 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 count, motioning 
the two young men to sit down. "It was 
the fault of that blockhead Pastrini, 
that I did not sooner assist you in 
your distress. He did not mention a 
syllable of your embarrassment to me, 
when he knows that, alone and isolated 
as I am, I seek every opportunity of 
making the acquaintance of my 
neighbors. As soon as I learned I could 
in any way assist you, I most eagerly 
seized the opportunity of offering my 
services." The two young men bowed. 
Franz had, as yet, found nothing to 
say; he had come to no determination, 
and as nothing in the count's manner 
manifested the wish that he should 
recognize him, he did not know whether 
to make any allusion to the past, or 
wait until he had more proof; besides, 
although 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 resolved, therefore, to let things 
take their course without making any 
direct overture to the count. Moreover, 
he had this advantage, he was master of 
the count's secret, while the count had 
no hold on Franz, who had nothing to 
conceal. However, he resolved to lead 
the conversation to a subject which 
might possibly clear up his doubts.

"Count," said he, "you 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 negligently, 
looking attentively at Morcerf, "is 
there not something like an execution 
upon the Piazza del Popolo?"

"Yes," returned Franz, finding 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 hand, and 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 once, it 
is for my valet; twice, for my 
majordomo; thrice, for my steward, -- 
thus I do not waste a minute or a word. 
Here he is." A man of about forty-five 
or fifty entered, exactly 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 count, "you 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 bowed, and was 
about to quit the room. "Ah," continued 
the count, "be good enough to ask 
Pastrini if he has received the 
tavoletta, and if he can send us an 
account of the execution."

"There is no need to do that," said 
Franz, taking out his tablets; "for I 
saw the account, and copied it down."

"Very well, you can retire, M. 
Bertuccio; but let us know when 
breakfast is ready. These gentlemen," 
added he, turning to the two friends, 
"will, I trust, do me the honor to 
breakfast with me?"

"But, my dear count," said Albert, "we 
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 read, in the same tone 
with which he would have read a 
newspaper, `that to-day, the 23d of 
February, will be executed Andrea 
Rondolo, guilty of murder on the person 
of the respected and venerated Don 
Cesare Torlini, canon of the church of 
St. John Lateran, and Peppino, called 
Rocca Priori, convicted of complicity 
with the detestable bandit Luigi Vampa, 
and the men of his band.' Hum! `The 
first will be mazzolato, the 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 count, carelessly; 
"for the other (he glanced at the 
tablets as if to recall the name), for 
Peppino, called 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 
time, and even the second, while the 
other, as you must know, is very 
simple. The mandaia* never fails, never 
trembles, never strikes thirty times 
ineffectually, like the soldier who 
beheaded the Count of Chalais, and to 
whose tender mercy Richelieu had 
doubtless recommended the sufferer. 
Ah," added the count, in a contemptuous 
tone, "do not tell me of European 
punishments, they are in the infancy, 
or rather the old age, of cruelty."

* Guillotine.

"Really, count," replied Franz, "one 
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 
meaning, for you excite my curiosity to 
the highest pitch."

"Listen," said the count, and deep 
hatred mounted to his face, as the 
blood would to the face of any other. 
"If a man had by unheard-of and 
excruciating tortures destroyed your 
father, your mother, your betrothed, -- 
a being who, when torn from you, left a 
desolation, a 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 murderer, and allows him who has 
caused us years of moral sufferings to 
escape with a few moments of physical 
pain?"

"Yes, I know," said Franz, "that 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 
society, attacked by the death of a 
person, avenges 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 
them, or offering him even the 
insufficient means of vengeance, of 
which we have just spoken? Are there 
not crimes for which the impalement of 
the Turks, the augers of the Persians, 
the stake and the brand of the Iroquois 
Indians, are inadequate tortures, and 
which are unpunished by society? Answer 
me, do not these crimes exist?"

"Yes," answered Franz; "and it is to 
punish them that duelling is tolerated."

"Ah, duelling," cried the count; "a 
pleasant manner, upon my soul, of 
arriving at your end when that end is 
vengeance! A man has carried off your 
mistress, a man has seduced your wife, 
a 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 creatures, 
an existence of misery and infamy; and 
you think you are avenged because you 
send a ball through the head, or pass a 
sword through the breast, of that man 
who has planted madness in your brain, 
and despair in your heart. And 
remember, moreover, that it is often he 
who comes off victorious from the 
strife, absolved of all crime in the 
eyes of the world. No, no," continued 
the count, "had I to avenge myself, it 
is not thus I would take revenge."

"Then you disapprove of duelling? You 
would not fight a duel?" asked Albert 
in his turn, astonished at this strange 
theory.

"Oh, yes," replied the count; 
"understand me, I would fight a duel 
for a trifle, for an insult, for a 
blow; and the more so that, thanks to 
my skill in all bodily exercises, and 
the indifference to danger I have 
gradually acquired, I should be almost 
certain to kill my man. Oh, I would 
fight for such a cause; but in return 
for a slow, profound, eternal torture, 
I would give back the same, were it 
possible; an eye for an eye, a tooth 
for a tooth, as 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 count, "with 
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 spoke, a servant 
opened one of the four doors of the 
apartment, saying -- "Al suo commodo!" 
The two young men arose and entered the 
breakfast-room.

During the meal, which was excellent, 
and admirably served, Franz looked 
repeatedly at Albert, in 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 him, or whether the events 
which Franz knew of had had their 
effect on him alone, he remarked that 
his companion did not pay the least 
regard to them, but on the contrary ate 
like a man who for the last four or 
five months had been condemned to 
partake of Italian cookery -- that is, 
the worst in the world. As for the 
count, he just touched the dishes; he 
seemed to fulfil the duties of a host 
by sitting down with his guests, and 
awaited their departure to be served 
with some strange or more delicate 
food. This brought back to Franz, in 
spite of himself, the 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 
Franz, "but 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 Franz, "I 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 
Franz, "and 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 executed, but I think I was 
rather intoxicated that day, for I had 
quitted college the same morning, and 
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 Franz, "since 
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 servant, opening 
the door, "a man in the dress of a 
penitent wishes to speak to you."

