he; "you are paleand the
perspiration rolls from your forehead." Morrel fell into a
chair. "Yes said he, I came quickly; I wanted to speak to
you."

Are all your family well?asked the countwith an
affectionate benevolencewhose sincerity no one could for a
moment doubt.

Thank you, count -- thank you,said the young man
evidently embarrassed how to begin the conversation; "yes
every one in my family is well."

So much the better; yet you have something to tell me?
replied the count with increased anxiety.

Yes,said Morrelit is true; I have but now left a house
where death has just entered, to run to you.

Are you then come from M. de Morcerf's?asked Monte
Cristo.

No,said Morrel; "is some one dead in his house?"

The general has just blown his brains out,replied Monte
Cristo with great coolness.

Oh, what a dreadful event!cried Maximilian.

Not for the countess, or for Albert,said Monte Cristo; "a
dead father or husband is better than a dishonored one-blood
washes out shame."

Poor countess,said MaximilianI pity her very much; she
is so noble a woman!

Pity Albert also, Maximilian; for believe me he is the
worthy son of the countess. But let us return to yourself.
You have hastened to me -- can I have the happiness of being
useful to you?

Yes, I need your help: that is I thought like a madman that
you could lend me your assistance in a case where God alone


can succor me.

Tell me what it is,replied Monte Cristo.

Oh,said MorrelI know not, indeed, if I may reveal this
secret to mortal ears, but fatality impels me, necessity
constrains me, count-- Morrel hesitated. "Do you think I
love you?" said Monte Cristotaking the young man's hand
affectionately in his.

Oh, you encourage me, and something tells me there,
placing his hand on his heartthat I ought to have no
secret from you.

You are right, Morrel; God is speaking to your heart, and
your heart speaks to you. Tell me what it says.

Count, will you allow me to send Baptistin to inquire after
some one you know?

I am at your service, and still more my servants.

Oh, I cannot live if she is not better.

Shall I ring for Baptistin?

No, I will go and speak to him myself.Morrel went out
called Baptistinand whispered a few words to him. The
valet ran directly. "Wellhave you sent?" asked Monte
Cristoseeing Morrel return.

Yes, and now I shall be more calm.

You know I am waiting,said Monte Cristosmiling.

Yes, and I will tell you. One evening I was in a garden; a
clump of trees concealed me; no one suspected I was there.
Two persons passed near me -- allow me to conceal their
names for the present; they were speaking in an undertone,
and yet I was so interested in what they said that I did not
lose a single word.

This is a gloomy introduction, if I may judge from your
pallor and shuddering, Morrel.

Oh, yes, very gloomy, my friend. Some one had just died in
the house to which that garden belonged. One of the persons
whose conversation I overheard was the master of the house;
the other, the physician. The former was confiding to the
latter his grief and fear, for it was the second time within
a month that death had suddenly and unexpectedly entered
that house which was apparently destined to destruction by
some exterminating angel, as an object of God's anger.

Ah, indeed?said Monte Cristolooking earnestly at the
young manand by an imperceptible movement turning his
chairso that he remained in the shade while the light fell
full on Maximilian's face. "Yes continued Morrel, death
had entered that house twice within one month."

And what did the doctor answer?asked Monte Cristo.

He replied -- he replied, that the death was not a natural
one, and must be attributed-



To what?

To poison.

Indeed?said Monte Cristo with a slight cough which in
moments of extreme emotion helped him to disguise a blush
or his palloror the intense interest with which he
listened; "indeedMaximiliandid you hear that?"

Yes, my dear count, I heard it; and the doctor added that
if another death occurred in a similar way he must appeal to
justice.Monte Cristo listenedor appeared to do sowith
the greatest calmness. "Well said Maximilian, death came
a third timeand neither the master of the house nor the
doctor said a word. Death is nowperhapsstriking a fourth
blow. Countwhat am I bound to dobeing in possession of
this secret?"

My dear friend,said Monte Cristoyou appear to be
relating an adventure which we all know by heart. I know the
house where you heard it, or one very similar to it; a house
with a garden, a master, a physician, and where there have
been three unexpected and sudden deaths. Well, I have not
intercepted your confidence, and yet I know all that as well
as you, and I have no conscientious scruples. No, it does
not concern me. You say an exterminating angel appears to
have devoted that house to God's anger -- well, who says
your supposition is not reality? Do not notice things which
those whose interest it is to see them pass over. If it is
God's justice, instead of his anger, which is walking
through that house, Maximilian, turn away your face and let
his justice accomplish its purpose.Morrel shuddered. There
was something mournfulsolemnand terrible in the count's
manner. "Besides continued he, in so changed a tone that
no one would have supposed it was the same person speaking
-- besideswho says that it will begin again?"

It has returned, count,exclaimed Morrel; "that is why I
hastened to you."

Well, what do you wish me to do? Do you wish me, for
instance, to give information to the procureur?Monte
Cristo uttered the last words with so much meaning that
Morrelstarting upcried outYou know of whom I speak,
count, do you not?

Perfectly well, my good friend; and I will prove it to you
by putting the dots to the `i,' or rather by naming the
persons. You were walking one evening in M. de Villefort's
garden; from what you relate, I suppose it to have been the
evening of Madame de Saint-Meran's death. You heard M. de
Villefort talking to M. d'Avrigny about the death of M. de
Saint-Meran, and that no less surprising, of the countess.

M. d'Avrigny said he believed they both proceeded from
poison; and you, honest man, have ever since been asking
your heart and sounding your conscience to know if you ought
to expose or conceal this secret. Why do you torment them?
`Conscience, what hast thou to do with me?' as Sterne said.
My dear fellow, let them sleep on, if they are asleep; let
them grow pale in their drowsiness, if they are disposed to
do so, and pray do you remain in peace, who have no remorse
to disturb you.Deep grief was depicted on Morrel's
features; he seized Monte Cristo's hand. "But it is

beginning againI say!"

Well,said the Countastonished at his perseverance
which he could not understandand looking still more
earnestly at Maximilianlet it begin again, -- it is like
the house of the Atreidae;* God has condemned them, and they
must submit to their punishment. They will all disappear,
like the fabrics children build with cards, and which fall,
one by one, under the breath of their builder, even if there
are two hundred of them. Three months since it was M. de
Saint-Meran; Madame de Saint-Meran two months since; the
other day it was Barrois; to-day, the old Noirtier, or young
Valentine.

* In the old Greek legend the Atreidaeor children of
Atreuswere doomed to punishment because of the abominable
crime of their father. The Agamemnon of Aeschylus is based
on this legend.
You knew it?cried Morrelin such a paroxysm of terror
that Monte Cristo started-- he whom the falling heavens
would have found unmoved; "you knew itand said nothing?"

And what is it to me?replied Monte Cristoshrugging his
shoulders; "do I know those people? and must I lose the one
to save the other? Faithnofor between the culprit and
the victim I have no choice."

But I,cried Morrelgroaning with sorrowI love her!

You love? -- whom?cried Monte Cristostarting to his
feetand seizing the two hands which Morrel was raising
towards heaven.

I love most fondly -- I love madly -- I love as a man who
would give his life-blood to spare her a tear -- I love
Valentine de Villefort, who is being murdered at this
moment! Do you understand me? I love her; and I ask God and
you how I can save her?Monte Cristo uttered a cry which
those only can conceive who have heard the roar of a wounded
lion. "Unhappy man cried he, wringing his hands in his
turn; you love Valentine-- that daughter of an accursed
race!" Never had Morrel witnessed such an expression -never
had so terrible an eye flashed before his face -never
had the genius of terror he had so often seeneither
on the battle-field or in the murderous nights of Algeria
shaken around him more dreadful fire. He drew back
terrified.

As for Monte Cristoafter this ebullition he closed his
eyes as if dazzled by internal light. In a moment he
restrained himself so powerfully that the tempestuous
heaving of his breast subsidedas turbulent and foaming
waves yield to the sun's genial influence when the cloud has
passed. This silenceself-controland struggle lasted
about twenty secondsthen the count raised his pallid face.
See,said hemy dear friend, how God punishes the most
thoughtless and unfeeling men for their indifference, by
presenting dreadful scenes to their view. I, who was looking
on, an eager and curious spectator, -- I, who was watching
the working of this mournful tragedy, -- I, who like a
wicked angel was laughing at the evil men committed
protected by secrecy (a secret is easily kept by the rich
and powerful), I am in my turn bitten by the serpent whose


tortuous course I was watching, and bitten to the heart!

Morrel groaned. "Comecome continued the count,
complaints are unavailingbe a manbe strongbe full of
hopefor I am here and will watch over you." Morrel shook
his head sorrowfully. "I tell you to hope. Do you understand
me?" cried Monte Cristo. "Remember that I never uttered a
falsehood and am never deceived. It is twelve o'clock
Maximilian; thank heaven that you came at noon rather than
in the eveningor to-morrow morning. ListenMorrel -- it
is noon; if Valentine is not now deadshe will not die."

How so?cried Morrelwhen I left her dying?Monte
Cristo pressed his hands to his forehead. What was passing
in that brainso loaded with dreadful secrets? What does
the angel of light or the angel of darkness say to that
mindat once implacable and generous? God only knows.

Monte Cristo raised his head once moreand this time he was
calm as a child awaking from its sleep. "Maximilian said
he, return home. I command you not to stir -- attempt
nothingnot to let your countenance betray a thoughtand I
will send you tidings. Go."

Oh, count, you overwhelm me with that coolness. Have you,
then, power against death? Are you superhuman? Are you an
angel?And the young manwho had never shrunk from danger
shrank before Monte Cristo with indescribable terror. But
Monte Cristo looked at him with so melancholy and sweet a
smilethat Maximilian felt the tears filling his eyes. "I
can do much for youmy friend replied the count. Go; I
must be alone." Morrelsubdued by the extraordinary
ascendancy Monte Cristo exercised over everything around
himdid not endeavor to resist it. He pressed the count's
hand and left. He stopped one moment at the door for
Baptistinwhom he saw in the Rue Matignonand who was
running.

MeanwhileVillefort and d'Avrigny had made all possible
hasteValentine had not revived from her fainting fit on
their arrivaland the doctor examined the invalid with all
the care the circumstances demandedand with an interest
which the knowledge of the secret intensified twofold.
Villefortclosely watching his countenance and his lips
awaited the result of the examination. Noirtierpaler than
even the young girlmore eager than Villefort for the
decisionwas watching also intently and affectionately. At
last d'Avrigny slowly uttered these words: -- "she is still
alive!"

Still?cried Villefort; "ohdoctorwhat a dreadful word
is that."

Yes,said the physicianI repeat it; she is still alive,
and I am astonished at it.

But is she safe?asked the father.

Yes, since she lives.At that moment d'Avrigny's glance
met Noirtier's eye. It glistened with such extraordinary
joyso rich and full of thoughtthat the physician was
struck. He placed the young girl again on the chair-- her
lips were scarcely discerniblethey were so pale and white
as well as her whole face-- and remained motionless


looking at Noirtierwho appeared to anticipate and commend
all he did. "Sir said d'Avrigny to Villefort, call
Mademoiselle Valentine's maidif you please." Villefort
went himself to find her; and d'Avrigny approached Noirtier.
Have you something to tell me?asked he. The old man
winked his eyes expressivelywhich we may remember was his
only way of expressing his approval.

Privately?

Yes.

Well, I will remain with you.At this moment Villefort
returnedfollowed by the lady's maid; and after her came
Madame de Villefort.

What is the matter, then, with this dear child? she has
just left me, and she complained of being indisposed, but I
did not think seriously of it.The young woman with tears
in her eyes and every mark of affection of a true mother
approached Valentine and took her hand. D'Avrigny continued
to look at Noirtier; he saw the eyes of the old man dilate
and become roundhis cheeks turn pale and tremble; the
perspiration stood in drops upon his forehead. "Ah said
he, involuntarily following Noirtier's eyes, which were
fixed on Madame de Villefort, who repeated, -- This poor
child would be better in bed. ComeFannywe will put her
to bed." M. d'Avrignywho saw that would be a means of his
remaining alone with Noirtierexpressed his opinion that it
was the best thing that could be done; but he forbade that
anything should be given to her except what he ordered.

They carried Valentine away; she had revivedbut could
scarcely move or speakso shaken was her frame by the
attack. She hadhoweverjust power to give one parting
look to her grandfatherwho in losing her seemed to be
resigning his very soul. D'Avrigny followed the invalid
wrote a prescriptionordered Villefort to take a cabriolet
go in person to a chemist's to get the prescribed medicine
bring it himselfand wait for him in his daughter's room.
Thenhaving renewed his injunction not to give Valentine
anythinghe went down again to Noirtiershut the doors
carefullyand after convincing himself that no one was
listening-- "Do you said he, know anything of this
young lady's illness?"

Yes,said the old man.

We have no time to lose; I will question, and do you answer
me.Noirtier made a sign that he was ready to answer. "Did
you anticipate the accident which has happened to your
granddaughter?"

Yes.D'Avrigny reflected a moment; then approaching
Noirtier-- "Pardon what I am going to say added he, but
no indication should be neglected in this terrible
situation. Did you see poor Barrois die?" Noirtier raised
his eyes to heaven. "Do you know of what he died!" asked
d'Avrignyplacing his hand on Noirtier's shoulder.

Yes,replied the old man.

Do you think he died a natural death?A sort of smile was
discernible on the motionless lips of Noirtier.


Then you have thought that Barrois was poisoned?

Yes.

Do you think the poison he fell a victim to was intended
for him?

No.

Do you think the same hand which unintentionally struck
Barrois has now attacked Valentine?

Yes.

Then will she die too?asked d'Avrignyfixing his
penetrating gaze on Noirtier. He watched the effect of this
question on the old man. "No replied he with an air of
triumph which would have puzzled the most clever diviner.
Then you hope?" said d'Avrignywith surprise.

Yes.

What do you hope?The old man made him understand with his
eyes that he could not answer. "Ahyesit is true
murmured d'Avrigny. Then, turning to Noirtier, -- Do you
hope the assassin will be tried?"

No.

Then you hope the poison will take no effect on Valentine?

Yes.

It is no news to you,added d'Avrignyto tell you that
an attempt has been made to poison her?The old man made a
sign that he entertained no doubt upon the subject. "Then
how do you hope Valentine will escape?" Noirtier kept his
eyes steadfastly fixed on the same spot. D'Avrigny followed
the direction and saw that they were fixed on a bottle
containing the mixture which he took every morning. "Ah
indeed?" said d'Avrignystruck with a sudden thoughthas
it occurred to you-- Noirtier did not let him finish.
Yes,said he. "To prepare her system to resist poison?"

Yes.

By accustoming her by degrees-


Yes, yes, yes,said Noirtierdelighted to be understood.

Of course. I had told you that there was brucine in the
mixture I give you.

Yes.

And by accustoming her to that poison, you have endeavored
to neutralize the effect of a similar poison?Noirtier's
joy continued. "And you have succeeded exclaimed
d'Avrigny. Without that precaution Valentine would have
died before assistance could have been procured. The dose
has been excessivebut she has only been shaken by it; and
this timeat any rateValentine will not die." A
superhuman joy expanded the old man's eyeswhich were


raised towards heaven with an expression of infinite
gratitude. At this moment Villefort returned. "Here
doctor said he, is what you sent me for."


Was this prepared in your presence?


Yes,replied the procureur.


Have you not let it go out of your hands?


No.D'Avrigny took the bottlepoured some drops of the
mixture it contained in the hollow of his handand
swallowed them. "Well said he, let us go to Valentine; I
will give instructions to every oneand youM. de
Villefortwill yourself see that no one deviates from
them."


At the moment when d'Avrigny was returning to Valentine's
roomaccompanied by Villefortan Italian priestof
serious demeanor and calm and firm tonehired for his use
the house adjoining the hotel of M. de Villefort. No one
knew how the three former tenants of that house left it.
About two hours afterwards its foundation was reported to be
unsafe; but the report did not prevent the new occupant
establishing himself there with his modest furniture the
same day at five o'clock. The lease was drawn up for three
sixor nine years by the new tenantwhoaccording to the
rule of the proprietorpaid six months in advance. This new
tenantwhoas we have saidwas an Italianwas called Il
Signor Giacomo Busoni. Workmen were immediately called in
and that same night the passengers at the end of the
faubourg saw with surprise that carpenters and masons were
occupied in repairing the lower part of the tottering house.


Chapter 95
Father and Daughter.


We saw in a preceding chapter how Madame Danglars went
formally to announce to Madame de Villefort the approaching
marriage of Eugenie Danglars and M. Andrea Cavalcanti. This
announcementwhich implied or appeared to implythe
approval of all the persons concerned in this momentous
affairhad been preceded by a scene to which our readers
must be admitted. We beg them to take one step backwardand
to transport themselvesthe morning of that day of great
catastrophesinto the showygilded salon we have before
shown themand which was the pride of its ownerBaron
Danglars. In this roomat about ten o'clock in the morning
the banker himself had been walking to and fro for some
minutes thoughtfully and in evident uneasinesswatching
both doorsand listening to every sound. When his patience
was exhaustedhe called his valet. "Etienne said he, see
why Mademoiselle Eugenie has asked me to meet her in the
drawing-roomand why she makes me wait so long."


Having given this vent to his ill-humorthe baron became
more calm; Mademoiselle Danglars had that morning requested
an interview with her fatherand had fixed on the gilded
drawing-room as the spot. The singularity of this stepand
above all its formalityhad not a little surprised the
bankerwho had immediately obeyed his daughter by repairing
first to the drawing-room. Etienne soon returned from his



errand. "Mademoiselle's lady's maid sayssirthat
mademoiselle is finishing her toiletteand will be here
shortly."

Danglars noddedto signify that he was satisfied. To the
world and to his servants Danglars assumed the character of
the good-natured man and the indulgent father. This was one
of his parts in the popular comedy he was performing-- a
make-up he had adopted and which suited him about as well as
the masks worn on the classic stage by paternal actorswho
seen from one sidewere the image of genialityand from
the other showed lips drawn down in chronic ill-temper. Let
us hasten to say that in private the genial side descended
to the level of the otherso that generally the indulgent
man disappeared to give place to the brutal husband and
domineering father. "Why the devil does that foolish girl
who pretends to wish to speak to menot come into my study?
and why on earth does she want to speak to me at all?"

He was turning this thought over in his brain for the
twentieth timewhen the door opened and Eugenie appeared
attired in a figured black satin dressher hair dressed and
gloves onas if she were going to the Italian Opera. "Well
Eugeniewhat is it you want with me? and why in this solemn
drawing-room when the study is so comfortable?"

I quite understand why you ask, sir,said Eugeniemaking
a sign that her father might be seatedand in fact your
two questions suggest fully the theme of our conversation. I
will answer them both, and contrary to the usual method, the
last first, because it is the least difficult. I have chosen
the drawing-room, sir, as our place of meeting, in order to
avoid the disagreeable impressions and influences of a
banker's study. Those gilded cashbooks, drawers locked like
gates of fortresses, heaps of bank-bills, come from I know
not where, and the quantities of letters from England,
Holland, Spain, India, China, and Peru, have generally a
strange influence on a father's mind, and make him forget
that there is in the world an interest greater and more
sacred than the good opinion of his correspondents. I have,
therefore, chosen this drawing-room, where you see, smiling
and happy in their magnificent frames, your portrait, mine,
my mother's, and all sorts of rural landscapes and touching
pastorals. I rely much on external impressions; perhaps,
with regard to you, they are immaterial, but I should be no
artist if I had not some fancies.

Very well,replied M. Danglarswho had listened to all
this preamble with imperturbable coolnessbut without
understanding a wordsince like every man burdened with
thoughts of the pasthe was occupied with seeking the
thread of his own ideas in those of the speaker.

There is, then, the second point cleared up, or nearly so,
said Eugeniewithout the least confusionand with that
masculine pointedness which distinguished her gesture and
her language; "and you appear satisfied with the
explanation. Nowlet us return to the first. You ask me why
I have requested this interview; I will tell you in two
wordssir; I will not marry count Andrea Cavalcanti."

Danglars leaped from his chair and raised his eyes and arms
towards heaven.


Yes, indeed, sir,continued Eugeniestill quite calm;
you are astonished, I see; for since this little affair
began, I have not manifested the slightest opposition, and
yet I am always sure, when the opportunity arrives, to
oppose a determined and absolute will to people who have not
consulted me, and things which displease me. However, this
time, my tranquillity, or passiveness as philosophers say,
proceeded from another source; it proceeded from a wish,
like a submissive and devoted daughter(a slight smile was
observable on the purple lips of the young girl)to
practice obedience.

Well?asked Danglars.

Well, sir,replied EugenieI have tried to the very last
and now that the moment has come, I feel in spite of all my
efforts that it is impossible.

But,said Danglarswhose weak mind was at first quite
overwhelmed with the weight of this pitiless logicmarking
evident premeditation and force of willwhat is your
reason for this refusal, Eugenie? what reason do you
assign?

My reason?replied the young girl. "Wellit is not that
the man is more uglymore foolishor more disagreeable
than any other; noM. Andrea Cavalcanti may appear to those
who look at men's faces and figures as a very good specimen
of his kind. It is noteitherthat my heart is less
touched by him than any other; that would be a schoolgirl's
reasonwhich I consider quite beneath me. I actually love
no onesir; you know itdo you not? I do not then see why
without real necessityI should encumber my life with a
perpetual companion. Has not some sage said`Nothing too
much'? and another`I carry all my effects with me'? I have
been taught these two aphorisms in Latin and in Greek; one
isI believefrom Phaedrusand the other from Bias. Well
my dear fatherin the shipwreck of life -- for life is an
eternal shipwreck of our hopes -- I cast into the sea my
useless encumbrancethat is alland I remain with my own
willdisposed to live perfectly aloneand consequently
perfectly free."

Unhappy girl, unhappy girl!murmured Danglarsturning
palefor he knew from long experience the solidity of the
obstacle he had so suddenly encountered.

Unhappy girl,replied Eugenieunhappy girl, do you say,
sir? No, indeed; the exclamation appears quite theatrical
and affected. Happy, on the contrary, for what am I in want
of! The world calls me beautiful. It is something to be well
received. I like a favorable reception; it expands the
countenance, and those around me do not then appear so ugly.
I possess a share of wit, and a certain relative
sensibility, which enables me to draw from life in general,
for the support of mine, all I meet with that is good, like
the monkey who cracks the nut to get at its contents. I am
rich, for you have one of the first fortunes in France. I am
your only daughter, and you are not so exacting as the
fathers of the Porte Saint-Martin and Gaiete, who disinherit
their daughters for not giving them grandchildren. Besides,
the provident law has deprived you of the power to
disinherit me, at least entirely, as it has also of the
power to compel me to marry Monsieur This or Monsieur That.


And so -- being, beautiful, witty, somewhat talented, as the
comic operas say, and rich -- and that is happiness, sir -why
do you call me unhappy?

Danglarsseeing his daughter smilingand proud even to
insolencecould not entirely repress his brutal feelings
but they betrayed themselves only by an exclamation. Under
the fixed and inquiring gaze levelled at him from under
those beautiful black eyebrowshe prudently turned away
and calmed himself immediatelydaunted by the power of a
resolute mind. "Trulymy daughter replied he with a
smile, you are all you boast of beingexcepting one thing;
I will not too hastily tell you whichbut would rather
leave you to guess it." Eugenie looked at Danglarsmuch
surprised that one flower of her crown of pridewith which
she had so superbly decked herselfshould be disputed. "My
daughter continued the banker, you have perfectly
explained to me the sentiments which influence a girl like
youwho is determined she will not marry; now it remains
for me to tell you the motives of a father like mewho has
decided that his daughter shall marry." Eugenie bowednot
as a submissive daughterbut as an adversary prepared for a
discussion.

My daughter,continued Danglarswhen a father asks his
daughter to choose a husband, he has always some reason for
wishing her to marry. Some are affected with the mania of
which you spoke just now, that of living again in their
grandchildren. This is not my weakness, I tell you at once;
family joys have no charm for me. I may acknowledge this to
a daughter whom I know to be philosophical enough to
understand my indifference, and not to impute it to me as a
crime.

This is not to the purpose,said Eugenie; "let us speak
candidlysir; I admire candor."

Oh,said DanglarsI can, when circumstances render it
desirable, adopt your system, although it may not be my
general practice. I will therefore proceed. I have proposed
to you to marry, not for your sake, for indeed I did not
think of you in the least at the moment (you admire candor,
and will now be satisfied, I hope); but because it suited me
to marry you as soon as possible, on account of certain
commercial speculations I am desirous of entering into.
Eugenie became uneasy.

It is just as I tell you, I assure you, and you must not be
angry with me, for you have sought this disclosure. I do not
willingly enter into arithmetical explanations with an
artist like you, who fears to enter my study lest she should
imbibe disagreeable or anti-poetic impressions and
sensations. But in that same banker's study, where you very
willingly presented yourself yesterday to ask for the
thousand francs I give you monthly for pocket-money, you
must know, my dear young lady, that many things may be
learned, useful even to a girl who will not marry. There one
may learn, for instance, what, out of regard to your nervous
susceptibility, I will inform you of in the drawing-room,
namely, that the credit of a banker is his physical and
moral life; that credit sustains him as breath animates the
body; and M. de Monte Cristo once gave me a lecture on that
subject, which I have never forgotten. There we may learn
that as credit sinks, the body becomes a corpse, and this is


what must happen very soon to the banker who is proud to own
so good a logician as you for his daughter.But Eugenie
instead of stoopingdrew herself up under the blow.
Ruined?said she.

Exactly, my daughter; that is precisely what I mean,said
Danglarsalmost digging his nails into his breastwhile he
preserved on his harsh features the smile of the heartless
though clever man; "ruined -- yesthat is it."

Ah!said Eugenie.

Yes, ruined! Now it is revealed, this secret so full of
horror, as the tragic poet says. Now, my daughter, learn
from my lips how you may alleviate this misfortune, so far
as it will affect you.

Oh,cried Eugenieyou are a bad physiognomist, if you
imagine I deplore on my own account the catastrophe of which
you warn me. I ruined? and what will that signify to me?
Have I not my talent left? Can I not, like Pasta, Malibran,
Grisi, acquire for myself what you would never have given
me, whatever might have been your fortune, a hundred or a
hundred and fifty thousand livres per annum, for which I
shall be indebted to no one but myself; and which, instead
of being given as you gave me those poor twelve thousand
francs, with sour looks and reproaches for my prodigality,
will be accompanied with acclamations, with bravos, and with
flowers? And if I do not possess that talent, which your
smiles prove to me you doubt, should I not still have that
ardent love of independence, which will be a substitute for
wealth, and which in my mind supersedes even the instinct of
self-preservation? No, I grieve not on my own account, I
shall always find a resource; my books, my pencils, my
piano, all the things which cost but little, and which I
shall be able to procure, will remain my own.

Do you think that I sorrow for Madame Danglars? Undeceive
yourself again; either I am greatly mistakenor she has
provided against the catastrophe which threatens youand
which will pass over without affecting her. She has taken
care for herself-- at least I hope so-- for her
attention has not been diverted from her projects by
watching over me. She has fostered my independence by
professedly indulging my love for liberty. Ohnosir; from
my childhood I have seen too muchand understood too much
of what has passed around mefor misfortune to have an
undue power over me. From my earliest recollectionsI have
been beloved by no one -- so much the worse; that has
naturally led me to love no one -- so much the better -- now
you have my profession of faith."

Then,said Danglarspale with angerwhich was not at all
due to offended paternal love-- "thenmademoiselleyou
persist in your determination to accelerate my ruin?"

Your ruin? I accelerate your ruin? What do you mean? I do
not understand you.

So much the better, I have a ray of hope left; listen.

I am all attention,said Eugenielooking so earnestly at
her father that it was an effort for the latter to endure
her unrelenting gaze.


M. Cavalcanti,continued Danglarsis about to marry you,
and will place in my hands his fortune, amounting to three
million livres.

That is admirable!said Eugenie with sovereign contempt
smoothing her gloves out one upon the other.

You think I shall deprive you of those three millions,
said Danglars; "but do not fear it. They are destined to
produce at least ten. I and a brother banker have obtained a
grant of a railwaythe only industrial enterprise which in
these days promises to make good the fabulous prospects that
Law once held out to the eternally deluded Parisiansin the
fantastic Mississippi scheme. As I look at ita millionth
part of a railway is worth fully as much as an acre of waste
land on the banks of the Ohio. We make in our case a
depositon a mortgagewhich is an advanceas you see
since we gain at least tenfifteentwentyor a hundred
livres' worth of iron in exchange for our money. Well
within a week I am to deposit four millions for my share;
the four millionsI promise youwill produce ten or
twelve."

But during my visit to you the day before yesterday, sir,
which you appear to recollect so well,replied EugenieI
saw you arranging a deposit -- is not that the term? -- of
five millions and a half; you even pointed it out to me in
two drafts on the treasury, and you were astonished that so
valuable a paper did not dazzle my eyes like lightning.

Yes, but those five millions and a half are not mine, and
are only a proof of the great confidence placed in me; my
title of popular banker has gained me the confidence of
charitable institutions, and the five millions and a half
belong to them; at any other time I should not have
hesitated to make use of them, but the great losses I have
recently sustained are well known, and, as I told you, my
credit is rather shaken. That deposit may be at any moment
withdrawn, and if I had employed it for another purpose, I
should bring on me a disgraceful bankruptcy. I do not
despise bankruptcies, believe me, but they must be those
which enrich, not those which ruin. Now, if you marry M.
Cavalcanti, and I get the three millions, or even if it is
thought I am going to get them, my credit will be restored,
and my fortune, which for the last month or two has been
swallowed up in gulfs which have been opened in my path by
an inconceivable fatality, will revive. Do you understand
me?

Perfectly; you pledge me for three millions, do you not?

The greater the amount, the more flattering it is to you;
it gives you an idea of your value.

Thank you. One word more, sir; do you promise me to make
what use you can of the report of the fortune M. Cavalcanti
will bring without touching the money? This is no act of
selfishness, but of delicacy. I am willing to help rebuild
your fortune, but I will not be an accomplice in the ruin of
others.

But since I tell you,cried Danglarsthat with these
three million-



Do you expect to recover your position, sir, without
touching those three million?

I hope so, if the marriage should take place and confirm my
credit.

Shall you be able to pay M. Cavalcanti the five hundred
thousand francs you promise for my dowry?

He shall receive then on returning from the mayor's.*

* The performance of the civil marriage.
Very well!

What next? what more do you want?

I wish to know if, in demanding my signature, you leave me
entirely free in my person?

Absolutely.

Then, as I said before, sir, -- very well; I am ready to
marry M. Cavalcanti.

But what are you up to?

Ah, that is my affair. What advantage should I have over
you, if knowing your secret I were to tell you mine?
Danglars bit his lips. "Then said he, you are ready to
pay the official visitswhich are absolutely
indispensable?"

Yes,replied Eugenie.

And to sign the contract in three days?

Yes.

Then, in my turn, I also say, very well!Danglars pressed
his daughter's hand in his. Butextraordinary to relate
the father did not sayThank you, my child,nor did the
daughter smile at her father. "Is the conference ended?"
asked Eugenierising. Danglars motioned that he had nothing
more to say. Five minutes afterwards the piano resounded to
the touch of Mademoiselle d'Armilly's fingersand
Mademoiselle Danglars was singing Brabantio's malediction on
Desdemona. At the end of the piece Etienne enteredand
announced to Eugenie that the horses were in the carriage
and that the baroness was waiting for her to pay her visits.
We have seen them at Villefort's; they proceeded then on
their course.

Chapter 96
The Contract.

Three days after the scene we have just describednamely
towards five o'clock in the afternoon of the day fixed for
the signature of the contract between Mademoiselle Eugenie
Danglars and Andrea Cavalcanti-- whom the banker persisted
in calling prince-- a fresh breeze was stirring the leaves


in the little garden in front of the Count of Monte Cristo's
houseand the count was preparing to go out. While his
horses were impatiently pawing the ground-- held in by the
coachmanwho had been seated a quarter of an hour on his
box-- the elegant phaeton with which we are familiar
rapidly turned the angle of the entrance-gateand cast out
on the doorsteps M. Andrea Cavalcantias decked up and gay
as if he were going to marry a princess. He inquired after
the count with his usual familiarityand ascending lightly
to the second story met him at the top of the stairs. The
count stopped on seeing the young man. As for Andreahe was
launchedand when he was once launched nothing stopped him.
Ah, good morning, my dear count,said he. "AhM. Andrea
said the latter, with his half-jesting tone; how do you
do."

Charmingly, as you see. I am come to talk to you about a
thousand things; but, first tell me, were you going out or
just returned?

I was going out, sir.

Then, in order not to hinder you, I will get up with you if
you please in your carriage, and Tom shall follow with my
phaeton in tow.

No,said the countwith an imperceptible smile of
contemptfor he had no wish to be seen in the young man's
society-- "no; I prefer listening to you heremy dear M.
Andrea; we can chat better in-doorsand there is no
coachman to overhear our conversation." The count returned
to a small drawing-room on the first floorsat downand
crossing his legs motioned to the young man to take a seat
also. Andrea assumed his gayest manner. "You knowmy dear
count said he, the ceremony is to take place this
evening. At nine o'clock the contract is to be signed at my
father-in-law's."

Ah, indeed?said Monte Cristo.

What; is it news to you? Has not M. Danglars informed you
of the ceremony?

Oh, yes,said the count; "I received a letter from him
yesterdaybut I do not think the hour was mentioned."

Possibly my father-in-law trusted to its general
notoriety.

Well,said Monte Cristoyou are fortunate, M.
Cavalcanti; it is a most suitable alliance you are
contracting, and Mademoiselle Danglars is a handsome girl.

Yes, indeed she is,replied Cavalcantiin a very modest
tone.

Above all, she is very rich, -- at least, I believe so,
said Monte Cristo.

Very rich, do you think?replied the young man.

Doubtless; it is said M. Danglars conceals at least half of
his fortune.


And he acknowledges fifteen or twenty millions,said
Andrea with a look sparkling with joy.

Without reckoning,added Monte Cristothat he is on the
eve of entering into a sort of speculation already in vogue
in the United States and in England, but quite novel in
France.

Yes, yes, I know what you mean, -- the railway, of which he
has obtained the grant, is it not?

Precisely; it is generally believed he will gain ten
millions by that affair.

Ten millions! Do you think so? It is magnificent!said
Cavalcantiwho was quite confounded at the metallic sound
of these golden words. "Without reckoning replied Monte
Cristo, that all his fortune will come to youand justly
toosince Mademoiselle Danglars is an only daughter.
Besidesyour own fortuneas your father assured meis
almost equal to that of your betrothed. But enough of money
matters. Do you knowM. AndreaI think you have managed
this affair rather skilfully?"

Not badly, by any means,said the young man; "I was born
for a diplomatist."

Well, you must become a diplomatist; diplomacy, you know,
is something that is not to be acquired; it is instinctive.
Have you lost your heart?

Indeed, I fear it,replied Andreain the tone in which he
had heard Dorante or Valere reply to Alceste* at the Theatre
Francais.

Is your love returned?

* In Moliere's comedyLe Misanthrope.
I suppose so,said Andrea with a triumphant smilesince
I am accepted. But I must not forget one grand point.

Which?

That I have been singularly assisted.

Nonsense.

I have, indeed.

By circumstances?

No; by you.

By me? Not at all, prince,said Monte Cristo laying a
marked stress on the titlewhat have I done for you? Are
not your name, your social position, and your merit
sufficient?

No,said Andrea-- "no; it is useless for you to say so
count. I maintain that the position of a man like you has
done more than my namemy social positionand my merit."

You are completely mistaken, sir,said Monte Cristo


coldlywho felt the perfidious manoeuvre of the young man
and understood the bearing of his words; "you only acquired
my protection after the influence and fortune of your father
had been ascertained; forafter allwho procured for me
who had never seen either you or your illustrious father
the pleasure of your acquaintance? -- two of my good
friendsLord Wilmore and the Abbe Busoni. What encouraged
me not to become your suretybut to patronize you? -- your
father's nameso well known in Italy and so highly honored.
PersonallyI do not know you." This calm tone and perfect
ease made Andrea feel that he wasfor the moment
restrained by a more muscular hand than his ownand that
the restraint could not be easily broken through.

Oh, then my father has really a very large fortune, count?

It appears so, sir,replied Monte Cristo.

Do you know if the marriage settlement he promised me has
come?

I have been advised of it.

But the three millions?

The three millions are probably on the road.

Then I shall really have them?

Oh, well,said the countI do not think you have yet
known the want of money.Andrea was so surprised that he
pondered the matter for a moment. Thenarousing from his
revery-- "NowsirI have one request to make to you
which you will understandeven if it should be disagreeable
to you."

Proceed,said Monte Cristo.

I have formed an acquaintance, thanks to my good fortune,
with many noted persons, and have, at least for the moment,
a crowd of friends. But marrying, as I am about to do,
before all Paris, I ought to be supported by an illustrious
name, and in the absence of the paternal hand some powerful
one ought to lead me to the altar; now, my father is not
coming to Paris, is he? He is old, covered with wounds, and
suffers dreadfully, he says, in travelling.

Indeed?

Well, I am come to ask a favor of you.

Of me?

Yes, of you.

And pray what may it be?

Well, to take his part.

Ah, my dear sir! What? -- after the varied relations I have
had the happiness to sustain towards you, can it be that you
know me so little as to ask such a thing? Ask me to lend you
half a million and, although such a loan is somewhat rare,
on my honor, you would annoy me less! Know, then, what I


thought I had already told you, that in participation in
this world's affairs, more especially in their moral
aspects, the Count of Monte Cristo has never ceased to
entertain the scruples and even the superstitions of the
East. I, who have a seraglio at Cairo, one at Smyrna, and
one at Constantinople, preside at a wedding? -- never!

Then you refuse me?

Decidedly; and were you my son or my brother I would refuse
you in the same way.

But what must be done?said Andreadisappointed.

You said just now that you had a hundred friends.

Very true, but you introduced me at M. Danglars'.

Not at all! Let us recall the exact facts. You met him at a
dinner party at my house, and you introduced yourself at his
house; that is a totally different affair.

Yes, but, by my marriage, you have forwarded that.

I? -- not in the least, I beg you to believe. Recollect
what I told you when you asked me to propose you. `Oh, I
never make matches, my dear prince, it is my settled
principle.'Andrea bit his lips.

But, at least, you will be there?

Will all Paris be there?

Oh, certainly.

Well, like all Paris, I shall be there too,said the
count.

And will you sign the contract?

I see no objection to that; my scruples do not go thus
far.

Well, since you will grant me no more, I must be content
with what you give me. But one word more, count.

What is it?

Advice.

Be careful; advice is worse than a service.

Oh, you can give me this without compromising yourself.

Tell me what it is.

Is my wife's fortune five hundred thousand livres?

That is the sum M. Danglars himself announced.

Must I receive it, or leave it in the hands of the notary?

This is the way such affairs are generally arranged when it
is wished to do them stylishly: Your two solicitors appoint


a meeting, when the contract is signed, for the next or the
following day; then they exchange the two portions, for
which they each give a receipt; then, when the marriage is
celebrated, they place the amount at your disposal as the
chief member of the alliance.

Because,said Andreawith a certain ill-concealed
uneasinessI thought I heard my father-in-law say that he
intended embarking our property in that famous railway
affair of which you spoke just now.

Well,replied Monte Cristoit will be the way, everybody
says, of trebling your fortune in twelve months. Baron
Danglars is a good father, and knows how to calculate.

In that case,said Andreaeverything is all right,
excepting your refusal, which quite grieves me.

You must attribute it only to natural scruples under
similar circumstances.

Well,said Andrealet it be as you wish. This evening,
then, at nine o'clock.

Adieu till then.Notwithstanding a slight resistance on
the part of Monte Cristowhose lips turned palebut who
preserved his ceremonious smileAndrea seized the count's
handpressed itjumped into his phaetonand disappeared.

The four or five remaining hours before nine o'clock
arrivedAndrea employed in ridingpaying visits-designed
to induce those of whom he had spoken to appear at
the banker's in their gayest equipages-- dazzling them by
promises of shares in schemes which have since turned every
brainand in which Danglars was just taking the initiative.
In factat half-past eight in the evening the grand salon
the gallery adjoiningand the three other drawing-rooms on
the same floorwere filled with a perfumed crowdwho
sympathized but little in the eventbut who all
participated in that love of being present wherever there is
anything fresh to be seen. An Academician would say that the
entertainments of the fashionable world are collections of
flowers which attract inconstant butterfliesfamished bees
and buzzing drones.

No one could deny that the rooms were splendidly
illuminated; the light streamed forth on the gilt mouldings
and the silk hangings; and all the bad taste of decorations
which had only their richness to boast ofshone in its
splendor. Mademoiselle Eugenie was dressed with elegant
simplicity in a figured white silk dressand a white rose
half concealed in her jet black hair was her only ornament
unaccompanied by a single jewel. Her eyeshoweverbetrayed
that perfect confidence which contradicted the girlish
simplicity of this modest attire. Madame Danglars was
chatting at a short distance with DebrayBeauchampand
Chateau-Renaud.

Debray was admitted to the house for this grand ceremony
but on the same plane with every one elseand without any
particular privilege. M. Danglarssurrounded by deputies
and men connected with the revenuewas explaining a new
theory of taxation which he intended to adopt when the
course of events had compelled the government to call him


into the ministry. Andreaon whose arm hung one of the most
consummate dandies of the operawas explaining to him
rather cleverlysince he was obliged to be bold to appear
at easehis future projectsand the new luxuries he meant
to introduce to Parisian fashions with his hundred and
seventy-five thousand livres per annum.

The crowd moved to and fro in the rooms like an ebb and flow
of turquoisesrubiesemeraldsopalsand diamonds. As
usualthe oldest women were the most decoratedand the
ugliest the most conspicuous. If there was a beautiful lily
or a sweet roseyou had to search for itconcealed in some
corner behind a mother with a turbanor an aunt with a bird
of paradise.

At each momentin the midst of the crowdthe buzzingand
the laughterthe door-keeper's voice was heard announcing
some name well known in the financial departmentrespected
in the armyor illustrious in the literary worldand which
was acknowledged by a slight movement in the different
groups. But for one whose privilege it was to agitate that
ocean of human waveshow many were received with a look of
indifference or a sneer of disdain! At the moment when the
hand of the massive time-piecerepresenting Endymion
asleeppointed to nine on its golden faceand the hammer
the faithful type of mechanical thoughtstruck nine times
the name of the Count of Monte Cristo resounded in its turn
and as if by an electric shock all the assembly turned
towards the door.

The count was dressed in black and with his habitual
simplicity; his white waistcoat displayed his expansive
noble chest and his black stock was singularly noticeable
because of its contrast with the deadly paleness of his
face. His only jewellery was a chainso fine that the
slender gold thread was scarcely perceptible on his white
waistcoat. A circle was immediately formed around the door.
The count perceived at one glance Madame Danglars at one end
of the drawing-roomM. Danglars at the otherand Eugenie
in front of him. He first advanced towards the baronesswho
was chatting with Madame de Villefortwho had come alone
Valentine being still an invalid; and without turning aside
so clear was the road left for himhe passed from the
baroness to Eugeniewhom he complimented in such rapid and
measured termsthat the proud artist was quite struck. Near
her was Mademoiselle Louise d'Armillywho thanked the count
for the letters of introduction he had so kindly given her
for Italywhich she intended immediately to make use of. On
leaving these ladies he found himself with Danglarswho had
advanced to meet him.

Having accomplished these three social dutiesMonte Cristo
stoppedlooking around him with that expression peculiar to
a certain classwhich seems to sayI have done my duty,
now let others do theirs.Andreawho was in an adjoining
roomhad shared in the sensation caused by the arrival of
Monte Cristoand now came forward to pay his respects to
the count. He found him completely surrounded; all were
eager to speak to himas is always the case with those
whose words are few and weighty. The solicitors arrived at
this moment and arranged their scrawled papers on the velvet
cloth embroidered with gold which covered the table prepared
for the signature; it was a gilt table supported on lions'
claws. One of the notaries sat downthe other remained


standing. They were about to proceed to the reading of the
contractwhich half Paris assembled was to sign. All took
their placesor rather the ladies formed a circlewhile
the gentlemen (more indifferent to the restraints of what
Boileau calls the "energetic style") commented on the
feverish agitation of Andreaon M. Danglars' riveted
attentionEugenie's composureand the light and sprightly
manner in which the baroness treated this important affair.

The contract was read during a profound silence. But as soon
as it was finishedthe buzz was redoubled through all the
drawing-rooms; the brilliant sumsthe rolling millions
which were to be at the command of the two young peopleand
which crowned the display of the wedding presents and the
young lady's diamondswhich had been made in a room
entirely appropriated for that purposehad exercised to the
full their delusions over the envious assembly. Mademoiselle
Danglars' charms were heightened in the opinion of the young
menand for the moment seemed to outvie the sun in
splendor. As for the ladiesit is needless to say that
while they coveted the millionsthey thought they did not
need them for themselvesas they were beautiful enough
without them. Andreasurrounded by his friends
complimentedflatteredbeginning to believe in the reality
of his dreamwas almost bewildered. The notary solemnly
took the penflourished it above his headand said
Gentlemen, we are about to sign the contract.

The baron was to sign firstthen the representative of M.
Cavalcantiseniorthen the baronessafterwards the
future couple,as they are styled in the abominable
phraseology of legal documents. The baron took the pen and
signedthen the representative. The baroness approached
leaning on Madame de Villefort's arm. "My dear said she,
as she took the pen, is it not vexatious? An unexpected
incidentin the affair of murder and theft at the Count of
Monte Cristo'sin which he nearly fell a victimdeprives
us of the pleasure of seeing M. de Villefort."

Indeed?said M. Danglarsin the same tone in which he
would have saidOh, well, what do I care?

As a matter of fact,said Monte CristoapproachingI am
much afraid that I am the involuntary cause of his absence.

What, you, count?said Madame Danglarssigning; "if you
aretake carefor I shall never forgive you." Andrea
pricked up his ears.

But it is not my fault, as I shall endeavor to prove.
Every one listened eagerly; Monte Cristo who so rarely
opened his lipswas about to speak. "You remember said
the count, during the most profound silence, that the
unhappy wretch who came to rob me died at my house; the
supposition is that he was stabbed by his accompliceon
attempting to leave it."

Yes,said Danglars.

In order that his wounds might be examined he was
undressed, and his clothes were thrown into a corner, where
the police picked them up, with the exception of the
waistcoat, which they overlooked.Andrea turned paleand
drew towards the door; he saw a cloud rising in the horizon


which appeared to forebode a coming storm.

Well, this waistcoat was discovered to-day, covered with
blood, and with a hole over the heart.The ladies screamed
and two or three prepared to faint. "It was brought to me.
No one could guess what the dirty rag could be; I alone
suspected that it was the waistcoat of the murdered man. My
valetin examining this mournful relicfelt a paper in the
pocket and drew it out; it was a letter addressed to you
baron."

To me?cried Danglars.

Yes, indeed, to you; I succeeded in deciphering your name
under the blood with which the letter was stained,replied
Monte Cristoamid the general outburst of amazement.

But,asked Madame Danglarslooking at her husband with
uneasinesshow could that prevent M. de Villefort-


In this simple way, madame,replied Monte Cristo; "the
waistcoat and the letter were both what is termed
circumstantial evidence; I therefore sent them to the king's
attorney. You understandmy dear baronthat legal methods
are the safest in criminal cases; it wasperhapssome plot
against you." Andrea looked steadily at Monte Cristo and
disappeared in the second drawing-room.

Possibly,said Danglars; "was not this murdered man an old
galley-slave?"

Yes,replied the count; "a felon named Caderousse."
Danglars turned slightly pale; Andrea reached the anteroom
beyond the little drawing-room.

But go on signing,said Monte Cristo; "I perceive that my
story has caused a general emotionand I beg to apologize
to youbaronessand to Mademoiselle Danglars." The
baronesswho had signedreturned the pen to the notary.
Prince Cavalcanti,said the latter; "Prince Cavalcanti
where are you?"

Andrea, Andrea,repeated several young peoplewho were
already on sufficiently intimate terms with him to call him
by his Christian name.

Call the prince; inform him that it is his turn to sign,
cried Danglars to one of the floorkeepers.

But at the same instant the crowd of guests rushed in alarm
into the principal salon as if some frightful monster had
entered the apartmentsquaerens quem devoret. There was
indeedreason to retreatto be alarmedand to scream. An
officer was placing two soldiers at the door of each
drawing-roomand was advancing towards Danglarspreceded
by a commissary of policegirded with his scarf. Madame
Danglars uttered a scream and fainted. Danglarswho thought
himself threatened (certain consciences are never calm)--
Danglars even before his guests showed a countenance of
abject terror.

What is the matter, sir?asked Monte Cristoadvancing to
meet the commissioner.


Which of you gentlemen,asked the magistratewithout
replying to the countanswers to the name of Andrea
Cavalcanti?A cry of astonishment was heard from all parts
of the room. They searched; they questioned. "But who then
is Andrea Cavalcanti?" asked Danglars in amazement.


A galley-slave, escaped from confinement at Toulon.


And what crime has he committed?


He is accused,said the commissary with his inflexible
voiceof having assassinated the man named Caderousse, his
former companion in prison, at the moment he was making his
escape from the house of the Count of Monte Cristo.Monte
Cristo cast a rapid glance around him. Andrea was gone.


Chapter 97
The Departure for Belgium.


A few minutes after the scene of confusion produced in the
salons of M. Danglars by the unexpected appearance of the
brigade of soldiersand by the disclosure which had
followedthe mansion was deserted with as much rapidity as
if a case of plague or of cholera morbus had broken out
among the guests. In a few minutesthrough all the doors
down all the staircasesby every exitevery one hastened
to retireor rather to fly; for it was a situation where
the ordinary condolences-- which even the best friends are
so eager to offer in great catastrophes-- were seen to be
utterly futile. There remained in the banker's house only
Danglarscloseted in his studyand making his statement to
the officer of gendarmes; Madame Danglarsterrifiedin the
boudoir with which we are acquainted; and Eugeniewho with
haughty air and disdainful lip had retired to her room with
her inseparable companionMademoiselle Louise d'Armilly. As
for the numerous servants (more numerous that evening than
usualfor their number was augmented by cooks and butlers
from the Cafe de Paris)venting on their employers their
anger at what they termed the insult to which they had been
subjectedthey collected in groups in the hallin the
kitchensor in their roomsthinking very little of their
dutywhich was thus naturally interrupted. Of all this
householdonly two persons deserve our notice; these are
Mademoiselle Eugenie Danglars and Mademoiselle Louise
d'Armilly.


The betrothed had retiredas we saidwith haughty air
disdainful lipand the demeanor of an outraged queen
followed by her companionwho was paler and more disturbed
than herself. On reaching her room Eugenie locked her door
while Louise fell on a chair. "Ahwhat a dreadful thing
said the young musician; who would have suspected it? M.
Andrea Cavalcanti a murderer -- a galley-slave escaped -- a
convict!" An ironical smile curled the lip of Eugenie. "In
truth I was fated said she. I escaped the Morcerf only to
fall into the Cavalcanti."


Oh, do not confound the two, Eugenie.


Hold your tongue! The men are all infamous, and I am happy
to be able now to do more than detest them -- I despise
them.



What shall we do?asked Louise.

What shall we do?

Yes.

Why, the same we had intended doing three days since -- set
off.

What? -- although you are not now going to be married, you
intend still-


Listen, Louise. I hate this life of the fashionable world,
always ordered, measured, ruled, like our music-paper. What
I have always wished for, desired, and coveted, is the life
of an artist, free and independent, relying only on my own
resources, and accountable only to myself. Remain here? What
for? -- that they may try, a month hence, to marry me again;
and to whom? -- M. Debray, perhaps, as it was once proposed.
No, Louise, no! This evening's adventure will serve for my
excuse. I did not seek one, I did not ask for one. God sends
me this, and I hail it joyfully!

How strong and courageous you are!said the fairfrail
girl to her brunette companion.

Did you not yet know me? Come, Louise, let us talk of our
affairs. The post-chaise-


Was happily bought three days since.

Have you had it sent where we are to go for it?

Yes.

Our passport?

Here it is.

And Eugeniewith her usual precisionopened a printed
paperand read-


M. Leon d'Armilly, twenty years of age; profession, artist;
hair black, eyes black; travelling with his sister.

Capital! How did you get this passport?

When I went to ask M. de Monte Cristo for letters to the
directors of the theatres at Rome and Naples, I expressed my
fears of travelling as a woman; he perfectly understood
them, and undertook to procure for me a man's passport, and
two days after I received this, to which I have added with
my own hand, `travelling with his sister.'

Well,said Eugenie cheerfullywe have then only to pack
up our trunks; we shall start the evening of the signing of
the contract, instead of the evening of the wedding -- that
is all.

But consider the matter seriously, Eugenie!

Oh, I am done with considering! I am tired of hearing only
of market reports, of the end of the month, of the rise and


fall of Spanish funds, of Haitian bonds. Instead of that,
Louise -- do you understand? -- air, liberty, melody of
birds, plains of Lombardy, Venetian canals, Roman palaces,
the Bay of Naples. How much have we, Louise?The young girl
to whom this question was addressed drew from an inlaid
secretary a small portfolio with a lockin which she
counted twenty-three bank-notes.

Twenty-three thousand francs,said she.

And as much, at least, in pearls, diamonds, and jewels,
said Eugenie. "We are rich. With forty-five thousand francs
we can live like princesses for two yearsand comfortably
for four; but before six months -- you with your musicand
I with my voice -- we shall double our capital. Comeyou
shall take charge of the moneyI of the jewel-box; so that
if one of us had the misfortune to lose her treasurethe
other would still have hers left. Nowthe portmanteau -let
us make haste -- the portmanteau!"

Stop!said Louisegoing to listen at Madame Danglars'
door.

What do you fear?

That we may be discovered.

The door is locked.

They may tell us to open it.

They may if they like, but we will not.

You are a perfect Amazon, Eugenie!And the two young girls
began to heap into a trunk all the things they thought they
should require. "There now said Eugenie, while I change
my costume do you lock the portmanteau." Louise pressed with
all the strength of her little hands on the top of the
portmanteau. "But I cannot said she; I am not strong
enough; do you shut it."

Ah, you do well to ask,said Eugenielaughing; "I forgot
that I was Herculesand you only the pale Omphale!" And the
young girlkneeling on the toppressed the two parts of
the portmanteau togetherand Mademoiselle d'Armilly passed
the bolt of the padlock through. When this was doneEugenie
opened a drawerof which she kept the keyand took from it
a wadded violet silk travelling cloak. "Here said she,
you see I have thought of everything; with this cloak you
will not be cold."

But you?

Oh, I am never cold, you know! Besides, with these men's
clothes-


Will you dress here?

Certainly.

Shall you have time?

Do not be uneasy, you little coward! All our servants are
busy, discussing the grand affair. Besides, what is there


astonishing, when you think of the grief I ought to be in,
that I shut myself up? -- tell me!

No, truly -- you comfort me.

Come and help me.

From the same drawer she took a man's complete costumefrom
the boots to the coatand a provision of linenwhere there
was nothing superfluousbut every requisite. Thenwith a
promptitude which indicated that this was not the first time
she had amused herself by adopting the garb of the opposite
sexEugenie drew on the boots and pantaloonstied her
cravatbuttoned her waistcoat up to the throatand put on
a coat which admirably fitted her beautiful figure. "Oh
that is very good -- indeedit is very good!" said Louise
looking at her with admiration; "but that beautiful black
hairthose magnificent braidswhich made all the ladies
sigh with envy-- will they go under a man's hat like the
one I see down there?"

You shall see,said Eugenie. And with her left hand
seizing the thick masswhich her long fingers could
scarcely graspshe took in her right hand a pair of long
scissorsand soon the steel met through the rich and
splendid hairwhich fell in a cluster at her feet as she
leaned back to keep it from her coat. Then she grasped the
front hairwhich she also cut offwithout expressing the
least regret; on the contraryher eyes sparkled with
greater pleasure than usual under her ebony eyebrows. "Oh
the magnificent hair!" said Louisewith regret.

And am I not a hundred times better thus?cried Eugenie
smoothing the scattered curls of her hairwhich had now
quite a masculine appearance; "and do you not think me
handsomer so?"

Oh, you are beautiful -- always beautiful!cried Louise.
Now, where are you going?

To Brussels, if you like; it is the nearest frontier. We
can go to Brussels, Liege, Aix-la-Chapelle; then up the
Rhine to Strasburg. We will cross Switzerland, and go down
into Italy by the Saint-Gothard. Will that do?

Yes.

What are you looking at?

I am looking at you; indeed you are adorable like that! One
would say you were carrying me off.

And they would be right, pardieu!

Oh, I think you swore, Eugenie.And the two young girls
whom every one might have thought plunged in griefthe one
on her own accountthe other from interest in her friend
burst out laughingas they cleared away every visible trace
of the disorder which had naturally accompanied the
preparations for their escape. Thenhaving blown out the
lightsthe two fugitiveslooking and listening eagerly
with outstretched necksopened the door of a dressing-room
which led by a side staircase down to the yard-- Eugenie
going firstand holding with one arm the portmanteauwhich


by the opposite handle Mademoiselle d'Armilly scarcely
raised with both hands. The yard was empty; the clock was
striking twelve. The porter was not yet gone to bed. Eugenie
approached softlyand saw the old man sleeping soundly in
an arm-chair in his lodge. She returned to Louisetook up
the portmanteauwhich she had placed for a moment on the
groundand they reached the archway under the shadow of the
wall.

Eugenie concealed Louise in an angle of the gatewayso that
if the porter chanced to awake he might see but one person.
Then placing herself in the full light of the lamp which lit
the yard-- "Gate!" cried shewith her finest contralto
voiceand rapping at the window.

The porter got up as Eugenie expectedand even advanced
some steps to recognize the person who was going outbut
seeing a young man striking his boot impatiently with his
riding-whiphe opened it immediately. Louise slid through
the half-open gate like a snakeand bounded lightly
forward. Eugenieapparently calmalthough in all
probability her heart beat somewhat faster than usualwent
out in her turn. A porter was passing and they gave him the
portmanteau; then the two young girlshaving told him to
take it to No. 36Rue de la Victoirewalked behind this
manwhose presence comforted Louise. As for Eugenieshe
was as strong as a Judith or a Delilah. They arrived at the
appointed spot. Eugenie ordered the porter to put down the
portmanteaugave him some pieces of moneyand having
rapped at the shutter sent him away. The shutter where
Eugenie had rapped was that of a little laundresswho had
been previously warnedand was not yet gone to bed. She
opened the door.

Mademoiselle,said Eugenielet the porter get the
post-chaise from the coach-house, and fetch some post-horses
from the hotel. Here are five francs for his trouble.

Indeed,said LouiseI admire you, and I could almost say
respect you.The laundress looked on in astonishmentbut
as she had been promised twenty louisshe made no remark.

In a quarter of an hour the porter returned with a post-boy
and horseswhich were harnessedand put in the post-chaise
in a minutewhile the porter fastened the portmanteau on
with the assistance of a cord and strap. "Here is the
passport said the postilion, which way are we going
young gentleman?"

To Fontainebleau,replied Eugenie with an almost masculine
voice.

What do you say?said Louise.

I am giving them the slip,said Eugenie; "this woman to
whom we have given twenty louis may betray us for forty; we
will soon alter our direction." And the young girl jumped
into the britzskawhich was admirably arranged for sleeping
inwithout scarcely touching the step. "You are always
right said the music teacher, seating herself by the side
of her friend.

A quarter of an hour afterwards the postilion, having been
put in the right road, passed with a crack of his whip


through the gateway of the Barriere Saint-Martin. Ah said
Louise, breathing freely, here we are out of Paris."


Yes, my dear, the abduction is an accomplished fact,
replied Eugenie. "Yesand without violence said Louise.


I shall bring that forward as an extenuating circumstance
replied Eugenie. These words were lost in the noise which
the carriage made in rolling over the pavement of La
Villette. M. Danglars no longer had a daughter.


Chapter 98
The Bell and Bottle Tavern.


And now let us leave Mademoiselle Danglars and her friend
pursuing their way to Brussels, and return to poor Andrea
Cavalcanti, so inopportunely interrupted in his rise to
fortune. Notwithstanding his youth, Master Andrea was a very
skilful and intelligent boy. We have seen that on the first
rumor which reached the salon he had gradually approached
the door, and crossing two or three rooms at last
disappeared. But we have forgotten to mention one
circumstance, which nevertheless ought not to be omitted; in
one of the rooms he crossed, the trousseau of the
bride-elect was on exhibition. There were caskets of
diamonds, cashmere shawls, Valenciennes lace, English
veilings, and in fact all the tempting things, the bare
mention of which makes the hearts of young girls bound with
joy, and which is called the corbeille."* Nowin passing
through this roomAndrea proved himself not only to be
clever and intelligentbut also providentfor he helped
himself to the most valuable of the ornaments before him.


* Literallythe basket,because wedding gifts were
originally brought in such a receptacle.
Furnished with this plunderAndrea leaped with a lighter
heart from the windowintending to slip through the hands
of the gendarmes. Tall and well proportioned as an ancient
gladiatorand muscular as a Spartanhe walked for a
quarter of an hour without knowing where to direct his
stepsactuated by the sole idea of getting away from the
spot where if he lingered he knew that he would surely be
taken. Having passed through the Rue Mont Blancguided by
the instinct which leads thieves always to take the safest
pathhe found himself at the end of the Rue Lafayette.
There he stoppedbreathless and panting. He was quite
alone; on one side was the vast wilderness of the
Saint-Lazareon the otherParis enshrouded in darkness.
Am I to be captured?he cried; "nonot if I can use more
activity than my enemies. My safety is now a mere question
of speed." At this moment he saw a cab at the top of the
Faubourg Poissonniere. The dull driversmoking his pipe
was plodding along toward the limits of the Faubourg
Saint-Deniswhere no doubt he ordinarily had his station.
Ho, friend!said Benedetto.

What do you want, sir?asked the driver.

Is your horse tired?

Tired? oh, yes, tired enough -- he has done nothing the


whole of this blessed day! Four wretched fares, and twenty
sous over, making in all seven francs, are all that I have
earned, and I ought to take ten to the owner.

Will you add these twenty francs to the seven you have?

With pleasure, sir; twenty francs are not to be despised.
Tell me what I am to do for this.

A very easy thing, if your horse isn't tired.

I tell you he'll go like the wind, -- only tell me which
way to drive.

Towards the Louvres.

Ah, I know the way -- you get good sweetened rum over
there.

Exactly so; I merely wish to overtake one of my friends,
with whom I am going to hunt to-morrow at
Chapelle-en-Serval. He should have waited for me here with a
cabriolet till half-past eleven; it is twelve, and, tired of
waiting, he must have gone on.

It is likely.

Well, will you try and overtake him?

Nothing I should like better.

If you do not overtake him before we reach Bourget you
shall have twenty francs; if not before Louvres, thirty.

And if we do overtake him?

Forty,said Andreaafter a moment's hesitationat the
end of which he remembered that he might safely promise.
That's all right,said the man; "hop inand we're off!
Who-o-o-pla!"

Andrea got into the cabwhich passed rapidly through the
Faubourg Saint-Denisalong the Faubourg Saint-Martin
crossed the barrierand threaded its way through the
interminable Villette. They never overtook the chimerical
friendyet Andrea frequently inquired of people on foot
whom he passed and at the inns which were not yet closed
for a green cabriolet and bay horse; and as there are a
great many cabriolets to be seen on the road to the Low
Countriesand as nine-tenths of them are greenthe
inquiries increased at every step. Every one had just seen
it pass; it was only five hundredtwo hundredone hundred
steps in advance; at length they reached itbut it was not
the friend. Once the cab was also passed by a calash rapidly
whirled along by two post-horses. "Ah said Cavalcanti to
himself, if I only had that britzskathose two good
post-horsesand above all the passport that carries them
on!" And he sighed deeply. The calash contained Mademoiselle
Danglars and Mademoiselle d'Armilly. "Hurryhurry!" said
Andreawe must overtake him soon.And the poor horse
resumed the desperate gallop it had kept up since leaving
the barrierand arrived steaming at Louvres.

Certainly,said AndreaI shall not overtake my friend,


but I shall kill your horse, therefore I had better stop.
Here are thirty francs; I will sleep at the Red Horse, and
will secure a place in the first coach. Good-night, friend.
And Andreaafter placing six pieces of five francs each in
the man's handleaped lightly on to the pathway. The cabman
joyfully pocketed the sumand turned back on his road to
Paris. Andrea pretended to go towards the Red Horse innbut
after leaning an instant against the doorand hearing the
last sound of the cabwhich was disappearing from viewhe
went on his roadand with a lusty stride soon traversed the
space of two leagues. Then he rested; he must be near
Chapelle-en-Servalwhere he pretended to be going. It was
not fatigue that stayed Andrea here; it was that he might
form some resolutionadopt some plan. It would be
impossible to make use of a diligenceequally so to engage
post-horses; to travel either way a passport was necessary.
It was still more impossible to remain in the department of
the Oiseone of the most open and strictly guarded in
France; this was quite out of the questionespecially to a
man like Andreaperfectly conversant with criminal matters.

He sat down by the side of the moatburied his face in his
hands and reflected. Ten minutes after he raised his head;
his resolution was made. He threw some dust over the
topcoatwhich he had found time to unhook from the
ante-chamber and button over his ball costumeand going to
Chapelle-en-Serval he knocked loudly at the door of the only
inn in the place. The host opened. "My friend said Andrea,
I was coming from Montefontaine to Senliswhen my horse
which is a troublesome creaturestumbled and threw me. I
must reach Compiegne to-nightor I shall cause deep anxiety
to my family. Could you let me hire a horse of you?"

An inn-keeper has always a horse to letwhether it be good
or bad. The host called the stable-boyand ordered him to
saddle "Whitey then he awoke his son, a child of seven
years, whom he ordered to ride before the gentleman and
bring back the horse. Andrea gave the inn-keeper twenty
francs, and in taking them from his pocket dropped a
visiting card. This belonged to one of his friends at the
Cafe de Paris, so that the innkeeper, picking it up after
Andrea had left, was convinced that he had let his horse to
the Count of Mauleon, 25 Rue Saint-Dominique, that being the
name and address on the card. Whitey" was not a fast
animalbut he kept up an easysteady pace; in three hours
and a half Andrea had traversed the nine leagues which
separated him from Compiegneand four o'clock struck as he
reached the place where the coaches stop. There is an
excellent tavern at Compiegnewell remembered by those who
have ever been there. Andreawho had often stayed there in
his rides about Parisrecollected the Bell and Bottle inn;
he turned aroundsaw the sign by the light of a reflected
lampand having dismissed the childgiving him all the
small coin he had about himhe began knocking at the door
very reasonably concluding that having now three or four
hours before him he had best fortify himself against the
fatigues of the morrow by a sound sleep and a good supper. A
waiter opened the door.

My friend,said AndreaI have been dining at
Saint-Jean-au-Bois, and expected to catch the coach which
passes by at midnight, but like a fool I have lost my way,
and have been walking for the last four hours in the forest.
Show me into one of those pretty little rooms which overlook


the court, and bring me a cold fowl and a bottle of
Bordeaux.The waiter had no suspicions; Andrea spoke with
perfect composurehe had a cigar in his mouthand his
hands in the pocket of his top coat; his clothes were
fashionably madehis chin smoothhis boots irreproachable;
he looked merely as if he had stayed out very latethat was
all. While the waiter was preparing his roomthe hostess
arose; Andrea assumed his most charming smileand asked if
he could have No. 3which he had occupied on his last stay
at Compiegne. UnfortunatelyNo. 3 was engaged by a young
man who was travelling with his sister. Andrea appeared in
despairbut consoled himself when the hostess assured him
that No. 7prepared for himwas situated precisely the
same as No. 3and while warming his feet and chatting about
the last races at Chantillyhe waited until they announced
his room to be ready.

Andrea had not spoken without cause of the pretty rooms
looking out upon the court of the Bell Tavernwhich with
its triple galleries like those of a theatrewith the
jessamine and clematis twining round the light columns
forms one of the prettiest entrances to an inn that you can
imagine. The fowl was tenderthe wine oldthe fire clear
and sparklingand Andrea was surprised to find himself
eating with as good an appetite as though nothing had
happened. Then he went to bed and almost immediately fell
into that deep sleep which is sure to visit men of twenty
years of ageeven when they are torn with remorse. Now
here we are obliged to own that Andrea ought to have felt
remorsebut that he did not. This was the plan which had
appealed to him to afford the best chance of his security.
Before daybreak he would awakeleave the inn after
rigorously paying his billand reaching the foresthe
wouldunder presence of making studies in paintingtest
the hospitality of some peasantsprocure himself the dress
of a woodcutter and a hatchetcasting off the lion's skin
to assume that of the woodman; thenwith his hands covered
with dirthis hair darkened by means of a leaden combhis
complexion embrowned with a preparation for which one of his
old comrades had given him the recipehe intendedby
following the wooded districtsto reach the nearest
frontierwalking by night and sleeping in the day in the
forests and quarriesand only entering inhabited regions to
buy a loaf from time to time.

Once past the frontierAndrea proposed making money of his
diamonds; and by uniting the proceeds to ten bank-notes he
always carried about with him in case of accidenthe would
then find himself possessor of about 50000 livreswhich he
philosophically considered as no very deplorable condition
after all. Moreoverhe reckoned much on the interest of the
Danglars to hush up the rumor of their own misadventures.
These were the reasons whichadded to the fatiguecaused
Andrea to sleep so soundly. In order that he might awaken
early he did not close the shuttersbut contented himself
with bolting the door and placing on the table an unclasped
and long-pointed knifewhose temper he well knewand which
was never absent from him. About seven in the morning Andrea
was awakened by a ray of sunlightwhich playedwarm and
brilliantupon his face. In all well-organized brainsthe
predominating idea -- and there always is one -- is sure to
be the last thought before sleepingand the first upon
waking in the morning. Andrea had scarcely opened his eyes
when his predominating idea presented itselfand whispered


in his ear that he had slept too long. He jumped out of bed
and ran to the window. A gendarme was crossing the court. A
gendarme is one of the most striking objects in the world
even to a man void of uneasiness; but for one who has a
timid conscienceand with good cause toothe yellowblue
and white uniform is really very alarming.

Why is that gendarme there?asked Andrea of himself. Then
all at oncehe repliedwith that logic which the reader
hasdoubtlessremarked in himThere is nothing
astonishing in seeing a gendarme at an inn; instead of being
astonished, let me dress myself.And the youth dressed
himself with a facility his valet de chambre had failed to
rob him of during the two months of fashionable life he had
led in Paris. "Now then said Andrea, while dressing
himself, I'll wait till he leavesand then I'll slip
away." Andsaying thisAndreawho had now put on his
boots and cravatstole gently to the windowand a second
time lifted up the muslin curtain. Not only was the first
gendarme still therebut the young man now perceived a
second yellowblueand white uniform at the foot of the
staircasethe only one by which he could descendwhile a
thirdon horsebackholding a musket in his fistwas
posted as a sentinel at the great street door which alone
afforded the means of egress.

The appearance of the third gendarme settled the matterfor
a crowd of curious loungers was extended before him
effectually blocking the entrance to the hotel. "They're
after me!" was Andrea's first thought. "The devil!" A pallor
overspread the young man's foreheadand he looked around
him with anxiety. His roomlike all those on the same
floorhad but one outlet to the gallery in the sight of
everybody. "I am lost!" was his second thought; andindeed
for a man in Andrea's situationan arrest meant the
assizestrialand death-- death without mercy or delay.
For a moment he convulsively pressed his head within his
handsand during that brief period he became nearly mad
with terror; but soon a ray of hope glimmered in the
multitude of thoughts which bewildered his mindand a faint
smile played upon his white lips and pallid cheeks. He
looked around and saw the objects of his search upon the
chimney-piece; they were a peninkand paper. With forced
composure he dipped the pen in the inkand wrote the
following lines upon a sheet of paper: -


I have no money to pay my bill, but I am not a dishonest
man; I leave behind me as a pledge this pin, worth ten times
the amount. I shall be excused for leaving at daybreak, for
I was ashamed.

He then drew the pin from his cravat and placed it on the
paper. This doneinstead of leaving the door fastenedhe
drew back the bolts and even placed the door ajaras though
he had left the roomforgetting to close itand slipping
into the chimney like a man accustomed to that kind of
gymnastic exercisehaving effaced the marks of his feet
upon the floorhe commenced climbing the only opening which
afforded him the means of escape. At this precise timethe
first gendarme Andrea had noticed walked up-stairspreceded
by the commissary of policeand supported by the second
gendarme who guarded the staircase and was himself
re-enforced by the one stationed at the door.


Andrea was indebted for this visit to the following
circumstances. At daybreakthe telegraphs were set at work
in all directionsand almost immediately the authorities in
every district had exerted their utmost endeavors to arrest
the murderer of Caderousse. Compiegnethat royal residence
and fortified townis well furnished with authorities
gendarmesand commissaries of police; they therefore began
operations as soon as the telegraphic despatch arrivedand
the Bell and Bottle being the best-known hotel in the town
they had naturally directed their first inquiries there.

Nowbesides the reports of the sentinels guarding the Hotel
de Villewhich is next door to the Bell and Bottleit had
been stated by others that a number of travellers had
arrived during the night. The sentinel who was relieved at
six o'clock in the morningremembered perfectly that just
as he was taking his post a few minutes past four a young
man arrived on horsebackwith a little boy before him. The
young manhaving dismissed the boy and horseknocked at
the door of the hotelwhich was openedand again closed
after his entrance. This late arrival had attracted much
suspicionand the young man being no other than Andreathe
commissary and gendarmewho was a brigadierdirected their
steps towards his room.

They found the door ajar. "Ohho said the brigadier, who
thoroughly understood the trick; a bad sign to find the
door open! I would rather find it triply bolted." And
indeedthe little note and pin upon the table confirmedor
rather corroboratedthe sad truth. Andrea had fled. We say
corroboratedbecause the brigadier was too experienced to
be convinced by a single proof. He glanced aroundlooked in
the bedshook the curtainsopened the closetsand finally
stopped at the chimney. Andrea had taken the precaution to
leave no traces of his feet in the ashesbut still it was
an outletand in this light was not to be passed over
without serious investigation.

The brigadier sent for some sticks and strawand having
filled the chimney with themset a light to it. The fire
crackledand the smoke ascended like the dull vapor from a
volcano; but still no prisoner fell downas they expected.
The fact wasthat Andreaat war with society ever since
his youthwas quite as deep as a gendarmeeven though he
were advanced to the rank of brigadierand quite prepared
for the firehe had climbed out on the roof and was
crouching down against the chimney-pots. At one time he
thought he was savedfor he heard the brigadier exclaim in
a loud voiceto the two gendarmesHe is not here!But
venturing to peephe perceived that the latterinstead of
retiringas might have been reasonably expected upon this
announcementwere watching with increased attention.

It was now his turn to look about him; the Hotel de Villea
massive sixteenth century buildingwas on his right; any
one could descend from the openings in the towerand
examine every corner of the roof belowand Andrea expected
momentarily to see the head of a gendarme appear at one of
these openings. If once discoveredhe knew he would be
lostfor the roof afforded no chance of escape; he
therefore resolved to descendnot through the same chimney
by which he had come upbut by a similar one conducting to
another room. He looked around for a chimney from which no
smoke issuedand having reached ithe disappeared through


the orifice without being seen by any one. At the same
minuteone of the little windows of the Hotel de Ville was
thrown openand the head of a gendarme appeared. For an
instant it remained motionless as one of the stone
decorations of the buildingthen after a long sigh of
disappointment the head disappeared. The brigadiercalm and
dignified as the law he representedpassed through the
crowdwithout answering the thousand questions addressed to
himand re-entered the hotel.

Well?asked the two gendarmes.

Well, my boys,said the brigadierthe brigand must
really have escaped early this morning; but we will send to
the Villers-Coterets and Noyon roads, and search the forest,
when we shall catch him, no doubt.The honorable
functionary had scarcely expressed himself thusin that
intonation which is peculiar to brigadiers of the
gendarmeriewhen a loud screamaccompanied by the violent
ringing of a bellresounded through the court of the hotel.
Ah, what is that?cried the brigadier.

Some traveller seems impatient,said the host. "What
number was it that rang?"

Number 3.

Run, waiter!At this moment the screams and ringing were
redoubled. "Ah said the brigadier, stopping the servant,
the person who is ringing appears to want something more
than a waiter; we will attend upon him with a gendarme. Who
occupies Number 3?"

The little fellow who arrived last night in a post-chaise
with his sister, and who asked for an apartment with two
beds.The bell here rang for the third timewith another
shriek of anguish.

Follow me, Mr. Commissary!said the brigadier; "tread in
my steps."

Wait an instant,said the host; "Number 3 has two
staircases-- inside and outside."

Good,said the brigadier. "I will take charge of the
inside one. Are the carbines loaded?"

Yes, brigadier.

Well, you guard the exterior, and if he attempts to fly,
fire upon him; he must be a great criminal, from what the
telegraph says.

The brigadierfollowed by the commissarydisappeared by
the inside staircaseaccompanied by the noise which his
assertions respecting Andrea had excited in the crowd. This
is what had happened. Andrea had very cleverly managed to
descend two-thirds of the chimneybut then his foot
slippedand notwithstanding his endeavorshe came into the
room with more speed and noise than he intended. It would
have signified little had the room been emptybut
unfortunately it was occupied. Two ladiessleeping in one
bedwere awakened by the noiseand fixing their eyes upon
the spot whence the sound proceededthey saw a man. One of


these ladiesthe fair oneuttered those terrible shrieks
which resounded through the housewhile the otherrushing
to the bell-roperang with all her strength. Andreaas we
can seewas surrounded by misfortune.

For pity's sake,he criedpale and bewilderedwithout
seeing whom he was addressing-- "for pity's sake do not
call assistance! Save me! -- I will not harm you."

Andrea, the murderer!cried one of the ladies.

Eugenie! Mademoiselle Danglars!exclaimed Andrea
stupefied.

Help, help!cried Mademoiselle d'Armillytaking the bell
from her companion's handand ringing it yet more
violently. "Save meI am pursued!" said Andreaclasping
his hands. "For pityfor mercy's sake do not deliver me
up!"

It is too late, they are coming,said Eugenie.

Well, conceal me somewhere; you can say you were needlessly
alarmed; you can turn their suspicions and save my life!

The two ladiespressing closely to one anotherand drawing
the bedclothes tightly around themremained silent to this
supplicating voicerepugnance and fear taking possession of
their minds.

Well, be it so,at length said Eugenie; "return by the
same road you cameand we will say nothing about you
unhappy wretch."

Here he is, here he is!cried a voice from the landing;
here he is! I see him!The brigadier had put his eye to
the keyholeand had discovered Andrea in a posture of
entreaty. A violent blow from the butt end of the musket
burst open the locktwo more forced out the boltsand the
broken door fell in. Andrea ran to the other doorleading
to the galleryready to rush out; but he was stopped short
and he stood with his body a little thrown backpaleand
with the useless knife in his clinched hand.

Fly, then!cried Mademoiselle d'Armillywhose pity
returned as her fears diminished; "fly!"

Or kill yourself!said Eugenie (in a tone which a Vestal
in the amphitheatre would have usedwhen urging the
victorious gladiator to finish his vanquished adversary).
Andrea shudderedand looked on the young girl with an
expression which proved how little he understood such
ferocious honor. "Kill myself?" he criedthrowing down his
knife; "why should I do so?"

Why, you said,answered Mademoiselle Danglarsthat you
would be condemned to die like the worst criminals.

Bah,said Cavalcanticrossing his armsone has
friends.

The brigadier advanced to himsword in hand. "Comecome
said Andrea, sheathe your swordmy fine fellow; there is
no occasion to make such a fusssince I give myself up;"


and he held out his hands to be manacled. The girls looked
with horror upon this shameful metamorphosisthe man of the
world shaking off his covering and appearing as a
galley-slave. Andrea turned towards themand with an
impertinent smile asked-- "Have you any message for your
fatherMademoiselle Danglarsfor in all probability I
shall return to Paris?"

Eugenie covered her face with her hands. "Ohho!" said
Andreayou need not be ashamed, even though you did post
after me. Was I not nearly your husband?

And with this raillery Andrea went outleaving the two
girls a prey to their own feelings of shameand to the
comments of the crowd. An hour after they stepped into their
calashboth dressed in feminine attire. The gate of the
hotel had been closed to screen them from sightbut they
were forcedwhen the door was opento pass through a
throng of curious glances and whispering voices. Eugenie
closed her eyes; but though she could not seeshe could
hearand the sneers of the crowd reached her in the
carriage. "Ohwhy is not the world a wilderness?" she
exclaimedthrowing herself into the arms of Mademoiselle
d'Armillyher eyes sparkling with the same kind of rage
which made Nero wish that the Roman world had but one neck
that he might sever it at a single blow. The next day they
stopped at the Hotel de Flandreat Brussels. The same
evening Andrea was incarcerated in the Conciergerie.

Chapter 99
The Law.

We have seen how quietly Mademoiselle Danglars and
Mademoiselle d'Armilly accomplished their transformation and
flight; the fact being that every one was too much occupied
in his or her own affairs to think of theirs. We will leave
the banker contemplating the enormous magnitude of his debt
before the phantom of bankruptcyand follow the baroness
who after being momentarily crushed under the weight of the
blow which had struck herhad gone to seek her usual
adviserLucien Debray. The baroness had looked forward to
this marriage as a means of ridding her of a guardianship
whichover a girl of Eugenie's charactercould not fail to
be rather a troublesome undertaking; for in the tacit
relations which maintain the bond of family unionthe
motherto maintain her ascendancy over her daughtermust
never fail to be a model of wisdom and a type of perfection.

NowMadame Danglars feared Eugenie's sagacity and the
influence of Mademoiselle d'Armilly; she had frequently
observed the contemptuous expression with which her daughter
looked upon Debray-- an expression which seemed to imply
that she understood all her mother's amorous and pecuniary
relationships with the intimate secretary; moreovershe saw
that Eugenie detested Debray-- not only because he was a
source of dissension and scandal under the paternal roof
but because she had at once classed him in that catalogue of
bipeds whom Plato endeavors to withdraw from the appellation
of menand whom Diogenes designated as animals upon two
legs without feathers.

Unfortunatelyin this world of ourseach person views


things through a certain mediumand so is prevented from
seeing in the same light as othersand Madame Danglars
thereforevery much regretted that the marriage of Eugenie
had not taken placenot only because the match was good
and likely to insure the happiness of her childbut because
it would also set her at liberty. She ran therefore to
Debraywhoafter having like the rest of Paris witnessed
the contract scene and the scandal attending ithad retired
in haste to his clubwhere he was chatting with some
friends upon the events which served as a subject of
conversation for three-fourths of that city known as the
capital of the world.

At the precise time when Madame Danglarsdressed in black
and concealed in a long veilwas ascending the stairs
leading to Debray's apartments-- notwithstanding the
assurances of the concierge that the young man was not at
home-- Debray was occupied in repelling the insinuations
of a friendwho tried to persuade him that after the
terrible scene which had just taken place he oughtas a
friend of the familyto marry Mademoiselle Danglars and her
two millions. Debray did not defend himself very warmlyfor
the idea had sometimes crossed his mind; stillwhen he
recollected the independentproud spirit of Eugeniehe
positively rejected it as utterly impossiblethough the
same thought again continually recurred and found a
resting-place in his heart. Teaplayand the conversation
which had become interesting during the discussion of such
serious affairslasted till one o'clock in the morning.

Meanwhile Madame Danglarsveiled and uneasyawaited the
return of Debray in the little green roomseated between
two baskets of flowerswhich she had that morning sentand
whichit must be confessedDebray had himself arranged and
watered with so much care that his absence was half excused
in the eyes of the poor woman.

At twenty minutes of twelveMadame Danglarstired of
waitingreturned home. Women of a certain grade are like
prosperous grisettes in one respectthey seldom return home
after twelve o'clock. The baroness returned to the hotel
with as much caution as Eugenie used in leaving it; she ran
lightly up-stairsand with an aching heart entered her
apartmentcontiguousas we knowto that of Eugenie. She
was fearful of exciting any remarkand believed firmly in
her daughter's innocence and fidelity to the paternal roof.
She listened at Eugenie's doorand hearing no sound tried
to enterbut the bolts were in place. Madame Danglars then
concluded that the young girl had been overcome with the
terrible excitement of the eveningand had gone to bed and
to sleep. She called the maid and questioned her.

Mademoiselle Eugenie,said the maidretired to her
apartment with Mademoiselle d'Armilly; they then took tea
together, after which they desired me to leave, saying that
they needed me no longer.Since then the maid had been
belowand like every one else she thought the young ladies
were in their own room; Madame Danglarsthereforewent to
bed without a shadow of suspicionand began to muse over
the recent events. In proportion as her memory became
clearerthe occurrences of the evening were revealed in
their true light; what she had taken for confusion was a
tumult; what she had regarded as something distressingwas
in reality a disgrace. And then the baroness remembered that


she had felt no pity for poor Mercedeswho had been
afflicted with as severe a blow through her husband and son.

Eugenie,she said to herselfis lost, and so are we. The
affair, as it will be reported, will cover us with shame;
for in a society such as ours satire inflicts a painful and
incurable wound. How fortunate that Eugenie is possessed of
that strange character which has so often made me tremble!
And her glance was turned towards heavenwhere a mysterious
providence disposes all thingsand out of a faultnay
even a vicesometimes produces a blessing. And then her
thoughtscleaving through space like a bird in the air
rested on Cavalcanti. This Andrea was a wretcha robberan
assassinand yet his manners showed the effects of a sort
of educationif not a complete one; he had been presented
to the world with the appearance of an immense fortune
supported by an honorable name. How could she extricate
herself from this labyrinth? To whom would she apply to help
her out of this painful situation? Debrayto whom she had
runwith the first instinct of a woman towards the man she
lovesand who yet betrays her-- Debray could but give her
adviceshe must apply to some one more powerful than he.

The baroness then thought of M. de Villefort. It was M. de
Villefort who had remorselessly brought misfortune into her
familyas though they had been strangers. Butno; on
reflectionthe procureur was not a merciless man; and it
was not the magistrateslave to his dutiesbut the friend
the loyal friendwho roughly but firmly cut into the very
core of the corruption; it was not the executionerbut the
surgeonwho wished to withdraw the honor of Danglars from
ignominious association with the disgraced young man they
had presented to the world as their son-in-law. And since
Villefortthe friend of Danglarshad acted in this wayno
one could suppose that he had been previously acquainted
withor had lent himself toany of Andrea's intrigues.
Villefort's conductthereforeupon reflectionappeared to
the baroness as if shaped for their mutual advantage. But
the inflexibility of the procureur should stop there; she
would see him the next dayand if she could not make him
fail in his duties as a magistrateshe wouldat least
obtain all the indulgence he could allow. She would invoke
the pastrecall old recollections; she would supplicate him
by the remembrance of guiltyyet happy days. M. de
Villefort would stifle the affair; he had only to turn his
eyes on one sideand allow Andrea to flyand follow up the
crime under that shadow of guilt called contempt of court.
And after this reasoning she slept easily.

At nine o'clock next morning she aroseand without ringing
for her maid or giving the least sign of her activityshe
dressed herself in the same simple style as on the previous
night; then running down-stairsshe left the hotel. walked
to the Rue de Provencecalled a caband drove to M. de
Villefort's house. For the last month this wretched house
had presented the gloomy appearance of a lazaretto infected
with the plague. Some of the apartments were closed within
and without; the shutters were only opened to admit a
minute's airshowing the scared face of a footmanand
immediately afterwards the window would be closedlike a
gravestone falling on a sepulchreand the neighbors would
say to each other in a low voiceWill there be another
funeral to-day at the procureur's house?Madame Danglars
involuntarily shuddered at the desolate aspect of the


mansion; descending from the cabshe approached the door
with trembling kneesand rang the bell. Three times did the
bell ring with a dullheavy soundseeming to participate
in the general sadnessbefore the concierge appeared and
peeped through the doorwhich he opened just wide enough to
allow his words to be heard. He saw a ladya fashionable
elegantly dressed ladyand yet the door remained almost
closed.

Do you intend opening the door?said the baroness.

First, madame, who are you?

Who am I? You know me well enough.

We no longer know any one, madame.

You must be mad, my friend,said the baroness.

Where do you come from?

Oh, this is too much!

Madame, these are my orders; excuse me. Your name?

The baroness Danglars; you have seen me twenty times.

Possibly, madame. And now, what do you want?

Oh, how extraordinary! I shall complain to M. de Villefort
of the impertinence of his servants.

Madame, this is precaution, not impertinence; no one enters
here without an order from M. d'Avrigny, or without speaking
to the procureur.

Well, I have business with the procureur.

Is it pressing business?

You can imagine so, since I have not even brought my
carriage out yet. But enough of this -- here is my card,
take it to your master.

Madame will await my return?

Yes; go.The concierge closed the doorleaving Madame
Danglars in the street. She had not long to wait; directly
afterwards the door was opened wide enough to admit herand
when she had passed throughit was again shut. Without
losing sight of her for an instantthe concierge took a
whistle from his pocket as soon as they entered the court
and blew it. The valet de chambre appeared on the
door-steps. "You will excuse this poor fellowmadame he
said, as he preceded the baroness, but his orders are
preciseand M. de Villefort begged me to tell you that he
could not act otherwise."

In the court showing his merchandisewas a tradesman who
had been admitted with the same precautions. The baroness
ascended the steps; she felt herself strongly infected with
the sadness which seemed to magnify her ownand still
guided by the valet de chambrewho never lost sight of her
for an instantshe was introduced to the magistrate's


study. Preoccupied as Madame Danglars had been with the
object of her visitthe treatment she had received from
these underlings appeared to her so insultingthat she
began by complaining of it. But Villefortraising his head
bowed down by grieflooked up at her with so sad a smile
that her complaints died upon her lips. "Forgive my
servants he said, for a terror I cannot blame them for;
from being suspected they have become suspicious."

Madame Danglars had often heard of the terror to which the
magistrate alludedbut without the evidence of her own
eyesight she could never have believed that the sentiment
had been carried so far. "You toothenare unhappy?" she
said. "Yesmadame replied the magistrate.

Then you pity me!"

Sincerely, madame.

And you understand what brings me here?

You wish to speak to me about the circumstance which has
just happened?

Yes, sir, -- a fearful misfortune.

You mean a mischance.

A mischance?repeated the baroness.

Alas, madame,said the procureur with his imperturbable
calmness of mannerI consider those alone misfortunes
which are irreparable.

And do you suppose this will be forgotten?

Everything will be forgotten, madame,said Villefort.
Your daughter will be married to-morrow, if not to-day -in
a week, if not to-morrow; and I do not think you can
regret the intended husband of your daughter.

Madame Danglars gazed on Villefortstupefied to find him so
almost insultingly calm. "Am I come to a friend?" she asked
in a tone full of mournful dignity. "You know that you are
madame said Villefort, whose pale cheeks became slightly
flushed as he gave her the assurance. And truly this
assurance carried him back to different events from those
now occupying the baroness and him. Wellthenbe more
affectionatemy dear Villefort said the baroness. Speak
to me not as a magistratebut as a friend; and when I am in
bitter anguish of spiritdo not tell me that I ought to be
gay." Villefort bowed. "When I hear misfortunes named
madame he said, I have within the last few mouths
contracted the bad habit of thinking of my ownand then I
cannot help drawing up an egotistical parallel in my mind.
That is the reason that by the side of my misfortunes yours
appear to me mere mischances; that is why my dreadful
position makes yours appear enviable. But this annoys you;
let us change the subject. You were sayingmadame" -


I came to ask you, my friend,said the baronesswhat
will be done with this impostor?

Impostor,repeated Villefort; "certainlymadameyou


appear to extenuate some casesand exaggerate others.
Impostorindeed! -- M. Andrea Cavalcantior rather M.
Benedettois nothing more nor less than an assassin!"

Sir, I do not deny the justice of your correction, but the
more severely you arm yourself against that unfortunate man,
the more deeply will you strike our family. Come, forget him
for a moment, and instead of pursuing him let him go.

You are too late, madame; the orders are issued.

Well, should he be arrested -- do they think they will
arrest him?

I hope so.

If they should arrest him (I know that sometimes prisoners
afford means of escape), will you leave him in prison?--
The procureur shook his head. "At least keep him there till
my daughter be married."

Impossible, madame; justice has its formalities.

What, even for me?said the baronesshalf jestinghalf
in earnest. "For alleven for myself among the rest
replied Villefort.

Ah exclaimed the baroness, without expressing the ideas
which the exclamation betrayed. Villefort looked at her with
that piercing glance which reads the secrets of the heart.
YesI know what you mean he said; you refer to the
terrible rumors spread abroad in the worldthat the deaths
which have kept me in mourning for the last three months
and from which Valentine has only escaped by a miraclehave
not happened by natural means."