"Ah, yes" returned the count, "I 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 salon, while the 
count, again apologizing, left by 
another door. Albert, who was a great 
smoker, and who had considered it no 
small sacrifice to be deprived of the 
cigars of the Cafe de Paris, approached 
the table, and uttered a cry of joy at 
perceiving some veritable puros.

"Well," asked Franz, "what think you of 
the Count of Monte Cristo?"

"What do I think?" said Albert, 
evidently surprised at such a question 
from his companion; "I think he is a 
delightful fellow, who does the honors 
of his table admirably; who has 
travelled much, read much, is, like 
Brutus, of the Stoic school, and 
moreover," added he, sending a volume 
of smoke up towards the ceiling, "that 
he has excellent cigars." Such was 
Albert's opinion of the count, and as 
Franz well knew that Albert professed 
never to form an opinion except upon 
long reflection, he 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 Paris, and my clothes 
are of a most antiquated cut; the count 
takes me for a provincial. The first 
opportunity you have, undeceive him, I 
beg, and 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 Popolo, 
and we will go another; and, if you 
please, by the Corso. Take some more of 
these cigars, M. de Morcerf."

"With all my heart," returned Albert; 
"Italian cigars are horrible. When you 
come to Paris, I 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 Frattina, which led directly 
between the Fiano and Rospoli palaces, 
Franz's attention was directed towards 
the windows of that last palace, for 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 count, 
with as much indifference as he could 
assume. "The three last," returned he, 
with a negligence evidently unaffected, 
for 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 damask, and the centre one 
with white damask and a red cross. The 
man in the mantle had kept his promise 
to the Transteverin, and 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 placed, 
scaffolds were raised, and windows were 
hung with flags. The masks could not 
appear; the carriages could not move 
about; but the masks were visible 
behind the windows, the carriages, and 
the doors.

Franz, Albert, and the count continued 
to descend the Corso. As they 
approached the Piazza del Popolo, the 
crowd became more dense, and above the 
heads of the multitude two objects were 
visible: the obelisk, surmounted by a 
cross, which marks the centre of the 
square, and in front of the obelisk, at 
the point where the three streets, del 
Babuino, del Corso, and di Ripetta, 
meet, the two uprights of the scaffold, 
between which glittered the curved 
knife of the mandaia. At the corner of 
the street they met the count's 
steward, who was awaiting his master. 
The window, let at an exorbitant price, 
which the count had doubtless wished to 
conceal from his guests, was on the 
second floor of the great palace, 
situated between the Via del Babuino 
and the Monte Pincio. It consisted, as 
we have said, of a small dressing-room, 
opening into a bedroom, and, when the 
door of communication was shut, the 
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 brought, as they will be 
the most worn this year; and they are 
most suitable, on account of the 
confetti (sweetmeats), as they do not 
show the flour."

Franz heard the words of the count but 
imperfectly, and 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 presented, and by the 
terrible instrument that was in the 
centre. It was the first time Franz had 
ever seen a guillotine, -- we say 
guillotine, because the Roman mandaia 
is formed on almost the same model as 
the French instrument.* The knife, 
which is shaped like a crescent, that 
cuts with the convex side, falls from a 
less height, and that is all the 
difference. Two men, seated on the 
movable plank on which the victim is 
laid, were eating their breakfasts, 
while waiting for the criminal. Their 
repast consisted apparently of bread 
and sausages. One of them lifted the 
plank, took out a flask of wine, drank 
some, and 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 Popolo, had passed 
the night, each accompanied by two 
priests, in a chapel closed by a 
grating, before which were two 
sentinels, who were relieved at 
intervals. A double line of carbineers, 
placed on each side of the door of the 
church, reached to the scaffold, and 
formed a circle around it, leaving a 
path about ten feet wide, and 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 shoulders, 
and 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 sea, 
that 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 yet, instead of the 
silence and the solemnity demanded by 
the occasion, laughter and jests arose 
from the crowd. It was evident that the 
execution was, in the eyes of the 
people, only the commencement of the 
Carnival. Suddenly the tumult ceased, 
as if by magic, and the doors of the 
church opened. A brotherhood of 
penitents, clothed from head to foot in 
robes of gray sackcloth, with holes for 
the eyes, and holding in their hands 
lighted tapers, appeared first; the 
chief marched at the head. Behind the 
penitents came a man of vast stature 
and proportions. He was naked, with the 
exception of cloth drawers at the left 
side of which hung a large knife in a 
sheath, and he bore on his right 
shoulder a heavy iron sledge-hammer. 
This man was the executioner. He had, 
moreover, sandals bound on his feet by 
cords. Behind the executioner came, in 
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 step, doubtless aware of what 
awaited him. Andrea was supported by 
two priests. Each of them, from 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 shirt, and mechanically cast 
away his cigar, although he had not 
half smoked it. The count alone seemed 
unmoved -- nay, more, a slight color 
seemed striving to rise in his pale 
cheeks. His nostrils dilated like those 
of a wild beast that scents its prey, 
and his lips, half opened, disclosed 
his white teeth, small and sharp like 
those of a jackal. And yet his features 
wore an expression of smiling 
tenderness, such as Franz had never 
before witnessed in them; his black 
eyes especially were full of kindness 
and pity. However, the two culprits 
advanced, and 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 erect, and seemed on the watch 
to see on which side his liberator 
would appear. Andrea was short and fat; 
his visage, marked with brutal cruelty, 
did not indicate age; he might be 
thirty. In prison he had suffered his 
beard to grow; his head fell on his 
shoulder, his legs bent beneath him, 
and 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 count, 
"that 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 mandaia, a priest arrived 
in some haste, forced his way through 
the soldiers, and, advancing to the 
chief of the brotherhood, gave him a 
folded paper. The piercing eye of 
Peppino had noticed all. The chief took 
the paper, unfolded it, and, raising 
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 Peppino, called 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 Andrea, who 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 
beast, and striving desperately to 
break the cords that bound his hands. 
The executioner made a sign, and his 
two assistants leaped from the scaffold 
and seized him. "What is going on?" 
asked Franz of the count; for, as all 
the talk was in the Roman dialect, he 
had not perfectly understood it. "Do 
you not see?" returned the count, "that 
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 
count, extending his clinched hands 
towards the crowd, "how 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 
ground, and he kept exclaiming, "He 
ought to die! -- he shall die! -- I 
will not die alone!"

"Look, look," cried the count. seizing 
the young men's hands -- "look, for on 
my soul it is curious. Here is a man 
who had resigned himself to his fate, 
who was going to the scaffold to die -- 
like a coward, it is true, but he was 
about to die without resistance. Do you 
know what gave him strength? -- do you 
know what consoled him? It was, that 
another partook of his punishment -- 
that another partook of his anguish -- 
that another was to die before him. 
Lead two sheep to the butcher's, two 
oxen to the slaughterhouse, and make 
one of them understand that his 
companion will not die; the sheep will 
bleat for pleasure, the ox will bellow 
with joy. But man -- man, whom God 
created in his own image -- man, upon 
whom God has laid his first, his sole 
commandment, to love his neighbor -- 
man, to 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 nature, this king 
of the creation!" And the count burst 
into a laugh; a terrible laugh, that 
showed he must have suffered horribly 
to be able thus to laugh. However, the 
struggle still continued, and it was 
dreadful to witness. The people all 
took part against Andrea, and twenty 
thousand voices cried, "Put him to 
death! put him to death!" Franz sprang 
back, but the count seized his arm, and 
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 scaffold, and there, in spite of 
his struggles, his bites, and his 
cries, had forced him to his knees. 
During this time the executioner had 
raised his mace, and signed to them to 
get out of the way; the criminal strove 
to rise, but, ere he had time, the mace 
fell on his left temple. A dull and 
heavy sound was heard, and the man 
dropped like an ox on his face, and 
then turned over on his back. The 
executioner let fall his mace, drew his 
knife, and with one stroke opened his 
throat, and 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 longer, but sank, half fainting, 
into a seat. Albert, with his eyes 
closed, was standing grasping the 
window-curtains. The count was erect 
and triumphant, like the Avenging 
Angel! 

 Chapter 36 The Carnival at Rome.

When Franz recovered his senses, he saw 
Albert drinking a glass of water, of 
which, to judge from his pallor, he 
stood in great need; and the count, who 
was assuming his masquerade costume. He 
glanced mechanically towards the square 
-- the scene was wholly changed; 
scaffold, executioners, victims, all 
had disappeared; only the people 
remained, full of noise and excitement. 
The bell of Monte Citorio, which only 
sounds on the pope's decease and the 
opening of the Carnival, was ringing a 
joyous peal. "Well," asked he of the 
count, "what has, then, happened?"

"Nothing," replied the count; "only, as 
you see, the Carnival his commenced. 
Make haste and dress yourself."

"In fact," said Franz, "this 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 Franz, "do 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 
spectacle, it 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 
life, and the real visage is disclosed. 
It must be allowed that Andrea was not 
very handsome, the hideous scoundrel! 
Come, dress yourselves, gentlemen, 
dress yourselves." Franz felt it would 
be ridiculous not to follow his two 
companions' example. He assumed his 
costume, and fastened on the mask that 
scarcely equalled the pallor of his own 
face. Their toilet finished, they 
descended; the carriage awaited them at 
the door, filled 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 death, the Piazza 
del Popolo presented a spectacle of gay 
and noisy mirth and revelry. A crowd of 
masks flowed in from all sides, 
emerging from the doors, descending 
from the windows. From every street and 
every corner drove carriages filled 
with clowns, harlequins, dominoes, 
mummers, pantomimists, Transteverins, 
knights, and peasants, screaming, 
fighting, gesticulating, throwing eggs 
filled with flour, confetti, nosegays, 
attacking, with their sarcasms and 
their missiles, friends and foes, 
companions and strangers, 
indiscriminately, and no one took 
offence, or did anything but laugh. 
Franz and Albert were like men who, to 
drive away a violent sorrow, have 
recourse to wine, and who, as they 
drink and become intoxicated, feel a 
thick veil drawn between the past and 
the present. They saw, or rather 
continued to see, the image of what 
they had witnessed; but little by 
little the general vertigo seized them, 
and they felt themselves obliged to 
take part in the noise and confusion. A 
handful of confetti that came from a 
neighboring carriage, and which, while 
it covered Morcerf and his two 
companions with dust, pricked his neck 
and that portion of his face uncovered 
by his mask like a hundred pins, 
incited him to join in the general 
combat, in which all the masks around 
him were engaged. He rose in his turn, 
and seizing handfuls of confetti and 
sweetmeats, with which the carriage was 
filled, cast them with all the force 
and skill he was master of.