I was not thinking of that,replied Madame Danglars
quickly. "Yesyou were thinking of itand with justice.
You could not help thinking of itand saying to yourself
`youwho pursue crime so vindictivelyanswer nowwhy are
there unpunished crimes in your dwelling?'" The baroness
became pale. "You were saying thiswere you not?"

Well, I own it.

I will answer you.

Villefort drew his armchair nearer to Madame Danglars; then
resting both hands upon his desk he said in a voice more
hollow than usual: "There are crimes which remain unpunished
because the criminals are unknownand we might strike the
innocent instead of the guilty; but when the culprits are
discovered" (Villefort here extended his hand toward a large
crucifix placed opposite to his desk) -- "when they are
discoveredI swear to youby all I hold most sacredthat
whoever they may be they shall die. Nowafter the oath I
have just takenand which I will keepmadamedare you ask
for mercy for that wretch!"

But, sir, are you sure he is as guilty as they say?

Listen; this is his description: `Benedetto, condemned, at
the age of sixteen, for five years to the galleys for
forgery.' He promised well, as you see -- first a runaway,


then an assassin.

And who is this wretch?

Who can tell? -- a vagabond, a Corsican.

Has no one owned him?

No one; his parents are unknown.

But who was the man who brought him from Lucca?

Another rascal like himself, perhaps his accomplice.The
baroness clasped her hands. "Villefort she exclaimed in
her softest and most captivating manner.

For heaven's sakemadame said Villefort, with a firmness
of expression not altogether free from harshness -- for
heaven's sakedo not ask pardon of me for a guilty wretch!
What am I? -- the law. Has the law any eyes to witness your
grief? Has the law ears to be melted by your sweet voice?
Has the law a memory for all those soft recollections you
endeavor to recall? Nomadame; the law has commandedand
when it commands it strikes. You will tell me that I am a
living beingand not a code -- a manand not a volume.
Look at memadame -- look around me. Have mankind treated
me as a brother? Have they loved me? Have they spared me?
Has any one shown the mercy towards me that you now ask at
my hands? Nomadamethey struck mealways struck me!

Woman, siren that you are, do you persist in fixing on me
that fascinating eye, which reminds me that I ought to
blush? Well, be it so; let me blush for the faults you know,
and perhaps -- perhaps for even more than those! But having
sinned myself, -- it may be more deeply than others, -- I
never rest till I have torn the disguises from my
fellow-creatures, and found out their weaknesses. I have
always found them; and more, -- I repeat it with joy, with
triumph, -- I have always found some proof of human
perversity or error. Every criminal I condemn seems to me
living evidence that I am not a hideous exception to the
rest. Alas, alas, alas; all the world is wicked; let us
therefore strike at wickedness!

Villefort pronounced these last words with a feverish rage
which gave a ferocious eloquence to his words.

But' said Madame Danglarsresolving to make a last
effortthis young man, though a murderer, is an orphan,
abandoned by everybody.

So much the worse, or rather, so much the better; it has
been so ordained that he may have none to weep his fate.

But this is trampling on the weak, sir.

The weakness of a murderer!

His dishonor reflects upon us.

Is not death in my house?

Oh, sir,exclaimed the baronessyou are without pity for
others, well, then, I tell you they will have no mercy on


you!

Be it so!said Villefortraising his arms to heaven.

At least, delay the trial till the next assizes; we shall
then have six months before us.

No, madame,said Villefort; "instructions have been given.
There are yet five days left; five days are more than I
require. Do you not think that I also long for
forgetfulness? While working night and dayI sometimes lose
all recollection of the pastand then I experience the same
sort of happiness I can imagine the dead feel; stillit is
better than suffering."

But, sir, he has fled; let him escape -- inaction is a
pardonable offence.

I tell you it is too late; early this morning the telegraph
was employed, and at this very minute-


Sir,said the valet de chambreentering the rooma
dragoon has brought this despatch from the minister of the
interior.Villefort seized the letterand hastily broke
the seal. Madame Danglars trembled with fear; Villefort
started with joy. "Arrested!" he exclaimed; "he was taken at
Compiegneand all is over." Madame Danglars rose from her
seatpale and cold. "Adieusir she said. Adieu
madame replied the king's attorney, as in an almost joyful
manner he conducted her to the door. Then, turning to his
desk, he said, striking the letter with the back of his
right hand, ComeI had a forgerythree robberiesand two
cases of arsonI only wanted a murderand here it is. It
will be a splendid session!"

Chapter 100
The Apparition.

As the procureur had told Madame DanglarsValentine was not
yet recovered. Bowed down with fatigueshe was indeed
confined to her bed; and it was in her own roomand from
the lips of Madame de Villefortthat she heard all the
strange events we have related-- we mean the flight of
Eugenie and the arrest of Andrea Cavalcantior rather
Benedettotogether with the accusation of murder pronounced
against him. But Valentine was so weak that this recital
scarcely produced the same effect it would have done had she
been in her usual state of health. Indeedher brain was
only the seat of vague ideasand confused formsmingled
with strange fanciesalone presented themselves before her
eyes.

During the daytime Valentine's perceptions remained
tolerably clearowing to the constant presence of M.
Noirtierwho caused himself to be carried to his
granddaughter's roomand watched her with his paternal
tenderness; Villefort alsoon his return from the law
courtsfrequently passed an hour or two with his father and
child. At six o'clock Villefort retired to his studyat
eight M. d'Avrigny himself arrivedbringing the night
draught prepared for the young girland then M. Noirtier
was carried away. A nurse of the doctor's choice succeeded


themand never left till about ten or eleven o'clockwhen
Valentine was asleep. As she went down-stairs she gave the
keys of Valentine's room to M. de Villefortso that no one
could reach the sick-room excepting through that of Madame
de Villefort and little Edward.

Every morning Morrel called on Noirtier to receive news of
Valentineandextraordinary as it seemedeach day found
him less uneasy. Certainlythough Valentine still labored
under dreadful nervous excitementshe was better; and
moreoverMonte Cristo had told him whenhalf distracted
he had rushed to the count's housethat if she were not
dead in two hours she would be saved. Now four days had
elapsedand Valentine still lived.

The nervous excitement of which we speak pursued Valentine
even in her sleepor rather in that state of somnolence
which succeeded her waking hours; it was thenin the
silence of nightin the dim light shed from the alabaster
lamp on the chimney-piecethat she saw the shadows pass and
repass which hover over the bed of sicknessand fan the
fever with their trembling wings. First she fancied she saw
her stepmother threatening herthen Morrel stretched his
arms towards her; sometimes mere strangerslike the Count
of Monte Cristo came to visit her; even the very furniture
in these moments of deliriumseemed to moveand this state
lasted till about three o'clock in the morningwhen a deep
heavy slumber overcame the young girlfrom which she did
not awake till daylight. On the evening of the day on which
Valentine had learned of the flight of Eugenie and the
arrest of Benedetto-- Villefort having retired as well as
Noirtier and d'Avrigny-- her thoughts wandered in a
confused mazealternately reviewing her own situation and
the events she had just heard.

Eleven o'clock had struck. The nursehaving placed the
beverage prepared by the doctor within reach of the patient
and locked the doorwas listening with terror to the
comments of the servants in the kitchenand storing her
memory with all the horrible stories which had for some
months past amused the occupants of the ante-chambers in the
house of the king's attorney. Meanwhile an unexpected scene
was passing in the room which had been so carefully locked.
Ten minutes had elapsed since the nurse had left; Valentine
who for the last hour had been suffering from the fever
which returned nightlyincapable of controlling her ideas
was forced to yield to the excitement which exhausted itself
in producing and reproducing a succession and recurrence of
the same fancies and images. The night-lamp threw out
countless rayseach resolving itself into some strange form
to her disordered imaginationwhen suddenly by its
flickering light Valentine thought she saw the door of her
librarywhich was in the recess by the chimney-pieceopen
slowlythough she in vain listened for the sound of the
hinges on which it turned.

At any other time Valentine would have seized the silken
bell-pull and summoned assistancebut nothing astonished
her in her present situation. Her reason told her that all
the visions she beheld were but the children of her
imaginationand the conviction was strengthened by the fact
that in the morning no traces remained of the nocturnal
phantomswho disappeared with the coming of daylight. From
behind the door a human figure appearedbut the girl was


too familiar with such apparitions to be alarmedand
therefore only staredhoping to recognize Morrel. The
figure advanced towards the bed and appeared to listen with
profound attention. At this moment a ray of light glanced
across the face of the midnight visitor.

It is not he,she murmuredand waitedin the assurance
that this was but a dreamfor the man to disappear or
assume some other form. Stillshe felt her pulseand
finding it throb violently she remembered that the best
method of dispelling such illusions was to drinkfor a
draught of the beverage prepared by the doctor to allay her
fever seemed to cause a reaction of the brainand for a
short time she suffered less. Valentine therefore reached
her hand towards the glassbut as soon as her trembling arm
left the bed the apparition advanced more quickly towards
herand approached the young girl so closely that she
fancied she heard his breathand felt the pressure of his
hand.

This time the illusionor rather the realitysurpassed
anything Valentine had before experienced; she began to
believe herself really alive and awakeand the belief that
her reason was this time not deceived made her shudder. The
pressure she felt was evidently intended to arrest her arm
and she slowly withdrew it. Then the figurefrom whom she
could not detach her eyesand who appeared more protecting
than menacingtook the glassand walking towards the
night-light held it upas if to test its transparency. This
did not seem sufficient; the manor rather the ghost -- for
he trod so softly that no sound was heard -- then poured out
about a spoonful into the glassand drank it. Valentine
witnessed this scene with a sentiment of stupefaction. Every
minute she had expected that it would vanish and give place
to another vision; but the maninstead of dissolving like a
shadowagain approached herand said in an agitated voice
Now you may drink.

Valentine shuddered. It was the first time one of these
visions had ever addressed her in a living voiceand she
was about to utter an exclamation. The man placed his finger
on her lips. "The Count of Monte Cristo!" she murmured.

It was easy to see that no doubt now remained in the young
girl's mind as to the reality of the scene; her eyes started
with terrorher hands trembledand she rapidly drew the
bedclothes closer to her. Stillthe presence of Monte
Cristo at such an hourhis mysteriousfancifuland
extraordinary entrance into her room through the wallmight
well seem impossibilities to her shattered reason. "Do not
call any one -- do not be alarmed said the Count; do not
let a shade of suspicion or uneasiness remain in your
breast; the man standing before youValentine (for this
time it is no ghost)is nothing more than the tenderest
father and the most respectful friend you could dream of."

Valentine could not reply; the voice which indicated the
real presence of a being in the roomalarmed her so much
that she feared to utter a syllable; still the expression of
her eyes seemed to inquireIf your intentions are pure,
why are you here?The count's marvellous sagacity
understood all that was passing in the young girl's mind.

Listen to me,he saidor, rather, look upon me; look at


my face, paler even than usual, and my eyes, red with
weariness -- for four days I have not closed them, for I
have been constantly watching you, to protect and preserve
you for Maximilian.The blood mounted rapidly to the cheeks
of Valentinefor the name just announced by the count
dispelled all the fear with which his presence had inspired
her. "Maximilian!" she exclaimedand so sweet did the sound
appear to herthat she repeated it -- "Maximilian! -- has
he then owned all to you?"

Everything. He told me your life was his, and I have
promised him that you shall live.

You have promised him that I shall live?

Yes.

But, sir, you spoke of vigilance and protection. Are you a
doctor?

Yes; the best you could have at the present time, believe
me.

But you say you have watched?said Valentine uneasily;
where have you been? -- I have not seen you.The count
extended his hand towards the library. "I was hidden behind
that door he said, which leads into the next housewhich
I have rented." Valentine turned her eyes awayandwith an
indignant expression of pride and modest fearexclaimed:
Sir, I think you have been guilty of an unparalleled
intrusion, and that what you call protection is more like an
insult.

Valentine,he answeredduring my long watch over you,
all I have observed has been what people visited you, what
nourishment was prepared, and what beverage was served;
then, when the latter appeared dangerous to me, I entered,
as I have now done, and substituted, in the place of the
poison, a healthful draught; which, instead of producing the
death intended, caused life to circulate in your veins.

Poison -- death!exclaimed Valentinehalf believing
herself under the influence of some feverish hallucination;
what are you saying, sir?

Hush, my child,said Monte Cristoagain placing his
finger upon her lipsI did say poison and death. But drink
some of this;and the count took a bottle from his pocket
containing a red liquidof which he poured a few drops into
the glass. "Drink thisand then take nothing more
to-night." Valentine stretched out her handbut scarcely
had she touched the glass when she drew back in fear. Monte
Cristo took the glassdrank half its contentsand then
presented it to Valentinewho smiled and swallowed the
rest. "Ohyes she exclaimed, I recognize the flavor of
my nocturnal beverage which refreshed me so muchand seemed
to ease my aching brain. Thank yousirthank you!"

This is how you have lived during the last four nights,
Valentine,said the count. "Butohhow I passed that
time! Ohthe wretched hours I have endured -- the torture
to which I have submitted when I saw the deadly poison
poured into your glassand how I trembled lest you should
drink it before I could find time to throw it away!"


Sir,said Valentineat the height of her terroryou say
you endured tortures when you saw the deadly poison poured
into my glass; but if you saw this, you must also have seen
the person who poured it?

Yes.Valentine raised herself in bedand drew over her
chestwhich appeared whiter than snowthe embroidered
cambricstill moist with the cold dews of deliriumto
which were now added those of terror. "You saw the person?"
repeated the young girl. "Yes repeated the count.

What you tell me is horriblesir. You wish to make me
believe something too dreadful. What? -- attempt to murder
me in my father's housein my roomon my bed of sickness?
Ohleave mesir; you are tempting me -- you make me doubt
the goodness of providence -- it is impossibleit cannot
be!"

Are you the first that this hand has stricken? Have you not
seen M. de Saint-Meran, Madame de Saint-Meran, Barrois, all
fall? would not M. Noirtier also have fallen a victim, had
not the treatment he has been pursuing for the last three
years neutralized the effects of the poison?

Oh, heaven,said Valentine; "is this the reason why
grandpapa has made me share all his beverages during the
last month?"

And have they all tasted of a slightly bitter flavor, like
that of dried orange-peel?

Oh, yes, yes!

Then that explains all,said Monte Cristo. "Your
grandfather knowsthenthat a poisoner lives here; perhaps
he even suspects the person. He has been fortifying youhis
beloved childagainst the fatal effects of the poison
which has failed because your system was already impregnated
with it. But even this would have availed little against a
more deadly medium of death employed four days agowhich is
generally but too fatal."

But who, then, is this assassin, this murderer?

Let me also ask you a question. Have you never seen any one
enter your room at night?

Oh, yes; I have frequently seen shadows pass close to me,
approach, and disappear; but I took them for visions raised
by my feverish imagination, and indeed when you entered I
thought I was under the influence of delirium.

Then you do not know who it is that attempts your life?

No,said Valentine; "who could desire my death?"

You shall know it now, then,said Monte Cristolistening.

How do you mean?said Valentinelooking anxiously around.

Because you are not feverish or delirious to-night, but
thoroughly awake; midnight is striking, which is the hour
murderers choose.


Oh, heavens,exclaimed Valentinewiping off the drops
which ran down her forehead. Midnight struck slowly and
sadly; every hour seemed to strike with leaden weight upon
the heart of the poor girl. "Valentine said the count,
summon up all your courage; still the beatings of your
heart; do not let a sound escape youand feign to be
asleep; then you will see." Valentine seized the count's
hand. "I think I hear a noise she said; leave me."

Good-by, for the present,replied the countwalking upon
tiptoe towards the library doorand smiling with an
expression so sad and paternal that the young girl's heart
was filled with gratitude. Before closing the door he turned
around once moreand saidNot a movement -- not a word;
let them think you asleep, or perhaps you may be killed
before I have the power of helping you.And with this
fearful injunction the count disappeared through the door
which noiselessly closed after him.

Chapter 101
Locusta.

Valentine was alone; two other clocksslower than that of
Saint-Philippe du Roulestruck the hour of midnight from
different directionsand excepting the rumbling of a few
carriages all was silent. Then Valentine's attention was
engrossed by the clock in her roomwhich marked the
seconds. She began counting themremarking that they were
much slower than the beatings of her heart; and still she
doubted-- the inoffensive Valentine could not imagine that
any one should desire her death. Why should they? To what
end? What had she done to excite the malice of an enemy?
There was no fear of her falling asleep. One terrible idea
pressed upon her mind-- that some one existed in the world
who had attempted to assassinate herand who was about to
endeavor to do so again. Supposing this personwearied at
the inefficacy of the poisonshouldas Monte Cristo
intimatedhave recourse to steel! -- What if the count
should have no time to run to her rescue! -- What if her
last moments were approachingand she should never again
see Morrel! When this terrible chain of ideas presented
itselfValentine was nearly persuaded to ring the belland
call for help. But through the door she fancied she saw the
luminous eye of the count -- that eye which lived in her
memoryand the recollection overwhelmed her with so much
shame that she asked herself whether any amount of gratitude
could ever repay his adventurous and devoted friendship.

Twenty minutestwenty tedious minutespassed thusthen
ten moreand at last the clock struck the half-flour. Just
then the sound of finger-nails slightly grating against the
door of the library informed Valentine that the count was
still watchingand recommended her to do the same; at the
same timeon the opposite sidethat is towards Edward's
roomValentine fancied that she heard the creaking of the
floor; she listened attentivelyholding her breath till she
was nearly suffocated; the lock turnedand the door slowly
opened. Valentine had raised herself upon her elbowand had
scarcely time to throw herself down on the bed and shade her
eyes with her arm; thentremblingagitatedand her heart
beating with indescribable terrorshe awaited the event.


Some one approached the bed and drew back the curtains.
Valentine summoned every effortand breathed with that
regular respiration which announces tranquil sleep.
Valentine!said a low voice. Still silent: Valentine had
promised not to awake. Then everything was stillexcepting
that Valentine heard the almost noiseless sound of some
liquid being poured into the glass she had just emptied.
Then she ventured to open her eyelidsand glance over her
extended arm. She saw a woman in a white dressing-gown
pouring a liquor from a phial into her glass. During this
short time Valentine must have held her breathor moved in
some slight degreefor the womandisturbedstopped and
leaned over the bedin order the better to ascertain
whether Valentine slept -- it was Madame de Villefort.

On recognizing her step-motherValentine could not repress
a shudderwhich caused a vibration in the bed. Madame de
Villefort instantly stepped back close to the walland
thereshaded by the bed-curtainsshe silently and
attentively watched the slightest movement of Valentine. The
latter recollected the terrible caution of Monte Cristo; she
fancied that the hand not holding the phial clasped a long
sharp knife. Then collecting all her remaining strengthshe
forced herself to close her eyes; but this simple operation
upon the most delicate organs of our framegenerally so
easy to accomplishbecame almost impossible at this moment
so much did curiosity struggle to retain the eyelid open and
learn the truth. Madame de Villeforthoweverreassured by
the silencewhich was alone disturbed by the regular
breathing of Valentineagain extended her handand half
hidden by the curtains succeeded in emptying the contents of
the phial into the glass. Then she retired so gently that
Valentine did not know she had left the room. She only
witnessed the withdrawal of the arm -- the fair round arm of
a woman but twenty-five years oldand who yet spread death
around her.

It is impossible to describe the sensations experienced by
Valentine during the minute and a half Madame de Villefort
remained in the room. The grating against the library-door
aroused the young girl from the stupor in which she was
plungedand which almost amounted to insensibility. She
raised her head with an effort. The noiseless door again
turned on its hingesand the Count of Monte Cristo
reappeared. "Well said he, do you still doubt?"

Oh,murmured the young girl.

Have you seen?

Alas!

Did you recognize?Valentine groaned. "Ohyes;" she said
I saw, but I cannot believe!

Would you rather die, then, and cause Maximilian's death?

Oh,repeated the young girlalmost bewilderedcan I not
leave the house? -- can I not escape?

Valentine, the hand which now threatens you will pursue you
everywhere; your servants will be seduced with gold, and
death will be offered to you disguised in every shape. You


will find it in the water you drink from the spring, in the
fruit you pluck from the tree.

But did you not say that my kind grandfather's precaution
had neutralized the poison?

Yes, but not against a strong dose; the poison will be
changed, and the quantity increased.He took the glass and
raised it to his lips. "It is already done he said;
brucine is no longer employedbut a simple narcotic! I can
recognize the flavor of the alcohol in which it has been
dissolved. If you had taken what Madame de Villefort has
poured into your glassValentine -- Valentine -- you would
have been doomed!"

But,exclaimed the young girlwhy am I thus pursued?

Why? -- are you so kind -- so good -- so unsuspicious of
ill, that you cannot understand, Valentine?

No, I have never injured her.

But you are rich, Valentine; you have 200,000 livres a
year, and you prevent her son from enjoying these 200,000
livres.

How so? The fortune is not her gift, but is inherited from
my relations.

Certainly; and that is why M. and Madame de Saint-Meran
have died; that is why M. Noirtier was sentenced the day he
made you his heir; that is why you, in your turn, are to die
-- it is because your father would inherit your property,
and your brother, his only son, succeed to his.

Edward? Poor child! Are all these crimes committed on his
account?

Ah, then you at length understand?

Heaven grant that this may not be visited upon him!

Valentine, you are an angel!

But why is my grandfather allowed to live?

It was considered, that you dead, the fortune would
naturally revert to your brother, unless he were
disinherited; and besides, the crime appearing useless, it
would be folly to commit it.

And is it possible that this frightful combination of
crimes has been invented by a woman?

Do you recollect in the arbor of the Hotel des Postes, at
Perugia, seeing a man in a brown cloak, whom your stepmother
was questioning upon aqua tofana? Well, ever since then, the
infernal project has been ripening in her brain.

Ah, then, indeed, sir,said the sweet girlbathed in
tearsI see that I am condemned to die!

No, Valentine, for I have foreseen all their plots; no,
your enemy is conquered since we know her, and you will


live, Valentine -- live to be happy yourself, and to confer
happiness upon a noble heart; but to insure this you must
rely on me.

Command me, sir -- what am I to do?

You must blindly take what I give you.

Alas, were it only for my own sake, I should prefer to
die!

You must not confide in any one -- not even in your
father.

My father is not engaged in this fearful plot, is he, sir?
asked Valentineclasping her hands.

No; and yet your father, a man accustomed to judicial
accusations, ought to have known that all these deaths have
not happened naturally; it is he who should have watched
over you -- he should have occupied my place -- he should
have emptied that glass -- he should have risen against the
assassin. Spectre against spectre!he murmured in a low
voiceas he concluded his sentence.

Sir,said ValentineI will do all I can to live. for
there are two beings whose existence depends upon mine -- my
grandfather and Maximilian.

I will watch over them as I have over you.

Well, sir, do as you will with me;and then she addedin
a low voiceoh, heavens, what will befall me?

Whatever may happen, Valentine, do not be alarmed; though
you suffer; though you lose sight, hearing, consciousness,
fear nothing; though you should awake and be ignorant where
you are, still do not fear; even though you should find
yourself in a sepulchral vault or coffin. Reassure yourself,
then, and say to yourself: `At this moment, a friend, a
father, who lives for my happiness and that of Maximilian,
watches over me!'

Alas, alas, what a fearful extremity!

Valentine, would you rather denounce your stepmother?

I would rather die a hundred times -- oh, yes, die!

No, you will not die; but will you promise me, whatever
happens, that you will not complain, but hope?

I will think of Maximilian!

You are my own darling child, Valentine! I alone can save
you, and I will.Valentine in the extremity of her terror
joined her hands-- for she felt that the moment had
arrived to ask for courage-- and began to prayand while
uttering little more than incoherent wordsshe forgot that
her white shoulders had no other covering than her long
hairand that the pulsations of her heart could he seen
through the lace of her nightdress. Monte Cristo gently laid
his hand on the young girl's armdrew the velvet coverlet
close to her throatand said with a paternal smile-- "My


childbelieve in my devotion to you as you believe in the
goodness of providence and the love of Maximilian."

Then he drew from his waistcoat-pocket the little emerald
boxraised the golden lidand took from it a pastille
about the size of a peawhich he placed in her hand. She
took itand looked attentively on the count; there was an
expression on the face of her intrepid protector which
commanded her veneration. She evidently interrogated him by
her look. "Yes said he. Valentine carried the pastille to
her mouth, and swallowed it. And nowmy dear childadieu
for the present. I will try and gain a little sleepfor you
are saved."

Go,said Valentinewhatever happens, I promise you not
to fear.

Monte Cristo for some time kept his eyes fixed on the young
girlwho gradually fell asleepyielding to the effects of
the narcotic the count had given her. Then he took the
glassemptied three parts of the contents in the fireplace
that it might be supposed Valentine had taken itand
replaced it on the table; then he disappearedafter
throwing a farewell glance on Valentinewho slept with the
confidence and innocence of an angel.

Chapter 102
Valentine.

The night-light continued to burn on the chimney-piece
exhausting the last drops of oil which floated on the
surface of the water. The globe of the lamp appeared of a
reddish hueand the flamebrightening before it expired
threw out the last flickerings which in an inanimate object
have been so often compared with the convulsions of a human
creature in its final agonies. A dull and dismal light was
shed over the bedclothes and curtains surrounding the young
girl. All noise in the streets had ceasedand the silence
was frightful. It was then that the door of Edward's room
openedand a head we have before noticed appeared in the
glass opposite; it was Madame de Villefortwho came to
witness the effects of the drink she had prepared. She
stopped in the doorwaylistened for a moment to the
flickering of the lampthe only sound in that deserted
roomand then advanced to the table to see if Valentine's
glass were empty. It was still about a quarter fullas we
before stated. Madame de Villefort emptied the contents into
the asheswhich she disturbed that they might the more
readily absorb the liquid; then she carefully rinsed the
glassand wiping it with her handkerchief replaced it on
the table.

If any one could have looked into the room just then he
would have noticed the hesitation with which Madame de
Villefort approached the bed and looked fixedly on
Valentine. The dim lightthe profound silenceand the
gloomy thoughts inspired by the hourand still more by her
own conscienceall combined to produce a sensation of fear;
the poisoner was terrified at the contemplation of her own
work. At length she rallieddrew aside the curtainand
leaning over the pillow gazed intently on Valentine. The
young girl no longer breathedno breath issued through the


half-closed teeth; the white lips no longer quivered -- the
eyes were suffused with a bluish vaporand the long black
lashes rested on a cheek white as wax. Madame de Villefort
gazed upon the face so expressive even in its stillness;
then she ventured to raise the coverlet and press her hand
upon the young girl's heart. It was cold and motionless. She
only felt the pulsation in her own fingersand withdrew her
hand with a shudder. One arm was hanging out of the bed;
from shoulder to elbow it was moulded after the arms of
Germain Pillon's "Graces* but the fore-arm seemed to be
slightly distorted by convulsion, and the hand, so
delicately formed, was resting with stiff outstretched
fingers on the framework of the bed. The nails, too, were
turning blue.

* Germain Pillon was a famous French sculptor (1535-1598).
His best known work is The Three Graces now in the
Louvre.
Madame de Villefort had no longer any doubt; all was over -she
had consummated the last terrible work she had to
accomplish. There was no more to do in the room, so the
poisoner retired stealthily, as though fearing to hear the
sound of her own footsteps; but as she withdrew she still
held aside the curtain, absorbed in the irresistible
attraction always exerted by the picture of death, so long
as it is merely mysterious and does not excite disgust. Just
then the lamp again flickered; the noise startled Madame de
Villefort, who shuddered and dropped the curtain.
Immediately afterwards the light expired, and the room was
plunged in frightful obscurity, while the clock at that
minute struck half-past four. Overpowered with agitation,
the poisoner succeeded in groping her way to the door, and
reached her room in an agony of fear.

The darkness lasted two hours longer; then by degrees a cold
light crept through the Venetian blinds, until at length it
revealed the objects in the room. About this time the
nurse's cough was heard on the stairs and the woman entered
the room with a cup in her hand. To the tender eye of a
father or a lover, the first glance would have sufficed to
reveal Valentine's condition; but to this hireling,
Valentine only appeared to sleep. Good she exclaimed,
approaching the table, she has taken part of her draught;
the glass is three-quarters empty."

Then she went to the fireplace and lit the fireand
although she had just left her bedshe could not resist the
temptation offered by Valentine's sleepso she threw
herself into an arm-chair to snatch a little more rest. The
clock striking eight awoke her. Astonished at the prolonged
slumber of the patientand frightened to see that the arm
was still hanging out of the bedshe advanced towards
Valentineand for the first time noticed the white lips.
She tried to replace the armbut it moved with a frightful
rigidity which could not deceive a sick-nurse. She screamed
aloud; then running to the door exclaimed-- "Helphelp!"

What is the matter?asked M. d'Avrignyat the foot of the
stairsit being the hour he usually visited her.

What is it?asked Villefortrushing from his room.
Doctor, do you hear them call for help?


Yes, yes; let us hasten up; it was in Valentine's room.
But before the doctor and the father could reach the room
the servants who were on the same floor had enteredand
seeing Valentine pale and motionless on her bedthey lifted
up their hands towards heaven and stood transfixedas
though struck by lightening. "Call Madame de Villefort! -wake
Madame de Villefort!" cried the procureur from the door
of his chamberwhich apparently he scarcely dared to leave.
But instead of obeying himthe servants stood watching M.
d'Avrignywho ran to Valentineand raised her in his arms.
What? -- this one, too?he exclaimed. "Ohwhere will be
the end?" Villefort rushed into the room. "What are you
sayingdoctor?" he exclaimedraising his hands to heaven.

I say that Valentine is dead!replied d'Avrignyin a
voice terrible in its solemn calm.

M. de Villefort staggered and buried his head in the bed. On
the exclamation of the doctor and the cry of the fatherthe
servants all fled with muttered imprecations; they were
heard running down the stairs and through the long passages
then there was a rush in the courtafterwards all was
still; they hadone and alldeserted the accursed house.
Just thenMadame de Villefortin the act of slipping on
her dressing-gownthrew aside the drapery and for a moment
stood motionlessas though interrogating the occupants of
the roomwhile she endeavored to call up some rebellious
tears. On a sudden she steppedor rather boundedwith
outstretched armstowards the table. She saw d'Avrigny
curiously examining the glasswhich she felt certain of
having emptied during the night. It was now a third full
just as it was when she threw the contents into the ashes.
The spectre of Valentine rising before the poisoner would
have alarmed her less. It wasindeedthe same color as the
draught she had poured into the glassand which Valentine
had drank; it was indeed the poisonwhich could not deceive
M. d'Avrignywhich he now examined so closely; it was
doubtless a miracle from heaventhatnotwithstanding her
precautionsthere should be some tracesome proof
remaining to reveal the crime. While Madame de Villefort
remained rooted to the spot like a statue of terrorand
Villefortwith his head hidden in the bedclothessaw
nothing around himd'Avrigny approached the windowthat he
might the better examine the contents of the glassand
dipping the tip of his finger intasted it. "Ah he
exclaimed, it is no longer brucine that is used; let me see
what it is!"
Then he ran to one of the cupboards in Valentine's room
which had been transformed into a medicine closetand
taking from its silver case a small bottle of nitric acid
dropped a little of it into the liquorwhich immediately
changed to a blood-red color. "Ah exclaimed d'Avrigny, in
a voice in which the horror of a judge unveiling the truth
was mingled with the delight of a student making a
discovery. Madame de Villefort was overpowered, her eyes
first flashed and then swam, she staggered towards the door
and disappeared. Directly afterwards the distant sound of a
heavy weight falling on the ground was heard, but no one
paid any attention to it; the nurse was engaged in watching
the chemical analysis, and Villefort was still absorbed in
grief. M. d'Avrigny alone had followed Madame de Villefort
with his eyes, and watched her hurried retreat. He lifted up
the drapery over the entrance to Edward's room, and his eye


reaching as far as Madame de Villefort's apartment, he
beheld her extended lifeless on the floor. Go to the
assistance of Madame de Villefort he said to the nurse.
Madame de Villefort is ill."

But Mademoiselle de Villefort -- stammered the nurse.

Mademoiselle de Villefort no longer requires help,said
d'Avrignysince she is dead.

Dead, -- dead!groaned forth Villefortin a paroxysm of
griefwhich was the more terrible from the novelty of the
sensation in the iron heart of that man.

Dead!repeated a third voice. "Who said Valentine was
dead?"

The two men turned roundand saw Morrel standing at the
doorpale and terror-stricken. This is what had happened.
At the usual timeMorrel had presented himself at the
little door leading to Noirtier's room. Contrary to custom
the door was openand having no occasion to ring he
entered. He waited for a moment in the hall and called for a
servant to conduct him to M. Noirtier; but no one answered
the servants havingas we knowdeserted the house. Morrel
had no particular reason for uneasiness; Monte Cristo had
promised him that Valentine should liveand so far he had
always fulfilled his word. Every night the count had given
him newswhich was the next morning confirmed by Noirtier.
Still this extraordinary silence appeared strange to him
and he called a second and third time; still no answer. Then
he determined to go up. Noirtier's room was openedlike all
the rest. The first thing he saw was the old man sitting in
his arm-chair in his usual placebut his eyes expressed
alarmwhich was confirmed by the pallor which overspread
his features.

How are you, sir?asked Morrelwith a sickness of heart.

Well,answered the old manby closing his eyes; but his
appearance manifested increasing uneasiness.

You are thoughtful, sir,continued Morrel; "you want
something; shall I call one of the servants?"

Yes,replied Noirtier.

Morrel pulled the bellbut though he nearly broke the cord
no one answered. He turned towards Noirtier; the pallor and
anguish expressed on his countenance momentarily increased.

Oh,exclaimed Morrelwhy do they not come? Is any one
ill in the house?The eyes of Noirtier seemed as though
they would start from their sockets. "What is the matter?
You alarm me. Valentine? Valentine?"

Yes, yes,signed Noirtier. Maximilian tried to speakbut
he could articulate nothing; he staggeredand supported
himself against the wainscot. Then he pointed to the door.

Yes, yes, yes!continued the old man. Maximilian rushed up
the little staircasewhile Noirtier's eyes seemed to say
-- "Quickerquicker!"


In a minute the young man darted through several roomstill
at length he reached Valentine's. There was no occasion to
push the doorit was wide open. A sob was the only sound he
heard. He saw as though in a mista black figure kneeling
and buried in a confused mass of white drapery. A terrible
fear transfixed him. It was then he heard a voice exclaim
Valentine is dead!and another voice whichlike an echo
repeated-- "Dead-- dead!"

Chapter 103
Maximilian.

Villefort rosehalf ashamed of being surprised in such a
paroxysm of grief. The terrible office he had held for
twenty-five years had succeeded in making him more or less
than man. His glanceat first wanderingfixed itself upon
Morrel. "Who are yousir he asked, that forget that this
is not the manner to enter a house stricken with death? Go
sirgo!" But Morrel remained motionless; he could not
detach his eyes from that disordered bedand the pale
corpse of the young girl who was lying on it. "Go! -- do you
hear?" said Villefortwhile d'Avrigny advanced to lead
Morrel out. Maximilian stared for a moment at the corpse
gazed all around the roomthen upon the two men; he opened
his mouth to speakbut finding it impossible to give
utterance to the innumerable ideas that occupied his brain
he went outthrusting his hands through his hair in such a
manner that Villefort and d'Avrignyfor a moment diverted
from the engrossing topicexchanged glanceswhich seemed
to say-- "He is mad!"

But in less than five minutes the staircase groaned beneath
an extraordinary weight. Morrel was seen carryingwith
superhuman strengththe arm-chair containing Noirtier
up-stairs. When he reached the landing he placed the
arm-chair on the floor and rapidly rolled it into
Valentine's room. This could only have been accomplished by
means of unnatural strength supplied by powerful excitement.
But the most fearful spectacle was Noirtier being pushed
towards the bedhis face expressing all his meaningand
his eyes supplying the want of every other faculty. That
pale face and flaming glance appeared to Villefort like a
frightful apparition. Each time he had been brought into
contact with his fathersomething terrible had happened.
See what they have done!cried Morrelwith one hand
leaning on the back of the chairand the other extended
towards Valentine. "Seemy fathersee!"

Villefort drew back and looked with astonishment on the
young manwhoalmost a stranger to himcalled Noirtier
his father. At this moment the whole soul of the old man
seemed centred in his eyes which became bloodshot; the veins
of the throat swelled; his cheeks and temples became purple
as though he was struck with epilepsy; nothing was wanting
to complete this but the utterance of a cry. And the cry
issued from his poresif we may thus speak -- a cry
frightful in its silence. D'Avrigny rushed towards the old
man and made him inhale a powerful restorative.

Sir,cried Morrelseizing the moist hand of the
paralyticthey ask me who I am, and what right I have to
be here. Oh, you know it, tell them, tell them!And the


young man's voice was choked by sobs. As for the old man
his chest heaved with his panting respiration. One could
have thought that he was undergoing the agonies preceding
death. At lengthhappier than the young manwho sobbed
without weepingtears glistened in the eyes of Noirtier.
Tell them,said Morrel in a hoarse voicetell them that
I am her betrothed. Tell them she was my beloved, my noble
girl, my only blessing in the world. Tell them -- oh, tell
them, that corpse belongs to me!

The young man overwhelmed by the weight of his anguishfell
heavily on his knees before the bedwhich his fingers
grasped with convulsive energy. D'Avrignyunable to bear
the sight of this touching emotionturned away; and
Villefortwithout seeking any further explanationand
attracted towards him by the irresistible magnetism which
draws us towards those who have loved the people for whom we
mournextended his hand towards the young man. But Morrel
saw nothing; he had grasped the hand of Valentineand
unable to weep vented his agony in groans as he bit the
sheets. For some time nothing was heard in that chamber but
sobsexclamationsand prayers. At length Villefortthe
most composed of allspoke: "Sir said he to Maximilian,
you say you loved Valentinethat you were betrothed to
her. I knew nothing of this engagementof this loveyet I
her fatherforgive youfor I see that your grief is real
and deep; and besides my own sorrow is too great for anger
to find a place in my heart. But you see that the angel whom
you hoped for has left this earth -- she has nothing more to
do with the adoration of men. Take a last farewellsirof
her sad remains; take the hand you expected to possess once
more within your ownand then separate yourself from her
forever. Valentine now requires only the ministrations of
the priest."

You are mistaken, sir,exclaimed Morrelraising himself
on one kneehis heart pierced by a more acute pang than any
he had yet felt -- "you are mistaken; Valentinedying as
she hasnot only requires a priestbut an avenger. YouM.
de Villefortsend for the priest; I will be the avenger."

What do you mean, sir?asked Villeforttrembling at the
new idea inspired by the delirium of Morrel.

I tell you, sir, that two persons exist in you; the father
has mourned sufficiently, now let the procureur fulfil his
office.

The eyes of Noirtier glistenedand d'Avrigny approached.

Gentlemen,said Morrelreading all that passed through
the minds of the witnesses to the sceneI know what I am
saying, and you know as well as I do what I am about to say
-- Valentine has been assassinated!Villefort hung his
headd'Avrigny approached nearerand Noirtier said "Yes"
with his eyes. "Nowsir continued Morrel, in these days
no one can disappear by violent means without some inquiries
being made as to the cause of her disappearanceeven were
she not a youngbeautifuland adorable creature like
Valentine. Mr. Procureur said Morrel with increasing
vehemence, no mercy is allowed; I denounce the crime; it is
your place to seek the assassin." The young man's implacable
eyes interrogated Villefortwhoon his sideglanced from
Noirtier to d'Avrigny. But instead of finding sympathy in


the eyes of the doctor and his fatherhe only saw an
expression as inflexible as that of Maximilian. "Yes
indicated the old man.

Assuredly said d'Avrigny.

Sir said Villefort, striving to struggle against this
triple force and his own emotion, -- siryou are deceived;
no one commits crimes here. I am stricken by fate. It is
horribleindeedbut no one assassinates."

The eyes of Noirtier lighted up with rageand d'Avrigny
prepared to speak. Morrelhoweverextended his armand
commanded silence. "And I say that murders are committed
here said Morrel, whose voice, though lower in tone, lost
none of its terrible distinctness: I tell you that this is
the fourth victim within the last four months. I tell you
Valentine's life was attempted by poison four days ago
though she escapedowing to the precautions of M. Noirtier.
I tell you that the dose has been doublethe poison
changedand that this time it has succeeded. I tell you
that you know these things as well as I dosince this
gentleman has forewarned youboth as a doctor and as a
friend."

Oh, you rave, sir,exclaimed Villefortin vain
endeavoring to escape the net in which he was taken.

I rave?said Morrel; "wellthenI appeal to M. d'Avrigny
himself. Ask himsirif he recollects the words he uttered
in the garden of this house on the night of Madame de
Saint-Meran's death. You thought yourselves aloneand
talked about that tragical deathand the fatality you
mentioned then is the same which has caused the murder of
Valentine." Villefort and d'Avrigny exchanged looks. "Yes
yes continued Morrel; recall the scenefor the words you
thought were only given to silence and solitude fell into my
ears. Certainlyafter witnessing the culpable indolence
manifested by M. de Villefort towards his own relationsI
ought to have denounced him to the authorities; then I
should not have been an accomplice to thy deathas I now
amsweetbeloved Valentine; but the accomplice shall
become the avenger. This fourth murder is apparent to all
and if thy father abandon theeValentineit is Iand I
swear itthat shall pursue the assassin." And this timeas
though nature had at least taken compassion on the vigorous
framenearly bursting with its own strengththe words of
Morrel were stifled in his throat; his breast heaved; the
tearsso long rebelliousgushed from his eyes; and he
threw himself weeping on his knees by the side of the bed.

Then d'Avrigny spoke. "And Itoo he exclaimed in a low
voice, I unite with M. Morrel in demanding justice for
crime; my blood boils at the idea of having encouraged a
murderer by my cowardly concession."

Oh, merciful heavens!murmured Villefort. Morrel raised
his headand reading the eyes of the old manwhich gleamed
with unnatural lustre-- "Stay he said, M. Noirtier
wishes to speak."

Yes,indicated Noirtierwith an expression the more
terriblefrom all his faculties being centred in his
glance.


Do you know the assassin?asked Morrel.

Yes,replied Noirtier.

And will you direct us?exclaimed the young man. "Listen

M. d'Avrignylisten!" Noirtier looked upon Morrel with one
of those melancholy smiles which had so often made Valentine
happyand thus fixed his attention. Thenhaving riveted
the eyes of his interlocutor on his ownhe glanced towards
the door.
Do you wish me to leave?said Morrelsadly.

Yes,replied Noirtier.

Alas, alas, sir, have pity on me!

The old man's eyes remained fixed on the door.

May I, at least, return?asked Morrel.

Yes.

Must I leave alone?

No.

Whom am I to take with me? The procureur?

No.

The doctor?

Yes.

You wish to remain alone with M. de Villefort?

Yes.

But can he understand you?

Yes.

Oh,said Villefortinexpressibly delighted to think that
the inquiries were to be made by him alone-- "ohbe
satisfiedI can understand my father." D'Avrigny took the
young man's armand led him out of the room. A more than
deathlike silence then reigned in the house. At the end of a
quarter of an hour a faltering footstep was heardand
Villefort appeared at the door of the apartment where
d'Avrigny and Morrel had been stayingone absorbed in
meditationthe other in grief. "You can come he said, and
led them back to Noirtier. Morrel looked attentively on
Villefort. His face was livid, large drops rolled down his
face, and in his fingers he held the fragments of a quill
pen which he had torn to atoms.

Gentlemen he said in a hoarse voice, give me your word
of honor that this horrible secret shall forever remain
buried amongst ourselves!" The two men drew back.

I entreat you.-- continued Villefort.


But,said Morrelthe culprit -- the murderer -- the
assassin.

Do not alarm yourself, sir; justice will be done,said
Villefort. "My father has revealed the culprit's name; my
father thirsts for revenge as much as you doyet even he
conjures you as I do to keep this secret. Do you not
father?"

Yes,resolutely replied Noirtier. Morrel suffered an
exclamation of horror and surprise to escape him. "Ohsir
said Villefort, arresting Maximilian by the arm, if my
fatherthe inflexible manmakes this requestit is
because he knowsbe assuredthat Valentine will be
terribly revenged. Is it not sofather?" The old man made a
sign in the affirmative. Villefort continued: "He knows me
and I have pledged my word to him. Rest assuredgentlemen
that within three daysin a less time than justice would
demandthe revenge I shall have taken for the murder of my
child will be such as to make the boldest heart tremble;"
and as he spoke these words he ground his teethand grasped
the old man's senseless hand.

Will this promise be fulfilled, M. Noirtier?asked Morrel
while d'Avrigny looked inquiringly.

Yes,replied Noirtier with an expression of sinister joy.

Swear, then,said Villefortjoining the hands of Morrel
and d'Avrignyswear that you will spare the honor of my
house, and leave me to avenge my child.D'Avrigny turned
round and uttered a very feeble "Yes but Morrel,
disengaging his hand, rushed to the bed, and after having
pressed the cold lips of Valentine with his own, hurriedly
left, uttering a long, deep groan of despair and anguish. We
have before stated that all the servants had fled. M. de
Villefort was therefore obliged to request M. d'Avrigny to
superintend all the arrangements consequent upon a death in
a large city, more especially a death under such suspicious
circumstances.

It was something terrible to witness the silent agony, the
mute despair of Noirtier, whose tears silently rolled down
his cheeks. Villefort retired to his study, and d'Avrigny
left to summon the doctor of the mayoralty, whose office it
is to examine bodies after decease, and who is expressly
named the doctor of the dead." M. Noirtier could not be
persuaded to quit his grandchild. At the end of a quarter of
an hour M. d'Avrigny returned with his associate; they found
the outer gate closedand not a servant remaining in the
house; Villefort himself was obliged to open to them. But he
stopped on the landing; he had not the courage to again
visit the death chamber. The two doctorsthereforeentered
the room alone. Noirtier was near the bedpalemotionless
and silent as the corpse. The district doctor approached
with the indifference of a man accustomed to spend half his
time amongst the dead; he then lifted the sheet which was
placed over the faceand just unclosed the lips.

Alas,said d'Avrignyshe is indeed dead, poor child!

Yes,answered the doctor laconicallydropping the sheet
he had raised. Noirtier uttered a kind of hoarserattling
sound; the old man's eyes sparkledand the good doctor


understood that he wished to behold his child. He therefore
approached the bedand while his companion was dipping the
fingers with which he had touched the lips of the corpse in
chloride of limehe uncovered the calm and pale facewhich
looked like that of a sleeping angel. A tearwhich appeared
in the old man's eyeexpressed his thanks to the doctor.
The doctor of the dead then laid his permit on the corner of
the tableand having fulfilled his dutywas conducted out
by d'Avrigny. Villefort met them at the door of his study;
having in a few words thanked the district doctorhe turned
to d'Avrignyand said-- "And now the priest."

Is there any particular priest you wish to pray with
Valentine?asked d'Avrigny.

No.said Villefort; "fetch the nearest."

The nearest,said the district doctoris a good Italian
abbe, who lives next door to you. Shall I call on him as I
pass?

D'Avrigny,said Villefortbe so kind, I beseech you, as
to accompany this gentleman. Here is the key of the door, so
that you can go in and out as you please; you will bring the
priest with you, and will oblige me by introducing him into
my child's room.

Do you wish to see him?

I only wish to be alone. You will excuse me, will you not?
A priest can understand a father's grief.And M. de
Villefortgiving the key to d'Avrignyagain bade farewell
to the strange doctorand retired to his studywhere he
began to work. For some temperaments work is a remedy for
all afflictions. As the doctors entered the streetthey saw
a man in a cassock standing on the threshold of the next
door. "This is the abbe 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
Villefortthe king's attorney."

Ah,said the priestin a marked Italian accent; "yesI
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 officedeign to continue it. Come and watch by
the deadand 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.D'Avrigny took the


priest's handand without meeting Villefortwho was
engaged in his studythey reached Valentine's roomwhich
on the following night was to be occupied by the
undertakers. On entering the roomNoirtier's eyes met those
of the abbeand no doubt he read some particular expression
in themfor he remained in the room. D'Avrigny recommended
the attention of the priest to the living as well as to the
deadand the abbe promised to devote his prayers to
Valentine and his attentions to Noirtier. In order
doubtlessthat he might not be disturbed while fulfilling
his sacred missionthe priest rose as soon as d'Avrigny
departedand not only bolted the door through which the
doctor had just leftbut also that leading to Madame de
Villefort's room.

Chapter 104
Danglars Signature.

The next morning dawned dull and cloudy. During the night
the undertakers had executed their melancholy officeand
wrapped the corpse in the winding-sheetwhichwhatever may
be said about the equality of deathis at least a last
proof of the luxury so pleasing in life. This winding-sheet
was nothing more than a beautiful piece of cambricwhich
the young girl had bought a fortnight before. During the
evening two menengaged for the purposehad carried
Noirtier from Valentine's room into his ownand contrary to
all expectation there was no difficulty in withdrawing him
from his child. The Abbe Busoni had watched till daylight
and then left without calling any one. D'Avrigny returned
about eight o'clock in the morning; he met Villefort on his
way to Noirtier's roomand accompanied him to see how the
old man had slept. They found him in the large arm-chair
which served him for a bedenjoying a calmnayalmost a
smiling sleep. They both stood in amazement at the door.

See,said d'Avrigny to Villefortnature knows how to
alleviate the deepest sorrow. No one can say that M.
Noirtier did not love his child, and yet he sleeps.

Yes, you are right,replied Villefortsurprised; "he
sleepsindeed! And this is the more strangesince the
least contradiction keeps him awake all night."

Grief has stunned him,replied d'Avrigny; and they both
returned thoughtfully to the procureur's study.

See, I have not slept,said Villefortshowing his
undisturbed bed; "grief does not stun me. I have not been in
bed for two nights; but then look at my desk; see what I
have written during these two days and nights. I have filled
those papersand have made out the accusation against the
assassin Benedetto. Ohworkwork-- my passionmy joy
my delight-- it is for thee to alleviate my sorrows!" and
he convulsively grasped the hand of d'Avrigny.

Do you require my services now?asked d'Avrigny.

No,said Villefort; "only return again at eleven o'clock;
at twelve the -- the -- ohheavensmy poorpoor child!"
and the procureur again becoming a manlifted up his eyes
and groaned.


Shall you be present in the reception room?

No; I have a cousin who has undertaken this sad office. I
shall work, doctor -- when I work I forget everything.And
indeedno sooner had the doctor left the roomthan he was
again absorbed in study. On the doorsteps d'Avrigny met the
cousin whom Villefort had mentioneda personage as
insignificant in our story as in the world he occupied -one
of those beings designed from their birth to make
themselves useful to others. He was punctualdressed in
blackwith crape around his hatand presented himself at
his cousin's with a face made up for the occasionand which
he could alter as might be required. At twelve o'clock the
mourning-coaches rolled into the paved courtand the Rue du
Faubourg Saint-Honore was filled with a crowd of idlers
equally pleased to witness the festivities or the mourning
of the richand who rush with the same avidity to a funeral
procession as to the marriage of a duchess.

Gradually the reception-room filledand some of our old
friends made their appearance -- we mean Debray
Chateau-Renaudand Beauchampaccompanied by all the
leading men of the day at the barin literatureor the
armyfor M. de Villefort moved in the first Parisian
circlesless owing to his social position than to his
personal merit. The cousin standing at the door ushered in
the guestsand it was rather a relief to the indifferent to
see a person as unmoved as themselvesand who did not exact
a mournful face or force tearsas would have been the case
with a fathera brotheror a lover. Those who were
acquainted soon formed into little groups. One of them was
made of DebrayChateau-Renaudand Beauchamp.

Poor girl,said Debraylike the restpaying an
involuntary tribute to the sad event-- "poor girlso
youngso richso beautiful! Could you have imagined this
sceneChateau-Renaudwhen we saw herat the most three
weeks agoabout to sign that contract?"

Indeed, no,said Chateau-Renaud -- "Did you know her?"

I spoke to her once or twice at Madame de Morcerf's, among
the rest; she appeared to me charming, though rather
melancholy. Where is her stepmother? Do you know?

She is spending the day with the wife of the worthy
gentleman who is receiving us.

Who is he?

Whom do you mean?

The gentleman who receives us? Is he a deputy?

Oh, no. I am condemned to witness those gentlemen every
day,said Beauchamp; "but he is perfectly unknown to me."

Have you mentioned this death in your paper?

It has been mentioned, but the article is not mine; indeed,
I doubt if it will please M. Villefort, for it says that if
four successive deaths had happened anywhere else than in
the house of the king's attorney, he would have interested


himself somewhat more about it.

Still,said Chateau-RenaudDr. d'Avrigny, who attends my
mother, declares he is in despair about it. But whom are you
seeking, Debray?

I am seeking the Count of Monte Cristosaid the young man.

I met him on the boulevard, on my way here,said
Beauchamp. "I think he is about to leave Paris; he was going
to his banker."

His banker? Danglars is his banker, is he not?asked
Chateau-Renaud of Debray.

I believe so,replied the secretary with slight
uneasiness. "But Monte Cristo is not the only one I miss
here; I do not see Morrel."

Morrel? Do they know him?asked Chateau-Renaud. "I think
he has only been introduced to Madame de Villefort."

Still, he ought to have been here,said Debray; "I wonder
what will be talked about to-night; this funeral is the news
of the day. But hushhere comes our minister of justice; he
will feel obliged to make some little speech to the cousin
and the three young men drew near to listen. Beauchamp told
the truth when he said that on his way to the funeral he had
met Monte Cristo, who was directing his steps towards the
Rue de la Chausse d'Antin, to M. Danglars'.

The banker saw the carriage of the count enter the court
yard, and advanced to meet him with a sad, though affable
smile. Well said he, extending his hand to Monte Cristo,
I suppose you have come to sympathize with mefor indeed
misfortune has taken possession of my house. When I
perceived youI was just asking myself whether I had not
wished harm towards those poor Morcerfswhich would have
justified the proverb of `He who wishes misfortunes to
happen to others experiences them himself.' Wellon my word
of honorI answered`No!' I wished no ill to Morcerf; he
was a little proudperhapsfor a man who like myself has
risen from nothing; but we all have our faults. Do you know
countthat persons of our time of life -- not that you
belong to the classyou are still a young man-- but as I
was sayingpersons of our time of life have been very
unfortunate this year. For examplelook at the puritanical
procureurwho has just lost his daughterand in fact
nearly all his familyin so singular a manner; Morcerf
dishonored and dead; and then myself covered with ridicule
through the villany of Benedetto; besides" -


Besides what?asked the Count.

Alas, do you not know?

What new calamity?

My daughter-


Mademoiselle Danglars?

Eugenie has left us!


Good heavens, what are you telling me?

The truth, my dear count. Oh, how happy you must be in not
having either wife or children!

Do you think so?

Indeed I do.

And so Mademoiselle Danglars-


She could not endure the insult offered to us by that
wretch, so she asked permission to travel.

And is she gone?

The other night she left.

With Madame Danglars?

No, with a relation. But still, we have quite lost our dear
Eugenie; for I doubt whether her pride will ever allow her
to return to France.

Still, baron,said Monte Cristofamily griefs, or indeed
any other affliction which would crush a man whose child was
his only treasure, are endurable to a millionaire.
Philosophers may well say, and practical men will always
support the opinion, that money mitigates many trials; and
if you admit the efficacy of this sovereign balm, you ought
to be very easily consoled -- you, the king of finance, the
focus of immeasurable power.

Danglars looked at him askanceas though to ascertain
whether he spoke seriously. "Yes he answered, if a
fortune brings consolationI ought to be consoled; I am
rich."

So rich, dear sir, that your fortune resembles the
pyramids; if you wished to demolish them you could not, and
if it were possible, you would not dare!Danglars smiled at
the good-natured pleasantry of the count. "That reminds me
he said, that when you entered I was on the point of
signing five little bonds; I have already signed two: will
you allow me to do the same to the others?"

Pray do so.

There was a moment's silenceduring which the noise of the
banker's pen was alone heardwhile Monte Cristo examined
the gilt mouldings on the ceiling. "Are they Spanish
Haitianor Neapolitan bonds?" said Monte Cristo. "No said
Danglars, smiling, they are bonds on the bank of France
payable to bearer. Staycount he added, youwho may be
called the emperorif I claim the title of king of finance
have you many pieces of paper of this sizeeach worth a
million?" The count took into his hands the paperswhich
Danglars had so proudly presented to himand read: -


To the Governor of the Bank. Please pay to my order, from
the fund deposited by me, the sum of a million, and charge
the same to my account.

Baron Danglars."


One, two, three, four, five,said Monte Cristo; "five
millions -- why what a Croesus you are!"

This is how I transact business,said Danglars.

It is really wonderful,said the count; "above allifas
I supposeit is payable at sight."

It is, indeed, said Danglars.

It is a fine thing to have such credit; reallyit is only
in France these things are done. Five millions on five
little scraps of paper! -- it must be seen to be believed."

You do not doubt it?

No!

You say so with an accent -- stay, you shall be convinced;
take my clerk to the bank, and you will see him leave it
with an order on the Treasury for the same sum.

No,said Monte Cristo folding the five notesmost
decidedly not; the thing is so curious, I will make the
experiment myself. I am credited on you for six millions. I
have drawn nine hundred thousand francs, you therefore still
owe me five millions and a hundred thousand francs. I will
take the five scraps of paper that I now hold as bonds, with
your signature alone, and here is a receipt in full for the
six millions between us. I had prepared it beforehand, for I
am much in want of money to-day.And Monte Cristo placed
the bonds in his pocket with one handwhile with the other
he held out the receipt to Danglars. If a thunderbolt had
fallen at the banker's feethe could not have experienced
greater terror.

What,he stammereddo you mean to keep that money?
Excuse me, excuse me, but I owe this money to the charity
fund, -- a deposit which I promised to pay this morning.

Oh, well, then,said Monte CristoI am not particular
about these five notes, pay me in a different form; I
wished, from curiosity, to take these, that I might be able
to say that without any advice or preparation the house of
Danglars had paid me five millions without a minute's delay;
it would have been remarkable. But here are your bonds; pay
me differently;and he held the bonds towards Danglarswho
seized them like a vulture extending its claws to withhold
the food that is being wrested from its grasp. Suddenly he
ralliedmade a violent effort to restrain himselfand then
a smile gradually widened the features of his disturbed
countenance.

Certainly,he saidyour receipt is money.

Oh dear, yes; and if you were at Rome, the house of Thomson
& French would make no more difficulty about paying the
money on my receipt than you have just done.

Pardon me, count, pardon me.

Then I may keep this money?


Yes,said Danglarswhile the perspiration started from
the roots of his hair. "Yeskeep it -- keep it."

Monte Cristo replaced the notes in his pocket with that
indescribable expression which seemed to sayCome,
reflect; if you repent there is till time.

No,said Danglarsno, decidedly no; keep my signatures.
But you know none are so formal as bankers in transacting
business; I intended this money for the charity fund, and I
seemed to be robbing them if I did not pay them with these
precise bonds. How absurd -- as if one crown were not as
good as another. Excuse me;and he began to laugh loudly
but nervously.

Certainly, I excuse you,said Monte Cristo graciously
and pocket them.And he placed the bonds in his
pocket-book.

But,said Danglarsthere is still a sum of one hundred
thousand francs?

Oh, a mere nothing,said Monte Cristo. "The balance would
come to about that sum; but keep itand we shall be quits."

Count.said Danglarsare you speaking seriously?

I never joke with bankers,said Monte Cristo in a freezing
mannerwhich repelled impertinence; and he turned to the
doorjust as the valet de chambre announced-- "M. de
Bovillereceiver-general of the charities."

Ma foi,said Monte Cristo; "I think I arrived just in time
to obtain your signaturesor they would have been disputed
with me."

Danglars again became paleand hastened to conduct the
count out. Monte Cristo exchanged a ceremonious bow with M.
de Bovillewho was standing in the waiting-roomand who
was introduced into Danglars' room as soon as the count had
left. The count's sad face was illumined by a faint smile
as he noticed the portfolio which the receiver-general held
in his hand. At the door he found his carriageand was
immediately driven to the bank. Meanwhile Danglars
repressing all emotionadvanced to meet the
receiver-general. We need not say that a smile of
condescension was stamped upon his lips. "Good-morning
creditor said he; for I wager anything it is the creditor
who visits me."

You are right, baron,answered M. de Boville; "the
charities present themselves to you through me: the widows
and orphans depute me to receive alms to the amount of five
millions from you."

And yet they say orphans are to be pitied,said Danglars
wishing to prolong the jest. "Poor things!"

Here I am in their name,said M. de Boville; "but did you
receive my letter yesterday?"

Yes.

I have brought my receipt.


My dear M. de Boville, your widows and orphans must oblige
me by waiting twenty-four hours, since M. de Monte Cristo
whom you just saw leaving here -- you did see him, I think?

Yes; well?

Well, M. de Monte Cristo has just carried off their five
millions.

How so?

The count has an unlimited credit upon me; a credit opened
by Thomson & French, of Rome; he came to demand five
millions at once, which I paid him with checks on the bank.
My funds are deposited there, and you can understand that if
I draw out ten millions on the same day it will appear
rather strange to the governor. Two days will be a different
thing,said Danglarssmiling.

Come,said Bovillewith a tone of entire incredulity
five millions to that gentleman who just left, and who
bowed to me as though he knew me?

Perhaps he knows you, though you do not know him; M. de
Monte Cristo knows everybody.

Five millions!

Here is his receipt. Believe your own eyes.M. de Boville
took the paper Danglars presented himand read: -


Received of Baron Danglars the sum of five million one
hundred thousand francs, to be repaid on demand by the house
of Thomson & French of Rome.

It is really true,said M. de Boville.

Do you know the house of Thomson & French?

Yes, I once had business to transact with it to the amount
of 200,000 francs; but since then I have not heard it
mentioned.

It is one of the best houses in Europe,said Danglars
carelessly throwing down the receipt on his desk.

And he had five millions in your hands alone! Why, this
Count of Monte Cristo must be a nabob?

Indeed I do not know what he is; he has three unlimited
credits -- one on me, one on Rothschild, one on Lafitte;
and, you see,he added carelesslyhe has given me the
preference, by leaving a balance of 100,000 francs.M. de
Boville manifested signs of extraordinary admiration. "I
must visit him he said, and obtain some pious grant from
him."

Oh, you may make sure of him; his charities alone amount to
20,000 francs a month.

It is magnificent! I will set before him the example of
Madame de Morcerf and her son.


What example?

They gave all their fortune to the hospitals.

What fortune?

Their own -- M. de Morcerf's, who is deceased.

For what reason?

Because they would not spend money so guiltily acquired.

And what are they to live upon?

The mother retires into the country, and the son enters the
army.

Well, I must confess, these are scruples.

I registered their deed of gift yesterday.

And how much did they possess?

Oh, not much -- from twelve to thirteen hundred thousand
francs. But to return to our millions.

Certainly,said Danglarsin the most natural tone in the
world. "Are you then pressed for this money?"

Yes; for the examination of our cash takes place
to-morrow.

To-morrow? Why did you not tell me so before? Why, it is as
good as a century! At what hour does the examination take
place?

At two o'clock.

Send at twelve,said Danglarssmiling. M. de Boville said
nothingbut nodded his headand took up the portfolio.
Now I think of it, you can do better,said Danglars.

How do you mean?

The receipt of M. de Monte Cristo is as good as money; take
it to Rothschild's or Lafitte's, and they will take it off
your hands at once.

What, though payable at Rome?

Certainly; it will only cost you a discount of 5,000 or
6,000 francs.The receiver started back. "Ma foi he said,
I prefer waiting till to-morrow. What a proposition!"

I thought, perhaps,said Danglars with supreme
impertinencethat you had a deficiency to make up?

Indeed,said the receiver.

And if that were the case it would be worth while to make
some sacrifice.

Thank you, no, sir


Then it will be to-morrow.

Yes; but without fail.

Ah, you are laughing at me; send to-morrow at twelve, and
the bank shall be notified.

I will come myself.

Better still, since it will afford me the pleasure of
seeing you.They shook hands. "By the way said M. de
Boville, are you not going to the funeral of poor
Mademoiselle de Villefortwhich I met on my road here?"

No,said the banker; "I have appeared rather ridiculous
since that affair of Benedettoso I remain in the
background."

Bah, you are wrong. How were you to blame in that affair?

Listen -- when one bears an irreproachable name, as I do,
one is rather sensitive.

Everybody pities you, sir; and, above all, Mademoiselle
Danglars!

Poor Eugenie!said Danglars; "do you know she is going to
embrace a religious life?"

No.

Alas, it is unhappily but too true. The day after the
event, she decided on leaving Paris with a nun of her
acquaintance; they are gone to seek a very strict convent in
Italy or Spain.

Oh, it is terrible!and M. de Boville retired with this
exclamationafter expressing acute sympathy with the
father. But he had scarcely left before Danglarswith an
energy of action those can alone understand who have seen
Robert Macaire represented by Frederic* exclaimed-"
Fool!" Then enclosing Monte Cristo's receipt in a little
pocket-bookhe added: -- "Yescome at twelve o'clock; I
shall then be far away." Then he double-locked his door
emptied all his drawerscollected about fifty thousand
francs in bank-notesburned several papersleft others
exposed to viewand then commenced writing a letter which
he addressed:

To Madame la Baronne Danglars.

* Frederic Lemaitre -- French actor (1800-1876). Robert
Macaire is the hero of two favorite melodramas -- "Chien de
Montargis" and "Chien d'Aubry" -- and the name is applied to
bold criminals as a term of derision.
I will place it on her table myself to-night,he murmured.
Then taking a passport from his drawer he said-- "Goodit
is available for two months longer."


Chapter 105
The Cemetery of Pere-la-Chaise.



M. de Boville had indeed met the funeral procession which
was taking Valentine to her last home on earth. The weather
was dull and stormya cold wind shook the few remaining
yellow leaves from the boughs of the treesand scattered
them among the crowd which filled the boulevards. M. de
Villeforta true Parisianconsidered the cemetery of
Pere-la-Chaise alone worthy of receiving the mortal remains
of a Parisian family; there alone the corpses belonging to
him would be surrounded by worthy associates. He had
therefore purchased a vaultwhich was quickly occupied by
members of his family. On the front of the monument was
inscribed: "The families of Saint-Meran and Villefort for
such had been the last wish expressed by poor Renee,
Valentine's mother. The pompous procession therefore wended
its way towards Pere-la-Chaise from the Faubourg
Saint-Honore. Having crossed Paris, it passed through the
Faubourg du Temple, then leaving the exterior boulevards, it
reached the cemetery. More than fifty private carriages
followed the twenty mourning-coaches, and behind them more
than five hundred persons joined in the procession on foot.
These last consisted of all the young people whom
Valentine's death had struck like a thunderbolt, and who,
notwithstanding the raw chilliness of the season, could not
refrain from paying a last tribute to the memory of the
beautiful, chaste, and adorable girl, thus cut off in the
flower of her youth. As they left Paris, an equipage with
four horses, at full speed, was seen to draw up suddenly; it
contained Monte Cristo. The count left the carriage and
mingled in the crowd who followed on foot. Chateau-Renaud
perceived him and immediately alighting from his coupe,
joined him.

The count looked attentively through every opening in the
crowd; he was evidently watching for some one, but his
search ended in disappointment. Where is Morrel?" he asked;
do either of these gentlemen know where he is?

We have already asked that question,said Chateau-Renaud
for none of us has seen him.The count was silentbut
continued to gaze around him. At length they arrived at the
cemetery. The piercing eye of Monte Cristo glanced through
clusters of bushes and treesand was soon relieved from all
anxietyfor seeing a shadow glide between the yew-trees
Monte Cristo recognized him whom he sought. One funeral is
generally very much like another in this magnificent
metropolis. Black figures are seen scattered over the long
white avenues; the silence of earth and heaven is alone
broken by the noise made by the crackling branches of hedges
planted around the monuments; then follows the melancholy
chant of the priestsmingled now and then with a sob of
anguishescaping from some woman concealed behind a mass of
flowers.

The shadow Monte Cristo had noticed passed rapidly behind
the tomb of Abelard and Heloiseplaced itself close to the
heads of the horses belonging to the hearseand following
the undertaker's menarrived with them at the spot
appointed for the burial. Each person's attention was
occupied. Monte Cristo saw nothing but the shadowwhich no
one else observed. Twice the count left the ranks to see
whether the object of his interest had any concealed weapon
beneath his clothes. When the procession stoppedthis


shadow was recognized as Morrelwhowith his coat buttoned
up to his throathis face lividand convulsively crushing
his hat between his fingersleaned against a treesituated
on an elevation commanding the mausoleumso that none of
the funeral details could escape his observation. Everything
was conducted in the usual manner. A few menthe least
impressed of all by the scenepronounced a discoursesome
deploring this premature deathothers expatiating on the
grief of the fatherand one very ingenious person quoting
the fact that Valentine had solicited pardon of her father
for criminals on whom the arm of justice was ready to fall
-- until at length they exhausted their stores of metaphor
and mournful speeches.

Monte Cristo heard and saw nothingor rather he only saw
Morrelwhose calmness had a frightful effect on those who
knew what was passing in his heart. "See said Beauchamp,
pointing out Morrel to Debray. What is he doing up there?"
And they called Chateau-Renaud's attention to him.

How pale he is!said Chateau-Renaudshuddering.

He is cold,said Debray.

Not at all,said Chateau-Renaudslowly; "I think he is
violently agitated. He is very susceptible."

Bah,said Debray; "he scarcely knew Mademoiselle de
Villefort; you said so yourself."

True. Still I remember he danced three times with her at
Madame de Morcerf's. Do you recollect that ball, count,
where you produced such an effect?

No, I do not,replied Monte Cristowithout even knowing
of what or to whom he was speakingso much was he occupied
in watching Morrelwho was holding his breath with emotion.
The discourse is over; farewell, gentlemen,said the
count. And he disappeared without anyone seeing whither he
went. The funeral being overthe guests returned to Paris.
Chateau-Renaud looked for a moment for Morrel; but while
they were watching the departure of the countMorrel had
quitted his postand Chateau-Renaudfailing in his search
joined Debray and Beauchamp.

Monte Cristo concealed himself behind a large tomb and
awaited the arrival of Morrelwho by degrees approached the
tomb now abandoned by spectators and workmen. Morrel threw a
glance aroundbut before it reached the spot occupied by
Monte Cristo the latter had advanced yet nearerstill
unperceived. The young man knelt down. The countwith
outstretched neck and glaring eyesstood in an attitude
ready to pounce upon Morrel upon the first occasion. Morrel
bent his head till it touched the stonethen clutching the
grating with both handshe murmured-- "OhValentine!"
The count's heart was pierced by the utterance of these two
words; he stepped forwardand touching the young man's
shouldersaid-- "I was looking for youmy friend." Monte
Cristo expected a burst of passionbut he was deceivedfor
Morrel turning roundsaid calmly-


You see I was praying.The scrutinizing glance of the
count searched the young man from head to foot. He then
seemed more easy.


Shall I drive you back to Paris?he asked.

No, thank you.

Do you wish anything?

Leave me to pray.The count withdrew without opposition
but it was only to place himself in a situation where he
could watch every movement of Morrelwho at length arose
brushed the dust from his kneesand turned towards Paris
without once looking back. He walked slowly down the Rue de
la Roquette. The countdismissing his carriagefollowed
him about a hundred paces behind. Maximilian crossed the
canal and entered the Rue Meslay by the boulevards. Five
minutes after the door had been closed on Morrel's entrance
it was again opened for the count. Julie was at the entrance
of the gardenwhere she was attentively watching Penelon
whoentering with zeal into his profession of gardenerwas
very busy grafting some Bengal roses. "Ahcount she
exclaimed, with the delight manifested by every member of
the family whenever he visited the Rue Meslay.

Maximilian has just returnedhas he notmadame?" asked
the count.

Yes, I think I saw him pass; but pray, call Emmanuel.

Excuse me, madame, but I must go up to Maximilian's room
this instant,replied Monte CristoI have something of
the greatest importance to tell him.

Go, then,she said with a charming smilewhich
accompanied him until he had disappeared. Monte Cristo soon
ran up the staircase conducting from the ground-floor to
Maximilian's room; when he reached the landing he listened
attentivelybut all was still. Like many old houses
occupied by a single familythe room door was panelled with
glass; but it was lockedMaximilian was shut inand it was
impossible to see what was passing in the roombecause a
red curtain was drawn before the glass. The count's anxiety
was manifested by a bright color which seldom appeared on
the face of that imperturbable man.

What shall I do!he utteredand reflected for a moment;
shall I ring? No, the sound of a bell, announcing a
visitor, will but accelerate the resolution of one in
Maximilian's situation, and then the bell would be followed
by a louder noise.Monte Cristo trembled from head to foot
and as if his determination had been taken with the rapidity
of lightninghe struck one of the panes of glass with his
elbow; the glass was shivered to atomsthen withdrawing the
curtain he saw Morrelwho had been writing at his desk
bound from his seat at the noise of the broken window.

I beg a thousand pardons,said the countthere is
nothing the matter, but I slipped down and broke one of your
panes of glass with my elbow. Since it is opened, I will
take advantage of it to enter your room; do not disturb
yourself -- do not disturb yourself!And passing his hand
through the broken glassthe count opened the door. Morrel
evidently discomposedcame to meet Monte Cristo less with
the intention of receiving him than to exclude his entry.
Ma foi,said Monte Cristorubbing his elbowit's all


your servant's fault; your stairs are so polished, it is
like walking on glass.

Are you hurt, sir?coldly asked Morrel.

I believe not. But what are you about there? You were
writing.

I?

Your fingers are stained with ink.

Ah, true, I was writing. I do sometimes, soldier though I
am.

Monte Cristo advanced into the room; Maximilian was obliged
to let him passbut he followed him. "You were writing?"
said Monte Cristo with a searching look.

I have already had the honor of telling you I was,said
Morrel.

The count looked around him. "Your pistols are beside your
desk said Monte Cristo, pointing with his finger to the
pistols on the table.

I am on the point of starting on a journey replied Morrel
disdainfully.

My friend exclaimed Monte Cristo in a tone of exquisite
sweetness.

Sir?"

My friend, my dear Maximilian, do not make a hasty
resolution, I entreat you.

I make a hasty resolution?said Morrelshrugging his
shoulders; "is there anything extraordinary in a journey?"

Maximilian,said the countlet us both lay aside the
mask we have assumed. You no more deceive me with that false
calmness than I impose upon you with my frivolous
solicitude. You can understand, can you not, that to have
acted as I have done, to have broken that glass, to have
intruded on the solitude of a friend -- you can understand
that, to have done all this, I must have been actuated by
real uneasiness, or rather by a terrible conviction. Morrel,
you are going to destroy yourself!

Indeed, count,said Morrelshuddering; "what has put this
into your head?"

I tell you that you are about to destroy yourself,
continued the countand here is proof of what I say;and
approaching the deskhe removed the sheet of paper which
Morrel had placed over the letter he had begunand took the
latter in his hands.

Morrel rushed forward to tear it from himbut Monte Cristo
perceiving his intentionseized his wrist with his iron
grasp. "You wish to destroy yourself said the count; you
have written it."


Well,said Morrelchanging his expression of calmness for
one of violence -- "welland if I do intend to turn this
pistol against myselfwho shall prevent me -- who will dare
prevent me? All my hopes are blightedmy heart is broken
my life a burdeneverything around me is sad and mournful;
earth has become distasteful to meand human voices
distract me. It is a mercy to let me diefor if I live I
shall lose my reason and become mad. WhensirI tell you
all this with tears of heartfelt anguishcan you reply that
I am wrongcan you prevent my putting an end to my
miserable existence? Tell mesircould you have the
courage to do so?"

Yes, Morrel,said Monte Cristowith a calmness which
contrasted strangely with the young man's excitement; "yes
I would do so."

You?exclaimed Morrelwith increasing anger and reproach
-- "youwho have deceived me with false hopeswho have
cheered and soothed me with vain promiseswhen I mightif
not have saved herat least have seen her die in my arms!
Youwho pretend to understand everythingeven the hidden
sources of knowledge-- and who enact the part of a
guardian angel upon earthand could not even find an
antidote to a poison administered to a young girl! Ahsir
indeed you would inspire me with pitywere you not hateful
in my eyes."

Morrel-


Yes; you tell me to lay aside the mask, and I will do so,
be satisfied! When you spoke to me at the cemetery, I
answered you -- my heart was softened; when you arrived
here, I allowed you to enter. But since you abuse my
confidence, since you have devised a new torture after I
thought I had exhausted them all, then, Count of Monte
Cristo my pretended benefactor -- then, Count of Monte
Cristo, the universal guardian, be satisfied, you shall
witness the death of your friend;and Morrelwith a
maniacal laughagain rushed towards the pistols.

And I again repeat, you shall not commit suicide.

Prevent me, then!replied Morrelwith another struggle
whichlike the firstfailed in releasing him from the
count's iron grasp.

I will prevent you.

And who are you, then, that arrogate to yourself this
tyrannical right over free and rational beings?

Who am I?repeated Monte Cristo. "Listen; I am the only
man in the world having the right to say to you`Morrel
your father's son shall not die to-day;'" and Monte Cristo
with an expression of majesty and sublimityadvanced with
arms folded toward the young manwhoinvoluntarily
overcome by the commanding manner of this manrecoiled a
step.

Why do you mention my father?stammered he; "why do you
mingle a recollection of him with the affairs of today?"

Because I am he who saved your father's life when he wished


to destroy himself, as you do to-day -- because I am the man
who sent the purse to your young sister, and the Pharaon to
old Morrel -- because I am the Edmond Dantes who nursed you,
a child, on my knees.Morrel made another step back
staggeringbreathlesscrushed; then all his strength give
wayand he fell prostrate at the feet of Monte Cristo. Then
his admirable nature underwent a complete and sudden
revulsion; he aroserushed out of the room and to the
stairsexclaiming energeticallyJulie, Julie -- Emmanuel,
Emmanuel!

Monte Cristo endeavored also to leavebut Maximilian would
have died rather than relax his hold of the handle of the
doorwhich he closed upon the count. JulieEmmanueland
some of the servantsran up in alarm on hearing the cries
of Maximilian. Morrel seized their handsand opening the
door exclaimed in a voice choked with sobsOn your knees
-- on your knees -- he is our benefactor -- the saviour of
our father! He is--

He would have added "Edmond Dantes but the count seized
his arm and prevented him. Julie threw herself into the arms
of the count; Emmanuel embraced him as a guardian angel;
Morrel again fell on his knees, and struck the ground with
his forehead. Then the iron-hearted man felt his heart swell
in his breast; a flame seemed to rush from his throat to his
eyes, he bent his head and wept. For a while nothing was
heard in the room but a succession of sobs, while the
incense from their grateful hearts mounted to heaven. Julie
had scarcely recovered from her deep emotion when she rushed
out of the room, descended to the next floor, ran into the
drawing-room with childlike joy and raised the crystal globe
which covered the purse given by the unknown of the Allees
de Meillan. Meanwhile, Emmanuel in a broken voice said to
the count, Ohcounthow could youhearing us so often
speak of our unknown benefactorseeing us pay such homage
of gratitude and adoration to his memory-- how could you
continue so long without discovering yourself to us? Ohit
was cruel to usand -- dare I say it? -- to you also."

Listen, my friends,said the count -- "I may call you so
since we have really been friends for the last eleven years
-- the discovery of this secret has been occasioned by a
great event which you must never know. I wish to bury it
during my whole life in my own bosombut your brother
Maximilian wrested it from me by a violence he repents of
nowI am sure." Then turning aroundand seeing that
Morrelstill on his kneeshad thrown himself into an
arm-chairbe added in a low voicepressing Emmanuel's hand
significantlyWatch over him.

Why so?asked the young mansurprised.

I cannot explain myself; but watch over him.Emmanuel
looked around the room and caught sight of the pistols; his
eyes rested on the weaponsand he pointed to them. Monte
Cristo bent his head. Emmanuel went towards the pistols.
Leave them,said Monte Cristo. Then walking towards
Morrelhe took his hand; the tumultuous agitation of the
young man was succeeded by a profound stupor. Julie
returnedholding the silken purse in her handswhile tears
of joy rolled down her cheekslike dewdrops on the rose.

Here is the relic,she said; "do not think it will be less


dear to us now we are acquainted with our benefactor!"

My child,said Monte Cristocoloringallow me to take
back that purse? Since you now know my face, I wish to be
remembered alone through the affection I hope you will grant
me.

Oh said Julie, pressing the purse to her heart, nono
I beseech you do not take itfor some unhappy day you will
leave uswill you not?"

You have guessed rightly, madame,replied Monte Cristo
smiling; "in a week I shall have left this countrywhere so
many persons who merit the vengeance of heaven lived
happilywhile my father perished of hunger and grief."
While announcing his departurethe count fixed his eyes on
Morreland remarked that the wordsI shall have left this
country,had failed to rouse him from his lethargy. He then
saw that he must make another struggle against the grief of
his friendand taking the hands of Emmanuel and Julie
which he pressed within his ownhe said with the mild
authority of a fatherMy kind friends, leave me alone with
Maximilian.Julie saw the means offered of carrying off her
precious relicwhich Monte Cristo had forgotten. She drew
her husband to the door. "Let us leave them she said. The
count was alone with Morrel, who remained motionless as a
statue.

Come said Monte-Cristo, touching his shoulder with his
finger, are you a man againMaximilian?"

Yes; for I begin to suffer again.

The count frownedapparently in gloomy hesitation.

Maximilian, Maximilian,he saidthe ideas you yield to
are unworthy of a Christian.

Oh, do not fear, my friend,said Morrelraising his head
and smiling with a sweet expression on the count; "I shall
no longer attempt my life."

Then we are to have no more pistols -- no more despair?

No; I have found a better remedy for my grief than either a
bullet or a knife.

Poor fellow, what is it?

My grief will kill me of itself.

My friend,said Monte Cristowith an expression of
melancholy equal to his ownlisten to me. One day, in a
moment of despair like yours, since it led to a similar
resolution, I also wished to kill myself; one day your
father, equally desperate, wished to kill himself too. If
any one had said to your father, at the moment he raised the
pistol to his head -- if any one had told me, when in my
prison I pushed back the food I had not tasted for three
days -- if anyone had said to either of us then, `Live -the
day will come when you will be happy, and will bless
life!' -- no matter whose voice had spoken, we should have
heard him with the smile of doubt, or the anguish of
incredulity, -- and yet how many times has your father


blessed life while embracing you -- how often have I myself

Ah,exclaimed Morrelinterrupting the countyou had
only lost your liberty, my father had only lost his fortune,
but I have lost Valentine.

Look at me,said Monte Cristowith that expression which
sometimes made him so eloquent and persuasive -- "look at
me. There are no tears in my eyesnor is there fever in my
veinsyet I see you suffer -- youMaximilianwhom I love
as my own son. Welldoes not this tell you that in grief
as in lifethere is always something to look forward to
beyond? Nowif I entreatif I order you to liveMorrel
it is in the conviction that one day you will thank me for
having preserved your life."

Oh, heavens,said the young manoh, heavens -- what are
you saying, count? Take care. But perhaps you have never
loved!

Child!replied the count.

I mean, as I love. You see, I have been a soldier ever
since I attained manhood. I reached the age of twenty-nine
without loving, for none of the feelings I before then
experienced merit the appellation of love. Well, at
twenty-nine I saw Valentine; for two years I have loved her,
for two years I have seen written in her heart, as in a
book, all the virtues of a daughter and wife. Count, to
possess Valentine would have been a happiness too infinite,
too ecstatic, too complete, too divine for this world, since
it has been denied me; but without Valentine the earth is
desolate.

I have told you to hope,said the count.

Then have a care, I repeat, for you seek to persuade me,
and if you succeed I should lose my reason, for I should
hope that I could again behold Valentine.The count smiled.
My friend, my father,said Morrel with excitementhave a
care, I again repeat, for the power you wield over me alarms
me. Weigh your words before you speak, for my eyes have
already become brighter, and my heart beats strongly; be
cautious, or you will make me believe in supernatural
agencies. I must obey you, though you bade me call forth the
dead or walk upon the water.

Hope, my friend,repeated the count.

Ah,said Morrelfalling from the height of excitement to
the abyss of despair -- "ahyou are playing with melike
those goodor rather selfish mothers who soothe their
children with honeyed wordsbecause their screams annoy
them. Nomy friendI was wrong to caution you; do not
fearI will bury my grief so deep in my heartI will
disguise it sothat you shall not even care to sympathize
with me. Adieumy friendadieu!"

On the contrary,said the countafter this time you must
live with me -- you must not leave me, and in a week we
shall have left France behind us.

And you still bid me hope?


I tell you to hope, because I have a method of curing you.

Count, you render me sadder than before, if it be possible.
You think the result of this blow has been to produce an
ordinary grief, and you would cure it by an ordinary remedy
-- change of scene.And Morrel dropped his head with
disdainful incredulity. "What can I say more?" asked Monte
Cristo. "I have confidence in the remedy I proposeand only
ask you to permit me to assure you of its efficacy."

Count, you prolong my agony.

Then,said the countyour feeble spirit will not even
grant me the trial I request? Come -- do you know of what
the Count of Monte Cristo is capable? do you know that he
holds terrestrial beings under his control? nay, that he can
almost work a miracle? Well, wait for the miracle I hope to
accomplish, or-


Or?repeated Morrel.

Or, take care, Morrel, lest I call you ungrateful.

Have pity on me, count!

I feel so much pity towards you, Maximilian, that -- listen
to me attentively -- if I do not cure you in a month, to the
day, to the very hour, mark my words, Morrel, I will place
loaded pistols before you, and a cup of the deadliest
Italian poison -- a poison more sure and prompt than that
which has killed Valentine.

Will you promise me?

Yes; for I am a man, and have suffered like yourself, and
also contemplated suicide; indeed, often since misfortune
has left me I have longed for the delights of an eternal
sleep.

But you are sure you will promise me this?said Morrel
intoxicated. "I not only promisebut swear it!" said Monte
Cristo extending his hand.

In a month, then, on your honor, if I am not consoled, you
will let me take my life into my own hands, and whatever may
happen you will not call me ungrateful?

In a month, to the day, the very hour and the date are
sacred, Maximilian. I do not know whether you remember that
this is the 5th of September; it is ten years to-day since I
saved your father's life, who wished to die.Morrel seized
the count's hand and kissed it; the count allowed him to pay
the homage he felt due to him. "In a month you will find on
the tableat which we shall be then sittinggood pistols
and a delicious draught; buton the other handyou must
promise me not to attempt your life before that time."

Oh, I also swear it!Monte Cristo drew the young man
towards himand pressed him for some time to his heart.
And now,he saidafter to-day, you will come and live
with me; you can occupy Haidee's apartment, and my daughter
will at least be replaced by my son.


Haidee?said Morrelwhat has become of her?

She departed last night.

To leave you?

To wait for me. Hold yourself ready then to join me at the
Champs Elysees, and lead me out of this house without any
one seeing my departure.Maximilian hung his headand
obeyed with childlike reverence.


Chapter 106
Dividing the Proceeds.


The apartment on the second floor of the house in the Rue
Saint-Germain-des-Preswhere Albert de Morcerf had selected
a home for his motherwas let to a very mysterious person.
This was a man whose face the concierge himself had never
seenfor in the winter his chin was buried in one of the
large red handkerchiefs worn by gentlemen's coachmen on a
cold nightand in the summer he made a point of always
blowing his nose just as he approached the door. Contrary to
customthis gentleman had not been watchedfor as the
report ran that he was a person of high rankand one who
would allow no impertinent interferencehis incognito was
strictly respected.


His visits were tolerably regularthough occasionally he
appeared a little before or after his timebut generally
both in summer and winterhe took possession of his
apartment about four o'clockthough he never spent the
night there. At half-past three in the winter the fire was
lighted by the discreet servantwho had the superintendence
of the little apartmentand in the summer ices were placed
on the table at the same hour. At four o'clockas we have
already statedthe mysterious personage arrived. Twenty
minutes afterwards a carriage stopped at the housea lady
alighted in a black or dark blue dressand always thickly
veiled; she passed like a shadow through the lodgeand ran
up-stairs without a sound escaping under the touch of her
light foot. No one ever asked her where she was going. Her
facethereforelike that of the gentlemanwas perfectly
unknown to the two conciergeswho were perhaps unequalled
throughout the capital for discretion. We need not say she
stopped at the second floor. Then she tapped in a peculiar
manner at a doorwhich after being opened to admit her was
again fastenedand curiosity penetrated no farther. They
used the same precautions in leaving as in entering the
house. The lady always left firstand as soon as she had
stepped into her carriageit drove awaysometimes towards
the right handsometimes to the left; then about twenty
minutes afterwards the gentleman would also leaveburied in
his cravat or concealed by his handkerchief.


The day after Monte Cristo had called upon Danglarsthe
mysterious lodger entered at ten o'clock in the morning
instead of four in the afternoon. Almost directly
afterwardswithout the usual interval of timea cab
arrivedand the veiled lady ran hastily up-stairs. The door
openedbut before it could be closedthe lady exclaimed:
Oh, Lucien -- oh, my friend!The concierge therefore heard
for the first time that the lodger's name was Lucien; still



as he was the very perfection of a door-keeperhe made up
his mind not to tell his wife. "Wellwhat is the mattermy
dear?" asked the gentleman whose name the lady's agitation
revealed; "tell me what is the matter."

Oh, Lucien, can I confide in you?

Of course, you know you can do so. But what can be the
matter? Your note of this morning has completely bewildered
me. This precipitation -- this unusual appointment. Come,
ease me of my anxiety, or else frighten me at once.

Lucien, a great event has happened!said the lady
glancing inquiringly at Lucien-- "M. Danglars left last
night!"

Left? -- M. Danglars left? Where has he gone?

I do not know.

What do you mean? Has he gone intending not to return?

Undoubtedly; -- at ten o'clock at night his horses took him
to the barrier of Charenton; there a post-chaise was waiting
for him -- he entered it with his valet de chambre, saying
that he was going to Fontainebleau.

Then what did you mean-


Stay -- he left a letter for me.

A letter?

Yes; read it.And the baroness took from her pocket a
letter which she gave to Debray. Debray paused a moment
before readingas if trying to guess its contentsor
perhaps while making up his mind how to actwhatever it
might contain. No doubt his ideas were arranged in a few
minutesfor he began reading the letter which caused so
much uneasiness in the heart of the baronessand which ran
as follows: -


Madame and most faithful wife.

Debray mechanically stopped and looked at the baroness
whose face became covered with blushes. "Read she said.

Debray continued: -


When you receive thisyou will no longer have a husband.
Ohyou need not be alarmedyou will only have lost him as
you have lost your daughter; I mean that I shall be
travelling on one of the thirty or forty roads leading out
of France. I owe you some explanations for my conductand
as you are a woman that can perfectly understand meI will
give them. Listenthen. I received this morning five
millions which I paid away; almost directly afterwards
another demand for the same sum was presented to me; I put
this creditor off till to-morrow and I intend leaving
to-dayto escape that to-morrowwhich would be rather too
unpleasant for me to endure. You understand thisdo you
notmy most precious wife? I say you understand this
because you are as conversant with my affairs as I am;
indeedI think you understand them bettersince I am


ignorant of what has become of a considerable portion of my
fortuneonce very tolerablewhile I am suremadamethat
you know perfectly well. For women have infallible
instincts; they can even explain the marvellous by an
algebraic calculation they have invented; but Iwho only
understand my own figuresknow nothing more than that one
day these figures deceived me. Have you admired the rapidity
of my fall? Have you been slightly dazzled at the sudden
fusion of my ingots? I confess I have seen nothing but the
fire; let us hope you have found some gold among the ashes.
With this consoling ideaI leave youmadameand most
prudent wifewithout any conscientious reproach for
abandoning you; you have friends leftand the ashes I have
already mentionedand above all the liberty I hasten to
restore to you. And heremadameI must add another word of
explanation. So long as I hoped you were working for the
good of our house and for the fortune of our daughterI
philosophically closed my eyes; but as you have transformed
that house into a vast ruin I will not be the foundation of
another man's fortune. You were rich when I married youbut
little respected. Excuse me for speaking so very candidly
but as this is intended only for ourselvesI do not see why
I should weigh my words. I have augmented our fortuneand
it has continued to increase during the last fifteen years
till extraordinary and unexpected catastrophes have suddenly
overturned it-- without any fault of mineI can honestly
declare. Youmadamehave only sought to increase your own
and I am convinced that you have succeeded. I leave you
thereforeas I took you-- richbut little respected.
Adieu! I also intend from this time to work on my own
account. Accept my acknowledgments for the example you have
set meand which I intend following.

Your very devoted husband,

Baron Danglars."