The strife had fairly begun, and the 
recollection of what they had seen half 
an hour before was gradually effaced 
from the young men's minds, so much 
were they occupied by the gay and 
glittering procession they now beheld. 
As for the Count of Monte Cristo, he 
had never for an instant shown any 
appearance of having been moved. 
Imagine the large and splendid Corso, 
bordered from one end to the other with 
lofty palaces, with their balconies 
hung with carpets, and their windows 
with flags. At these balconies are 
three hundred thousand spectators -- 
Romans, Italians, strangers from all 
parts of the world, the united 
aristocracy of birth, wealth, and 
genius. Lovely women, yielding to the 
influence of the scene, bend over their 
balconies, or lean from their windows, 
and shower down confetti, which 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 about, buffaloes' heads 
below from men's shoulders, dogs walk 
on their hind legs; in the midst of all 
this a mask is lifted, and, as in 
Callot's Temptation of St. Anthony, a 
lovely face is exhibited, which we 
would fain follow, but 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 carriage, and requested 
permission to withdraw, leaving the 
vehicle at their disposal. Franz looked 
up -- they were opposite the Rospoli 
Palace. At the centre window, the one 
hung with white damask with a red 
cross, was 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 scene, you know you have places 
at my windows. In the meantime, dispose 
of my coachman, my carriage, and my 
servants." We have forgotten to 
mention, that the count's coachman was 
attired in a bear-skin, exactly 
resembling Odry's in "The Bear and the 
Pasha;" and the two footmen behind were 
dressed up as green monkeys, with 
spring masks, with which they made 
grimaces at every one who passed. Franz 
thanked the count for his attention. As 
for Albert, he was busily occupied 
throwing bouquets at a carriage full of 
Roman peasants that was passing near 
him. Unfortunately for him, the line of 
carriages moved on again, and while he 
descended the Piazza del Popolo, the 
other ascended towards the Palazzo di 
Venezia. "Ah, my 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 he, half laughing, half 
serious; "I hope the Carnival will not 
pass without some amends in one shape 
or the other."

But, in spite of Albert's hope, the day 
passed unmarked by any incident, 
excepting two or three encounters with 
the carriage full of Roman peasants. At 
one of these encounters, accidentally 
or purposely, Albert'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; for, as the carriage 
of the two friends passed her, she 
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-hole, and 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 Franz, laughing, 
"in token of your ingratitude." The 
jest, however, soon appeared to become 
earnest; for when Albert and Franz 
again encountered the carriage with the 
contadini, the one who had thrown the 
violets to Albert, clapped her hands 
when she beheld them in his 
button-hole. "Bravo, bravo," 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 clock, as they say 
at the opera-balls. If the fair peasant 
wishes to carry matters any further, we 
shall find her, or rather, she 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 Franz, "you 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 
resolved, doubtless, to carry the 
intrigue no farther; for although the 
young men made several more turns, they 
did not again see the calash, which 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 windows, hung with yellow damask, 
were 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 line, and in a second all the 
carriages had disappeared. Franz and 
Albert were opposite the Via delle 
Maratte; the coachman, without saying a 
word, drove 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 count, and 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 himself, and that it had gone at 
four o'clock to fetch him from the 
Rospoli Palace. The count had, 
moreover, charged 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 answer, he 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' 
pardon, but 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 Franz, "leave 
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 
remember, Signor 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 apartments, and 
proceeded to disencumber themselves of 
their costumes. Albert, as he took off 
his dress, carefully 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 Franz, in 
spite of the dislike he seemed to have 
taken to the count, to confess that the 
advantage was not on Pastrini's side. 
During dessert, the servant inquired at 
what time they wished for the carriage. 
Albert and Franz looked at each other, 
fearing 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 
courtesy, and ordered the horses to be 
harnessed, while they substituted 
evening dress for that which they had 
on, and which was somewhat the worse 
for the numerous combats they had 
sustained. This precaution taken, they 
went to the theatre, and installed 
themselves in the count's box. During 
the first act, the Countess G---- 
entered. Her first look was at the box 
where she had seen the count the 
previous evening, so 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; and, availing himself of one 
of the privileges of the spectators of 
the Italian theatres, who use their 
boxes to hold receptions, the two 
friends went to pay their respects to 
the countess. Scarcely had they 
entered, when she motioned to Franz to 
assume the seat of honor. Albert, in 
his turn, sat behind.

"Well," said she, hardly giving Franz 
time to sit down, "it 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 Franz, "I 
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 countess, who 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 countess, smiling, 
"I 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 
Albert, "it 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 Albert, "he 
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 entered, and, according 
to custom, Franz gave up his seat to 
him. This circumstance had, moreover, 
the 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 
morning, at nine o'clock, he entered 
Franz's room, followed by a tailor, who 
had eight or ten Roman peasant costumes 
on his arm; they selected two exactly 
alike, and charged the tailor to sew on 
each of their hats about twenty yards 
of ribbon, and 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 velvet, silk stockings 
with clocks, shoes with buckles, and 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 hat, placed 
coquettishly on one side, let fall on 
his shoulder a stream of ribbons, Franz 
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 
robes, but are they not now hideous 
with their blue frocks buttoned up to 
the chin, and their red caps, which 
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 he, "although 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 decline, but 
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 them, conversing on all subjects 
with the greatest ease. He was, as we 
have already said, perfectly 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 sciences, and 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 
frankly, and he received their excuses 
with the air of a man who appreciated 
their delicacy. Albert was charmed with 
the count's manners, and 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 all, for the fair peasants 
had appeared in a most elegant carriage 
the preceding evening, and 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 
disguises, which gave them a more 
ridiculous appearance than ever, and 
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 turn, a 
bunch of fresh violets, thrown from a 
carriage filled with harlequins, 
indicated to Albert that, like himself 
and his friend, the peasants had 
changed their costume, also; and 
whether it was the result of chance, or 
whether a similar feeling had possessed 
them both, while he had changed his 
costume they had assumed his.

Albert placed the fresh bouquet in his 
button-hole, but he kept the faded one 
in his hand; and when he again met the 
calash, he raised it to his lips, an 
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 one, 
perhaps 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 evening, on 
his return, Franz found a letter from 
the embassy, informing him that he 
would have the honor of being received 
by his holiness the next day. At each 
previous visit he had made to Rome, he 
had solicited and obtained the same 
favor; and incited as much by a 
religious feeling as by gratitude, he 
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 Carnival, for in 
spite of his condescension and touching 
kindness, one 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 
thoughts, to 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 costume, 
and as she passed she raised her mask. 
She was charming. Franz congratulated 
Albert, who received his 
congratulations with the air of a man 
conscious that they are merited. He had 
recognized by certain unmistakable 
signs, that his fair incognita belonged 
to the aristocracy. He had made up his 
mind to write to her the next day. 
Franz remarked, while he gave these 
details, that Albert seemed to have 
something to ask of him, but that he 
was unwilling to ask it. He insisted 
upon it, declaring beforehand that he 
was willing to make any sacrifice the 
other wished. Albert let himself be 
pressed just as long as friendship 
required, and 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 as, during three 
years that he had travelled all over 
Italy, a similar piece of good fortune 
had never fallen to his share, Franz 
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 
repass, holding an enormous bouquet, 
which 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 joy, but 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 him, and that 
he should pass the next day in writing 
and looking over his journal. Albert 
was not deceived, for 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 letter, and read: --

Tuesday evening, at seven o'clock, 
descend from your carriage opposite the 
Via dei Pontefici, and follow the Roman 
peasant who snatches your torch from 
you. When you arrive at the first step 
of the church of San Giacomo, be sure 
to fasten a knot of rose-colored 
ribbons to the shoulder of your 
harlequin costume, in order that you 
may be recognized. Until then you will 
not see me.

Constancy and Discretion.

"Well," asked he, when Franz had 
finished, "what 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 care, Albert," said 
Franz. "All the nobility of Rome will 
be present, and if your fair incognita 
belong to the higher class of society, 
she 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 was, in 
reality, charming, and 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's, but also return to 
Florence alone."

"If my unknown be as amiable as she is 
beautiful," said Albert, "I 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 himself, free to 
recommence the discussion after dinner. 
After dinner, the 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 evening, and had only returned 
an hour since. He was charming. Whether 
he kept a watch over himself, or 
whether by accident he did not sound 
the acrimonious chords that in other 
circumstances had been touched, he 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 side, 
however great Franz's desire was to 
allude to their former interview, the 
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 consequence, he 
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 that, as he was going to the 
Palli Theatre, the 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 pallor, which had so 
forcibly struck him at their first 
meeting. He could not refrain from 
admiring the severe beauty of his 
features, the only defect, or rather 
the principal quality of which was the 
pallor. Truly, a Byronic hero! Franz 
could not, we will not say see him, but 
even think of him without imagining his 
stern head upon Manfred's shoulders, or 
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 soul, and 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. And, to 
complete his resemblance with the 
fantastic heroes of the English poet, 
the 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 
that, with his eccentric character, his 
characteristic face, and his colossal 
fortune, he 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 
is, not in listening to the music, but 
in paying visits and conversing. The 
Countess G---- wished to revive the 
subject of the count, but Franz 
announced he had something far newer to 
tell her, and, in spite of Albert's 
demonstrations of false modesty, he 
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 travellers, the comtess 
did not manifest the least incredulity, 
but congratulated Albert on his 
success. They promised, upon 
separating, to meet at the Duke of 
Bracciano's ball, to 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 came, the last and 
most tumultuous day of the Carnival. On 
Tuesday, the theatres open at ten 
o'clock in the morning, as Lent begins 
after eight at night. On Tuesday, all 
those who through want of money, time, 
or enthusiasm, have not been to see the 
Carnival before, mingle in the gayety, 
and contribute to the noise and 
excitement. From two o'clock till five 
Franz and Albert followed in the fete, 
exchanging handfuls of confetti with 
the other carriages and the 
pedestrians, who crowded amongst the 
horses' feet and the carriage wheels 
without a single accident, a single 
dispute, or a single fight. The fetes 
are veritable pleasure days to the 
Italians. The author of this history, 
who has resided five or six years in 
Italy, does 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 confusion, Franz 
wore his peasant's costume.

As the day advanced, the tumult became 
greater. There was not on the pavement, 
in the carriages, at the windows, a 
single tongue that was silent, a single 
arm that did not move. It was a human 
storm, made up of a thunder of cries, 
and a hail of sweetmeats, flowers, 
eggs, oranges, and nosegays. At three 
o'clock the sound of fireworks, let 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 
races, like 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 
ranks, and retired by the adjacent 
streets. All these evolutions are 
executed with an inconceivable address 
and marvellous rapidity, without 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 
abreast, galloped up the Corso in order 
to clear it for the barberi. When the 
detachment arrived at the Piazza di 
Venezia, a second volley of fireworks 
was discharged, to announce that the 
street was clear. Almost instantly, in 
the midst of a tremendous and general 
outcry, seven or eight horses, excited 
by the shouts of three hundred thousand 
spectators, passed by like lightning. 
Then the Castle of Saint Angelo fired 
three cannon to indicate that number 
three had won. Immediately, without any 
other signal, the carriages moved on, 
flowing on towards the Corso, down all 
the streets, like torrents pent up for 
a while, which 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 moccoletti, are candles 
which vary in size from the pascal 
taper to the rushlight, and which give 
to each actor in the great final scene 
of the Carnival two very serious 
problems to grapple with, -- first, how 
to keep his own moccoletto alight; and 
secondly, how to extinguish the 
moccoletti of others. The moccoletto is 
like life: man has found but one means 
of transmitting it, and that one comes 
from God. But he has discovered a 
thousand means of taking it away, and 
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 bellows, 
the monstrous extinguishers, the 
superhuman fans. Every one hastened to 
purchase moccoletti -- Franz and Albert 
among the rest.