The baroness had watched Debray while he read this long and
painful letterand saw himnotwithstanding his
self-controlchange color once or twice. When he had ended
the perusalhe folded the letter and resumed his pensive
attitude. "Well?" asked Madame Danglarswith an anxiety
easy to be understood.

Well, madame?unhesitatingly repeated Debray.

With what ideas does that letter inspire you?

Oh, it is simple enough, madame; it inspires me with the
idea that M. Danglars has left suspiciously.

Certainly; but is this all you have to say to me?

I do not understand you,said Debray with freezing
coldness.

He is gone! Gone, never to return!

Oh, madame, do not think that!

I tell you he will never return. I know his character; he
is inflexible in any resolutions formed for his own
interests. If he could have made any use of me, he would
have taken me with him; he leaves me in Paris, as our


separation will conduce to his benefit; -- therefore he has
gone, and I am free forever,added Madame Danglarsin the
same supplicating tone. Debrayinstead of answering
allowed her to remain in an attitude of nervous inquiry.
Well?she said at lengthdo you not answer me?

I have but one question to ask you, -- what do you intend
to do?

I was going to ask you,replied the baroness with a
beating heart.

Ah, then, you wish to ask advice of me?

Yes; I do wish to ask your advice,said Madame Danglars
with anxious expectation.

Then if you wish to take my advice,said the young man
coldlyI would recommend you to travel.

To travel!she murmured.

Certainly; as M. Danglars says, you are rich, and perfectly
free. In my opinion, a withdrawal from Paris is absolutely
necessary after the double catastrophe of Mademoiselle
Danglars' broken contract and M. Danglars' disappearance.
The world will think you abandoned and poor, for the wife of
a bankrupt would never be forgiven, were she to keep up an
appearance of opulence. You have only to remain in Paris for
about a fortnight, telling the world you are abandoned, and
relating the details of this desertion to your best friends,
who will soon spread the report. Then you can quit your
house, leaving your jewels and giving up your jointure, and
every one's mouth will be filled with praises of your
disinterestedness. They will know you are deserted, and
think you also poor, for I alone know your real financial
position, and am quite ready to give up my accounts as an
honest partner.The dread with which the pale and
motionless baroness listened to thiswas equalled by the
calm indifference with which Debray had spoken. "Deserted?"
she repeated; "ahyesI amindeeddeserted! You are
rightsirand no one can doubt my position." These were
the only words that this proud and violently enamoured woman
could utter in response to Debray.

But then you are rich, -- very rich, indeed,continued
Debraytaking out some papers from his pocket-bookwhich
he spread upon the table. Madame Danglars did not see them;
she was engaged in stilling the beatings of her heartand
restraining the tears which were ready to gush forth. At
length a sense of dignity prevailedand if she did not
entirely master her agitationshe at least succeeded in
preventing the fall of a single tear. "Madame said Debray,
it is nearly six months since we have been associated. You
furnished a principal of 100000 francs. Our partnership
began in the month of April. In May we commenced operations
and in the course of the month gained 450000 francs. In
June the profit amounted to 900000. In July we added
1700000 francs-- it wasyou knowthe month of the
Spanish bonds. In August we lost 300000 francs at the
beginning of the monthbut on the 13th we made up for it
and we now find that our accountsreckoning from the first
day of partnership up to yesterdaywhen I closed them
showed a capital of 2400000 francsthat is1200000 for


each of us. Nowmadame said Debray, delivering up his
accounts in the methodical manner of a stockbroker, there
are still 80000 francsthe interest of this moneyin my
hands."

But,said the baronessI thought you never put the money
out to interest.

Excuse me, madame,said Debray coldlyI had your
permission to do so, and I have made use of it. There are,
then, 40,000 francs for your share, besides the 100,000 you
furnished me to begin with, making in all 1,340,000 francs
for your portion. Now, madame, I took the precaution of
drawing out your money the day before yesterday; it is not
long ago, you see, and I was in continual expectation of
being called on to deliver up my accounts. There is your
money, -- half in bank-notes, the other half in checks
payable to bearer. I say there, for as I did not consider my
house safe enough, or lawyers sufficiently discreet, and as
landed property carries evidence with it, and moreover since
you have no right to possess anything independent of your
husband, I have kept this sum, now your whole fortune, in a
chest concealed under that closet, and for greater security
I myself concealed it there.

Nowmadame continued Debray, first opening the closet,
then the chest; -- nowmadamehere are 800 notes of 1000
francs eachresemblingas you seea large book bound in
iron; to this I add a certificate in the funds of 25000
francs; thenfor the odd cashmaking I think about 110000
francshere is a check upon my bankerwhonot being M.
Danglarswill pay you the amountyou may rest assured."
Madame Danglars mechanically took the checkthe bondand
the heap of bank-notes. This enormous fortune made no great
appearance on the table. Madame Danglarswith tearless
eyesbut with her breast heaving with concealed emotion
placed the bank-notes in her bagput the certificate and
check into her pocket-bookand thenstanding pale and
muteawaited one kind word of consolation. But she waited
in vain.

Now, madame,said Debrayyou have a splendid fortune, an
income of about 60,000 livres a year, which is enormous for
a woman who cannot keep an establishment here for a year, at
least. You will be able to indulge all your fancies;
besides, should you find your income insufficient, you can,
for the sake of the past, madame, make use of mine; and I am
ready to offer you all I possess, on loan.

Thank you, sir -- thank you,replied the baroness; "you
forget that what you have just paid me is much more than a
poor woman requireswho intends for some timeat leastto
retire from the world."

Debray wasfor a momentsurprisedbut immediately
recovering himselfhe bowed with an air which seemed to
sayAs you please, madame.

Madame Danglars had until thenperhapshoped for
something; but when she saw the careless bow of Debrayand
the glance by which it was accompaniedtogether with his
significant silenceshe raised her headand without
passion or violence or even hesitationran down-stairs
disdaining to address a last farewell to one who could thus


part from her. "Bah said Debray, when she had left, these
are fine projects! She will remain at homeread novelsand
speculate at cardssince she can no longer do so on the
Bourse." Then taking up his account bookhe cancelled with
the greatest care all the entries of the amounts he had just
paid away. "I have 1060000 francs remaining he said.
What a pity Mademoiselle de Villefort is dead! She suited
me in every respectand I would have married her." And he
calmly waited until the twenty minutes had elapsed after
Madame Danglars' departure before he left the house. During
this time he occupied himself in making figureswith his
watch by his side.

Asmodeus -- that diabolical personagewho would have been
created by every fertile imagination if Le Sage had not
acquired the priority in his great masterpiece -- would have
enjoyed a singular spectacleif he had lifted up the roof
of the little house in the Rue Saint-Germain-des-Preswhile
Debray was casting up his figures. Above the room in which
Debray had been dividing two millions and a half with Madame
Danglars was anotherinhabited by persons who have played
too prominent a part in the incidents we have related for
their appearance not to create some interest. Mercedes and
Albert were in that room. Mercedes was much changed within
the last few days; not that even in her days of fortune she
had ever dressed with the magnificent display which makes us
no longer able to recognize a woman when she appears in a
plain and simple attire; nor indeedhad she fallen into
that state of depression where it is impossible to conceal
the garb of misery; nothe change in Mercedes was that her
eye no longer sparkledher lips no longer smiledand there
was now a hesitation in uttering the words which formerly
sprang so fluently from her ready wit.

It was not poverty which had broken her spirit; it was not a
want of courage which rendered her poverty burdensome.
Mercedesalthough deposed from the exalted position she had
occupiedlost in the sphere she had now chosenlike a
person passing from a room splendidly lighted into utter
darknessappeared like a queenfallen from her palace to a
hoveland whoreduced to strict necessitycould neither
become reconciled to the earthen vessels she was herself
forced to place upon the tablenor to the humble pallet
which had become her bed. The beautiful Catalane and noble
countess had lost both her proud glance and charming smile
because she saw nothing but misery around her; the walls
were hung with one of the gray papers which economical
landlords choose as not likely to show the dirt; the floor
was uncarpeted; the furniture attracted the attention to the
poor attempt at luxury; indeedeverything offended eyes
accustomed to refinement and elegance.

Madame de Morcerf had lived there since leaving her house;
the continual silence of the spot oppressed her; still
seeing that Albert continually watched her countenance to
judge the state of her feelingsshe constrained herself to
assume a monotonous smile of the lips alonewhich
contrasted with the sweet and beaming expression that
usually shone from her eyesseemed like "moonlight on a
statue -- yielding light without warmth. Albert, too, was
ill at ease; the remains of luxury prevented him from
sinking into his actual position. If he wished to go out
without gloves, his hands appeared too white; if he wished
to walk through the town, his boots seemed too highly


polished. Yet these two noble and intelligent creatures,
united by the indissoluble ties of maternal and filial love,
had succeeded in tacitly understanding one another, and
economizing their stores, and Albert had been able to tell
his mother without extorting a change of countenance, -
Motherwe have no more money."

Mercedes had never known misery; she had oftenin her
youthspoken of povertybut between want and necessity
those synonymous wordsthere is a wide difference. Amongst
the CatalansMercedes wished for a thousand thingsbut
still she never really wanted any. So long as the nets were
goodthey caught fish; and so long as they sold their fish
they were able to buy twine for new nets. And thenshut out
from friendshiphaving but one affectionwhich could not
be mixed up with her ordinary pursuitsshe thought of
herself -- of no one but herself. Upon the little she earned
she lived as well as she could; now there were two to be
supportedand nothing to live upon.

Winter approached. Mercedes had no fire in that cold and
naked room -- shewho was accustomed to stoves which heated
the house from the hall to the boudoir; she had not even one
little flower -- she whose apartment had been a conservatory
of costly exotics. But she had her son. Hitherto the
excitement of fulfilling a duty had sustained them.
Excitementlike enthusiasmsometimes renders us
unconscious to the things of earth. But the excitement had
calmed downand they felt themselves obliged to descend
from dreams to reality; after having exhausted the ideal
they found they must talk of the actual.

Mother,exclaimed Albertjust as Madame Danglars was
descending the stairslet us reckon our riches, if you
please; I want capital to build my plans upon.

Capital -- nothing!replied Mercedes with a mournful
smile.

No, mother, -- capital 3,000 francs. And I have an idea of
our leading a delightful life upon this 3,000 francs.

Child!sighed Mercedes.

Alas, dear mother,said the young manI have unhappily
spent too much of your money not to know the value of it.
These 3,000 francs are enormous, and I intend building upon
this foundation a miraculous certainty for the future.

You say this, my dear boy; but do you think we ought to
accept these 3,000 francs?said Mercedescoloring.

I think so,answered Albert in a firm tone. "We will
accept them the more readilysince we have them not here;
you know they are buried in the garden of the little house
in the Allees de Meillanat Marseilles. With 200 francs we
can reach Marseilles."

With 200 francs? -- are you sure, Albert?

Oh, as for that, I have made inquiries respecting the
diligences and steamboats, and my calculations are made. You
will take your place in the coupe to Chalons. You see,
mother, I treat you handsomely for thirty-five francs.


Albert then took a penand wrote: -


Frs.
Coupethirty-five francs ............................ 35
From Chalons to Lyons you will go on by the steamboat
-- six francs ......................................... 6
From Lyons to Avignon (still by steamboat)
sixteen francs ....................................... 16
From Avignon to Marseillesseven franc................ 7
Expenses on the roadabout fifty francs ............. 50
Total................................................ 114 frs.

Let us put down 120,added Albertsmiling. "You see I am
generousam I notmother?"

But you, my poor child?

I? do you not see that I reserve eighty francs for myself?
A young man does not require luxuries; besides, I know what
travelling is.

With a post-chaise and valet de chambre?

Any way, mother.

Well, be it so. But these 200 francs?

Here they are, and 200 more besides. See, I have sold my
watch for 100 francs, and the guard and seals for 300. How
fortunate that the ornaments were worth more than the watch.
Still the same story of superfluities! Now I think we are
rich, since instead of the 114 francs we require for the
journey we find ourselves in possession of 250.

But we owe something in this house?

Thirty francs; but I pay that out of my 150 francs, -- that
is understood, -- and as I require only eighty francs for my
journey, you see I am overwhelmed with luxury. But that is
not all. What do you say to this, mother?

And Albert took out of a little pocket-book with golden
claspsa remnant of his old fanciesor perhaps a tender
souvenir from one of the mysterious and veiled ladies who
used to knock at his little door-- Albert took out of this
pocket-book a note of 1000 francs.

What is this?asked Mercedes.

A thousand francs.

But whence have you obtained them?

Listen to me, mother, and do not yield too much to
agitation.And Albertrisingkissed his mother on both
cheeksthen stood looking at her. "You cannot imagine
motherhow beautiful I think you!" said the young man
impressed with a profound feeling of filial love. "You are
indeedthe most beautiful and most noble woman I ever saw!"

Dear child!said Mercedesendeavoring in vain to restrain
a tear which glistened in the corner of her eye. "Indeed
you only wanted misfortune to change my love for you to
admiration. I am not unhappy while I possess my son!"


Ah, just so,said Albert; "here begins the trial. Do you
know the decision we have come tomother?"

Have we come to any?

Yes; it is decided that you are to live at Marseilles, and
that I am to leave for Africa, where I will earn for myself
the right to use the name I now bear, instead of the one I
have thrown aside.Mercedes sighed. "WellmotherI
yesterday engaged myself as substitute in the Spahis*
added the young man, lowering his eyes with a certain
feeling of shame, for even he was unconscious of the
sublimity of his self-abasement. I thought my body was my
ownand that I might sell it. I yesterday took the place of
another. I sold myself for more than I thought I was worth
he added, attempting to smile; I fetched 2000 francs."

* The Spahis are French cavalry reserved for service in
Africa.
Then these 1,000 francs-- said Mercedesshuddering -


Are the half of the sum, mother; the other will be paid in
a year.

Mercedes raised her eyes to heaven with an expression it
would be impossible to describeand tearswhich had
hitherto been restrainednow yielded to her emotionand
ran down her cheeks.

The price of his blood!she murmured.

Yes, if I am killed,said Albertlaughing. "But I assure
youmotherI have a strong intention of defending my
personand I never felt half so strong an inclination to
live as I do now."

Merciful heavens!

Besides, mother, why should you make up your mind that I am
to be killed? Has Lamoriciere, that Ney of the South, been
killed? Has Changarnier been killed? Has Bedeau been killed?
Has Morrel, whom we know, been killed? Think of your joy,
mother, when you see me return with an embroidered uniform!
I declare, I expect to look magnificent in it, and chose
that regiment only from vanity.Mercedes sighed while
endeavoring to smile; the devoted mother felt that she ought
not to allow the whole weight of the sacrifice to fall upon
her son. "Wellnow you understandmother!" continued
Albert; "here are more than 4000 francs settled on you;
upon these you can live at least two years."

Do you think so?said Mercedes. These words were uttered
in so mournful a tone that their real meaning did not escape
Albert; he felt his heart beatand taking his mother's hand
within his own he saidtenderly-


Yes, you will live!

I shall live! -- then you will not leave me, Albert?

Mother, I must go,said Albert in a firmcalm voice; "you
love me too well to wish me to remain useless and idle with


you; besidesI have signed."

You will obey your own wish and the will of heaven!

Not my own wish, mother, but reason -- necessity. Are we
not two despairing creatures? What is life to you? --
Nothing. What is life to me? -- Very little without you,
mother; for believe me, but for you I should have ceased to
live on the day I doubted my father and renounced his name.
Well, I will live, if you promise me still to hope; and if
you grant me the care of your future prospects, you will
redouble my strength. Then I will go to the governor of
Algeria; he has a royal heart, and is essentially a soldier;
I will tell him my gloomy story. I will beg him to turn his
eyes now and then towards me, and if he keep his word and
interest himself for me, in six months I shall be an
officer, or dead. If I am an officer, your fortune is
certain, for I shall have money enough for both, and,
moreover, a name we shall both be proud of, since it will be
our own. If I am killed -- well then mother, you can also
die, and there will be an end of our misfortunes.

It is well,replied Mercedeswith her eloquent glance;
you are right, my love; let us prove to those who are
watching our actions that we are worthy of compassion.

But let us not yield to gloomy apprehensions,said the
young man; "I assure you we areor rather we shall bevery
happy. You are a woman at once full of spirit and
resignation; I have become simple in my tastesand am
without passionI hope. Once in serviceI shall be rich -once
in M. Dantes' houseyou will be at rest. Let us
striveI beseech you-- let us strive to be cheerful."

Yes, let us strive, for you ought to live, and to be happy,
Albert.

And so our division is made, mother,said the young man
affecting ease of mind. "We can now part; comeI shall
engage your passage."

And you, my dear boy?

I shall stay here for a few days longer; we must accustom
ourselves to parting. I want recommendations and some
information relative to Africa. I will join you again at
Marseilles.

Well, be it so -- let us part,said Mercedesfolding
around her shoulders the only shawl she had taken awayand
which accidentally happened to be a valuable black cashmere.
Albert gathered up his papers hastilyrang the bell to pay
the thirty francs he owed to the landlordand offering his
arm to his motherthey descended the stairs. Some one was
walking down before themand this personhearing the
rustling of a silk dressturned around. "Debray!" muttered
Albert.

You, Morcerf?replied the secretaryresting on the
stairs. Curiosity had vanquished the desire of preserving
his incognitoand he was recognized. It wasindeed
strange in this unknown spot to find the young man whose
misfortunes had made so much noise in Paris.


Morcerf!repeated Debray. Then noticing in the dim light
the still youthful and veiled figure of Madame de Morcerf:
-- "Pardon me he added with a smile, I leave you
Albert." Albert understood his thoughts. "Mother he said,
turning towards Mercedes, this is M. Debraysecretary of
the minister for the interioronce a friend of mine."

How once?stammered Debray; "what do you mean?"

I say so, M. Debray, because I have no friends now, and I
ought not to have any. I thank you for having recognized me,
sir.Debray stepped forwardand cordially pressed the hand
of his interlocutor. "Believe medear Albert he said,
with all the emotion he was capable of feeling, -- believe
meI feel deeply for your misfortunesand if in any way I
can serve youI am yours."

Thank you, sir,said Albertsmiling. "In the midst of our
misfortuneswe are still rich enough not to require
assistance from any one. We are leaving Parisand when our
journey is paidwe shall have 5000 francs left." The blood
mounted to the temples of Debraywho held a million in his
pocket-bookand unimaginative as he was he could not help
reflecting that the same house had contained two womenone
of whomjustly dishonoredhad left it poor with 1500000
francs under her cloakwhile the otherunjustly stricken
but sublime in her misfortunewas yet rich with a few
deniers. This parallel disturbed his usual politenessthe
philosophy he witnessed appalled himhe muttered a few
words of general civility and ran down-stairs.

That day the minister's clerks and the subordinates had a
great deal to put up with from his ill-humor. But that same
nighthe found himself the possessor of a fine house
situated on the Boulevard de la Madeleineand an income of
50000 livres. The next dayjust as Debray was signing the
deedthat is about five o'clock in the afternoonMadame de
Morcerfafter having affectionately embraced her son
entered the coupe of the diligencewhich closed upon her. A
man was hidden in Lafitte's banking-housebehind one of the
little arched windows which are placed above each desk; he
saw Mercedes enter the diligenceand he also saw Albert
withdraw. Then he passed his hand across his foreheadwhich
was clouded with doubt. "Alas he exclaimed, how can I
restore the happiness I have taken away from these poor
innocent creatures? God help me!"

Chapter 107
The Lions' Den.

One division of La Forcein which the most dangerous and
desperate prisoners are confinedis called the court of
Saint-Bernard. The prisonersin their expressive language
have named it the "Lions' Den probably because the
captives possess teeth which frequently gnaw the bars, and
sometimes the keepers also. It is a prison within a prison;
the walls are double the thickness of the rest. The gratings
are every day carefully examined by jailers, whose herculean
proportions and cold pitiless expression prove them to have
been chosen to reign over their subjects for their superior
activity and intelligence. The court-yard of this quarter is
enclosed by enormous walls, over which the sun glances


obliquely, when it deigns to penetrate into this gulf of
moral and physical deformity. On this paved yard are to be
seen, -- pacing to and fro from morning till night, pale,
careworn, and haggard, like so many shadows, -- the men whom
justice holds beneath the steel she is sharpening. There,
crouched against the side of the wall which attracts and
retains the most heat, they may be seen sometimes talking to
one another, but more frequently alone, watching the door,
which sometimes opens to call forth one from the gloomy
assemblage, or to throw in another outcast from society.

The court of Saint-Bernard has its own particular apartment
for the reception of guests; it is a long rectangle, divided
by two upright gratings placed at a distance of three feet
from one another to prevent a visitor from shaking hands
with or passing anything to the prisoners. It is a wretched,
damp, nay, even horrible spot, more especially when we
consider the agonizing conferences which have taken place
between those iron bars. And yet, frightful though this spot
may be, it is looked upon as a kind of paradise by the men
whose days are numbered; it is so rare for them to leave the
Lions' Den for any other place than the barrier
Saint-Jacques or the galleys!

In the court which we have attempted to describe, and from
which a damp vapor was rising, a young man with his hands in
his pockets, who had excited much curiosity among the
inhabitants of the Den might be seen walking. The cut of
his clothes would have made him pass for an elegant man, if
those clothes had not been torn to shreds; still they did
not show signs of wear, and the fine cloth, beneath the
careful hands of the prisoner, soon recovered its gloss in
the parts which were still perfect, for the wearer tried his
best to make it assume the appearance of a new coat. He
bestowed the same attention upon the cambric front of a
shirt, which had considerably changed in color since his
entrance into the prison, and he polished his varnished
boots with the corner of a handkerchief embroidered with
initials surmounted by a coronet. Some of the inmates of the
Lions' Den" were watching the operations of the prisoner's
toilet with considerable interest. "Seethe prince is
pluming himself said one of the thieves. He's a fine
looking fellow said another; if he had only a comb and
hair-greasehe'd take the shine off the gentlemen in white
kids."

His coat looks almost new, and his boots shine like a
nigger's face. It's pleasant to have such well-dressed
comrades; but didn't those gendarmes behave shameful? -must
'a been jealous, to tear such clothes!

He looks like a big-bug,said another; "dresses in fine
style. Andthento be here so young! Ohwhat larks!"
Meanwhile the object of this hideous admiration approached
the wicketagainst which one of the keepers was leaning.
Come, sir,he saidlend me twenty francs; you will soon
be paid; you run no risks with me. Remember, I have
relations who possess more millions than you have deniers.
Come, I beseech you, lend me twenty francs, so that I may
buy a dressing-gown; it is intolerable always to be in a
coat and boots! And what a coat, sir, for a prince of the
Cavalcanti!The keeper turned his backand shrugged his
shoulders; he did not even laugh at what would have caused
any one else to do so; he had heard so many utter the same


things-- indeedhe heard nothing else.

Come,said Andreayou are a man void of compassion; I'll
have you turned out.This made the keeper turn aroundand
he burst into a loud laugh. The prisoners then approached
and formed a circle. "I tell you that with that wretched
sum continued Andrea, I could obtain a coatand a room
in which to receive the illustrious visitor I am daily
expecting."

Of course -- of course,said the prisoners; -- "any one
can see he's a gentleman!"

Well, then, lend him the twenty francs,said the keeper
leaning on the other shoulder; "surely you will not refuse a
comrade!"

I am no comrade of these people,said the young man
proudlyyou have no right to insult me thus.

The thieves looked at one another with low murmursand a
storm gathered over the head of the aristocratic prisoner
raised less by his own words than by the manner of the
keeper. The lattersure of quelling the tempest when the
waves became too violentallowed them to rise to a certain
pitch that he might be revenged on the importunate Andrea
and besides it would afford him some recreation during the
long day. The thieves had already approached Andreasome
screamingLa savate -- La savate!* a cruel operation
which consists in cuffing a comrade who may have fallen into
disgracenot with an old shoebut with an iron-heeled one.
Others proposed the "anguille another kind of recreation,
in which a handkerchief is filled with sand, pebbles, and
two-sous pieces, when they have them, which the wretches
beat like a flail over the head and shoulders of the unhappy
sufferer. Let us horsewhip the fine gentleman!" said
others.

* Savate: an old shoe.
But Andreaturning towards themwinked his eyesrolled
his tongue around his cheeksand smacked his lips in a
manner equivalent to a hundred words among the bandits when
forced to be silent. It was a Masonic sign Caderousse had
taught him. He was immediately recognized as one of them;
the handkerchief was thrown downand the iron-heeled shoe
replaced on the foot of the wretch to whom it belonged. Some
voices were heard to say that the gentleman was right; that
he intended to be civilin his wayand that they would set
the example of liberty of conscience-- and the mob
retired. The keeper was so stupefied at this scene that he
took Andrea by the hands and began examining his person
attributing the sudden submission of the inmates of the
Lions' Den to something more substantial than mere
fascination. Andrea made no resistancealthough he
protested against it. Suddenly a voice was heard at the
wicket. "Benedetto!" exclaimed an inspector. The keeper
relaxed his hold. "I am called said Andrea. To the
visitors' room!" said the same voice.

You see some one pays me a visit. Ah, my dear sir, you will
see whether a Cavalcanti is to be treated like a common
person!And Andreagliding through the court like a black
shadowrushed out through the wicketleaving his comrades


and even the keeperlost in wonder. Certainly a call to the
visitors' room had scarcely astonished Andrea less than
themselvesfor the wily youthinstead of making use of his
privilege of waiting to be claimed on his entry into La
Forcehad maintained a rigid silence. "Everything he
said, proves me to be under the protection of some powerful
person-- this sudden fortunethe facility with which I
have overcome all obstaclesan unexpected family and an
illustrious name awarded to megold showered down upon me
and the most splendid alliances about to be entered into. An
unhappy lapse of fortune and the absence of my protector
have cast me downcertainlybut not forever. The hand
which has retreated for a while will be again stretched
forth to save me at the very moment when I shall think
myself sinking into the abyss. Why should I risk an
imprudent step? It might alienate my protector. He has two
means of extricating me from this dilemma-- the one by a
mysterious escapemanaged through bribery; the other by
buying off my judges with gold. I will say and do nothing
until I am convinced that he has quite abandoned meand
then" -


Andrea had formed a plan which was tolerably clever. The
unfortunate youth was intrepid in the attackand rude in
the defence. He had borne with the public prisonand with
privations of all sorts; stillby degrees natureor rather
customhad prevailedand he suffered from being naked
dirtyand hungry. It was at this moment of discomfort that
the inspector's voice called him to the visiting-room.
Andrea felt his heart leap with joy. It was too soon for a
visit from the examining magistrateand too late for one
from the director of the prisonor the doctor; it must
thenbe the visitor he hoped for. Behind the grating of the
room into which Andrea had been ledhe sawwhile his eyes
dilated with surprisethe dark and intelligent face of M.
Bertucciowho was also gazing with sad astonishment upon
the iron barsthe bolted doorsand the shadow which moved
behind the other grating.

Ah,said Andreadeeply affected.

Good morning, Benedetto,said Bertucciowith his deep
hollow voice.

You -- you?said the young manlooking fearfully around
him.

Do you not recognize me, unhappy child?

Silence, -- be silent!said Andreawho knew the delicate
sense of hearing possessed by the walls; "for heaven's sake
do not speak so loud!"

You wish to speak with me alone, do you not?said
Bertuccio.

Oh, yes.

That is well.And Bertucciofeeling in his pocketsigned
to a keeper whom he saw through the window of the wicket.

Read?he said.

What is that?asked Andrea.


An order to conduct you to a room, and to leave you there
to talk to me.

Oh,cried Andrealeaping with joy. Then he mentally
added-- "Still my unknown protector! I am not forgotten.
They wish for secrecysince we are to converse in a private
room. I understandBertuccio has been sent by my
protector."

The keeper spoke for a moment with an officialthen opened
the iron gates and conducted Andrea to a room on the first
floor. The room was whitewashedas is the custom in
prisonsbut it looked quite brilliant to a prisonerthough
a stovea beda chairand a table formed the whole of its
sumptuous furniture. Bertuccio sat down upon the chair
Andrea threw himself upon the bed; the keeper retired.

Now,said the stewardwhat have you to tell me?

And you?said Andrea.

You speak first.

Oh, no. You must have much to tell me, since you have come
to seek me.

Well, be it so. You have continued your course of villany;
you have robbed -- you have assassinated.

Well, I should say! If you had me taken to a private room
only to tell me this, you might have saved yourself the
trouble. I know all these things. But there are some with
which, on the contrary, I am not acquainted. Let us talk of
those, if you please. Who sent you?

Come, come, you are going on quickly, M. Benedetto!

Yes, and to the point. Let us dispense with useless words.
Who sends you?

No one.

How did you know I was in prison?

I recognized you, some time since, as the insolent dandy
who so gracefully mounted his horse in the Champs Elysees.

Oh, the Champs Elysees? Ah, yes; we burn, as they say at
the game of pincette. The Champs Elysees? Come, let us talk
a little about my father.

Who, then, am I?

You, sir? -- you are my adopted father. But it was not you,
I presume, who placed at my disposal 100,000 francs, which I
spent in four or five months; it was not you who
manufactured an Italian gentleman for my father; it was not
you who introduced me into the world, and had me invited to
a certain dinner at Auteuil, which I fancy I am eating at
this moment, in company with the most distinguished people
in Paris -- amongst the rest with a certain procureur, whose
acquaintance I did very wrong not to cultivate, for he would
have been very useful to me just now; -- it was not you, in


fact, who bailed me for one or two millions, when the fatal
discovery of my little secret took place. Come, speak, my
worthy Corsican, speak!

What do you wish me to say?

I will help you. You were speaking of the Champs Elysees
just now, worthy foster-father.

Well?

Well, in the Champs Elysees there resides a very rich
gentleman.

At whose house you robbed and murdered, did you not?

I believe I did.

The Count of Monte Cristo?

'Tis you who have named him, as M. Racine says. Well, am I
to rush into his arms, and strain him to my heart, crying,
`My father, my father!' like Monsieur Pixerecourt.*

Do not let us jest,gravely replied Bertuccioand dare
not to utter that name again as you have pronounced it.

* Guilbert de PixerecourtFrench dramatist (1775-1844).
Bah,said Andreaa little overcomeby the solemnity of
Bertuccio's mannerwhy not?

Because the person who bears it is too highly favored by
heaven to be the father of such a wretch as you.

Oh, these are fine words.

And there will be fine doings, if you do not take care.

Menaces -- I do not fear them. I will say-


Do you think you are engaged with a pygmy like yourself?
said Bertuccioin so calm a toneand with so steadfast a
lookthat Andrea was moved to the very soul. "Do you think
you have to do with galley-slavesor novices in the world?
Benedettoyou are fallen into terrible hands; they are
ready to open for you -- make use of them. Do not play with
the thunderbolt they have laid aside for a momentbut which
they can take up again instantlyif you attempt to
intercept their movements."

My father -- I will know who my father is,said the
obstinate youth; "I will perish if I mustbut I will know
it. What does scandal signify to me? What possessionswhat
reputationwhat `pull' as Beauchamp says-- have I? You
great people always lose something by scandal
notwithstanding your millions. Comewho is my father?"

I came to tell you.

Ah,cried Benedettohis eyes sparkling with joy. Just
then the door openedand the jaileraddressing himself to
Bertucciosaid-- "Excuse mesirbut the examining
magistrate is waiting for the prisoner."


And so closes our interview,said Andrea to the worthy
steward; "I wish the troublesome fellow were at the devil!"

I will return to-morrow,said Bertuccio.

Good! Gendarmes, I am at your service. Ah, sir, do leave a
few crowns for me at the gate that I may have some things I
am in need of!

It shall be done,replied Bertuccio. Andrea extended his
hand; Bertuccio kept his own in his pocketand merely
jingled a few pieces of money. "That's what I mean said
Andrea, endeavoring to smile, quite overcome by the strange
tranquillity of Bertuccio. Can I be deceived?" he murmured
as he stepped into the oblong and grated vehicle which they
call "the salad basket." "Never mindwe shall see!
To-morrowthen!" he addedturning towards Bertuccio.

To-morrow!replied the steward.

Chapter 108
The Judge.

We remember that the Abbe Busoni remained alone with
Noirtier in the chamber of deathand that the old man and
the priest were the sole guardians of the young girl's body.
Perhaps it was the Christian exhortations of the abbe
perhaps his kind charityperhaps his persuasive words
which had restored the courage of Noirtierfor ever since
he had conversed with the priest his violent despair had
yielded to a calm resignation which surprised all who knew
his excessive affection for Valentine. M. de Villefort had
not seen his father since the morning of the death. The
whole establishment had been changed; another valet was
engaged for himselfa new servant for Noirtiertwo women
had entered Madame de Villefort's service-- in fact
everywhereto the concierge and coachmennew faces were
presented to the different masters of the housethus
widening the division which had always existed between the
members of the same family.

The assizesalsowere about to beginand Villefortshut
up in his roomexerted himself with feverish anxiety in
drawing up the case against the murderer of Caderousse. This
affairlike all those in which the Count of Monte Cristo
had interferedcaused a great sensation in Paris. The
proofs were certainly not convincingsince they rested upon
a few words written by an escaped galley-slave on his
death-bedand who might have been actuated by hatred or
revenge in accusing his companion. But the mind of the
procureur was made up; he felt assured that Benedetto was
guiltyand he hoped by his skill in conducting this
aggravated case to flatter his self-lovewhich was about
the only vulnerable point left in his frozen heart.

The case was therefore prepared owing to the incessant labor
of Villefortwho wished it to be the first on the list in
the coming assizes. He had been obliged to seclude himself
more than everto evade the enormous number of applications
presented to him for the purpose of obtaining tickets of
admission to the court on the day of trial. And then so


short a time had elapsed since the death of poor Valentine
and the gloom which overshadowed the house was so recent
that no one wondered to see the father so absorbed in his
professional dutieswhich were the only means he had of
dissipating his grief.

Once only had Villefort seen his father; it was the day
after that upon which Bertuccio had paid his second visit to
Benedettowhen the latter was to learn his father's name.
The magistrateharassed and fatiguedhad descended to the
garden of his houseand in a gloomy moodsimilar to that
in which Tarquin lopped off the tallest poppieshe began
knocking off with his cane the long and dying branches of
the rose-treeswhichplaced along the avenueseemed like
the spectres of the brilliant flowers which had bloomed in
the past season. More than once he had reached that part of
the garden where the famous boarded gate stood overlooking
the deserted enclosurealways returning by the same path
to begin his walk againat the same pace and with the same
gesturewhen he accidentally turned his eyes towards the
housewhence he heard the noisy play of his sonwho had
returned from school to spend the Sunday and Monday with his
mother. While doing sohe observed M. Noirtier at one of
the open windowswhere the old man had been placed that he
might enjoy the last rays of the sun which yet yielded some
heatand was now shining upon the dying flowers and red
leaves of the creeper which twined around the balcony.

The eye of the old man was riveted upon a spot which
Villefort could scarcely distinguish. His glance was so full
of hateof ferocityand savage impatiencethat Villefort
turned out of the path he had been pursuingto see upon
what person this dark look was directed. Then he saw beneath
a thick clump of linden-treeswhich were nearly divested of
foliageMadame de Villefort sitting with a book in her
handthe perusal of which she frequently interrupted to
smile upon her sonor to throw back his elastic ballwhich
he obstinately threw from the drawing-room into the garden.
Villefort became pale; he understood the old man's meaning.
Noirtier continued to look at the same objectbut suddenly
his glance was transferred from the wife to the husbandand
Villefort himself had to submit to the searching
investigation of eyeswhichwhile changing their direction
and even their languagehad lost none of their menacing
expression. Madame de Villefortunconscious of the passions
that exhausted their fire over her headat that moment held
her son's balland was making signs to him to reclaim it
with a kiss. Edward begged for a long whilethe maternal
kiss probably not offering sufficient recompense for the
trouble he must take to obtain it; however at length he
decidedleaped out of the window into a cluster of
heliotropes and daisiesand ran to his motherhis forehead
streaming with perspiration. Madame de Villefort wiped his
foreheadpressed her lips upon itand sent him back with
the ball in one hand and some bonbons in the other.

Villefortdrawn by an irresistible attractionlike that of
the bird to the serpentwalked towards the house. As he
approached itNoirtier's gaze followed himand his eyes
appeared of such a fiery brightness that Villefort felt them
pierce to the depths of his heart. In that earnest look
might be read a deep reproachas well as a terrible menace.
Then Noirtier raised his eyes to heavenas though to remind
his son of a forgotten oath. "It is wellsir replied


Villefort from below, -- it is well; have patience but one
day longer; what I have said I will do." Noirtier seemed to
be calmed by these wordsand turned his eyes with
indifference to the other side. Villefort violently
unbuttoned his great-coatwhich seemed to strangle himand
passing his livid hand across his foreheadentered his
study.

The night was cold and still; the family had all retired to
rest but Villefortwho alone remained upand worked till
five o'clock in the morningreviewing the last
interrogatories made the night before by the examining
magistratescompiling the depositions of the witnessesand
putting the finishing stroke to the deed of accusation
which was one of the most energetic and best conceived of
any he had yet delivered.

The next dayMondaywas the first sitting of the assizes.
The morning dawned dull and gloomyand Villefort saw the
dim gray light shine upon the lines he had traced in red
ink. The magistrate had slept for a short time while the
lamp sent forth its final struggles; its flickerings awoke
himand he found his fingers as damp and purple as though
they had been dipped in blood. He opened the window; a
bright yellow streak crossed the skyand seemed to divide
in half the poplarswhich stood out in black relief on the
horizon. In the clover-fields beyond the chestnut-treesa
lark was mounting up to heavenwhile pouring out her clear
morning song. The damps of the dew bathed the head of
Villefortand refreshed his memory. "To-day he said with
an effort, -- to-day the man who holds the blade of justice
must strike wherever there is guilt." Involuntarily his eyes
wandered towards the window of Noirtier's roomwhere he had
seen him the preceding night. The curtain was drawnand yet
the image of his father was so vivid to his mind that he
addressed the closed window as though it had been openand
as if through the opening he had beheld the menacing old
man. "Yes he murmured, -- yesbe satisfied."

His head dropped upon his chestand in this position he
paced his study; then he threw himselfdressed as he was
upon a sofaless to sleep than to rest his limbscramped
with cold and study. By degrees every one awoke. Villefort
from his studyheard the successive noises which accompany
the life of a house-- the opening and shutting of doors
the ringing of Madame de Villefort's bellto summon the
waiting-maidmingled with the first shouts of the child
who rose full of the enjoyment of his age. Villefort also
rang; his new valet brought him the papersand with them a
cup of chocolate.

What are you bringing me?said he.

A cup of chocolate.

I did not ask for it. Who has paid me this attention?

My mistress, sir. She said you would have to speak a great
deal in the murder case, and that you should take something
to keep up your strength;and the valet placed the cup on
the table nearest to the sofawhich waslike all the rest
covered with papers. The valet then left the room. Villefort
looked for an instant with a gloomy expressionthen
suddenlytaking it up with a nervous motionhe swallowed


its contents at one draught. It might have been thought that
he hoped the beverage would be mortaland that he sought
for death to deliver him from a duty which he would rather
die than fulfil. He then roseand paced his room with a
smile it would have been terrible to witness. The chocolate
was inoffensivefor M. de Villefort felt no effects. The
breakfast-hour arrivedbut M. de Villefort was not at
table. The valet re-entered.

Madame de Villefort wishes to remind you, sir,he said
that eleven o'clock has just struck, and that the trial
commences at twelve.

Well,said Villefortwhat then?

Madame de Villefort is dressed; she is quite ready, and
wishes to know if she is to accompany you, sir?

Where to?

To the Palais.

What to do?

My mistress wishes much to be present at the trial.

Ah,said Villefortwith a startling accent; "does she
wish that?" -- The man drew back and saidIf you wish to
go alone, sir, I will go and tell my mistress.Villefort
remained silent for a momentand dented his pale cheeks
with his nails. "Tell your mistress he at length answered,
that I wish to speak to herand I beg she will wait for me
in her own room."

Yes, sir.

Then come to dress and shave me.

Directly, sir.The valet re-appeared almost instantly
andhaving shaved his masterassisted him to dress
entirely in black. When he had finishedhe said-


My mistress said she should expect you, sir, as soon as you
had finished dressing.

I am going to her.And Villefortwith his papers under
his arm and hat in handdirected his steps toward the
apartment of his wife. At the door he paused for a moment to
wipe his damppale brow. He then entered the room. Madame
de Villefort was sitting on an ottoman and impatiently
turning over the leaves of some newspapers and pamphlets
which young Edwardby way of amusing himselfwas tearing
to pieces before his mother could finish reading them. She
was dressed to go outher bonnet was placed beside her on a
chairand her gloves were on her hands.

Ah, here you are, monsieur,she said in her naturally calm
voice; "but how pale you are! Have you been working all
night? Why did you not come down to breakfast? Wellwill
you take meor shall I take Edward?" Madame de Villefort
had multiplied her questions in order to gain one answer
but to all her inquiries M. de Villefort remained mute and
cold as a statue. "Edward said Villefort, fixing an
imperious glance on the child, go and play in the


drawing-roommy dear; I wish to speak to your mamma."
Madame de Villefort shuddered at the sight of that cold
countenancethat resolute toneand the awfully strange
preliminaries. Edward raised his headlooked at his mother
and thenfinding that she did not confirm the orderbegan
cutting off the heads of his leaden soldiers.

Edward,cried M. de Villefortso harshly that the child
started up from the floordo you hear me? -- Go!The
childunaccustomed to such treatmentarosepale and
trembling; it would be difficult to say whether his emotion
were caused by fear or passion. His father went up to him
took him in his armsand kissed his forehead. "Go he
said: gomy child." Edward ran out. M. de Villefort went
to the doorwhich he closed behind the childand bolted.
Dear me!said the young womanendeavoring to read her
husband's inmost thoughtswhile a smile passed over her
countenance which froze the impassibility of Villefort;
what is the matter?

Madame, where do you keep the poison you generally use?
said the magistratewithout any introductionplacing
himself between his wife and the door.

Madame de Villefort must have experienced something of the
sensation of a bird whichlooking upsees the murderous
trap closing over its head. A hoarsebroken tonewhich was
neither a cry nor a sighescaped from herwhile she became
deadly pale. "Monsieur she said, I -- I do not understand
you." Andin her first paroxysm of terrorshe had raised
herself from the sofain the nextstronger very likely
than the othershe fell down again on the cushions. "I
asked you continued Villefort, in a perfectly calm tone,
where you conceal the poison by the aid of which you have
killed my father-in-lawM. de Saint-Meranmy
mother-in-lawMadame de Saint-MeranBarroisand my
daughter Valentine."

Ah, sir,exclaimed Madame de Villefortclasping her
handswhat do you say?

It is not for you to interrogate, but to answer.

Is it to the judge or to the husband?stammered Madame de
Villefort. "To the judge -- to the judgemadame!" It was
terrible to behold the frightful pallor of that womanthe
anguish of her lookthe trembling of her whole frame. "Ah
sir she muttered, ahsir and this was all.

You do not answermadame!" exclaimed the terrible
interrogator. Then he addedwith a smile yet more terrible
than his angerIt is true, then; you do not deny it!She
moved forward. "And you cannot deny it!" added Villefort
extending his hand toward heras though to seize her in the
name of justice. "You have accomplished these different
crimes with impudent addressbut which could only deceive
those whose affections for you blinded them. Since the death
of Madame de Saint-MeranI have known that a poisoner lived
in my house. M. d'Avrigny warned me of it. After the death
of Barrois my suspicions were directed towards an angel-those
suspicions whicheven when there is no crimeare
always alive in my heart; but after the death of Valentine
there has been no doubt in my mindmadameand not only in
minebut in those of others; thus your crimeknown by two


personssuspected by manywill soon become publicandas
I told you just nowyou no longer speak to the husbandbut
to the judge."

The young woman hid her face in her hands. "Ohsir she
stammered, I beseech youdo not believe appearances."

Are you, then, a coward?cried Villefortin a
contemptuous voice. "But I have always observed that
poisoners were cowards. Can you be a coward-- you who have
had the courage to witness the death of two old men and a
young girl murdered by you?"

Sir! sir!

Can you be a coward?continued Villefortwith increasing
excitementyou, who could count, one by one, the minutes
of four death agonies? You, who have arranged your infernal
plans, and removed the beverages with a talent and precision
almost miraculous? Have you, then, who have calculated
everything with such nicety, have you forgotten to calculate
one thing -- I mean where the revelation of your crimes will
lead you to? Oh, it is impossible -- you must have saved
some surer, more subtle and deadly poison than any other,
that you might escape the punishment that you deserve. You
have done this -- I hope so, at least.Madame de Villefort
stretched out her handsand fell on her knees.

I understand,he saidyou confess; but a confession made
to the judges, a confession made at the last moment,
extorted when the crime cannot be denied, diminishes not the
punishment inflicted on the guilty!

The punishment?exclaimed Madame de Villefortthe
punishment, monsieur? Twice you have pronounced that word!

Certainly. Did you hope to escape it because you were four
times guilty? Did you think the punishment would be withheld
because you are the wife of him who pronounces it? -- No,
madame, no; the scaffold awaits the poisoner, whoever she
may be, unless, as I just said, the poisoner has taken the
precaution of keeping for herself a few drops of her
deadliest potion.Madame de Villefort uttered a wild cry
and a hideous and uncontrollable terror spread over her
distorted features. "Ohdo not fear the scaffoldmadame
said the magistrate; I will not dishonor yousince that
would be dishonor to myself; noif you have heard me
distinctlyyou will understand that you are not to die on
the scaffold."

No, I do not understand; what do you mean?stammered the
unhappy womancompletely overwhelmed. "I mean that the wife
of the first magistrate in the capital shall notby her
infamysoil an unblemished name; that she shall notwith
one blowdishonor her husband and her child."

No, no -- oh, no!

Well, madame, it will be a laudable action on your part,
and I will thank you for it!

You will thank me -- for what?

For what you have just said.


What did I say? Oh, my brain whirls; I no longer understand
anything. Oh, my God, my God!And she rosewith her hair
dishevelledand her lips foaming.

Have you answered the question I put to you on entering the
room? -- where do you keep the poison you generally use,
madame?Madame de Villefort raised her arms to heavenand
convulsively struck one hand against the other. "Nono
she vociferated, noyou cannot wish that!"

What I do not wish, madame, is that you should perish on
the scaffold. Do you understand?asked Villefort.

Oh, mercy, mercy, monsieur!

What I require is, that justice be done. I am on the earth
to punish, madame,he addedwith a flaming glance; "any
other womanwere it the queen herselfI would send to the
executioner; but to you I shall be merciful. To you I will
say`Have you notmadameput aside some of the surest
deadliestmost speedy poison?'"