The night was rapidly approaching; and 
already, at the cry of "Moccoletti!" 
repeated by the shrill voices of a 
thousand vendors, two or three stars 
began to burn among the crowd. It was a 
signal. At the end of ten minutes fifty 
thousand lights glittered, descending 
from the Palazzo di Venezia to the 
Piazza del Popolo, and 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 
prince, the Transteverin the citizen, 
every one blowing, extinguishing, 
relighting. Had old AEolus appeared at 
this moment, he would have been 
proclaimed king of the moccoli, and 
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 out, bearing his 
moccoletto in his hand. Two or three 
masks strove to knock his moccoletto 
out of his hand; but Albert, a 
first-rate pugilist, sent them rolling 
in the street, one after the other, and 
continued his course towards the church 
of San Giacomo. The steps were crowded 
with masks, who strove to snatch each 
other's torches. Franz followed Albert 
with his eyes, and saw him mount the 
first step. Instantly a mask, wearing 
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; but, without doubt, nothing 
hostile passed, for he saw Albert 
disappear arm-in-arm with the peasant 
girl. He watched them pass through the 
crowd for some time, but at length he 
lost sight of them in the Via Macello. 
Suddenly the bell that gives the signal 
for the end of the carnival sounded, 
and 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 life, perhaps, Franz had 
never before experienced so sudden an 
impression, so rapid a transition from 
gayety to sadness, as in this moment. 
It seemed as though Rome, under the 
magic breath of some demon of the 
night, had suddenly changed into a vast 
tomb. By a chance, which added yet more 
to the intensity of the darkness, the 
moon, which was on the wane, did not 
rise until eleven o'clock, and 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 carriage, or rather 
the count's, stopped before the Hotel 
de Londres. Dinner was waiting, but as 
Albert had told him that he should not 
return so soon, Franz sat down without 
him. Signor Pastrini, who had been 
accustomed to see them dine together, 
inquired into the cause of his absence, 
but Franz merely replied that Albert 
had received on the previous evening an 
invitation which he had accepted. The 
sudden extinction of the moccoletti, 
the darkness which had replaced the 
light, and the silence which had 
succeeded the turmoil, had left in 
Franz's mind a certain depression which 
was not free from uneasiness. He 
therefore dined very silently, in spite 
of the officious attention of his host, 
who 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 
carriage, therefore, for 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 himself, and went out, telling 
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 Rome, the 
duchess, one of the last heiresses of 
the Colonnas, does its honors with the 
most consummate grace, and thus their 
fetes have a European celebrity. Franz 
and Albert had brought to Rome letters 
of introduction to them, and 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 moccoli, 
and 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 duke, "this 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 arrived, and was 
leaning on the arm of Signor Torlonia, 
the duke's brother.

"I think, on the contrary, that it is a 
charming night," replied the countess, 
"and those who are here will complain 
of but one thing -- its too rapid 
flight."

"I am not speaking," said the duke with 
a smile, "of 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 countess, "who 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 Franz, "and 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; "you, who 
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 moreover, what 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 here, duke," said 
Franz, "and desired them to come and 
inform me of his return."

"Ah," replied the duke, "here I think, 
is one of my servants who is seeking 
you."

The duke was not mistaken; when he saw 
Franz, the 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 Franz, "go 
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 Bracciano, 
which is on one side in the Corso, and 
on the other in the Square of the Holy 
Apostles, is hardly ten minutes' walk 
from the Hotel de Londres. As he came 
near the hotel, Franz 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 him, but, to his 
extreme astonishment, the stranger 
first addressed him. "What wants your 
excellency of me?" inquired the man, 
retreating a step or two, as if to keep 
on his guard.

"Are not you the person who brought me 
a letter," inquired Franz, "from 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 Franz, 
taking 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 
messenger, with 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 replied, 
"and 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 alarmed, and 
this had only made him the more anxious 
to read Albert's letter; and so he went 
instantly towards the waxlight, and 
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 this, have the kindness to 
take the letter of credit from my 
pocket-book, which you will find in the 
square drawer of the secretary; add 
your own to it, if it be not 
sufficient. Run to Torlonia, draw 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 more, 
relying 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 written, in a 
strange hand, the following in Italian: 
--

Se alle sei della mattina le quattro 
mile piastre non sono nelle mie mani, 
alla 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 Franz, who now understood 
the objection of the messenger to 
coming up into the apartment; the 
street was safer for him. Albert, then, 
had fallen into the hands of the famous 
bandit chief, in whose existence he had 
for so long a time refused to believe. 
There was no time to lose. He hastened 
to open the secretary, and found the 
pocket-book in the drawer, and in it 
the letter of credit. There were in all 
six thousand piastres, but of these six 
thousand Albert had already expended 
three thousand. As to Franz, he had no 
letter of credit, as he lived at 
Florence, and had only come to Rome to 
pass seven or eight days; he had 
brought but a hundred louis, and 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. True, he 
might in such a case rely on the 
kindness of Signor Torlonia. He was, 
therefore, about to return to the 
Palazzo Bracciano without loss of time, 
when suddenly a luminous idea crossed 
his mind. He remembered the Count of 
Monte Cristo. Franz was about to ring 
for Signor Pastrini, when 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 desired, and returning 
five minutes after, he said, -- "The 
count awaits your excellency." Franz 
went along the corridor, and a servant 
introduced him to the count. He was in 
a small room which Franz had not yet 
seen, and 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 count, 
looking at Franz with the earnestness 
usual to him; "and what may it be?"

"Are we alone?"

"Yes," replied the count, going to the 
door, and returning. Franz gave him 
Albert's letter. "Read that," he said. 
The count read it.

"Well, well!" said he.

"Did you see the postscript?"

"I did, indeed.

"`Se alle sei della mattina le quattro 
mile piastre non sono nelle mie mani, 
alla 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 secretary, opened 
it, and pulling out a drawer filled 
with gold, said 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 man, looking 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 count, with 
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 brows, and 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 street, and whistled in a 
peculiar manner. The man in the mantle 
quitted the wall, and advanced into the 
middle of the street. "Salite!" said 
the count, in the same tone in which he 
would have given an order to his 
servant. The messenger obeyed without 
the least hesitation, but rather with 
alacrity, and, mounting the steps at a 
bound, entered the hotel; five seconds 
afterwards he was at the door of the 
room. "Ah, it is you, Peppino," 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 
have, then, not forgotten that I saved 
your life; that is strange, for it is a 
week ago."

"No, excellency; and never shall I 
forget it," returned Peppino, with 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. "Oh, you 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 French, 
"it 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 Franz, "was 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 Franz, "the 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 count, turning towards 
Franz, "it 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 count, "it 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 rang, and 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 heard, and 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 time, but the delay may cause your 
friend to pass an uneasy night, and 
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 downstairs, 
accompanied by Peppino. At the door 
they found the carriage. Ali was on the 
box, in whom Franz recognized the dumb 
slave of the grotto of Monte Cristo. 
Franz and the count got into the 
carriage. Peppino placed himself beside 
Ali, and they set off at a rapid pace. 
Ali had received his instructions, and 
went down the Corso, crossed the Campo 
Vaccino, went up the Strada San 
Gregorio, and reached the gates of St. 
Sebastian. Then the porter raised some 
difficulties, but the Count of Monte 
Cristo produced a permit from the 
governor of Rome, allowing him to leave 
or enter the city at any hour of the 
day or night; the portcullis was 
therefore raised, the porter had a 
louis for his trouble, and they went on 
their way. The road which the carriage 
now traversed was the ancient Appian 
Way, and bordered with tombs. From time 
to time, by the light of the moon, 
which began to rise, Franz imagined 
that he saw something like a sentinel 
appear at various points among the 
ruins, and suddenly retreat into the 
darkness on a signal from Peppino. A 
short time before they reached the 
Baths of Caracalla the carriage 
stopped, Peppino opened the door, and 
the count and Franz alighted.

"In ten minutes," said the count to his 
companion, "we shall be there."

He then took Peppino aside, gave him an 
order in a low voice, and Peppino went 
away, taking 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 herbage, which 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 path, 
which, at the distance of a hundred 
paces, led 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 Peppino, and the other a 
bandit on the lookout. Franz and the 
count advanced, and the bandit saluted 
them. "Your excellency," said Peppino, 
addressing the count, "if you will 
follow me, the 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 
rocks, by which a man could scarcely 
pass. Peppino glided first into this 
crevice; after they got along a few 
paces the passage widened. Peppino 
passed, lighted his torch, and 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 descent, 
enlarging as they proceeded; still 
Franz and the count were compelled to 
advance in a stooping posture, and were 
scarcely able to proceed abreast of one 
another. They went on a hundred and 
fifty paces in this way, and then were 
stopped by, "Who comes there?" At the 
same time they saw the reflection of a 
torch on a carbine barrel.

"A friend!" responded Peppino; and, 
advancing alone towards the sentry, he 
said a few words to him in a low tone; 
and then he, like the first, saluted 
the nocturnal visitors, making a sign 
that they might proceed.

Behind the sentinel was a staircase 
with twenty steps. Franz and the count 
descended these, and found themselves 
in a mortuary chamber. Five corridors 
diverged like the rays of a star, and 
the walls, dug into niches, which were 
arranged one above the other in the 
shape of coffins, showed that they were 
at last in the catacombs. Down one of 
the corridors, whose extent it was 
impossible to determine, rays 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 obeyed, and 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 torch, 
was visible along the wall. They 
advanced silently, the count guiding 
Franz as if he had the singular faculty 
of seeing in the dark. Franz himself, 
however, saw his way more plainly in 
proportion as he went on towards the 
light, which 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 
were, and on the other into a large 
square chamber, entirely surrounded by 
niches similar to those of which we 
have spoken. In the midst of this 
chamber were four stones, which had 
formerly served as an altar, as was 
evident from the cross which still 
surmounted them. A lamp, placed at the 
base of a pillar, lighted 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 column, and was 
reading with his back turned to the 
arcades, through the openings of which 
the newcomers contemplated him. This 
was the chief of the band, Luigi Vampa. 
Around him, and in groups, according to 
their fancy, lying in their mantles, or 
with their backs against a sort of 
stone bench, which went all round the 
columbarium, were to be seen twenty 
brigands or more, each having his 
carbine within reach. At the other end, 
silent, scarcely visible, and like a 
shadow, was a sentinel, who was walking 
up and down before a grotto, which 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 tableau, he raised his 
finger to his lips, to warn him to be 
silent, and, ascending the three steps 
which led to the corridor of the 
columbarium, entered the chamber by the 
middle arcade, and advanced towards 
Vampa, who was so intent on the book 
before him that he did not hear the 
noise of his footsteps.

"Who comes there?" cried the sentinel, 
who was less abstracted, and who saw by 
the lamp-light a shadow approaching his 
chief. At this challenge, Vampa rose 
quickly, drawing at the same moment a 
pistol from his girdle. In a moment all 
the bandits were on their feet, and 
twenty carbines were levelled at the 
count. "Well," said he in a voice 
perfectly calm, and no muscle of his 
countenance disturbed, "well, my dear 
Vampa, it appears to me that you 
receive a friend with a great deal of 
ceremony."

"Ground arms," exclaimed the chief, 
with an imperative sign of the hand, 
while with the other he took off his 
hat respectfully; then, turning to the 
singular personage who had caused this 
scene, he said, "Your 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 
count, "and 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 bandit, with 
the air of a man who, having committed 
an error, is anxious to repair it.

"Was it not agreed," asked the count, 
"that 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 count, in 
a tone that made Franz shudder, "this 
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 count, taking the letter from 
his pocket, "you 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 chief, 
turning towards his men, who all 
retreated before his look. "Why have 
you caused me thus to fail in my word 
towards a gentleman like the count, who 
has all our lives in his hands? By 
heavens, if I thought one of you knew 
that the young gentleman was the friend 
of his excellency, I would blow his 
brains out with my own hand!"

"Well," said the count, turning towards 
Franz, "I 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 added, turning 
to Franz, "here is Luigi Vampa, who 
will himself express to you his deep 
regret at the mistake he has 
committed." Franz approached, the chief 
advancing several steps to meet him. 
"Welcome among us, your excellency," he 
said to him; "you heard what the count 
just said, and also my reply; let me 
add that I would not for the four 
thousand piastres at which I had fixed 
your friend's ransom, that this had 
happened."

"But," said Franz, looking round him 
uneasily, "where is the Viscount? -- I 
do not see him."

"Nothing has happened to him, I hope," 
said the count frowningly.