Oh, pardon me, sir; let me live!

She is cowardly,said Villefort.

Reflect that I am your wife!

You are a poisoner.

In the name of heaven!

No!

In the name of the love you once bore me!

No, no!

In the name of our child! Ah, for the sake of our child,
let me live!

No, no, no, I tell you; one day, if I allow you to live,
you will perhaps kill him, as you have the others!

I? -- I kill my boy?cried the distracted motherrushing
toward Villefort; "I kill my son? Hahaha!" and a
frightfuldemoniac laugh finished the sentencewhich was
lost in a hoarse rattle. Madame de Villefort fell at her
husband's feet. He approached her. "Think of itmadame he
said; ifon my returnjustice his not been satisfiedI
will denounce you with my own mouthand arrest you with my
own hands!" She listenedpantingoverwhelmedcrushed; her
eye alone livedand glared horribly. "Do you understand
me?" he said. "I am going down there to pronounce the
sentence of death against a murderer. If I find you alive on
my returnyou shall sleep to-night in the conciergerie."
Madame de Villefort sighed; her nerves gave wayand she
sunk on the carpet. The king's attorney seemed to experience
a sensation of pity; he looked upon her less severelyand
bowing to hersaid slowlyFarewell, madame, farewell!
That farewell struck Madame de Villefort like the
executioner's knife. She fainted. The procureur went out
after having double-locked the door.


Chapter 109
The Assizes.

The Benedetto affairas it was called at the Palaisand by
people in generalhad produced a tremendous sensation.
Frequenting the Cafe de Paristhe Boulevard de Gandand
the Bois de Boulogneduring his brief career of splendor
the false Cavalcanti had formed a host of acquaintances. The
papers had related his various adventuresboth as the man
of fashion and the galley-slave; and as every one who had
been personally acquainted with Prince Andrea Cavalcanti
experienced a lively curiosity in his fatethey all
determined to spare no trouble in endeavoring to witness the
trial of M. Benedetto for the murder of his comrade in
chains. In the eyes of manyBenedetto appearedif not a
victim toat least an instance ofthe fallibility of the
law. M. Cavalcantihis fatherhad been seen in Parisand
it was expected that he would re-appear to claim the
illustrious outcast. Manyalsowho were not aware of the
circumstances attending his withdrawal from Pariswere
struck with the worthy appearancethe gentlemanly bearing
and the knowledge of the world displayed by the old
patricianwho certainly played the nobleman very wellso
long as he said nothingand made no arithmetical
calculations. As for the accused himselfmany remembered
him as being so amiableso handsomeand so liberalthat
they chose to think him the victim of some conspiracysince
in this world large fortunes frequently excite the
malevolence and jealousy of some unknown enemy. Every one
thereforeran to the court; some to witness the sight
others to comment upon it. From seven o'clock in the morning
a crowd was stationed at the iron gatesand an hour before
the trial commenced the hall was full of the privileged.
Before the entrance of the magistratesand indeed
frequently afterwardsa court of justiceon days when some
especial trial is to take placeresembles a drawing-room
where many persons recognize each other and converse if they
can do so without losing their seats; orif they are
separated by too great a number of lawyerscommunicate by
signs.

It was one of the magnificent autumn days which make amends
for a short summer; the clouds which M. de Villefort had
perceived at sunrise had all disappeared as if by magicand
one of the softest and most brilliant days of September
shone forth in all its splendor.

Beauchampone of the kings of the pressand therefore
claiming the right of a throne everywherewas eying
everybody through his monocle. He perceived Chateau-Renaud
and Debraywho had just gained the good graces of a
sergeant-at-armsand who had persuaded the latter to let
them stand beforeinstead of behind himas they ought to
have done. The worthy sergeant had recognized the minister's
secretary and the millionnaireandby way of paying extra
attention to his noble neighborspromised to keep their
places while they paid a visit to Beauchamp.

Well,said Beauchampwe shall see our friend!

Yes, indeed!replied Debray. "That worthy prince. Deuce


take those Italian princes!"

A man, too, who could boast of Dante for a genealogist, and
could reckon back to the `Divine Comedy.'

A nobility of the rope!said Chateau-Renaud
phlegmatically.

He will be condemned, will he not?asked Debray of
Beauchamp.

My dear fellow, I think we should ask you that question;
you know such news much better than we do. Did you see the
president at the minister's last night?

Yes.

What did he say?

Something which will surprise you.

Oh, make haste and tell me, then; it is a long time since
that has happened.

Well, he told me that Benedetto, who is considered a
serpent of subtlety and a giant of cunning, is really but a
very commonplace, silly rascal, and altogether unworthy of
the experiments that will be made on his phrenological
organs after his death.

Bah,said Beauchamphe played the prince very well.

Yes, for you who detest those unhappy princes, Beauchamp,
and are always delighted to find fault with them; but not
for me, who discover a gentleman by instinct, and who scent
out an aristocratic family like a very bloodhound of
heraldry.

Then you never believed in the principality?

Yes. -- in the principality, but not in the prince.

Not so bad,said Beauchamp; "stillI assure youhe
passed very well with many people; I saw him at the
ministers' houses."

Ah, yes,said Chateau-Renaud. "The idea of thinking
ministers understand anything about princes!"

There is something in what you have just said,said
Beauchamplaughing.

But,said Debray to Beauchampif I spoke to the
president, you must have been with the procureur.

It was an impossibility; for the last week M. de Villefort
has secluded himself. It is natural enough; this strange
chain of domestic afflictions, followed by the no less
strange death of his daughter-


Strange? What do you mean, Beauchamp?

Oh, yes; do you pretend that all this has been unobserved
at the minister's?said Beauchampplacing his eye-glass in


his eyewhere he tried to make it remain.

My dear sir,said Chateau-Renaudallow me to tell you
that you do not understand that manoeuvre with the eye-glass
half so well as Debray. Give him a lesson, Debray.

Stay,said Beauchampsurely I am not deceived.

What is it?

It is she!

Whom do you mean?

They said she had left.

Mademoiselle Eugenie?said Chateau-Renaud; "has she
returned?"

No, but her mother.

Madame Danglars? Nonsense! Impossible!said
Chateau-Renaud; "only ten days after the flight of her
daughterand three days from the bankruptcy of her
husband?"

Debray colored slightlyand followed with his eyes the
direction of Beauchamp's glance. "Come he said, it is
only a veiled ladysome foreign princessperhaps the
mother of Cavalcanti. But you were just speaking on a very
interesting topicBeauchamp."

I?

Yes; you were telling us about the extraordinary death of
Valentine.

Ah, yes, so I was. But how is it that Madame de Villefort
is not here?

Poor, dear woman,said Debrayshe is no doubt occupied
in distilling balm for the hospitals, or in making cosmetics
for herself or friends. Do you know she spends two or three
thousand crowns a year in this amusement? But I wonder she
is not here. I should have been pleased to see her, for I
like her very much.

And I hate her,said Chateau-Renaud.

Why?

I do not know. Why do we love? Why do we hate? I detest
her, from antipathy.

Or, rather, by instinct.

Perhaps so. But to return to what you were saying,
Beauchamp.

Well, do you know why they die so multitudinously at M. de
Villefort's?

`Multitudinously' [drv] is good,said Chateau-Renaud.


My good fellow, you'll find the word in Saint-Simon.

But the thing itself is at M. de Villefort's; but let's get
back to the subject.

Talking of that,said DebrayMadame was making inquiries
about that house, which for the last three months has been
hung with black.

Who is Madame?asked Chateau-Renaud.

The minister's wife, pardieu!

Oh, your pardon! I never visit ministers; I leave that to
the princes.

Really, You were only before sparkling, but now you are
brilliant; take compassion on us, or, like Jupiter, you will
wither us up.

I will not speak again,said Chateau-Renaud; "pray have
compassion upon meand do not take up every word I say."

Come, let us endeavor to get to the end of our story,
Beauchamp; I told you that yesterday Madame made inquiries
of me upon the subject; enlighten me, and I will then
communicate my information to her.

Well, gentlemen, the reason people die so multitudinously
(I like the word) at M. de Villefort's is that there is an
assassin in the house!The two young men shudderedfor the
same idea had more than once occurred to them. "And who is
the assassin;" they asked together.

Young Edward!A burst of laughter from the auditors did
not in the least disconcert the speakerwho continued-"
Yesgentlemen; Edwardthe infant phenomenonwho is quite
an adept in the art of killing."

You are jesting.

Not at all. I yesterday engaged a servant, who had just
left M. de Villefort -- I intend sending him away to-morrow,
for he eats so enormously, to make up for the fast imposed
upon him by his terror in that house. Well, now listen.

We are listening.

It appears the dear child has obtained possession of a
bottle containing some drug, which he every now and then
uses against those who have displeased him. First, M. and
Madame de Saint-Meran incurred his displeasure, so he poured
out three drops of his elixir -- three drops were
sufficient; then followed Barrois, the old servant of M.
Noirtier, who sometimes rebuffed this little wretch -- he
therefore received the same quantity of the elixir; the same
happened to Valentine, of whom he was jealous; he gave her
the same dose as the others, and all was over for her as
well as the rest.

Why, what nonsense are you telling us?said
Chateau-Renaud.

Yes, it is an extraordinary story,said Beauchamp; "is it


not?"

It is absurd,said Debray.

Ah,said Beauchampyou doubt me? Well, you can ask my
servant, or rather him who will no longer be my servant
to-morrow, it was the talk of the house.

And this elixir, where is it? what is it?

The child conceals it.

But where did he find it?

In his mother's laboratory.

Does his mother then, keep poisons in her laboratory?

How can I tell? You are questioning me like a king's
attorney. I only repeat what I have been told, and like my
informant I can do no more. The poor devil would eat
nothing, from fear.

It is incredible!

No, my dear fellow, it is not at all incredible. You saw
the child pass through the Rue Richelieu last year, who
amused himself with killing his brothers and sisters by
sticking pins in their ears while they slept. The generation
who follow us are very precocious.

Come, Beauchamp,said Chateau-RenaudI will bet anything
you do not believe a word of all you have been telling us.

I do not see the Count of Monte Cristo here.

He is worn out,said Debray; "besideshe could not well
appear in publicsince he has been the dupe of the
Cavalcantiwhoit appearspresented themselves to him
with false letters of creditand cheated him out of 100000
francs upon the hypothesis of this principality."

By the way, M. de Chateau-Renaud,asked Beauchamphow is
Morrel?

Ma foi, I have called three times without once seeing him.
Still, his sister did not seem uneasy, and told me that
though she had not seen him for two or three days, she was
sure he was well.

Ah, now I think of it, the Count of Monte Cristo cannot
appear in the hall,said Beauchamp.

Why not?

Because he is an actor in the drama.

Has he assassinated any one, then?

No, on the contrary, they wished to assassinate him. You
know that it was in leaving his house that M. de Caderousse
was murdered by his friend Benedetto. You know that the
famous waistcoat was found in his house, containing the
letter which stopped the signature of the marriage-contract.


Do you see the waistcoat? There it is, all blood-stained, on
the desk, as a testimony of the crime.

Ah, very good.

Hush, gentlemen, here is the court; let us go back to our
places.A noise was heard in the hall; the sergeant called
his two patrons with an energetic "hem!" and the door-keeper
appearingcalled out with that shrill voice peculiar to his
orderever since the days of BeaumarchaisThe court,
gentlemen!

Chapter 110
The Indictment.

The judges took their places in the midst of the most
profound silence; the jury took their seats; M. de
Villefortthe object of unusual attentionand we had
almost said of general admirationsat in the arm-chair and
cast a tranquil glance around him. Every one looked with
astonishment on that grave and severe facewhose calm
expression personal griefs had been unable to disturband
the aspect of a man who was a stranger to all human emotions
excited something very like terror.

Gendarmes,said the presidentlead in the accused.

At these words the public attention became more intenseand
all eyes were turned towards the door through which
Benedetto was to enter. The door soon opened and the accused
appeared. The same impression was experienced by all
presentand no one was deceived by the expression of his
countenance. His features bore no sign of that deep emotion
which stops the beating of the heart and blanches the cheek.
His handsgracefully placedone upon his hatthe other in
the opening of his white waistcoatwere not at all
tremulous; his eye was calm and even brilliant. Scarcely had
he entered the hall when he glanced at the whole body of
magistrates and assistants; his eye rested longer on the
presidentand still more so on the king's attorney. By the
side of Andrea was stationed the lawyer who was to conduct
his defenceand who had been appointed by the courtfor
Andrea disdained to pay any attention to those detailsto
which he appeared to attach no importance. The lawyer was a
young man with light hair whose face expressed a hundred
times more emotion than that which characterized the
prisoner.

The president called for the indictmentrevised as we know
by the clever and implacable pen of Villefort. During the
reading of thiswhich was longthe public attention was
continually drawn towards Andreawho bore the inspection
with Spartan unconcern. Villefort had never been so concise
and eloquent. The crime was depicted in the most vivid
colors; the former life of the prisonerhis transformation
a review of his life from the earliest periodwere set
forth with all the talent that a knowledge of human life
could furnish to a mind like that of the procureur.
Benedetto was thus forever condemned in public opinion
before the sentence of the law could be pronounced. Andrea
paid no attention to the successive charges which were
brought against him. M. de Villefortwho examined him


attentivelyand who no doubt practiced upon him all the
psychological studies he was accustomed to usein vain
endeavored to make him lower his eyesnotwithstanding the
depth and profundity of his gaze. At length the reading of
the indictment was ended.

Accused,said the presidentyour name and surname?
Andrea arose. "Excuse meMr. President he said, in a
clear voice, but I see you are going to adopt a course of
questions through which I cannot follow you. I have an idea
which I will explain by and byof making an exception to
the usual form of accusation. Allow methenif you please
to answer in different orderor I will not do so at all."
The astonished president looked at the jurywho in turn
looked at Villefort. The whole assembly manifested great
surprisebut Andrea appeared quite unmoved. "Your age?"
said the president; "will you answer that question?"

I will answer that question, as well as the rest, Mr.
President, but in its turn.

Your age?repeated the president.

I am twenty-one years old, or rather I shall be in a few
days, as I was born the night of the 27th of September,
1817.M. de Villefortwho was busy taking down some notes
raised his head at the mention of this date. "Where were you
born?" continued the president.

At Auteuil, near Paris.M. de Villefort a second time
raised his headlooked at Benedetto as if he had been
gazing at the head of Medusaand became livid. As for
Benedettohe gracefully wiped his lips with a fine cambric
pocket-handkerchief. "Your profession?"

First I was a forger,answered Andreaas calmly as
possible; "then I became a thiefand lately have become an
assassin." A murmuror rather stormof indignation burst
from all parts of the assembly. The judges themselves
appeared to be stupefiedand the jury manifested tokens of
disgust for cynicism so unexpected in a man of fashion. M.
de Villefort pressed his hand upon his browwhichat first
palehad become red and burning; then he suddenly arose and
looked around as though he had lost his senses -- he wanted
air.

Are you looking for anything, Mr. Procureur?asked
Benedettowith his most ingratiating smile. M. de Villefort
answered nothingbut sator rather threw himself down
again upon his chair. "And nowprisonerwill you consent
to tell your name?" said the president. "The brutal
affectation with which you have enumerated and classified
your crimes calls for a severe reprimand on the part of the
courtboth in the name of moralityand for the respect due
to humanity. You appear to consider this a point of honor
and it may be for this reasonthat you have delayed
acknowledging your name. You wished it to be preceded by all
these titles."

It is quite wonderful, Mr. President, how entirely you have
read my thoughts,said Benedettoin his softest voice and
most polite manner. "This isindeedthe reason why I
begged you to alter the order of the questions." The public
astonishment had reached its height. There was no longer any


deceit or bravado in the manner of the accused. The audience
felt that a startling revelation was to follow this ominous
prelude.

Well,said the president; "your name?"

I cannot tell you my name, since I do not know it; but I
know my father's, and can tell it to you.

A painful giddiness overwhelmed Villefort; great drops of
acrid sweat fell from his face upon the papers which he held
in his convulsed hand.

Repeat your father's name,said the president. Not a
whispernot a breathwas heard in that vast assembly;
every one waited anxiously.

My father is king's attorney,replied Andrea calmly.

King's attorney?said the presidentstupefiedand
without noticing the agitation which spread over the face of

M. de Villefort; "king's attorney?"
Yes; and if you wish to know his name, I will tell it, -he
is named Villefort.The explosionwhich had been so
long restrained from a feeling of respect to the court of
justicenow burst forth like thunder from the breasts of
all present; the court itself did not seek to restrain the
feelings of the audience. The exclamationsthe insults
addressed to Benedettowho remained perfectly unconcerned
the energetic gesturesthe movement of the gendarmesthe
sneers of the scum of the crowd always sure to rise to the
surface in case of any disturbance -- all this lasted five
minutesbefore the door-keepers and magistrates were able
to restore silence. In the midst of this tumult the voice of
the president was heard to exclaim-- "Are you playing with
justiceaccusedand do you dare set your fellow-citizens
an example of disorder which even in these times his never
been equalled?"

Several persons hurried up to M. de Villefortwho sat half
bowed over in his chairoffering him consolation
encouragementand protestations of zeal and sympathy. Order
was re-established in the hallexcept that a few people
still moved about and whispered to one another. A ladyit
was saidhad just fainted; they had supplied her with a
smelling-bottleand she had recovered. During the scene of
tumultAndrea had turned his smiling face towards the
assembly; thenleaning with one hand on the oaken rail of
the dockin the most graceful attitude possiblehe said:
Gentlemen, I assure you I had no idea of insulting the
court, or of making a useless disturbance in the presence of
this honorable assembly. They ask my age; I tell it. They
ask where I was born; I answer. They ask my name, I cannot
give it, since my parents abandoned me. But though I cannot
give my own name, not possessing one, I can tell them my
father's. Now I repeat, my father is named M. de Villefort,
and I am ready to prove it.

There was an energya convictionand a sincerity in the
manner of the young manwhich silenced the tumult. All eyes
were turned for a moment towards the procureurwho sat as
motionless as though a thunderbolt had changed him into a
corpse. "Gentlemen said Andrea, commanding silence by his


voice and manner; I owe you the proofs and explanations of
what I have said."

But,said the irritated presidentyou called yourself
Benedetto, declared yourself an orphan, and claimed Corsica
as your country.

I said anything I pleased, in order that the solemn
declaration I have just made should not be withheld, which
otherwise would certainly have been the case. I now repeat
that I was born at Auteuil on the night of the 27th of
September, 1817, and that I am the son of the procureur, M.
de Villefort. Do you wish for any further details? I will
give them. I was born in No. 28, Rue de la Fontaine, in a
room hung with red damask; my father took me in his arms,
telling my mother I was dead, wrapped me in a napkin marked
with an H and an N, and carried me into a garden, where he
buried me alive.

A shudder ran through the assembly when they saw that the
confidence of the prisoner increased in proportion to the
terror of M. de Villefort. "But how have you become
acquainted with all these details?" asked the president.

I will tell you, Mr. President. A man who had sworn
vengeance against my father, and had long watched his
opportunity to kill him, had introduced himself that night
into the garden in which my father buried me. He was
concealed in a thicket; he saw my father bury something in
the ground, and stabbed him; then thinking the deposit might
contain some treasure he turned up the ground, and found me
still living. The man carried me to the foundling asylum,
where I was registered under the number 37. Three months
afterwards, a woman travelled from Rogliano to Paris to
fetch me, and having claimed me as her son, carried me away.
Thus, you see, though born in Paris, I was brought up in
Corsica.

There was a moment's silenceduring which one could have
fancied the hall emptyso profound was the stillness.
Proceed,said the president.

Certainly, I might have lived happily amongst those good
people, who adored me, but my perverse disposition prevailed
over the virtues which my adopted mother endeavored to
instil into my heart. I increased in wickedness till I
committed crime. One day when I cursed providence for making
me so wicked, and ordaining me to such a fate, my adopted
father said to me, `Do not blaspheme, unhappy child, the
crime is that of your father, not yours, -- of your father,
who consigned you to hell if you died, and to misery if a
miracle preserved you alive.' After that I ceased to
blaspheme, but I cursed my father. That is why I have
uttered the words for which you blame me; that is why I have
filled this whole assembly with horror. If I have committed
an additional crime, punish me, but if you will allow that
ever since the day of my birth my fate has been sad, bitter,
and lamentable, then pity me.

But your mother?asked the president.

My mother thought me dead; she is not guilty. I did not
even wish to know her name, nor do I know it.Just then a
piercing cryending in a sobburst from the centre of the


crowdwho encircled the lady who had before faintedand
who now fell into a violent fit of hysterics. She was
carried out of the hallthe thick veil which concealed her
face dropped offand Madame Danglars was recognized.
Notwithstanding his shattered nervesthe ringing sensation
in his earsand the madness which turned his brain
Villefort rose as he perceived her. "The proofsthe
proofs!" said the president; "remember this tissue of
horrors must be supported by the clearest proofs "

The proofs?said Benedettolaughing; "do you want
proofs?"

Yes.

Well, then, look at M. de Villefort, and then ask me for
proofs.

Every one turned towards the procureurwhounable to bear
the universal gaze now riveted on him aloneadvanced
staggering into the midst of the tribunalwith his hair
dishevelled and his face indented with the mark of his
nails. The whole assembly uttered a long murmur of
astonishment. "Father said Benedetto, I am asked for
proofsdo you wish me to give them?"

No, no, it is useless,stammered M. de Villefort in a
hoarse voice; "noit is useless!"

How useless?cried the presidentwhat do you mean?

I mean that I feel it impossible to struggle against this
deadly weight which crushes me. Gentlemen, I know I am in
the hands of an avenging God! We need no proofs; everything
relating to this young man is true.A dullgloomy silence
like that which precedes some awful phenomenon of nature
pervaded the assemblywho shuddered in dismay. "WhatM. de
Villefort cried the president, do you yield to an
hallucination? Whatare you no longer in possession of your
senses? This strangeunexpectedterrible accusation has
disordered your reason. Comerecover."

The procureur dropped his head; his teeth chattered like
those of a man under a violent attack of feverand yet he
was deadly pale.

I am in possession of all my senses, sir,he said; "my
body alone suffersas you may suppose. I acknowledge myself
guilty of all the young man has brought against meand from
this hour hold myself under the authority of the procureur
who will succeed me."

And as he spoke these words with a hoarsechoking voicehe
staggered towards the doorwhich was mechanically opened by
a door-keeper. The whole assembly were dumb with
astonishment at the revelation and confession which had
produced a catastrophe so different from that which had been
expected during the last fortnight by the Parisian world.

Well,said Beauchamplet them now say that drama is
unnatural!

Ma foi!said Chateau-RenaudI would rather end my career
like M. de Morcerf; a pistol-shot seems quite delightful


compared with this catastrophe.

And moreover, it kills,said Beauchamp.

And to think that I had an idea of marrying his daughter,
said Debray. "She did well to diepoor girl!"

The sitting is adjourned, gentlemen,said the president;
fresh inquiries will be made, and the case will be tried
next session by another magistrate.As for Andreawho was
calm and more interesting than everhe left the hall
escorted by gendarmeswho involuntarily paid him some
attention. "Wellwhat do you think of thismy fine
fellow?" asked Debray of the sergeant-at-armsslipping a
louis into his hand. "There will be extenuating
circumstances he replied.

Chapter 111
Expiation.

Notwithstanding the density of the crowd, M. de Villefort
saw it open before him. There is something so awe-inspiring
in great afflictions that even in the worst times the first
emotion of a crowd has generally been to sympathize with the
sufferer in a great catastrophe. Many people have been
assassinated in a tumult, but even criminals have rarely
been insulted during trial. Thus Villefort passed through
the mass of spectators and officers of the Palais, and
withdrew. Though he had acknowledged his guilt, he was
protected by his grief. There are some situations which men
understand by instinct, but which reason is powerless to
explain; in such cases the greatest poet is he who gives
utterance to the most natural and vehement outburst of
sorrow. Those who hear the bitter cry are as much impressed
as if they listened to an entire poem, and when the sufferer
is sincere they are right in regarding his outburst as
sublime.

It would be difficult to describe the state of stupor in
which Villefort left the Palais. Every pulse beat with
feverish excitement, every nerve was strained, every vein
swollen, and every part of his body seemed to suffer
distinctly from the rest, thus multiplying his agony a
thousand-fold. He made his way along the corridors through
force of habit; he threw aside his magisterial robe, not out
of deference to etiquette, but because it was an unbearable
burden, a veritable garb of Nessus, insatiate in torture.
Having staggered as far as the Rue Dauphine, he perceived
his carriage, awoke his sleeping coachman by opening the
door himself, threw himself on the cushions, and pointed
towards the Faubourg Saint-Honore; the carriage drove on.
The weight of his fallen fortunes seemed suddenly to crush
him; he could not foresee the consequences; he could not
contemplate the future with the indifference of the hardened
criminal who merely faces a contingency already familiar.
God was still in his heart. God he murmured, not knowing
what he said, -- God -- God!" Behind the event that had
overwhelmed him he saw the hand of God. The carriage rolled
rapidly onward. Villefortwhile turning restlessly on the
cushionsfelt something press against him. He put out his
hand to remove the object; it was a fan which Madame de
Villefort had left in the carriage; this fan awakened a


recollection which darted through his mind like lightning.
He thought of his wife.

Oh!he exclaimedas though a redhot iron were piercing
his heart. During the last hour his own crime had alone been
presented to his mind; now another objectnot less
terriblesuddenly presented itself. His wife! He had just
acted the inexorable judge with herhe had condemned her to
deathand shecrushed by remorsestruck with terror
covered with the shame inspired by the eloquence of his
irreproachable virtue-- shea poorweak womanwithout
help or the power of defending herself against his absolute
and supreme will-- she might at that very momentperhaps
be preparing to die! An hour had elapsed since her
condemnation; at that momentdoubtlessshe was recalling
all her crimes to her memory; she was asking pardon for her
sins; perhaps she was even writing a letter imploring
forgiveness from her virtuous husband -- a forgiveness she
was purchasing with her death! Villefort again groaned with
anguish and despair. "Ah he exclaimed, that woman became
criminal only from associating with me! I carried the
infection of crime with meand she has caught it as she
would the typhus feverthe cholerathe plague! And yet I
have punished her -- I have dared to tell her -- I have -`
Repent and die!' But noshe must not die; she shall live
and with me. We will flee from Paris and go as far as the
earth reaches. I told her of the scaffold; ohheavensI
forgot that it awaits me also! How could I pronounce that
word? Yeswe will fly; I will confess all to her-- I will
tell her daily that I also have committed a crime! -- Oh
what an alliance -- the tiger and the serpent; worthy wife
of such as I am! She must live that my infamy may diminish
hers." And Villefort dashed open the window in front of the
carriage.

Faster, faster!he criedin a tone which electrified the
coachman. The horsesimpelled by fearflew towards the
house.

Yes, yes,repeated Villefortas he approached his home -"
yesthat woman must live; she must repentand educate my
sonthe sole survivorwith the exception of the
indestructible old manof the wreck of my house. She loves
him; it was for his sake she has committed these crimes. We
ought never to despair of softening the heart of a mother
who loves her child. She will repentand no one will know
that she has been guilty. The events which have taken place
in my housethough they now occupy the public mindwill be
forgotten in timeor ifindeeda few enemies should
persist in remembering themwhy then I will add them to my
list of crimes. What will it signify if onetwoor three
more are added? My wife and child shall escape from this
gulfcarrying treasures with them; she will live and may
yet be happysince her childin whom all her love is
centredwill be with her. I shall have performed a good
actionand my heart will be lighter." And the procureur
breathed more freely than he had done for some time.

The carriage stopped at the door of the house. Villefort
leaped out of the carriageand saw that his servants were
surprised at his early return; he could read no other
expression on their features. Neither of them spoke to him;
they merely stood aside to let him pass byas usual
nothing more. As he passed by M. Noirtier's roomhe


perceived two figures through the half-open door; but he
experienced no curiosity to know who was visiting his
father: anxiety carried him on further.

Come,he saidas he ascended the stairs leading to his
wife's roomnothing is changed here.He then closed the
door of the landing. "No one must disturb us he said; I
must speak freely to heraccuse myselfand say" -- he
approached the doortouched the crystal handlewhich
yielded to his hand. "Not locked he cried; that is well."
And he entered the little room in which Edward slept; for
though the child went to school during the dayhis mother
could not allow him to be separated from her at night. With
a single glance Villefort's eye ran through the room. "Not
here he said; doubtless she is in her bedroom." He rushed
towards the doorfound it boltedand stoppedshuddering.
Heloise!he cried. He fancied he heard the sound of a
piece of furniture being removed. "Heloise!" he repeated.

Who is there?answered the voice of her he sought. He
thought that voice more feeble than usual.

Open the door!cried Villefort. "Open; it is I." But
notwithstanding this requestnotwithstanding the tone of
anguish in which it was utteredthe door remained closed.
Villefort burst it open with a violent blow. At the entrance
of the room which led to her boudoirMadame de Villefort
was standing erectpaleher features contractedand her
eyes glaring horribly. "HeloiseHeloise!" he saidwhat is
the matter? Speak!The young woman extended her stiff white
hands towards him. "It is donemonsieur she said with a
rattling noise which seemed to tear her throat. What more
do you want?" and she fell full length on the floor.
Villefort ran to her and seized her handwhich convulsively
clasped a crystal bottle with a golden stopper. Madame de
Villefort was dead. Villefortmaddened with horrorstepped
back to the threshhold of the doorfixing his eyes on the
corpse: "My son!" he exclaimed suddenlywhere is my son?
-- Edward, Edward!and he rushed out of the roomstill
cryingEdward, Edward!The name was pronounced in such a
tone of anguish that the servants ran up.

Where is my son?asked Villefort; "let him be removed from
the housethat he may not see" -


Master Edward is not down-stairs, sir,replied the valet.

Then he must be playing in the garden; go and see.

No, sir; Madame de Villefort sent for him half an hour ago;
he went into her room, and has not been down-stairs since.
A cold perspiration burst out on Villefort's brow; his legs
trembledand his thoughts flew about madly in his brain
like the wheels of a disordered watch. "In Madame de
Villefort's room?" he murmured and slowly returnedwith one
hand wiping his foreheadand with the other supporting
himself against the wall. To enter the room he must again
see the body of his unfortunate wife. To call Edward he must
reawaken the echo of that room which now appeared like a
sepulchre; to speak seemed like violating the silence of the
tomb. His tongue was paralyzed in his mouth.

Edward!he stammered -- "Edward!" The child did not
answer. Wherethencould he beif he had entered his


mother's room and not since returned? He stepped forward.
The corpse of Madame de Villefort was stretched across the
doorway leading to the room in which Edward must be; those
glaring eyes seemed to watch over the thresholdand the
lips bore the stamp of a terrible and mysterious irony.
Through the open door was visible a portion of the boudoir
containing an upright piano and a blue satin couch.
Villefort stepped forward two or three pacesand beheld his
child lying -- no doubt asleep -- on the sofa. The unhappy
man uttered an exclamation of joy; a ray of light seemed to
penetrate the abyss of despair and darkness. He had only to
step over the corpseenter the boudoirtake the child in
his armsand flee farfar away.

Villefort was no longer the civilized man; he was a tiger
hurt unto deathgnashing his teeth in his wound. He no
longer feared realitiesbut phantoms. He leaped over the
corpse as if it had been a burning brazier. He took the
child in his armsembraced himshook himcalled himbut
the child made no response. He pressed his burning lips to
the cheeksbut they were icy cold and pale; he felt the
stiffened limbs; he pressed his hand upon the heartbut it
no longer beat-- the child was dead. A folded paper fell
from Edward's breast. Villefortthunderstruckfell upon
his knees; the child dropped from his armsand rolled on
the floor by the side of its mother. He picked up the paper
andrecognizing his wife's writingran his eyes rapidly
over its contents; it ran as follows: -


You know that I was a good mother, since it was for my
son's sake I became criminal. A good mother cannot depart
without her son.

Villefort could not believe his eyes-- he could not
believe his reason; he dragged himself towards the child's
bodyand examined it as a lioness contemplates its dead
cub. Then a piercing cry escaped from his breastand he
criedStill the hand of God.The presence of the two
victims alarmed him; he could not bear solitude shared only
by two corpses. Until then he had been sustained by rageby
his strength of mindby despairby the supreme agony which
led the Titans to scale the heavensand Ajax to defy the
gods. He now arosehis head bowed beneath the weight of
griefandshaking his dampdishevelled hairhe who had
never felt compassion for any one determined to seek his
fatherthat he might have some one to whom he could relate
his misfortunes-- some one by whose side he might weep. He
descended the little staircase with which we are acquainted
and entered Noirtier's room. The old man appeared to be
listening attentively and as affectionately as his
infirmities would allow to the Abbe Busoniwho looked cold
and calmas usual. Villefortperceiving the abbepassed
his hand across his brow. He recollected the call he had
made upon him after the dinner at Auteuiland then the
visit the abbe had himself paid to his house on the day of
Valentine's death. "You heresir!" he exclaimed; "do you
thennever appear but to act as an escort to death?"

Busoni turned aroundandperceiving the excitement
depicted on the magistrate's facethe savage lustre of his
eyeshe understood that the revelation had been made at the
assizes; but beyond this he was ignorant. "I came to pray
over the body of your daughter."


And now why are you here?

I come to tell you that you have sufficiently repaid your
debt, and that from this moment I will pray to God to
forgive you, as I do.

Good heavens!exclaimed Villefortstepping back
fearfullysurely that is not the voice of the Abbe
Busoni!

No!The abbe threw off his wigshook his headand his
hairno longer confinedfell in black masses around his
manly face.

It is the face of the Count of Monte Cristo!exclaimed the
procureurwith a haggard expression.

You are not exactly right, M. Procureur; you must go
farther back.

That voice, that voice! -- where did I first hear it?

You heard it for the first time at Marseilles, twenty-three
years ago, the day of your marriage with Mademoiselle de
Saint-Meran. Refer to your papers.

You are not Busoni? -- you are not Monte Cristo? Oh,
heavens -- you are, then, some secret, implacable, and
mortal enemy! I must have wronged you in some way at
Marseilles. Oh, woe to me!

Yes; you are now on the right path,said the count
crossing his arms over his broad chest; "search -- search!"

But what have I done to you?exclaimed Villefortwhose
mind was balancing between reason and insanityin that
cloud which is neither a dream nor reality; "what have I
done to you? Tell methen! Speak!"

You condemned me to a horrible, tedious death; you killed
my father; you deprived me of liberty, of love, and
happiness.

Who are you, then? Who are you?

I am the spectre of a wretch you buried in the dungeons of
the Chateau d'If. God gave that spectre the form of the
Count of Monte Cristo when he at length issued from his
tomb, enriched him with gold and diamonds, and led him to
you!

Ah, I recognize you -- I recognize you!exclaimed the
king's attorney; "you are" -


I am Edmond Dantes!

You are Edmond Dantes,cried Villefortseizing the count
by the wrist; "then come here!" And up the stairs he dragged
Monte Cristo; whoignorant of what had happenedfollowed
him in astonishmentforeseeing some new catastrophe.
There, Edmond Dantes!he saidpointing to the bodies of
his wife and childsee, are you well avenged?Monte
Cristo became pale at this horrible sight; he felt that he
had passed beyond the bounds of vengeanceand that he could


no longer sayGod is for and with me.With an expression
of indescribable anguish he threw himself upon the body of
the childreopened its eyesfelt its pulseand then
rushed with him into Valentine's roomof which he
double-locked the door. "My child cried Villefort, he
carries away the body of my child! Ohcurseswoedeath to
you!" and he tried to follow Monte Cristo; but as though in
a dream he was transfixed to the spot-- his eyes glared as
though they were starting through the sockets; he griped the
flesh on his chest until his nails were stained with blood;
the veins of his temples swelled and boiled as though they
would burst their narrow boundaryand deluge his brain with
living fire. This lasted several minutesuntil the
frightful overturn of reason was accomplished; then uttering
a loud cry followed by a burst of laughterhe rushed down
the stairs.

A quarter of an hour afterwards the door of Valentine's room
openedand Monte Cristo reappeared. Palewith a dull eye
and heavy heartall the noble features of that face
usually so calm and serenewere overcast by grief. In his
arms he held the childwhom no skill had been able to
recall to life. Bending on one kneehe placed it reverently
by the side of its motherwith its head upon her breast.
Thenrisinghe went outand meeting a servant on the
stairshe askedWhere is M. de Villefort?

The servantinstead of answeringpointed to the garden.
Monte Cristo ran down the stepsand advancing towards the
spot designated beheld Villefortencircled by his servants
with a spade in his handand digging the earth with fury.
It is not here!he cried. "It is not here!" And then he
moved farther onand began again to dig.

Monte Cristo approached himand said in a low voicewith
an expression almost humbleSir, you have indeed lost a
son; but--

Villefort interrupted him; he had neither listened nor
heard. "OhI will find it he cried; you may pretend he
is not herebut I will find himthough I dig forever!"
Monte Cristo drew back in horror. "Oh he said, he is
mad!" And as though he feared that the walls of the accursed
house would crumble around himhe rushed into the street
for the first time doubting whether he had the right to do
as he had done. "Ohenough of this-- enough of this he
cried; let me save the last." On entering his househe met
Morrelwho wandered about like a ghost awaiting the
heavenly mandate for return to the tomb. "Prepare yourself
Maximilian he said with a smile; we leave Paris
to-morrow."

Have you nothing more to do there?asked Morrel.

No,replied Monte Cristo; "God grant I may not have done
too much already."

The next day they indeed leftaccompanied only by
Baptistin. Haidee had taken away Aliand Bertuccio remained
with Noirtier.

Chapter 112


The Departure.

The recent event formed the theme of conversation throughout
all Paris. Emmanuel and his wife conversed with natural
astonishment in their little apartment in the Rue Meslay
upon the three successivesuddenand most unexpected
catastrophes of MorcerfDanglarsand Villefort.
Maximilianwho was paying them a visitlistened to their
conversationor rather was present at itplunged in his
accustomed state of apathy. "Indeed said Julie, might we
not almost fancyEmmanuelthat those peopleso richso
happy but yesterdayhad forgotten in their prosperity that
an evil genius -- like the wicked fairies in Perrault's
stories who present themselves unbidden at a wedding or
baptism -- hovered over themand appeared all at once to
revenge himself for their fatal neglect?"

What a dire misfortune!said Emmanuelthinking of Morcerf
and Danglars.

What dreadful sufferings!said Julieremembering
Valentinebut whomwith a delicacy natural to womenshe
did not name before her brother.

If the Supreme Being has directed the fatal blow,said
Emmanuelit must be that he in his great goodness has
perceived nothing in the past lives of these people to merit
mitigation of their awful punishment.

Do you not form a very rash judgment, Emmanuel?said
Julie. "When my fatherwith a pistol in his handwas once
on the point of committing suicidehad any one then said
`This man deserves his misery' would not that person have
been deceived?"

Yes; but your father was not allowed to fall. A being was
commissioned to arrest the fatal hand of death about to
descend on him.

Emmanuel had scarcely uttered these words when the sound of
the bell was heardthe well-known signal given by the
porter that a visitor had arrived. Nearly at the same
instant the door was opened and the Count of Monte Cristo
appeared on the threshold. The young people uttered a cry of
joywhile Maximilian raised his headbut let it fall again
immediately. "Maximilian said the count, without appearing
to notice the different impressions which his presence
produced on the little circle, I come to seek you."

To seek me?repeated Morrelas if awakening from a dream.

Yes,said Monte Cristo; "has it not been agreed that I
should take you with meand did I not tell you yesterday to
prepare for departure?"

I am ready,said Maximilian; "I came expressly to wish
them farewell."

Whither are you going, count?asked Julie.

In the first instance to Marseilles, madame.

To Marseilles!exclaimed the young couple.


Yes, and I take your brother with me.

Oh, count.said Juliewill you restore him to us cured
of his melancholy?-- Morrel turned away to conceal the
confusion of his countenance.

You perceive, then, that he is not happy?said the count.
Yes,replied the young woman; "and fear much that he finds
our home but a dull one."

I will undertake to divert him,replied the count.

I am ready to accompany you, sir,said Maximilian. "Adieu
my kind friends! Emmanuel -- Julie -- farewell!"

How farewell?exclaimed Julie; "do you leave us thusso
suddenlywithout any preparations for your journeywithout
even a passport?"

Needless delays but increase the grief of parting,said
Monte Cristoand Maximilian has doubtless provided himself
with everything requisite; at least, I advised him to do
so.

I have a passport, and my clothes are ready packed,said
Morrel in his tranquil but mournful manner.

Good,said Monte Cristosmiling; "in these prompt
arrangements we recognize the order of a well-disciplined
soldier."

And you leave us,said Julieat a moment's warning? you
do not give us a day -- no, not even an hour before your
departure?

My carriage is at the door, madame, and I must be in Rome
in five days.

But does Maximilian go to Rome?exclaimed Emmanuel.

I am going wherever it may please the count to take me,
said Morrelwith a smile full of grief; "I am under his
orders for the next month."

Oh, heavens, how strangely he expresses himself, count!
said Julie.

Maximilian goes with me,said the countin his kindest
and most persuasive manner; "therefore do not make yourself
uneasy on your brother's account."

Once more farewell, my dear sister; Emmanuel, adieu!
Morrel repeated.

His carelessness and indifference touch me to the heart,
said Julie. "OhMaximilianMaximilianyou are certainly
concealing something from us."

Pshaw!said Monte Cristoyou will see him return to you
gay, smiling, and joyful.

Maximilian cast a look of disdainalmost of angeron the
count.


We must leave you,said Monte Cristo.

Before you quit us, count,said Juliewill you permit us
to express to you all that the other day-


Madame,interrupted the counttaking her two hands in
hisall that you could say in words would never express
what I read in your eyes; the thoughts of your heart are
fully understood by mine. Like benefactors in romances, I
should have left you without seeing you again, but that
would have been a virtue beyond my strength, because I am a
weak and vain man, fond of the tender, kind, and thankful
glances of my fellow-creatures. On the eve of departure I
carry my egotism so far as to say, `Do not forget me, my
kind friends, for probably you will never see me again.'

Never see you again?exclaimed Emmanuelwhile two large
tears rolled down Julie's cheeksnever behold you again?
It is not a man, then, but some angel that leaves us, and
this angel is on the point of returning to heaven after
having appeared on earth to do good.

Say not so,quickly returned Monte Cristo -- "say not so
my friends; angels never errcelestial beings remain where
they wish to be. Fate is not more powerful than they; it is
they whoon the contraryovercome fate. NoEmmanuelI am
but a manand your admiration is as unmerited as your words
are sacrilegious." And pressing his lips on the hand of
Juliewho rushed into his armshe extended his other hand
to Emmanuel; then tearing himself from this abode of peace
and happinesshe made a sign to Maximilianwho followed
him passivelywith the indifference which had been
perceptible in him ever since the death of Valentine had so
stunned him. "Restore my brother to peace and happiness
whispered Julie to Monte Cristo. And the count pressed her
hand in reply, as he had done eleven years before on the
staircase leading to Morrel's study.

You still confidethenin Sinbad the Sailor?" asked he
smiling.

Oh, yes,was the ready answer.

Well, then, sleep in peace, and put your trust in heaven.
As we have before saidthe postchaise was waiting; four
powerful horses were already pawing the ground with
impatiencewhile Aliapparently just arrived from a long
walkwas standing at the foot of the stepshis face bathed
in perspiration. "Well asked the count in Arabic, have
you been to see the old man?" Ali made a sign in the
affirmative.

And have you placed the letter before him, as I ordered you
to do?

The slave respectfully signalized that he had. "And what did
he sayor rather do?" Ali placed himself in the lightso
that his master might see him distinctlyand then imitating
in his intelligent manner the countenance of the old manhe
closed his eyesas Noirtier was in the custom of doing when
saying "Yes."

Good; he accepts,said Monte Cristo. "Now let us go."


These words had scarcely escaped himwhen the carriage was
on its wayand the feet of the horses struck a shower of
sparks from the pavement. Maximilian settled himself in his
corner without uttering a word. Half an hour had passed when
the carriage stopped suddenly; the count had just pulled the
silken check-stringwhich was fastened to Ali's finger. The
Nubian immediately descended and opened the carriage door.
It was a lovely starlight night -- they had just reached the
top of the hill Villejuiffrom whence Paris appears like a
sombre sea tossing its millions of phosphoric waves into
light -- waves indeed more noisymore passionatemore
changeablemore furiousmore greedythan those of the
tempestuous ocean-- waves which never rest as those of the
sea sometimes do-- waves ever dashingever foamingever
ingulfing what falls within their grasp. The count stood
aloneand at a sign from his handthe carriage went on for
a short distance. With folded armshe gazed for some time
upon the great city. When he had fixed his piercing look on
this modern Babylonwhich equally engages the contemplation
of the religious enthusiastthe materialistand the
scoffer-- "Great city murmured he, inclining his head,
and joining his hands as if in prayer, less than six months
have elapsed since first I entered thy gates. I believe that
the Spirit of God led my steps to thee and that he also
enables me to quit thee in triumph; the secret cause of my
presence within thy walls I have confided alone to him who
only has had the power to read my heart. God only knows that
I retire from thee without pride or hatredbut not without
many regrets; he only knows that the power confided to me
has never been made subservient to my personal good or to
any useless cause. Ohgreat cityit is in thy palpitating
bosom that I have found that which I sought; like a patient
minerI have dug deep into thy very entrails to root out
evil thence. Now my work is accomplishedmy mission is
terminatednow thou canst neither afford me pain nor
pleasure. AdieuParisadieu!"

His look wandered over the vast plain like that of some
genius of the night; he passed his hand over his browgot
into the carriagethe door was closed on himand the
vehicle quickly disappeared down the other side of the hill
in a whirlwind of noise and dust.

Ten leagues were passed and not a single word was uttered.

Morrel was dreamingand Monte Cristo was looking at the
dreamer.

Morrel,said the count to him at lengthdo you repent
having followed me?

No, count; but to leave Paris-


If I thought happiness might await you in Paris, Morrel, I
would have left you there.

Valentine reposes within the walls of Paris, and to leave
Paris is like losing her a second time.

Maximilian,said the countthe friends that we have lost
do not repose in the bosom of the earth, but are buried deep
in our hearts, and it has been thus ordained that we may
always be accompanied by them. I have two friends, who in
this way never depart from me; the one who gave me being,


and the other who conferred knowledge and intelligence on
me. Their spirits live in me. I consult them when doubtful,
and if I ever do any good, it is due to their beneficent
counsels. Listen to the voice of your heart, Morrel, and ask
it whether you ought to preserve this melancholy exterior
towards me.

My friend,said Maximilianthe voice of my heart is very
sorrowful, and promises me nothing but misfortune.

It is the way of weakened minds to see everything through a
black cloud. The soul forms its own horizons; your soul is
darkened, and consequently the sky of the future appears
stormy and unpromising.

That may possibly be true,said Maximilianand he again
subsided into his thoughtful mood.

The journey was performed with that marvellous rapidity
which the unlimited power of the count ever commanded. Towns
fled from them like shadows on their pathand trees shaken
by the first winds of autumn seemed like giants madly
rushing on to meet themand retreating as rapidly when once
reached. The following morning they arrived at Chalons
where the count's steamboat waited for them. Without the
loss of an instantthe carriage was placed on board and the
two travellers embarked without delay. The boat was built
for speed; her two paddle-wheels were like two wings with
which she skimmed the water like a bird. Morrel was not
insensible to that sensation of delight which is generally
experienced in passing rapidly through the airand the wind
which occasionally raised the hair from his forehead seemed
on the point of dispelling momentarily the clouds collected
there.

As the distance increased between the travellers and Paris
almost superhuman serenity appeared to surround the count;
he might have been taken for an exile about to revisit his
native land. Ere long Marseilles presented herself to view
-- Marseilleswhitefervidfull of life and energy--
Marseillesthe younger sister of Tyre and Carthagethe
successor to them in the empire of the Mediterranean--
Marseillesoldyet always young. Powerful memories were
stirred within them by the sight of the round towerFort
Saint-Nicolasthe City Hall designed by Puget* the port
with its brick quayswhere they had both played in
childhoodand it was with one accord that they stopped on
the Cannebiere. A vessel was setting sail for Algierson
board of which the bustle usually attending departure
prevailed. The passengers and their relations crowded on the
deckfriends taking a tender but sorrowful leave of each
othersome weepingothers noisy in their griefthe whole
forming a spectacle that might be exciting even to those who
witnessed similar sights dailybut which had no power to
disturb the current of thought that had taken possession of
the mind of Maximilian from the moment he had set foot on
the broad pavement of the quay.

* Pierre Pugetthe sculptor-architectwas born at
Marseilles in 1622.
Here,said heleaning heavily on the arm of Monte Cristo
-- "here is the spot where my father stoppedwhen the
Pharaon entered the port; it was here that the good old man


whom you saved from death and dishonorthrew himself into
my arms. I yet feel his warm tears on my faceand his were
not the only tears shedfor many who witnessed our meeting
wept also." Monte Cristo gently smiled and said-- "I was
there;" at the same time pointing to the corner of a street.
As he spokeand in the very direction he indicateda
groanexpressive of bitter griefwas heardand a woman
was seen waving her hand to a passenger on board the vessel
about to sail. Monte Cristo looked at her with an emotion
that must have been remarked by Morrel had not his eyes been
fixed on the vessel.

Oh, heavens!exclaimed MorrelI do not deceive myself -that
young man who is waving his hat, that youth in the
uniform of a lieutenant, is Albert de Morcerf!

Yes,said Monte CristoI recognized him.

How so? -- you were looking the other way.the count
smiledas he was in the habit of doing when he did not want
to make any replyand he again turned towards the veiled
womanwho soon disappeared at the corner of the street.
Turning to his friend-- "Dear Maximilian said the count,
have you nothing to do in this land?"

I have to weep over the grave of my father,replied Morrel
in a broken voice.

Well, then, go, -- wait for me there, and I will soon join
you.

You leave me, then?

Yes; I also have a pious visit to pay.

Morrel allowed his hand to fall into that which the count
extended to him; then with an inexpressibly sorrowful
inclination of the head he quitted the count and bent his
steps to the east of the city. Monte Cristo remained on the
same spot until Maximilian was out of sight; he then walked
slowly towards the Allees de Meillan to seek out a small
house with which our readers were made familiar at the
beginning of this story. It yet stoodunder the shade of
the fine avenue of lime-treeswhich forms one of the most
frequent walks of the idlers of Marseillescovered by an
immense vinewhich spreads its aged and blackened branches
over the stone frontburnt yellow by the ardent sun of the
south. Two stone steps worn away by the friction of many
feet led to the doorwhich was made of three planks; the
door had never been painted or varnishedso great cracks
yawned in it during the dry season to close again when the
rains came on. The housewith all its crumbling antiquity
and apparent miserywas yet cheerful and picturesqueand
was the same that old Dantes formerly inhabited -- the only
difference being that the old man occupied merely the
garretwhile the whole house was now placed at the command
of Mercedes by the count.

The woman whom the count had seen leave the ship with so
much regret entered this house; she had scarcely closed the
door after her when Monte Cristo appeared at the corner of a
streetso that he found and lost her again almost at the
same instant. The worn out steps were old acquaintances of
his; he knew better than any one else how to open that


weather-beaten door with the large headed nail which served
to raise the latch within. He entered without knockingor
giving any other intimation of his presenceas if he had
been a friend or the master of the place. At the end of a
passage paved with brickswas a little gardenbathed in
sunshineand rich in warmth and light. In this garden
Mercedes had foundat the place indicated by the countthe
sum of money which hethrough a sense of delicacyhad
described as having been placed there twenty-four years
previously. The trees of the garden were easily seen from
the steps of the street-door. Monte Cristoon stepping into
the househeard a sigh that was almost a deep sob; he
looked in the direction whence it cameand there under an
arbor of Virginia jessamine* with its thick foliage and
beautiful long purple flowershe saw Mercedes seatedwith
her head bowedand weeping bitterly. She had raised her
veiland with her face hidden by her hands was giving free
scope to the sighs and tears which had been so long
restrained by the presence of her son. Monte Cristo advanced
a few stepswhich were heard on the gravel. Mercedes raised
her headand uttered a cry of terror on beholding a man
before her.

* The Carolina -- not Virginia -- jessaminegelsemium
sempervirens (properly speaking not a jessamine at all) has
yellow blossoms. The reference is no doubt to the Wistaria
frutescens. -- Ed.
Madame,said the countit is no longer in my power to
restore you to happiness, but I offer you consolation; will
you deign to accept it as coming from a friend?

I am, indeed, most wretched,replied Mercedes. "Alone in
the worldI had but my sonand he has left me!"

He possesses a noble heart, madame,replied the count
and he has acted rightly. He feels that every man owes a
tribute to his country; some contribute their talents,
others their industry; these devote their blood, those their
nightly labors, to the same cause. Had he remained with you,
his life must have become a hateful burden, nor would he
have participated in your griefs. He will increase in
strength and honor by struggling with adversity, which he
will convert into prosperity. Leave him to build up the
future for you, and I venture to say you will confide it to
safe hands.

Oh,replied the wretched womanmournfully shaking her
headthe prosperity of which you speak, and which, from
the bottom of my heart, I pray God in his mercy to grant
him, I can never enjoy. The bitter cup of adversity has been
drained by me to the very dregs, and I feel that the grave
is not far distant. You have acted kindly, count, in
bringing me back to the place where I have enjoyed so much
bliss. I ought to meet death on the same spot where
happiness was once all my own.

Alas,said Monte Cristoyour words sear and embitter my
heart, the more so as you have every reason to hate me. I
have been the cause of all your misfortunes; but why do you
pity, instead of blaming me? You render me still more
unhappy-


Hate you, blame you -- you, Edmond! Hate, reproach, the man


that has spared my son's life! For was it not your fatal and
sanguinary intention to destroy that son of whom M. de
Morcerf was so proud? Oh, look at me closely, and discover
if you can even the semblance of a reproach in me.The
count looked up and fixed his eyes on Mercedeswho arose
partly from her seat and extended both her hands towards
him. "Ohlook at me continued she, with a feeling of
profound melancholy, my eyes no longer dazzle by their
brilliancyfor the time has long fled since I used to smile
on Edmond Danteswho anxiously looked out for me from the
window of yonder garretthen inhabited by his old father.
Years of grief have created an abyss between those days and
the present. I neither reproach you nor hate youmy friend.
OhnoEdmondit is myself that I blamemyself that I
hate! Ohmiserable creature that I am!" cried sheclasping
her handsand raising her eyes to heaven. "I once possessed
pietyinnocenceand lovethe three ingredients of the
happiness of angelsand now what am I?" Monte Cristo
approached herand silently took her hand. "No said she,
withdrawing it gently -- nomy friendtouch me not. You
have spared meyet of all those who have fallen under your
vengeance I was the most guilty. They were influenced by
hatredby avariceand by self-love; but I was baseand
for want of courage acted against my judgment. Naydo not
press my handEdmond; you are thinkingI am sureof some
kind speech to console mebut do not utter it to me
reserve it for others more worthy of your kindness. See"
(and she exposed her face completely to view) -- "see
misfortune has silvered my hairmy eyes have shed so many
tears that they are encircled by a rim of purpleand my
brow is wrinkled. YouEdmondon the contrary-- you are
still younghandsomedignified; it is because you have had
faith; because you have had strengthbecause you have had
trust in Godand God has sustained you. But as for meI
have been a coward; I have denied God and he has abandoned
me."

Mercedes burst into tears; her woman's heart was breaking
under its load of memories. Monte Cristo took her hand and
imprinted a kiss on it; but she herself felt that it was a
kiss of no greater warmth than he would have bestowed on the
hand of some marble statue of a saint. "It often happens
continued she, that a first fault destroys the prospects of
a whole life. I believed you dead; why did I survive you?
What good has it done me to mourn for you eternally in the
secret recesses of my heart? -- only to make a woman of
thirty-nine look like a woman of fifty. Whyhaving
recognized youand I the only one to do so -- why was I
able to save my son alone? Ought I not also to have rescued
the man that I had accepted for a husbandguilty though he
were? Yet I let him die! What do I say? Ohmerciful
heavenswas I not accessory to his death by my supine
insensibilityby my contempt for himnot rememberingor
not willing to rememberthat it was for my sake he had
become a traitor and a perjurer? In what am I benefited by
accompanying my son so farsince I now abandon himand
allow him to depart alone to the baneful climate of Africa?
OhI have been basecowardlyI tell you; I have abjured
my affectionsand like all renegades I am of evil omen to
those who surround me!"

No, Mercedes,said Monte Cristono; you judge yourself
with too much severity. You are a noble-minded woman, and it
was your grief that disarmed me. Still I was but an agent,


led on by an invisible and offended Deity, who chose not to
withhold the fatal blow that I was destined to hurl. I take
that God to witness, at whose feet I have prostrated myself
daily for the last ten years, that I would have sacrificed
my life to you, and with my life the projects that were
indissolubly linked with it. But -- and I say it with some
pride, Mercedes -- God needed me, and I lived. Examine the
past and the present, and endeavor to dive into futurity,
and then say whether I am not a divine instrument. The most
dreadful misfortunes, the most frightful sufferings, the
abandonment of all those who loved me, the persecution of
those who did not know me, formed the trials of my youth;
when suddenly, from captivity, solitude, misery, I was
restored to light and liberty, and became the possessor of a
fortune so brilliant, so unbounded, so unheard-of, that I
must have been blind not to be conscious that God had
endowed me with it to work out his own great designs. From
that time I looked upon this fortune as something confided
to me for an especial purpose. Not a thought was given to a
life which you once, Mercedes, had the power to render
blissful; not one hour of peaceful calm was mine; but I felt
myself driven on like an exterminating angel. Like
adventurous captains about to embark on some enterprise full
of danger, I laid in my provisions, I loaded my weapons, I
collected every means of attack and defence; I inured my
body to the most violent exercises, my soul to the bitterest
trials; I taught my arm to slay, my eyes to behold
excruciating sufferings, and my mouth to smile at the most
horrid spectacles. Good-natured, confiding, and forgiving as
I had been, I became revengeful, cunning, and wicked, or
rather, immovable as fate. Then I launched out into the path
that was opened to me. I overcame every obstacle, and
reached the goal; but woe to those who stood in my pathway!

Enough,said Mercedes; "enoughEdmond! Believe methat
she who alone recognized you has been the only one to
comprehend you; and had she crossed your pathand you had
crushed her like glassstillEdmondstill she must have
admired you! Like the gulf between me and the pastthere is
an abyss between youEdmondand the rest of mankind; and I
tell you freely that the comparison I draw between you and
other men will ever be one of my greatest tortures. No
there is nothing in the world to resemble you in worth and
goodness! But we must say farewellEdmondand let us
part."

Before I leave you, Mercedes, have you no request to make?
said the count.

I desire but one thing in this world, Edmond, -- the
happiness of my son.

Pray to the Almighty to spare his life, and I will take
upon myself to promote his happiness.

Thank you, Edmond.

But have you no request to make for yourself, Mercedes?

For myself I want nothing. I live, as it were, between two
graves. One is that of Edmond Dantes, lost to me long, long
since. He had my love! That word ill becomes my faded lip
now, but it is a memory dear to my heart, and one that I
would not lose for all that the world contains. The other


grave is that of the man who met his death from the hand of
Edmond Dantes. I approve of the deed, but I must pray for
the dead.

Your son shall be happy, Mercedes,repeated the count.

Then I shall enjoy as much happiness as this world can
possibly confer.

But what are your intentions?

To say that I shall live here, like the Mercedes of other
times, gaining my bread by labor, would not be true, nor
would you believe me. I have no longer the strength to do
anything but to spend my days in prayer. However, I shall
have no occasion to work, for the little sum of money buried
by you, and which I found in the place you mentioned, will
be sufficient to maintain me. Rumor will probably be busy
respecting me, my occupations, my manner of living -- that
will signify but little.

Mercedes,said the countI do not say it to blame you,
but you made an unnecessary sacrifice in relinquishing the
whole of the fortune amassed by M. de Morcerf; half of it at
least by right belonged to you, in virtue of your vigilance
and economy.

I perceive what you are intending to propose to me; but I
cannot accept it, Edmond -- my son would not permit it.

Nothing shall be done without the full approbation of
Albert de Morcerf. I will make myself acquainted with his
intentions and will submit to them. But if he be willing to
accept my offers, will you oppose them?

You well know, Edmond, that I am no longer a reasoning
creature; I have no will, unless it be the will never to
decide. I have been so overwhelmed by the many storms that
have broken over my head, that I am become passive in the
hands of the Almighty, like a sparrow in the talons of an
eagle. I live, because it is not ordained for me to die. If
succor be sent to me, I will accept it.

Ah, madame,said Monte Cristoyou should not talk thus!
It is not so we should evince our resignation to the will of
heaven; on the contrary, we are all free agents.

Alas!exclaimed Mercedesif it were so, if I possessed
free-will, but without the power to render that will
efficacious, it would drive me to despair.Monte Cristo
dropped his head and shrank from the vehemence of her grief.
Will you not even say you will see me again?he asked.

On the contrary, we shall meet again,said Mercedes
pointing to heaven with solemnity. "I tell you so to prove
to you that I still hope." And after pressing her own
trembling hand upon that of the countMercedes rushed up
the stairs and disappeared. Monte Cristo slowly left the
house and turned towards the quay. But Mercedes did not
witness his departurealthough she was seated at the little
window of the room which had been occupied by old Dantes.
Her eyes were straining to see the ship which was carrying
her son over the vast sea; but still her voice involuntarily
murmured softlyEdmond, Edmond, Edmond!


Chapter 113
The Past.

The count departed with a sad heart from the house in which
he had left Mercedesprobably never to behold her again.
Since the death of little Edward a great change had taken
place in Monte Cristo. Having reached the summit of his
vengeance by a long and tortuous pathhe saw an abyss of
doubt yawning before him. More than thisthe conversation
which had just taken place between Mercedes and himself had
awakened so many recollections in his heart that he felt it
necessary to combat with them. A man of the count's
temperament could not long indulge in that melancholy which
can exist in common mindsbut which destroys superior ones.
He thought he must have made an error in his calculations if
he now found cause to blame himself.

I cannot have deceived myself,he said; "I must look upon
the past in a false light. What!" he continuedcan I have
been following a false path? -- can the end which I proposed
be a mistaken end? -- can one hour have sufficed to prove to
an architect that the work upon which he founded all his
hopes was an impossible, if not a sacrilegious, undertaking?
I cannot reconcile myself to this idea -- it would madden
me. The reason why I am now dissatisfied is that I have not
a clear appreciation of the past. The past, like the country
through which we walk, becomes indistinct as we advance. My
position is like that of a person wounded in a dream; he
feels the wound, though he cannot recollect when he received
it. Come, then, thou regenerate man, thou extravagant
prodigal, thou awakened sleeper, thou all-powerful
visionary, thou invincible millionaire, -- once again review
thy past life of starvation and wretchedness, revisit the
scenes where fate and misfortune conducted, and where
despair received thee. Too many diamonds, too much gold and
splendor, are now reflected by the mirror in which Monte
Cristo seeks to behold Dantes. Hide thy diamonds, bury thy
gold, shroud thy splendor, exchange riches for poverty,
liberty for a prison, a living body for a corpse!As he
thus reasonedMonte Cristo walked down the Rue de la
Caisserie. It was the same through whichtwenty-four years
agohe had been conducted by a silent and nocturnal guard;
the housesto-day so smiling and animatedwere on that
night darkmuteand closed. "And yet they were the same
murmured Monte Cristo, only now it is broad daylight
instead of night; it is the sun which brightens the place
and makes it appear so cheerful."

He proceeded towards the quay by the Rue Saint-Laurentand
advanced to the Consigne; it was the point where he had
embarked. A pleasure-boat with striped awning was going by.
Monte Cristo called the ownerwho immediately rowed up to
him with the eagerness of a boatman hoping for a good fare.
The weather was magnificentand the excursion a treat.

The sunred and flamingwas sinking into the embrace of
the welcoming ocean. The seasmooth as crystalwas now and
then disturbed by the leaping of fishwhich were pursued by
some unseen enemy and sought for safety in another element;
while on the extreme verge of the horizon might be seen the
fishermen's boatswhite and graceful as the sea-gullor


the merchant vessels bound for Corsica or Spain.

But notwithstanding the serene skythe gracefully formed
boatsand the golden light in which the whole scene was
bathedthe Count of Monte Cristowrapped in his cloak
could think only of this terrible voyagethe details of
which were one by one recalled to his memory. The solitary
light burning at the Catalans; that first sight of the
Chateau d'Ifwhich told him whither they were leading him;
the struggle with the gendarmes when he wished to throw
himself overboard; his despair when he found himself
vanquishedand the sensation when the muzzle of the carbine
touched his forehead -- all these were brought before him in
vivid and frightful reality. Like the streams which the heat
of the summer has dried upand which after the autumnal
storms gradually begin oozing drop by dropso did the count
feel his heart gradually fill with the bitterness which
formerly nearly overwhelmed Edmond Dantes. Clear sky
swift-flitting boatsand brilliant sunshine disappeared;
the heavens were hung with blackand the gigantic structure
of the Chateau d'If seemed like the phantom of a mortal
enemy. As they reached the shorethe count instinctively
shrunk to the extreme end of the boatand the owner was
obliged to call outin his sweetest tone of voiceSir, we
are at the landing.

Monte Cristo remembered that on that very spoton the same
rockhe had been violently dragged by the guardswho
forced him to ascend the slope at the points of their
bayonets. The journey had seemed very long to Dantesbut
Monte Cristo found it equally short. Each stroke of the oar
seemed to awaken a new throng of ideaswhich sprang up with
the flying spray of the sea.

There had been no prisoners confined in the Chateau d'If
since the revolution of July; it was only inhabited by a
guardkept there for the prevention of smuggling. A
concierge waited at the door to exhibit to visitors this
monument of curiosityonce a scene of terror. The count
inquired whether any of the ancient jailers were still
there; but they had all been pensionedor had passed on to
some other employment. The concierge who attended him had
only been there since 1830. He visited his own dungeon. He
again beheld the dull light vainly endeavoring to penetrate
the narrow opening. His eyes rested upon the spot where had
stood his bedsince then removedand behind the bed the
new stones indicated where the breach made by the Abbe Faria
had been. Monte Cristo felt his limbs tremble; he seated
himself upon a log of wood.

Are there any stories connected with this prison besides
the one relating to the poisoning of Mirabeau?asked the
count; "are there any traditions respecting these dismal
abodes-- in which it is difficult to believe men can ever
have imprisoned their fellow-creatures?"

Yes, sir; indeed, the jailer Antoine told me one connected
with this very dungeon.

Monte Cristo shuddered; Antoine had been his jailer. He had
almost forgotten his name and facebut at the mention of
the name he recalled his person as he used to see itthe
face encircled by a beardwearing the brown jacketthe
bunch of keysthe jingling of which he still seemed to


hear. The count turned aroundand fancied he saw him in the
corridorrendered still darker by the torch carried by the
concierge. "Would you like to hear the storysir?"

Yes; relate it,said Monte Cristopressing his hand to
his heart to still its violent beatings; he felt afraid of
hearing his own history.

This dungeon,said the conciergewas, it appears, some
time ago occupied by a very dangerous prisoner, the more so
since he was full of industry. Another person was confined
in the Chateau at the same time, but he was not wicked, he
was only a poor mad priest.

Ah, indeed? -- mad!repeated Monte Cristo; "and what was
his mania?"

He offered millions to any one who would set him at
liberty.

Monte Cristo raised his eyesbut he could not see the
heavens; there was a stone veil between him and the
firmament. He thought that there had been no less thick a
veil before the eyes of those to whom Faria offered the
treasures. "Could the prisoners see each other?" he asked.

Oh, no, sir, it was expressly forbidden; but they eluded
the vigilance of the guards, and made a passage from one
dungeon to the other.

And which of them made this passage?

Oh, it must have been the young man, certainly, for he was
strong and industrious, while the abbe was aged and weak;
besides, his mind was too vacillating to allow him to carry
out an idea.

Blind fools!murmured the count.

However, be that as it may, the young man made a tunnel,
how or by what means no one knows; but he made it, and there
is the evidence yet remaining of his work. Do you see it?
and the man held the torch to the wall.

Ah, yes; I see,said the countin a voice hoarse from
emotion.

The result was that the two men communicated with one
another; how long they did so, nobody knows. One day the old
man fell ill and died. Now guess what the young one did?

Tell me.

He carried off the corpse, which he placed in his own bed
with its face to the wall; then he entered the empty
dungeon, closed the entrance, and slipped into the sack
which had contained the dead body. Did you ever hear of such
an idea?Monte Cristo closed his eyesand seemed again to
experience all the sensations he had felt when the coarse
canvasyet moist with the cold dews of deathhad touched
his face. The jailer continued: "Now this was his project.
He fancied that they buried the dead at the Chateau d'If
and imagining they would not expend much labor on the grave
of a prisonerhe calculated on raising the earth with his


shouldersbut unfortunately their arrangements at the
Chateau frustrated his projects. They never buried the dead;
they merely attached a heavy cannon-ball to the feetand
then threw them into the sea. This is what was done. The
young man was thrown from the top of the rock; the corpse
was found on the bed next dayand the whole truth was
guessedfor the men who performed the office then mentioned
what they had not dared to speak of beforethat at the
moment the corpse was thrown into the deepthey heard a
shriekwhich was almost immediately stifled by the water in
which it disappeared." The count breathed with difficulty;
the cold drops ran down his foreheadand his heart was full
of anguish.

No,he mutteredthe doubt I felt was but the
commencement of forgetfulness; but here the wound reopens,
and the heart again thirsts for vengeance. And the
prisoner,he continued aloudwas he ever heard of
afterwards?

Oh, no; of course not. You can understand that one of two
things must have happened; he must either have fallen flat,
in which case the blow, from a height of ninety feet, must
have killed him instantly, or he must have fallen upright,
and then the weight would have dragged him to the bottom,
where he remained -- poor fellow!

Then you pity him?said the count.

Ma foi, yes; though he was in his own element.

What do you mean?

The report was that he had been a naval officer, who had
been confined for plotting with the Bonapartists.

Great is truth,muttered the countfire cannot burn, nor
water drown it! Thus the poor sailor lives in the
recollection of those who narrate his history; his terrible
story is recited in the chimney-corner, and a shudder is
felt at the description of his transit through the air to be
swallowed by the deep.Thenthe count added aloudWas
his name ever known?

Oh, yes; but only as No. 34.

Oh, Villefort, Villefort,murmured the countthis scene
must often have haunted thy sleepless hours!

Do you wish to see anything more, sir?said the concierge.

Yes, especially if you will show me the poor abbe's room.

Ah -- No. 27.

Yes; No. 27.repeated the countwho seemed to hear the
voice of the abbe answering him in those very words through
the wall when asked his name.

Come, sir.

Wait,said Monte CristoI wish to take one final glance
around this room.


This is fortunate,said the guide; "I have forgotten the
other key."

Go and fetch it.

I will leave you the torch, sir.

No, take it away; I can see in the dark.

Why, you are like No. 34. They said he was so accustomed to
darkness that he could see a pin in the darkest corner of
his dungeon.

He spent fourteen years to arrive at that,muttered the
count.

The guide carried away the torch. The count had spoken
correctly. Scarcely had a few seconds elapsedere he saw
everything as distinctly as by daylight. Then he looked
around himand really recognized his dungeon.

Yes,he saidthere is the stone upon which I used to
sit; there is the impression made by my shoulders on the
wall; there is the mark of my blood made when one day I
dashed my head against the wall. Oh, those figures, how well
I remember them! I made them one day to calculate the age of
my father, that I might know whether I should find him still
living, and that of Mercedes, to know if I should find her
still free. After finishing that calculation, I had a
minute's hope. I did not reckon upon hunger and infidelity!
and a bitter laugh escaped the count. He saw in fancy the
burial of his fatherand the marriage of Mercedes. On the
other side of the dungeon he perceived an inscriptionthe
white letters of which were still visible on the green wall.
`O God,'he read`preserve my memory!' Oh, yes,he
criedthat was my only prayer at last; I no longer begged
for liberty, but memory; I dreaded to become mad and
forgetful. O God, thou hast preserved my memory; I thank
thee, I thank thee!At this moment the light of the torch
was reflected on the wall; the guide was coming; Monte
Cristo went to meet him.

Follow me, sir;and without ascending the stairs the guide
conducted him by a subterraneous passage to another
entrance. ThereagainMonte Cristo was assailed by a
multitude of thoughts. The first thing that met his eye was
the meridiandrawn by the abbe on the wallby which he
calculated the time; then he saw the remains of the bed on
which the poor prisoner had died. The sight of thisinstead
of exciting the anguish experienced by the count in the
dungeonfilled his heart with a soft and grateful
sentimentand tears fell from his eyes.

This is where the mad abbe was kept, sir, and that is where
the young man entered; and the guide pointed to the
openingwhich had remained unclosed. "From the appearance
of the stone he continued, a learned gentleman discovered
that the prisoners might have communicated together for ten
years. Poor things! Those must have been ten weary years."

Dantes took some louis from his pocketand gave them to the
man who had twice unconsciously pitied him. The guide took
themthinking them merely a few pieces of little value; but
the light of the torch revealed their true worth. "Sir he


said, you have made a mistake; you have given me gold."

I know it.The concierge looked upon the count with
surprise. "Sir he cried, scarcely able to believe his good
fortune -- sirI cannot understand your generosity!"

Oh, it is very simple, my good fellow; I have been a
sailor, and your story touched me more than it would
others.

Then, sir, since you are so liberal, I ought to offer you
something.

What have you to offer to me, my friend? Shells?
Straw-work? Thank you!

No, sir, neither of those; something connected with this
story.

Really? What is it?

Listen,said the guide; "I said to myself`Something is
always left in a cell inhabited by one prisoner for fifteen
years' so I began to sound the wall."

Ah,cried Monte Cristoremembering the abbe's two
hiding-places.

After some search, I found that the floor gave a hollow
sound near the head of the bed, and at the hearth.

Yes,said the countyes.

I raised the stones, and found-


A rope-ladder and some tools?

How do you know that?asked the guide in astonishment.

I do not know -- I only guess it, because that sort of
thing is generally found in prisoners' cells.

Yes, sir, a rope-ladder and tools.

And have you them yet?

No, sir; I sold them to visitors, who considered them great
curiosities; but I have still something left.

What is it?asked the countimpatiently.

A sort of book, written upon strips of cloth.

Go and fetch it, my good fellow; and if it be what I hope,
you will do well.

I will run for it, sir;and the guide went out. Then the
count knelt down by the side of the bedwhich death had
converted into an altar. "Ohsecond father he exclaimed,
thou who hast given me libertyknowledgeriches; thou
wholike beings of a superior order to ourselvescouldst
understand the science of good and evil; if in the depths of
the tomb there still remain something within us which can
respond to the voice of those who are left on earth; if


after death the soul ever revisit the places where we have
lived and suffered-- thennoble heartsublime soulthen
I conjure thee by the paternal love thou didst bear meby
the filial obedience I vowed to theegrant me some sign
some revelation! Remove from me the remains of doubtwhich
if it change not to convictionmust become remorse!" The
count bowed his headand clasped his hands together.

Here, sir,said a voice behind him.

Monte Cristo shudderedand arose. The concierge held out
the strips of cloth upon which the Abbe Faria had spread the
riches of his mind. The manuscript was the great work by the
Abbe Faria upon the kingdoms of Italy. The count seized it
hastilyhis eyes immediately fell upon the epigraphand he
read`Thou shalt tear out the dragons' teeth, and shall
trample the lions under foot, saith the Lord.'

Ah,he exclaimedhere is my answer. Thanks, father,
thanks.And feeling in his pockethe took thence a small
pocket-bookwhich contained ten bank-noteseach of 1000
francs.

Here,he saidtake this pocket-book.

Do you give it to me?

Yes; but only on condition that you will not open it till I
am gone;and placing in his breast the treasure he had just
foundwhich was more valuable to him than the richest
jewelhe rushed out of the corridorand reaching his boat
criedTo Marseilles!Thenas he departedhe fixed his
eyes upon the gloomy prison. "Woe he cried, to those who
confined me in that wretched prison; and woe to those who
forgot that I was there!" As he repassed the Catalansthe
count turned around and burying his head in his cloak
murmured the name of a woman. The victory was complete;
twice he had overcome his doubts. The name he pronouncedin
a voice of tendernessamounting almost to lovewas that of
Haidee.

On landingthe count turned towards the cemeterywhere he
felt sure of finding Morrel. Hetooten years agohad
piously sought out a tomband sought it vainly. Hewho
returned to France with millionshad been unable to find
the grave of his fatherwho had perished from hunger.
Morrel had indeed placed a cross over the spotbut it had
fallen down and the grave-digger had burnt itas he did all
the old wood in the churchyard. The worthy merchant had been
more fortunate. Dying in the arms of his childrenhe had
been by them laid by the side of his wifewho had preceded
him in eternity by two years. Two large slabs of marbleon
which were inscribed their nameswere placed on either side
of a little enclosurerailed inand shaded by four
cypress-trees. Morrel was leaning against one of these
mechanically fixing his eyes on the graves. His grief was so
profound that he was nearly unconscious. "Maximilian said
the count, you should not look on the gravesbut there;"
and he pointed upwards.

The dead are everywhere,said Morrel; "did you not
yourself tell me so as we left Paris?"

Maximilian,said the countyou asked me during the


journey to allow you to remain some days at Marseilles. Do
you still wish to do so?

I have no wishes, count; only I fancy I could pass the time
less painfully here than anywhere else.

So much the better, for I must leave you; but I carry your
word with me, do I not?

Ah, count, I shall forget it.

No, you will not forget it, because you are a man of honor,
Morrel, because you have taken an oath, and are about to do
so again.

Oh, count, have pity upon me. I am so unhappy.

I have known a man much more unfortunate than you, Morrel.

Impossible!

Alas,said Monte Cristoit is the infirmity of our
nature always to believe ourselves much more unhappy than
those who groan by our sides!

What can be more wretched than the man who has lost all he
loved and desired in the world?

Listen, Morrel, and pay attention to what I am about to
tell you. I knew a man who like you had fixed all his hopes
of happiness upon a woman. He was young, he had an old
father whom he loved, a betrothed bride whom he adored. He
was about to marry her, when one of the caprices of fate, -which
would almost make us doubt the goodness of providence,
if that providence did not afterwards reveal itself by
proving that all is but a means of conducting to an end, -one
of those caprices deprived him of his mistress, of the
future of which he had dreamed (for in his blindness he
forgot he could only read the present), and cast him into a
dungeon.

Ah,said Morrelone quits a dungeon in a week, a month,
or a year.

He remained there fourteen years, Morrel,said the count
placing his hand on the young man's shoulder. Maximilian
shuddered.

Fourteen years!he muttered -- "Fourteen years!" repeated
the count. "During that time he had many moments of despair.
He alsoMorrellike youconsidered himself the unhappiest
of men."

Well?asked Morrel.

Well, at the height of his despair God assisted him through
human means. At first, perhaps, he did not recognize the
infinite mercy of the Lord, but at last he took patience and
waited. One day he miraculously left the prison,
transformed, rich, powerful. His first cry was for his
father; but that father was dead.

My father, too, is dead,said Morrel.


Yes; but your father died in your arms, happy, respected,
rich, and full of years; his father died poor, despairing,
almost doubtful of providence; and when his son sought his
grave ten years afterwards, his tomb had disappeared, and no
one could say, `There sleeps the father you so well loved.'

Oh!exclaimed Morrel.

He was, then, a more unhappy son than you, Morrel, for he
could not even find his father's grave.

But then he had the woman he loved still remaining?

You are deceived, Morrel, that woman-


She was dead?

Worse than that, she was faithless, and had married one of
the persecutors of her betrothed. You see, then, Morrel,
that he was a more unhappy lover than you.

And has he found consolation?

He has at least found peace.

And does he ever expect to be happy?

He hopes so, Maximilian.The young man's head fell on his
breast.

You have my promise,he saidafter a minute's pause
extending his hand to Monte Cristo. "Only remember" -


On the 5th of October, Morrel, I shall expect you at the
Island of Monte Cristo. On the 4th a yacht will wait for you
in the port of Bastia, it will be called the Eurus. You will
give your name to the captain, who will bring you to me. It
is understood -- is it not?

But, count, do you remember that the 5th of October-


Child,replied the countnot to know the value of a
man's word! I have told you twenty times that if you wish to
die on that day, I will assist you. Morrel, farewell!

Do you leave me?

Yes; I have business in Italy. I leave you alone with your
misfortunes, and with hope, Maximilian.

When do you leave?

Immediately; the steamer waits, and in an hour I shall be
far from you. Will you accompany me to the harbor,
Maximilian?

I am entirely yours, count.Morrel accompanied the count
to the harbor. The white steam was ascending like a plume of
feathers from the black chimney. The steamer soon
disappearedand in an hour afterwardsas the count had
saidwas scarcely distinguishable in the horizon amidst the
fogs of the night.


Chapter 114
Peppino.

At the same time that the steamer disappeared behind Cape
Morgiona man travelling post on the road from Florence to
Rome had just passed the little town of Aquapendente. He was
travelling fast enough to cover a great deal of ground
without exciting suspicion. This man was dressed in a
greatcoator rather a surtouta little worse for the
journeybut which exhibited the ribbon of the Legion of
Honor still fresh and brillianta decoration which also
ornamented the under coat. He might be recognizednot only
by these signsbut also from the accent with which he spoke
to the postilionas a Frenchman. Another proof that he was
a native of the universal country was apparent in the fact
of his knowing no other Italian words than the terms used in
musicand which like the "goddam" of Figaroserved all
possible linguistic requirements. "Allegro!" he called out
to the postilions at every ascent. "Moderato!" he cried as
they descended. And heaven knows there are hills enough
between Rome and Florence by the way of Aquapendente! These
two words greatly amused the men to whom they were
addressed. On reaching La Stortathe point from whence Rome
is first visiblethe traveller evinced none of the
enthusiastic curiosity which usually leads strangers to
stand up and endeavor to catch sight of the dome of St.
Peter'swhich may be seen long before any other object is
distinguishable. Nohe merely drew a pocketbook from his
pocketand took from it a paper folded in fourand after
having examined it in a manner almost reverentialhe said
-- "Good! I have it still!"

The carriage entered by the Porto del Popoloturned to the
leftand stopped at the Hotel d'Espagne. Old Pastriniour
former acquaintancereceived the traveller at the doorhat
in hand. The traveller alightedordered a good dinnerand
inquired the address of the house of Thomson & Frenchwhich
was immediately given to himas it was one of the most
celebrated in Rome. It was situated in the Via dei Banchi
near St. Peter's. In Romeas everywhere elsethe arrival
of a post-chaise is an event. Ten young descendants of
Marius and the Gracchibarefooted and out at elbowswith
one hand resting on the hip and the other gracefully curved
above the headstared at the travellerthe post-chaise
and the horses; to these were added about fifty little
vagabonds from the Papal Stateswho earned a pittance by
diving into the Tiber at high water from the bridge of St.
Angelo. Nowas these street Arabs of Romemore fortunate
than those of Parisunderstand every languagemore
especially the Frenchthey heard the traveller order an
apartmenta dinnerand finally inquire the way to the
house of Thomson & French. The result was that when the
new-comer left the hotel with the ciceronea man detached
himself from the rest of the idlersand without having been
seen by the travellerand appearing to excite no attention
from the guidefollowed the stranger with as much skill as
a Parisian police agent would have used.

The Frenchman had been so impatient to reach the house of
Thomson & French that he would not wait for the horses to be
harnessedbut left word for the carriage to overtake him on
the roador to wait for him at the bankers' door. He
reached it before the carriage arrived. The Frenchman


enteredleaving in the anteroom his guidewho immediately
entered into conversation with two or three of the
industrious idlers who are always to be found in Rome at the
doors of banking-houseschurchesmuseumsor theatres.
With the Frenchmanthe man who had followed him entered
too; the Frenchman knocked at the inner doorand entered
the first room; his shadow did the same.

Messrs. Thomson & French?inquired the stranger.

An attendant arose at a sign from a confidential clerk at
the first desk. "Whom shall I announce?" said the attendant.

Baron Danglars.

Follow me,said the man. A door openedthrough which the
attendant and the baron disappeared. The man who had
followed Danglars sat down on a bench. The clerk continued
to write for the next five minutes; the man preserved
profound silenceand remained perfectly motionless. Then
the pen of the clerk ceased to move over the paper; he
raised his headand appearing to be perfectly sure of
privacy-- "Ahha he said, here you arePeppino!"

Yes,was the laconic reply. "You have found out that there
is something worth having about this large gentleman?"

There is no great merit due to me, for we were informed of
it.

You know his business here, then.

Pardieu, he has come to draw, but I don't know how much!

You will know presently, my friend.

Very well, only do not give me false information as you did
the other day.

What do you mean? -- of whom do you speak? Was it the
Englishman who carried off 3,000 crowns from here the other
day?

No; he really had 3,000 crowns, and we found them. I mean
the Russian prince, who you said had 30,000 livres, and we
only found 22,000.

You must have searched badly.

Luigi Vampa himself searched.

Indeed? But you must let me make my observations, or the
Frenchman will transact his business without my knowing the
sum.Peppino noddedand taking a rosary from his pocket
began to mutter a few prayers while the clerk disappeared
through the same door by which Danglars and the attendant
had gone out. At the expiration of ten minutes the clerk
returned with a beaming countenance. "Well?" asked Peppino
of his friend.

Joy, joy -- the sum is large!

Five or six millions, is it not?


Yes, you know the amount.

On the receipt of the Count of Monte Cristo?

Why, how came you to be so well acquainted with all this?

I told you we were informed beforehand.

Then why do you apply to me?

That I may be sure I have the right man.

Yes, it is indeed he. Five millions -- a pretty sum, eh,
Peppino?

Hush -- here is our man!The clerk seized his penand
Peppino his beads; one was writing and the other praying
when the door opened. Danglars looked radiant with joy; the
banker accompanied him to the door. Peppino followed
Danglars.

According to the arrangementsthe carriage was waiting at
the door. The guide held the door open. Guides are useful
peoplewho will turn their hands to anything. Danglars
leaped into the carriage like a young man of twenty. The
cicerone reclosed the doorand sprang up by the side of the
coachman. Peppino mounted the seat behind.

Will your excellency visit St. Peter's?asked the
cicerone.

I did not come to Rome to see,said Danglars aloud; then
he added softlywith an avaricious smileI came to
touch!and he rapped his pocket-bookin which he had just
placed a letter.

Then your excellency is going-


To the hotel.

Casa Pastrini!said the cicerone to the coachmanand the
carriage drove rapidly on. Ten minutes afterwards the baron
entered his apartmentand Peppino stationed himself on the
bench outside the door of the hotelafter having whispered
something in the ear of one of the descendants of Marius and
the Gracchi whom we noticed at the beginning of the chapter
who immediately ran down the road leading to the Capitol at
his fullest speed. Danglars was tired and sleepy; he
therefore went to bedplacing his pocketbook under his
pillow. Peppino had a little spare timeso he had a game of
mora with the facchinilost three crownsand then to
console himself drank a bottle of Orvieto.

The next morning Danglars awoke latethough he went to bed
so early; he had not slept well for five or six nightseven
if he had slept at all. He breakfasted heartilyand caring
littleas he saidfor the beauties of the Eternal City
ordered post-horses at noon. But Danglars had not reckoned
upon the formalities of the police and the idleness of the
posting-master. The horses only arrived at two o'clockand
the cicerone did not bring the passport till three. All
these preparations had collected a number of idlers round
the door of Signor Pastrini's; the descendants of Marius and
the Gracchi were also not wanting. The baron walked


triumphantly through the crowdwho for the sake of gain
styled him "your excellency." As Danglars had hitherto
contented himself with being called a baronhe felt rather
flattered at the title of excellencyand distributed a
dozen silver coins among the beggarswho were readyfor
twelve moreto call him "your highness."

Which road?asked the postilion in Italian. "The Ancona
road replied the baron. Signor Pastrini interpreted the
question and answer, and the horses galloped off. Danglars
intended travelling to Venice, where he would receive one
part of his fortune, and then proceeding to Vienna, where he
would find the rest, he meant to take up his residence in
the latter town, which he had been told was a city of
pleasure.

He had scarcely advanced three leagues out of Rome when
daylight began to disappear. Danglars had not intended
starting so late, or he would have remained; he put his head
out and asked the postilion how long it would be before they
reached the next town. Non capisco" (do not understand)
was the reply. Danglars bent his headwhich he meant to
implyVery well.The carriage again moved on. "I will
stop at the first posting-house said Danglars to himself.

He still felt the same self-satisfaction which he had
experienced the previous evening, and which had procured him
so good a night's rest. He was luxuriously stretched in a
good English calash, with double springs; he was drawn by
four good horses, at full gallop; he knew the relay to be at
a distance of seven leagues. What subject of meditation
could present itself to the banker, so fortunately become
bankrupt?

Danglars thought for ten minutes about his wife in Paris;
another ten minutes about his daughter travelling with
Mademoiselle d'Armilly; the same period was given to his
creditors, and the manner in which he intended spending
their money; and then, having no subject left for
contemplation, he shut his eyes, and fell asleep. Now and
then a jolt more violent than the rest caused him to open
his eyes; then he felt that he was still being carried with
great rapidity over the same country, thickly strewn with
broken aqueducts, which looked like granite giants petrified
while running a race. But the night was cold, dull, and
rainy, and it was much more pleasant for a traveller to
remain in the warm carriage than to put his head out of the
window to make inquiries of a postilion whose only answer
was Non capisco."

Danglars therefore continued to sleepsaying to himself
that he would be sure to awake at the posting-house. The
carriage stopped. Danglars fancied that they had reached the
long-desired point; he opened his eyes and looked through
the windowexpecting to find himself in the midst of some
townor at least village; but he saw nothing except what
seemed like a ruinwhere three or four men went and came
like shadows. Danglars waited a momentexpecting the
postilion to come and demand payment with the termination of
his stage. He intended taking advantage of the opportunity
to make fresh inquiries of the new conductor; but the horses
were unharnessedand others put in their placeswithout
any one claiming money from the traveller. Danglars
astonishedopened the door; but a strong hand pushed him


backand the carriage rolled on. The baron was completely
roused. "Eh?" he said to the postilioneh, mio caro?

This was another little piece of Italian the baron had
learned from hearing his daughter sing Italian duets with
Cavalcanti. But mio caro did not reply. Danglars then opened
the window.

Come, my friend,he saidthrusting his hand through the
openingwhere are we going?

Dentro la testa!answered a solemn and imperious voice
accompanied by a menacing gesture. Danglars thought dentro
la testa meantPut in your head!He was making rapid
progress in Italian. He obeyednot without some uneasiness
whichmomentarily increasingcaused his mindinstead of
being as unoccupied as it was when he began his journeyto
fill with ideas which were very likely to keep a traveller
awakemore especially one in such a situation as Danglars.
His eyes acquired that quality which in the first moment of
strong emotion enables them to see distinctlyand which
afterwards fails from being too much taxed. Before we are
alarmedwe see correctly; when we are alarmedwe see
double; and when we have been alarmedwe see nothing but
trouble. Danglars observed a man in a cloak galloping at the
right hand of the carriage.

Some gendarme!he exclaimed. "Can I have been intercepted
by French telegrams to the pontifical authorities?" He
resolved to end his anxiety. "Where are you taking me?" he
asked. "Dentro la testa replied the same voice, with the
same menacing accent.

Danglars turned to the left; another man on horseback was
galloping on that side. Decidedly said Danglars, with the
perspiration on his forehead, I must be under arrest." And
he threw himself back in the calashnot this time to sleep
but to think. Directly afterwards the moon rose. He then saw
the great aqueductsthose stone phantoms which he had
before remarkedonly then they were on the right handnow
they were on the left. He understood that they had described
a circleand were bringing him back to Rome. "Oh
unfortunate!" he criedthey must have obtained my arrest.
The carriage continued to roll on with frightful speed. An
hour of terror elapsedfor every spot they passed showed
that they were on the road back. At length he saw a dark
massagainst which it seemed as if the carriage was about
to dash; but the vehicle turned to one sideleaving the
barrier behind and Danglars saw that it was one of the
ramparts encircling Rome.

Mon dieu!cried Danglarswe are not returning to Rome;
then it is not justice which is pursuing me! Gracious
heavens; another idea presents itself -- what if they should
be--

His hair stood on end. He remembered those interesting
storiesso little believed in Parisrespecting Roman
bandits; he remembered the adventures that Albert de Morcerf
had related when it was intended that he should marry
Mademoiselle Eugenie. "They are robbersperhaps he
muttered. Just then the carriage rolled on something harder
than gravel road. Danglars hazarded a look on both sides of
the road, and perceived monuments of a singular form, and


his mind now recalled all the details Morcerf had related,
and comparing them with his own situation, he felt sure that
he must be on the Appian Way. On the left, in a sort of
valley, he perceived a circular excavation. It was
Caracalla's circus. On a word from the man who rode at the
side of the carriage, it stopped. At the same time the door
was opened. Scendi!" exclaimed a commanding voice. Danglars
instantly descended; although he did not yet speak Italian
he understood it very well. More dead than alivehe looked
around him. Four men surrounded himbesides the postilion.

Di qua,said one of the mendescending a little path
leading out of the Appian Way. Danglars followed his guide
without oppositionand had no occasion to turn around to
see whether the three others were following him. Still it
appeared as though they were stationed at equal distances
from one anotherlike sentinels. After walking for about
ten minutesduring which Danglars did not exchange a single
word with his guidehe found himself between a hillock and
a clump of high weeds; three menstanding silentformed a
triangleof which he was the centre. He wished to speak
but his tongue refused to move. "Avanti!" said the same
sharp and imperative voice.

This time Danglars had double reason to understandfor if
the word and gesture had not explained the speaker's
meaningit was clearly expressed by the man walking behind
himwho pushed him so rudely that he struck against the
guide. This guide was our friend Peppinowho dashed into
the thicket of high weedsthrough a path which none but
lizards or polecats could have imagined to be an open road.
Peppino stopped before a pit overhung by thick hedges; the
pithalf openafforded a passage to the young manwho
disappeared like the evil spirits in the fairy tales. The
voice and gesture of the man who followed Danglars ordered
him to do the same. There was no longer any doubtthe
bankrupt was in the hands of Roman banditti. Danglars
acquitted himself like a man placed between two dangerous
positionsand who is rendered brave by fear.
Notwithstanding his large stomachcertainly not intended to
penetrate the fissures of the Campagnahe slid down like
Peppinoand closing his eyes fell upon his feet. As he
touched the groundhe opened his eyes. The path was wide
but dark. Peppinowho cared little for being recognized now
that he was in his own territoriesstruck a light and lit a
torch. Two other men descended after Danglars forming the
rearguardand pushing Danglars whenever he happened to
stopthey came by a gentle declivity to the intersection of
two corridors. The walls were hollowed out in sepulchres
one above the otherand which seemed in contrast with the
white stones to open their large dark eyeslike those which
we see on the faces of the dead. A sentinel struck the rings
of his carbine against his left hand. "Who comes there?" he
cried.

A friend, a friend!said Peppino; "but where is the
captain?"

There,said the sentinelpointing over his shoulder to a
spacious crypthollowed out of the rockthe lights from
which shone into the passage through the large arched
openings. "Fine spoilcaptainfine spoil!" said Peppino in
Italianand taking Danglars by the collar of his coat he
dragged him to an opening resembling a doorthrough which


they entered the apartment which the captain appeared to
have made his dwelling-place.

Is this the man?asked the captainwho was attentively
reading Plutarch's "Life of Alexander."

Himself, captain -- himself.

Very well, show him to me.At this rather impertinent
orderPeppino raised his torch to the face of Danglarswho
hastily withdrew that he might not have his eyelashes burnt.
His agitated features presented the appearance of pale and
hideous terror. "The man is tired said the captain,
conduct him to his bed."

Oh,murmured Danglars that bed is probably one of the
coffins hollowed in the wall, and the sleep I shall enjoy
will be death from one of the poniards I see glistening in
the darkness.

From their beds of dried leaves or wolf-skins at the back of
the chamber now arose the companions of the man who had been
found by Albert de Morcerf reading "Caesar's Commentaries
and by Danglars studying the Life of Alexander." The banker
uttered a groan and followed his guide; he neither
supplicated nor exclaimed. He no longer possessed strength
willpoweror feeling; he followed where they led him. At
length he found himself at the foot of a staircaseand he
mechanically lifted his foot five or six times. Then a low
door was opened before himand bending his head to avoid
striking his forehead he entered a small room cut out of the
rock. The cell was cleanthough emptyand drythough
situated at an immeasurable distance under the earth. A bed
of dried grass covered with goat-skins was placed in one
corner. Danglars brightened up on beholding itfancying
that it gave some promise of safety. "OhGod be praised
he said; it is a real bed!"

Ecco!said the guideand pushing Danglars into the cell
he closed the door upon him. A bolt grated and Danglars was
a prisoner. If there had been no boltit would have been
impossible for him to pass through the midst of the garrison
who held the catacombs of St. Sebastianencamped round a
master whom our readers must have recognized as the famous
Luigi Vampa. Danglarstoohad recognized the banditwhose
existence he would not believe when Albert de Morcerf
mentioned him in Paris; and not only did he recognize him
but the cell in which Albert had been confinedand which
was probably kept for the accommodation of strangers. These
recollections were dwelt upon with some pleasure by
Danglarsand restored him to some degree of tranquillity.
Since the bandits had not despatched him at oncehe felt
that they would not kill him at all. They had arrested him
for the purpose of robberyand as he had only a few louis
about himhe doubted not he would be ransomed. He
remembered that Morcerf had been taxed at 4000 crownsand
as he considered himself of much greater importance than
Morcerf he fixed his own price at 8000 crowns. Eight
thousand crowns amounted to 48000 livres; he would then
have about 5050000 francs left. With this sum he could
manage to keep out of difficulties. Thereforetolerably
secure in being able to extricate himself from his position
provided he were not rated at the unreasonable sum of
5050000 francshe stretched himself on his bedand after


turning over two or three timesfell asleep with the
tranquillity of the hero whose life Luigi Vampa was
studying.


Chapter 115
Luigi Vampa's Bill of Fare.


We awake from every sleep except the one dreaded by
Danglars. He awoke. To a Parisian accustomed to silken
curtainswalls hung with velvet draperyand the soft
perfume of burning woodthe white smoke of which diffuses
itself in graceful curves around the roomthe appearance of
the whitewashed cell which greeted his eyes on awakening
seemed like the continuation of some disagreeable dream. But
in such a situation a single moment suffices to change the
strongest doubt into certainty. "Yesyes he murmured, I
am in the hands of the brigands of whom Albert de Morcerf
spoke." His first idea was to breathethat he might know
whether he was wounded. He borrowed this from "Don Quixote
the only book he had ever read, but which he still slightly
remembered.


No he cried, they have not woundedbut perhaps they
have robbed me!" and he thrust his hands into his pockets.
They were untouched; the hundred louis he had reserved for
his journey from Rome to Venice were in his trousers pocket
and in that of his great-coat he found the little note-case
containing his letter of credit for 5050000 francs.
Singular bandits!he exclaimed; "they have left me my
purse and pocket-book. As I was saying last nightthey
intend me to be ransomed. Hallohere is my watch! Let me
see what time it is." Danglars' watchone of Breguet's
repeaterswhich he had carefully wound up on the previous
nightstruck half past five. Without thisDanglars would
have been quite ignorant of the timefor daylight did not
reach his cell. Should he demand an explanation from the
banditsor should he wait patiently for them to propose it?
The last alternative seemed the most prudentso he waited
until twelve o'clock. During all this time a sentinelwho
had been relieved at eight o'clockhad been watching his
door. Danglars suddenly felt a strong inclination to see the
person who kept watch over him. He had noticed that a few
raysnot of daylightbut from a lamppenetrated through
the ill-joined planks of the door; he approached just as the
brigand was refreshing himself with a mouthful of brandy
whichowing to the leathern bottle containing itsent
forth an odor which was extremely unpleasant to Danglars.
Faugh!he exclaimedretreating to the farther corner of
his cell.


At twelve this man was replaced by another functionaryand
Danglarswishing to catch sight of his new guardian
approached the door again. He was an athleticgigantic
banditwith large eyesthick lipsand a flat nose; his
red hair fell in dishevelled masses like snakes around his
shoulders. "Ahha cried Danglars, this fellow is more
like an ogre than anything else; howeverI am rather too
old and tough to be very good eating!" We see that Danglars
was collected enough to jest; at the same timeas though to
disprove the ogreish propensitiesthe man took some black
breadcheeseand onions from his walletwhich he began
devouring voraciously. "May I be hanged said Danglars,



glancing at the bandit's dinner through the crevices of the
door, -- may I be hanged if I can understand how people can
eat such filth!" and he withdrew to seat himself upon his
goat-skinwhich reminded him of the smell of the brandy.

But the mysteries of nature are incomprehensibleand there
are certain invitations contained in even the coarsest food
which appeal very irresistibly to a fasting stomach.
Danglars felt his own not to be very well supplied just
thenand gradually the man appeared less uglythe bread
less blackand the cheese more freshwhile those dreadful
vulgar onions recalled to his mind certain sauces and
side-disheswhich his cook prepared in a very superior
manner whenever he saidMonsieur Deniseau, let me have a
nice little fricassee to-day.He got up and knocked on the
door; the bandit raised his head. Danglars knew that he was
heardso he redoubled his blows. "Che cosa?" asked the
bandit. "Comecome said Danglars, tapping his fingers
against the door, I think it is quite time to think of
giving me something to eat!" But whether he did not
understand himor whether he had received no orders
respecting the nourishment of Danglarsthe giantwithout
answeringwent on with his dinner. Danglars' feelings were
hurtand not wishing to put himself under obligations to
the brutethe banker threw himself down again on his
goat-skin and did not breathe another word.

Four hours passed by and the giant was replaced by another
bandit. Danglarswho really began to experience sundry
gnawings at the stomacharose softlyagain applied his eye
to the crack of the doorand recognized the intelligent
countenance of his guide. It wasindeedPeppino who was
preparing to mount guard as comfortably as possible by
seating himself opposite to the doorand placing between
his legs an earthen pancontaining chick-pease stewed with
bacon. Near the pan he also placed a pretty little basket of
Villetri grapes and a flask of Orvieto. Peppino was
decidedly an epicure. Danglars watched these preparations
and his mouth watered. "Come he said to himself, let me
try if he will be more tractable than the other;" and he
tapped gently at the door. "On y va (coming) exclaimed
Peppino, who from frequenting the house of Signor Pastrini
understood French perfectly in all its idioms.

Danglars immediately recognized him as the man who had
called out in such a furious manner, Put in your head!" But
this was not the time for recriminationso he assumed his
most agreeable manner and said with a gracious smile-"
Excuse mesirbut are they not going to give me any
dinner?"

Does your excellency happen to be hungry?

Happen to be hungry, -- that's pretty good, when I haven't
eaten for twenty-four hours!muttered Danglars. Then he
added aloudYes, sir, I am hungry -- very hungry.

What would your excellency like?and Peppino placed his
pan on the groundso that the steam rose directly under the
nostrils of Danglars. "Give your orders."

Have you kitchens here?

Kitchens? -- of course -- complete ones.


And cooks?

Excellent!

Well, a fowl, fish, game, -- it signifies little, so that I
eat.

As your excellency pleases. You mentioned a fowl, I think?

Yes, a fowl.Peppinoturning aroundshoutedA fowl for
his excellency!His voice yet echoed in the archway when a
handsomegracefuland half-naked young man appeared
bearing a fowl in a silver dish on his headwithout the
assistance of his hands. "I could almost believe myself at
the Cafe de Paris murmured Danglars.

Hereyour excellency said Peppino, taking the fowl from
the young bandit and placing it on the worm-eaten table,
which with the stool and the goat-skin bed formed the entire
furniture of the cell. Danglars asked for a knife and fork.
Hereexcellency said Peppino, offering him a little
blunt knife and a boxwood fork. Danglars took the knife in
one hand and the fork in the other, and was about to cut up
the fowl. Pardon meexcellency said Peppino, placing his
hand on the banker's shoulder; people pay here before they
eat. They might not be satisfiedand" -


Ah, ha,thought Danglarsthis is not so much like Paris,
except that I shall probably be skinned! Never mind, I'll
fix that all right. I have always heard how cheap poultry is
in Italy; I should think a fowl is worth about twelve sous
at Rome. -- There,he saidthrowing a louis down. Peppino
picked up the louisand Danglars again prepared to carve
the fowl. "Stay a momentyour excellency said Peppino,
rising; you still owe me something."

I said they would skin me,thought Danglars; but resolving
to resist the extortionhe saidCome, how much do I owe
you for this fowl?

Your excellency has given me a louis on account.

A louis on account for a fowl?

Certainly; and your excellency now owes me 4,999 louis.
Danglars opened his enormous eyes on hearing this gigantic
joke. "Comecomethis is very droll -- very amusing -- I
allow; butas I am very hungrypray allow me to eat. Stay
here is another louis for you."

Then that will make only 4,998 louis more,said Peppino
with the same indifference. "I shall get them all in time."

Oh, as for that,said Danglarsangry at this prolongation
of the jest-- "as for that you won't get them at all. Go
to the devil! You do not know with whom you have to deal!"
Peppino made a signand the youth hastily removed the fowl.
Danglars threw himself upon his goat-skinand Peppino
reclosing the dooragain began eating his pease and bacon.
Though Danglars could not see Peppinothe noise of his
teeth allowed no doubt as to his occupation. He was
certainly eatingand noisily toolike an ill-bred man.
Brute!said Danglars. Peppino pretended not to hear him


and without even turning his head continued to eat slowly.
Danglars' stomach felt so emptythat it seemed as if it
would be impossible ever to fill it again; still he had
patience for another half-hourwhich appeared to him like a
century. He again arose and went to the door. "Comesirdo
not keep me starving here any longerbut tell me what they
want."

Nay, your excellency, it is you who should tell us what you
want. Give your orders, and we will execute them.

Then open the door directly.Peppino obeyed. "Now look
hereI want something to eat! To eat -- do you hear?"

Are you hungry?

Come, you understand me.

What would your excellency like to eat?

A piece of dry bread, since the fowls are beyond all price
in this accursed place.

Bread? Very well. Hallo, there, some bread!he called. The
youth brought a small loaf. "How much?" asked Danglars.

Four thousand nine hundred and ninety-eight louis,said
Peppino; "You have paid two louis in advance."

What? One hundred thousand francs for a loaf?

One hundred thousand francs,repeated Peppino.

But you only asked 100,000 francs for a fowl!

We have a fixed price for all our provisions. It signifies
nothing whether you eat much or little -- whether you have
ten dishes or one -- it is always the same price.

What, still keeping up this silly jest? My dear fellow, it
is perfectly ridiculous -- stupid! You had better tell me at
once that you intend starving me to death.

Oh, dear, no, your excellency, unless you intend to commit
suicide. Pay and eat.

And what am I to pay with, brute?said Danglarsenraged.
Do you suppose I carry 100,000 francs in my pocket?

Your excellency has 5,050,000 francs in your pocket; that
will be fifty fowls at 100,000 francs apiece, and half a
fowl for the 50,000.

Danglars shuddered. The bandage fell from his eyesand he
understood the jokewhich he did not think quite so stupid
as he had done just before. "Come he said, if I pay you
the 100000 francswill you be satisfiedand allow me to
eat at my ease?"

Certainly,said Peppino.

But how can I pay them?

Oh, nothing easier; you have an account open with Messrs.


Thomson & French, Via dei Banchi, Rome; give me a draft for
4,998 louis on these gentlemen, and our banker shall take
it.Danglars thought it as well to comply with a good
graceso he took the peninkand paper Peppino offered
himwrote the draftand signed it. "Here he said, here
is a draft at sight."

And here is your fowl.Danglars sighed while he carved the
fowl; it appeared very thin for the price it had cost. As
for Peppinohe examined the paper attentivelyput it into
his pocketand continued eating his pease.

Chapter 116
The Pardon.

The next day Danglars was again hungry; certainly the air of
that dungeon was very provocative of appetite. The prisoner
expected that he would be at no expense that dayfor like
an economical man he had concealed half of his fowl and a
piece of the bread in the corner of his cell. But he had no
sooner eaten than he felt thirsty; he had forgotten that. He
struggled against his thirst till his tongue clave to the
roof of his mouth; thenno longer able to resisthe called
out. The sentinel opened the door; it was a new face. He
thought it would be better to transact business with his old
acquaintanceso he sent for Peppino. "Here I amyour
excellency said Peppino, with an eagerness which Danglars
thought favorable to him. What do you want?"

Something to drink.

Your excellency knows that wine is beyond all price near
Rome.

Then give me water,cried Danglarsendeavoring to parry
the blow.

Oh, water is even more scarce than wine, your excellency,
-- there has been such a drought.

Come,thought Danglarsit is the same old story.And
while he smiled as he attempted to regard the affair as a
jokehe felt his temples get moist with perspiration.

Come, my friend,said Danglarsseeing that he made no
impression on Peppinoyou will not refuse me a glass of
wine?

I have already told you that we do not sell at retail.

Well, then, let me have a bottle of the least expensive.

They are all the same price.

And what is that?

Twenty-five thousand francs a bottle.

Tell me,cried Danglarsin a tone whose bitterness
Harpagon* alone has been capable of revealing -- "tell the
that you wish to despoil me of all; it will be sooner over
than devouring me piecemeal."


* The miser in Moliere's comedy of "L'Avare." -- Ed.
It is possible such may be the master's intention.
The master? -- who is he?
The person to whom you were conducted yesterday.


Where is he?
Here.


Let me see him.


Certainly.And the next moment Luigi Vampa appeared before
Danglars.
You sent for me?he said to the prisoner.


Are you, sir, the chief of the people who brought me here?
Yes, your excellency. What then?

How much do you require for my ransom?

Merely the 5,000,000 you have about you.Danglars felt a
dreadful spasm dart through his heart. "But this is all I
have left in the world he said, out of an immense
fortune. If you deprive me of thattake away my life also."

We are forbidden to shed your blood.

And by whom are you forbidden?
By him we obey.


You do, then, obey some one?
Yes, a chief.


I thought you said you were the chief?
So I am of these men; but there is another over me.


And did your superior order you to treat me in this way?
Yes.


But my purse will be exhausted.
Probably.


Come,said Danglarswill you take a million?
No.


Two millions? -- three? -- four? Come, four? I will give
them to you on condition that you let me go.

Why do you offer me 4,000,000 for what is worth 5,000,000?
This is a kind of usury, banker, that I do not understand.

Take all, then -- take all, I tell you, and kill me!


Come, come, calm yourself. You will excite your blood, and
that would produce an appetite it would require a million a
day to satisfy. Be more economical.

But when I have no more money left to pay you?asked the
infuriated Danglars.

Then you must suffer hunger.

Suffer hunger?said Danglarsbecoming pale.

Most likely,replied Vampa coolly.

But you say you do not wish to kill me?

No.

And yet you will let me perish with hunger?

Ah, that is a different thing.

Well, then, wretches,cried DanglarsI will defy your
infamous calculations -- I would rather die at once! You may
torture, torment, kill me, but you shall not have my
signature again!

As your excellency pleases,said Vampaas he left the
cell. Danglarsravingthrew himself on the goat-skin. Who
could these men be? Who was the invisible chief? What could
be his intentions towards him? And whywhen every one else
was allowed to be ransomedmight he not also be? Ohyes;
certainly a speedyviolent death would be a fine means of
deceiving these remorseless enemieswho appeared to pursue
him with such incomprehensible vengeance. But to die? For
the first time in his lifeDanglars contemplated death with
a mixture of dread and desire; the time had come when the
implacable spectrewhich exists in the mind of every human
creaturearrested his attention and called out with every
pulsation of his heartThou shalt die!

Danglars resembled a timid animal excited in the chase;
first it fliesthen despairsand at lastby the very
force of desperationsometimes succeeds in eluding its
pursuers. Danglars meditated an escape; but the walls were
solid rocka man was sitting reading at the only outlet to
the celland behind that man shapes armed with guns
continually passed. His resolution not to sign lasted two
daysafter which he offered a million for some food. They
sent him a magnificent supperand took his million.

From this time the prisoner resolved to suffer no longer
but to have everything he wanted. At the end of twelve days
after having made a splendid dinnerhe reckoned his
accountsand found that he had only 50000 francs left.
Then a strange reaction took place; he who had just
abandoned 5000000 endeavored to save the 50000 francs he
had leftand sooner than give them up he resolved to enter
again upon a life of privation -- he was deluded by the
hopefulness that is a premonition of madness. He who for so
long a time had forgotten Godbegan to think that miracles
were possible -- that the accursed cavern might be
discovered by the officers of the Papal Stateswho would
release him; that then he would have 50000 remainingwhich


would be sufficient to save him from starvation; and finally
he prayed that this sum might be preserved to himand as he
prayed he wept. Three days passed thusduring which his
prayers were frequentif not heartfelt. Sometimes he was
deliriousand fancied he saw an old man stretched on a
pallet; healsowas dying of hunger.

On the fourthhe was no longer a manbut a living corpse.
He had picked up every crumb that had been left from his
former mealsand was beginning to eat the matting which
covered the floor of his cell. Then he entreated Peppinoas
he would a guardian angelto give him food; he offered him
1000 francs for a mouthful of bread. But Peppino did not
answer. On the fifth day he dragged himself to the door of
the cell.

Are you not a Christian?he saidfalling on his knees.
Do you wish to assassinate a man who, in the eyes of
heaven, is a brother? Oh, my former friends, my former
friends!he murmuredand fell with his face to the ground.
Then rising in despairhe exclaimedThe chief, the
chief!

Here I am,said Vampainstantly appearing; "what do you
want?"

Take my last gold,muttered Danglarsholding out his
pocket-bookand let me live here; I ask no more for
liberty -- I only ask to live!

Then you suffer a great deal?

Oh, yes, yes, cruelly!

Still, there have been men who suffered more than you.

I do not think so.

Yes; those who have died of hunger.

Danglars thought of the old man whomin his hours of
deliriumhe had seen groaning on his bed. He struck his
forehead on the ground and groaned. "Yes he said, there
have been some who have suffered more than I havebut then
they must have been martyrs at least."

Do you repent?asked a deepsolemn voicewhich caused
Danglars' hair to stand on end. His feeble eyes endeavored
to distinguish objectsand behind the bandit he saw a man
enveloped in a cloakhalf lost in the shadow of a stone
column.

Of what must I repent?stammered Danglars.

Of the evil you have done,said the voice.

Oh, yes; oh, yes, I do indeed repent.And he struck his
breast with his emaciated fist.

Then I forgive you,said the mandropping his cloakand
advancing to the light.

The Count of Monte Cristo!said Danglarsmore pale from
terror than he had been just before from hunger and misery.


You are mistaken -- I am not the Count of Monte Cristo.

Then who are you?

I am he whom you sold and dishonored -- I am he whose
betrothed you prostituted -- I am he upon whom you trampled
that you might raise yourself to fortune -- I am he whose
father you condemned to die of hunger -- I am he whom you
also condemned to starvation, and who yet forgives you,
because he hopes to be forgiven -- I am Edmond Dantes!
Danglars uttered a cryand fell prostrate. "Rise said the
count, your life is safe; the same good fortune has not
happened to your accomplices -- one is madthe other dead.
Keep the 50000 francs you have left -- I give them to you.
The 5000000 you stole from the hospitals has been restored
to them by an unknown hand. And now eat and drink; I will
entertain you to-night. Vampawhen this man is satisfied
let him be free." Danglars remained prostrate while the
count withdrew; when he raised his head he saw disappearing
down the passage nothing but a shadowbefore which the
bandits bowed. According to the count's directionsDanglars
was waited on by Vampawho brought him the best wine and
fruits of Italy; thenhaving conducted him to the roadand
pointed to the post-chaiseleft him leaning against a tree.
He remained there all nightnot knowing where he was. When
daylight dawned he saw that he was near a stream; he was
thirstyand dragged himself towards it. As he stooped down
to drinkhe saw that his hair had become entirely white.


Chapter 117
The Fifth of October.


It was about six o'clock in the evening; an opal-colored
lightthrough which an autumnal sun shed its golden rays
descended on the blue ocean. The heat of the day had
gradually decreasedand a light breeze aroseseeming like
the respiration of nature on awakening from the burning
siesta of the south. A delicious zephyr played along the
coasts of the Mediterraneanand wafted from shore to shore
the sweet perfume of plantsmingled with the fresh smell of
the sea.


A light yachtchaste and elegant in its formwas gliding
amidst the first dews of night over the immense lake
extending from Gibraltar to the Dardanellesand from Tunis
to Venice. The vessel resembled a swan with its wings opened
towards the windgliding on the water. It advanced swiftly
and gracefullyleaving behind it a glittering stretch of
foam. By degrees the sun disappeared behind the western
horizon; but as though to prove the truth of the fanciful
ideas in heathen mythologyits indiscreet rays reappeared
on the summit of every waveas if the god of fire had just
sunk upon the bosom of Amphitritewho in vain endeavored to
hide her lover beneath her azure mantle. The yacht moved
rapidly onthough there did not appear to be sufficient
wind to ruffle the curls on the head of a young girl.
Standing on the prow was a tall manof a dark complexion
who saw with dilating eyes that they were approaching a dark
mass of land in the shape of a conewhich rose from the
midst of the waves like the hat of a Catalan. "Is that Monte
Cristo?" asked the travellerto whose orders the yacht was



for the time submittedin a melancholy voice.

Yes, your excellency,said the captainwe have reached
it.

We have reached it!repeated the traveller in an accent of
indescribable sadness. Then he addedin a low toneYes;
that is the haven.And then he again plunged into a train
of thoughtthe character of which was better revealed by a
sad smilethan it would have been by tears. A few minutes
afterwards a flash of lightwhich was extinguished
instantlywas seen on the landand the sound of firearms
reached the yacht.

Your excellency,said the captainthat was the land
signal, will you answer yourself?

What signal?The captain pointed towards the islandup
the side of which ascended a volume of smokeincreasing as
it rose. "Ahyes he said, as if awaking from a dream.
Give it to me."

The captain gave him a loaded carbine; the traveller slowly
raised itand fired in the air. Ten minutes afterwardsthe
sails were furledand they cast anchor about a hundred
fathoms from the little harbor. The gig was already lowered
and in it were four oarsmen and a coxswain. The traveller
descendedand instead of sitting down at the stern of the
boatwhich had been decorated with a blue carpet for his
accommodationstood up with his arms crossed. The rowers
waitedtheir oars half lifted out of the waterlike birds
drying their wings.

Give way,said the traveller. The eight oars fell into the
sea simultaneously without splashing a drop of waterand
the boatyielding to the impulsionglided forward. In an
instant they found themselves in a little harborformed in
a natural creek; the boat grounded on the fine sand.

Will your excellency be so good as to mount the shoulders
of two of our men, they will carry you ashore?The young
man answered this invitation with a gesture of indifference
and stepped out of the boat; the sea immediately rose to his
waist. "Ahyour excellency murmured the pilot, you
should not have done so; our master will scold us for it."
The young man continued to advancefollowing the sailors
who chose a firm footing. Thirty strides brought them to dry
land; the young man stamped on the ground to shake off the
wetand looked around for some one to show him his road
for it was quite dark. Just as he turneda hand rested on
his shoulderand a voice which made him shudder exclaimed
-- "Good-eveningMaximilian; you are punctualthank you!"

Ah, is it you, count?said the young manin an almost
joyful accentpressing Monte Cristo's hand with both his
own.

Yes; you see I am as exact as you are. But you are
dripping, my dear fellow; you must change your clothes, as
Calypso said to Telemachus. Come, I have a habitation
prepared for you in which you will soon forget fatigue and
cold.Monte Cristo perceived that the young man had turned
around; indeedMorrel saw with surprise that the men who
had brought him had left without being paidor uttering a


word. Already the sound of their oars might be heard as they
returned to the yacht.

Oh, yes,said the countyou are looking for the
sailors.

Yes, I paid them nothing, and yet they are gone.

Never mind that, Maximilian,said Monte Cristosmiling.
I have made an agreement with the navy, that the access to
my island shall be free of all charge. I have made a
bargain.Morrel looked at the count with surprise. "Count
he said, you are not the same here as in Paris."

How so?

Here you laugh.The count's brow became clouded. "You are
right to recall me to myselfMaximilian he said; I was
delighted to see you againand forgot for the moment that
all happiness is fleeting."

Oh, no, no, count,cried Maximilianseizing the count's
handspray laugh; be happy, and prove to me, by your
indifference, that life is endurable to sufferers. Oh, how
charitable, kind, and good you are; you affect this gayety
to inspire me with courage.

You are wrong, Morrel; I was really happy.

Then you forget me, so much the better.

How so?

Yes; for as the gladiator said to the emperor, when he
entered the arena, `He who is about to die salutes you.'

Then you are not consoled?asked the countsurprised.

Oh,exclaimed Morrelwith a glance full of bitter
reproachdo you think it possible that I could be?

Listen,said the count. "Do you understand the meaning of
my words? You cannot take me for a commonplace mana mere
rattleemitting a vague and senseless noise. When I ask you
if you are consoledI speak to you as a man for whom the
human heart has no secrets. WellMorrellet us both
examine the depths of your heart. Do you still feel the same
feverish impatience of grief which made you start like a
wounded lion? Have you still that devouring thirst which can
only be appeased in the grave? Are you still actuated by the
regret which drags the living to the pursuit of death; or
are you only suffering from the prostration of fatigue and
the weariness of hope deferred? Has the loss of memory
rendered it impossible for you to weep? Ohmy dear friend
if this be the case-- if you can no longer weepif your
frozen heart be deadif you put all your trust in God
thenMaximilianyou are consoled -- do not complain."

Count,said Morrelin a firm and at the same time soft
voicelisten to me, as to a man whose thoughts are raised
to heaven, though he remains on earth; I come to die in the
arms of a friend. Certainly, there are people whom I love. I
love my sister Julie, -- I love her husband Emmanuel; but I
require a strong mind to smile on my last moments. My sister


would be bathed in tears and fainting; I could not bear to
see her suffer. Emmanuel would tear the weapon from my hand,
and alarm the house with his cries. You, count, who are more
than mortal, will, I am sure, lead me to death by a pleasant
path, will you not?

My friend,said the countI have still one doubt, -- are
you weak enough to pride yourself upon your sufferings?

No, indeed, -- I am calm,said Morrelgiving his hand to
the count; "my pulse does not beat slower or faster than
usual. NoI feel that I have reached the goaland I will
go no farther. You told me to wait and hope; do you know
what you didunfortunate adviser? I waited a monthor
rather I suffered for a month! I did hope (man is a poor
wretched creature)I did hope. What I cannot tell-something
wonderfulan absurditya miracle-- of what
nature he alone can tell who has mingled with our reason
that folly we call hope. YesI did wait -- yesI did hope
countand during this quarter of an hour we have been
talking togetheryou have unconsciously woundedtortured
my heartfor every word you have uttered proved that there
was no hope for me. OhcountI shall sleep calmly
deliciously in the arms of death." Morrel uttered these
words with an energy which made the count shudder. "My
friend continued Morrel, you named the fifth of October
as the end of the period of waiting-- to-day is the fifth
of October he took out his watch, it is now nine o'clock
-- I have yet three hours to live."

Be it so,said the countcome.Morrel mechanically
followed the countand they had entered the grotto before
he perceived it. He felt a carpet under his feeta door
openedperfumes surrounded himand a brilliant light
dazzled his eyes. Morrel hesitated to advance; he dreaded
the enervating effect of all that he saw. Monte Cristo drew
him in gently. "Why should we not spend the last three hours
remaining to us of lifelike those ancient Romanswho when
condemned by Nerotheir emperor and heirsat down at a
table covered with flowersand gently glided into death
amid the perfume of heliotropes and roses?" Morrel smiled.
As you please,he said; "death is always death-- that is
forgetfulnessreposeexclusion from lifeand therefore
from grief." He sat downand Monte Cristo placed himself
opposite to him. They were in the marvellous dining-room
before describedwhere the statues had baskets on their
heads always filled with fruits and flowers. Morrel had
looked carelessly aroundand had probably noticed nothing.

Let us talk like men,he saidlooking at the count.

Go on!

Count,said Morrelyou are the epitome of all human
knowledge, and you seem like a being descended from a wiser
and more advanced world than ours.

There is something true in what you say,said the count
with that smile which made him so handsome; "I have
descended from a planet called grief."

I believe all you tell me without questioning its meaning;
for instance, you told me to live, and I did live; you told
me to hope, and I almost did so. I am almost inclined to ask


you, as though you had experienced death, `is it painful to
die?'

Monte Cristo looked upon Morrel with indescribable
tenderness. "Yes he said, yesdoubtless it is painful
if you violently break the outer covering which obstinately
begs for life. If you plunge a dagger into your fleshif
you insinuate a bullet into your brainwhich the least
shock disorders-- then certainlyyou will suffer pain
and you will repent quitting a life for a repose you have
bought at so dear a price."

Yes; I know that there is a secret of luxury and pain in
death, as well as in life; the only thing is to understand
it.

You have spoken truly, Maximilian; according to the care we
bestow upon it, death is either a friend who rocks us gently
as a nurse, or an enemy who violently drags the soul from
the body. Some day, when the world is much older, and when
mankind will be masters of all the destructive powers in
nature, to serve for the general good of humanity; when
mankind, as you were just saying, have discovered the
secrets of death, then that death will become as sweet and
voluptuous as a slumber in the arms of your beloved.

And if you wished to die, you would choose this death,
count?

Yes.

Morrel extended his hand. "Now I understand he said, why
you had me brought here to this desolate spotin the midst
of the oceanto this subterranean palace; it was because
you loved mewas it notcount? It was because you loved me
well enough to give me one of those sweet means of death of
which we were speaking; a death without agonya death which
allows me to fade away while pronouncing Valentine's name
and pressing your hand."

Yes, you have guessed rightly, Morrel,said the count
that is what I intended.

Thanks; the idea that tomorrow I shall no longer suffer, is
sweet to my heart.

Do you then regret nothing?

No,replied Morrel.

Not even me?asked the count with deep emotion. Morrel's
clear eye was for the moment cloudedthen it shone with
unusual lustreand a large tear rolled down his cheek.

What,said the countdo you still regret anything in the
world, and yet die?

Oh, I entreat you,exclaimed Morrel in a low voicedo
not speak another word, count; do not prolong my
punishment.The count fancied that he was yieldingand
this belief revived the horrible doubt that had overwhelmed
him at the Chateau d'If. "I am endeavoring he thought, to
make this man happy; I look upon this restitution as a
weight thrown into the scale to balance the evil I have


wrought. Nowsupposing I am deceivedsupposing this man
has not been unhappy enough to merit happiness. Alaswhat
would become of me who can only atone for evil by doing
good?" Then he said aloud: "ListenMorrelI see your grief
is greatbut still you do not like to risk your soul."
Morrel smiled sadly. "Count he said, I swear to you my
soul is no longer my own."

Maximilian, you know I have no relation in the world. I
have accustomed myself to regard you as my son: well, then,
to save my son, I will sacrifice my life, nay, even my
fortune.

What do you mean?

I mean, that you wish to quit life because you do not
understand all the enjoyments which are the fruits of a
large fortune. Morrel, I possess nearly a hundred millions
and I give them to you; with such a fortune you can attain
every wish. Are you ambitions? Every career is open to you.
Overturn the world, change its character, yield to mad
ideas, be even criminal -- but live.

Count, I have your word,said Morrel coldly; then taking
out his watchhe addedIt is half-past eleven.

Morrel, can you intend it in my house, under my very eyes?

Then let me go,said Maximilianor I shall think you did
not love me for my own sake, but for yours; and he arose.

It is well,said Monte Cristo whose countenance brightened
at these words; "you wish -- you are inflexible. Yesas you
saidyou are indeed wretched and a miracle alone can cure
you. Sit downMorreland wait."

Morrel obeyed; the count aroseand unlocking a closet with
a key suspended from his gold chaintook from it a little
silver casketbeautifully carved and chasedthe corners of
which represented four bending figuressimilar to the
Caryatidesthe forms of womensymbols of the angels
aspiring to heaven. He placed the casket on the table; then
opening it took out a little golden boxthe top of which
flew open when touched by a secret spring. This box
contained an unctuous substance partly solidof which it
was impossible to discover the colorowing to the
reflection of the polished goldsapphiresrubies
emeraldswhich ornamented the box. It was a mixed mass of
blueredand gold. The count took out a small quantity of
this with a gilt spoonand offered it to Morrelfixing a
long steadfast glance upon him. It was then observable that
the substance was greenish.

This is what you asked for,he saidand what I promised
to give you.

I thank you from the depths of my heart,said the young
mantaking the spoon from the hands of Monte Cristo. The
count took another spoonand again dipped it into the
golden box. "What are you going to domy friend?" asked
Morrelarresting his hand.

Well, the fact is, Morrel, I was thinking that I too am
weary of life, and since an opportunity presents itself-



Stay!said the young man. "You who loveand are beloved;
youwho have faith and hope-- ohdo not follow my
example. In your case it would be a crime. Adieumy noble
and generous friendadieu; I will go and tell Valentine
what you have done for me." And slowlythough without any
hesitationonly waiting to press the count's hand
ferventlyhe swallowed the mysterious substance offered by
Monte Cristo. Then they were both silent. Alimute and
attentivebrought the pipes and coffeeand disappeared. By
degreesthe light of the lamps gradually faded in the hands
of the marble statues which held themand the perfumes
appeared less powerful to Morrel. Seated opposite to him
Monte Cristo watched him in the shadowand Morrel saw
nothing but the bright eyes of the count. An overpowering
sadness took possession of the young manhis hands relaxed
their holdthe objects in the room gradually lost their
form and colorand his disturbed vision seemed to perceive
doors and curtains open in the walls.

Friend,he criedI feel that I am dying; thanks!He
made a last effort to extend his handbut it fell powerless
beside him. Then it appeared to him that Monte Cristo
smilednot with the strange and fearful expression which
had sometimes revealed to him the secrets of his heartbut
with the benevolent kindness of a father for a child. At the
same time the count appeared to increase in staturehis
formnearly double its usual heightstood out in relief
against the red tapestryhis black hair was thrown back
and he stood in the attitude of an avenging angel. Morrel
overpoweredturned around in the arm-chair; a delicious
torpor permeated every vein. A change of ideas presented
themselves to his brainlike a new design on the
kaleidoscope. Enervatedprostrateand breathlesshe
became unconscious of outward objects; he seemed to be
entering that vague delirium preceding death. He wished once
again to press the count's handbut his own was immovable.
He wished to articulate a last farewellbut his tongue lay
motionless and heavy in his throatlike a stone at the
mouth of a sepulchre. Involuntarily his languid eyes closed
and still through his eyelashes a well-known form seemed to
move amid the obscurity with which he thought himself
enveloped.

The count had just opened a door. Immediately a brilliant
light from the next roomor rather from the palace
adjoiningshone upon the room in which he was gently
gliding into his last sleep. Then he saw a woman of
marvellous beauty appear on the threshold of the door
separating the two rooms. Paleand sweetly smilingshe
looked like an angel of mercy conjuring the angel of
vengeance. "Is it heaven that opens before me?" thought the
dying man; "that angel resembles the one I have lost." Monte
Cristo pointed out Morrel to the young womanwho advanced
towards him with clasped hands and a smile upon her lips.

Valentine, Valentine!he mentally ejaculated; but his lips
uttered no soundand as though all his strength were
centred in that internal emotionhe sighed and closed his
eyes. Valentine rushed towards him; his lips again moved.

He is calling you,said the count; "he to whom you have
confided your destiny -- he from whom death would have
separated youcalls you to him. HappilyI vanquished


death. HenceforthValentineyou will never again be
separated on earthsince he has rushed into death to find
you. Without meyou would both have died. May God accept my
atonement in the preservation of these two existences!"

Valentine seized the count's handand in her irresistible
impulse of joy carried it to her lips.

Oh, thank me again!said the count; "tell me till you are
wearythat I have restored you to happiness; you do not
know how much I require this assurance."

Oh, yes, yes, I thank you with all my heart,said
Valentine; "and if you doubt the sincerity of my gratitude
ohthenask Haidee! ask my beloved sister Haideewho ever
since our departure from Francehas caused me to wait
patiently for this happy daywhile talking to me of you."

You then love Haidee?asked Monte Cristo with an emotion
he in vain endeavored to dissimulate.

Oh, yes, with all my soul.

Well, then, listen, Valentine,said the count; "I have a
favor to ask of you."

Of me? Oh, am I happy enough for that?

Yes; you have called Haidee your sister, -- let her become
so indeed, Valentine; render her all the gratitude you fancy
that you owe to me; protect her, for(the count's voice was
thick with emotion) "henceforth she will be alone in the
world."

Alone in the world!repeated a voice behind the count
and why?

Monte Cristo turned around; Haidee was standing pale
motionlesslooking at the count with an expression of
fearful amazement.

Because to-morrow, Haidee, you will be free; you will then
assume your proper position in society, for I will not allow
my destiny to overshadow yours. Daughter of a prince, I
restore to you the riches and name of your father.

Haidee became paleand lifting her transparent hands to
heavenexclaimed in a voice stifled with tearsThen you
leave me, my lord?

Haidee, Haidee, you are young and beautiful; forget even my
name, and be happy.

It is well,said Haidee; "your order shall be executedmy
lord; I will forget even your nameand be happy." And she
stepped back to retire.

Oh, heavens,exclaimed Valentinewho was supporting the
head of Morrel on her shoulderdo you not see how pale she
is? Do you not see how she suffers?

Haidee answered with a heartrending expressionWhy should
he understand this, my sister? He is my master, and I am his
slave; he has the right to notice nothing.


The count shuddered at the tones of a voice which penetrated
the inmost recesses of his heart; his eyes met those of the
young girl and he could not bear their brilliancy. "Oh
heavens exclaimed Monte Cristo, can my suspicions be
correct? Haideewould it please you not to leave me?"

I am young,gently replied Haidee; "I love the life you
have made so sweet to meand I should be sorry to die."

You mean, then, that if I leave you, Haidee-


I should die; yes, my lord.

Do you then love me?

Oh, Valentine, he asks if I love him. Valentine, tell him
if you love Maximilian.The count felt his heart dilate and
throb; he opened his armsand Haideeuttering a cry
sprang into them. "Ohyes she cried, I do love you! I
love you as one loves a fatherbrotherhusband! I love you
as my lifefor you are the bestthe noblest of created
beings!"

Let it be, then, as you wish, sweet angel; God has
sustained me in my struggle with my enemies, and has given
me this reward; he will not let me end my triumph in
suffering; I wished to punish myself, but he has pardoned
me. Love me then, Haidee! Who knows? perhaps your love will
make me forget all that I do not wish to remember.

What do you mean, my lord?

I mean that one word from you has enlightened me more than
twenty years of slow experience; I have but you in the
world, Haidee; through you I again take hold on life,
through you I shall suffer, through you rejoice.

Do you hear him, Valentine?exclaimed Haidee; "he says
that through me he will suffer -- through mewho would
yield my life for his." The count withdrew for a moment.
Have I discovered the truth?he said; "but whether it be
for recompense or punishmentI accept my fate. Come
Haideecome!" and throwing his arm around the young girl's
waisthe pressed the hand of Valentineand disappeared.

An hour had nearly passedduring which Valentine
breathless and motionlesswatched steadfastly over Morrel.
At length she felt his heart beata faint breath played
upon his lipsa slight shudderannouncing the return of
lifepassed through the young man's frame. At length his
eyes openedbut they were at first fixed and
expressionless; then sight returnedand with it feeling and
grief. "Oh he cried, in an accent of despair, the count
has deceived me; I am yet living; "and extending his hand
towards the tablehe seized a knife.

Dearest,exclaimed Valentinewith her adorable smile
awake, and look at me!Morrel uttered a loud exclamation
and franticdoubtfuldazzledas though by a celestial
visionhe fell upon his knees.

The next morning at daybreakValentine and Morrel were
walking arm-in-arm on the sea-shoreValentine relating how


Monte Cristo had appeared in her roomexplained everything
revealed the crimeandfinallyhow he had saved her life
by enabling her to simulate death. They had found the door
of the grotto openedand gone forth; on the azure dome of
heaven still glittered a few remaining stars. Morrel soon
perceived a man standing among the rocksapparently
awaiting a sign from them to advanceand pointed him out to
Valentine. "Ahit is Jacopo she said, the captain of the
yacht; "and she beckoned him towards them.

Do you wish to speak to us?asked Morrel.

I have a letter to give you from the count.

From the count!murmured the two young people.

Yes; read it.Morrel opened the letterand read: -


My Dear Maximilian, -


There is a felucca for you at anchor. Jacopo will carry you
to Leghornwhere Monsieur Noirtier awaits his
granddaughterwhom he wishes to bless before you lead her
to the altar. All that is in this grottomy friendmy
house in the Champs Elyseesand my chateau at Treportare
the marriage gifts bestowed by Edmond Dantes upon the son of
his old masterMorrel. Mademoiselle de Villefort will share
them with you; for I entreat her to give to the poor the
immense fortune reverting to her from her fathernow a
madmanand her brother who died last September with his
mother. Tell the angel who will watch over your future
destinyMorrelto pray sometimes for a manwho like Satan
thought himself for an instant equal to Godbut who now
acknowledges with Christian humility that God alone
possesses supreme power and infinite wisdom. Perhaps those
prayers may soften the remorse he feels in his heart. As for
youMorrelthis is the secret of my conduct towards you.
There is neither happiness nor misery in the world; there is
only the comparison of one state with anothernothing more.
He who has felt the deepest grief is best able to experience
supreme happiness. We must have felt what it is to die
Morrelthat we may appreciate the enjoyments of living.

Live, then, and be happy, beloved children of my heart, and
never forget that until the day when God shall deign to
reveal the future to man, all human wisdom is summed up in
these two words, -- `Wait and hope.' Your friend,

Edmond DantesCount of Monte Cristo."

During the perusal of this letterwhich informed Valentine
for the first time of the madness of her father and the
death of her brothershe became palea heavy sigh escaped
from her bosomand tearsnot the less painful because they
were silentran down her cheeks; her happiness cost her
very dear. Morrel looked around uneasily. "But he said,
the count's generosity is too overwhelming; Valentine will
be satisfied with my humble fortune. Where is the count
friend? Lead me to him." Jacopo pointed towards the horizon.
What do you mean?asked Valentine. "Where is the count? -where
is Haidee?"

Look!said Jacopo.


The eyes of both were fixed upon the spot indicated by the
sailorand on the blue line separating the sky from the
Mediterranean Seathey perceived a large white sail.
Gone,said Morrel; "gone! -- adieumy friend -- adieumy
father!"

Gone,murmured Valentine; "adieumy sweet Haidee -adieu
my sister!"

Who can say whether we shall ever see them again?said
Morrel with tearful eyes.

Darling,replied Valentinehas not the count just told
us that all human wisdom is summed up in two words? -- `Wait
and hope.'