"The prisoner is there," replied Vampa, 
pointing to the hollow space in front 
of which the bandit was on guard, "and 
I will go myself and tell him he is 
free." The chief went towards the place 
he had pointed out as Albert's prison, 
and Franz and the count followed him. 
"What is the prisoner doing?" inquired 
Vampa of the sentinel.

"Ma foi, captain," replied the sentry, 
"I 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 chief, who drew 
back a bolt and opened a door. Then, by 
the gleam of a lamp, similar to that 
which lighted the columbarium, Albert 
was to be seen wrapped up in a cloak 
which one of the bandits had lent him, 
lying 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 Albert, he 
touched him on the shoulder, saying, 
"Will your excellency please to 
awaken?" Albert stretched out his arms, 
rubbed his eyelids, and opened his 
eyes. "Oh," said he, "is it you, 
captain? 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 Albert, with 
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 you, my dear Franz, whose 
devotion and friendship are thus 
displayed?"

"No, not I," replied Franz, "but our 
neighbor, the Count of Monte Cristo."

"Oh. my dear count." said Albert gayly, 
arranging his cravat and wristbands, 
"you 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 Count, who shuddered as he gave his 
own, but who nevertheless did give it. 
The bandit gazed on this scene with 
amazement; he was evidently accustomed 
to see his prisoners tremble before 
him, and yet here was one whose gay 
temperament was not for a moment 
altered; as for Franz, he 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 
haste, we shall yet have time to finish 
the night at Torlonia's. You may 
conclude your interrupted galop, so 
that you will owe no ill-will to Signor 
Luigi, who has, indeed, 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 Albert, "is 
there any formality to fulfil before I 
take leave of your excellency?"

"None, sir," replied the bandit, "you 
are as free as air."

"Well, then, a happy and merry life to 
you. Come, gentlemen, come."

And Albert, followed by Franz and the 
count, descended the staircase, crossed 
the square chamber, where stood all the 
bandits, hat 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 herdsman, 
he preceded his guests, not as a 
servant who performs an act of 
civility, but like a king who precedes 
ambassadors. On reaching the door, he 
bowed. "And now, your excellency," 
added he, "allow me to repeat my 
apologies, and I hope you will not 
entertain any resentment at what has 
occurred."

"No, my dear Vampa," replied the count; 
"besides, you compensate for your 
mistakes in so gentlemanly a way, that 
one almost feels obliged to you for 
having committed them."

"Gentlemen," added the chief, turning 
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 first, then 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 
bandit, "it is my favorite work."

"Well, are you coming?" asked Albert.

"Yes," replied Franz, "here I am," and 
he, in his turn, left the caves. They 
advanced to the plain. "Ah, your 
pardon," said Albert, turning round; 
"will you allow me, captain?" And he 
lighted his cigar at Vampa's torch. 
"Now, my 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 Ali, 
and 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 event, but as they entered 
together, all 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 promise, but here is my 
friend, whose character for veracity 
you well know, and he will assure you 
the delay arose from no fault of mine." 
And as at this moment the orchestra 
gave the signal for the waltz, Albert 
put his arm round the waist of the 
countess, and 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 been, in some sort, forced to give 
his hand to Albert. 

 Chapter 38 The Compact.

The first words that Albert uttered to 
his friend, on the following morning, 
contained a request that Franz would 
accompany him on a visit to the count; 
true, the 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. Franz, who seemed 
attracted by some invisible influence 
towards the count, in which terror was 
strangely mingled, felt an extreme 
reluctance to permit his friend to be 
exposed alone to the singular 
fascination that this mysterious 
personage seemed to exercise over him, 
and therefore made no objection to 
Albert's request, but at once 
accompanied him to the desired spot, 
and, after a short delay, the 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 me, as long as I 
live, I 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 count, with a 
smile, "you 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 Albert, "I 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 
count, "your 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 Albert, 
"that 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 Paris, in consequence of 
a treaty of marriage (my dear Franz, do 
not smile, I beg of you) with a family 
of high standing, and connected with 
the very cream of Parisian society."

"Connected by marriage, you mean," said 
Franz, laughingly.

"Well, never mind how it is," answered 
Albert, "it 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 count, 
"and 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 
Cristo, and while the Count was 
speaking the young man watched him 
closely, hoping to read something of 
his purpose in his face, but his 
countenance was inscrutable especially 
when, as in the present case, it was 
veiled in a sphinx-like smile. "But 
tell me now, count," 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 lives, but which, like a house 
built on the sand, is liable to be 
blown over by the first puff of wind?"

"I pledge you my honor," returned the 
count, "that 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 
Albert, "you 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 count, 
and extending his hand towards a 
calendar, suspended near the 
chimney-piece, he said, "to-day is the 
21st of February;" and drawing out his 
watch, added, "it 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 count, 
as, taking out his tablets, he wrote 
down "No. 27, Rue du Helder, 21st May, 
half-past ten in the morning."

"Now then," said the count, returning 
his tablets to his pocket, "make 
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 count, addressing 
Franz, "do 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 
count, holding out a hand to each of 
the young men, "allow 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 him, and 
unconsciously he shuddered at its 
touch, for 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. 
27, in the Rue du Helder, on the 21st 
of May, at half-past ten in the 
morning, and 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 count, quitted 
the room. "What is the matter?" asked 
Albert of Franz, when they had returned 
to their own apartments; "you seem more 
than commonly thoughtful."

"I will confess to you, Albert," 
replied Franz, "the 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 Albert, 
"what 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 Franz, "that is the way I 
feel."

"Listen to me, Franz," said Albert; "I 
am glad that the occasion has presented 
itself for saying this to you, for I 
have noticed how cold you are in your 
bearing towards the count, while he, on 
the other hand, has 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 
there, and the two Corsican bandits 
with them. He dwelt with considerable 
force and energy on the almost magical 
hospitality he had received from the 
count, and the magnificence of his 
entertainment in the grotto of the 
"Thousand and One Nights." He 
recounted, with circumstantial 
exactitude, all the particulars of the 
supper, the hashish, the statues, the 
dream, and how, at his awakening, there 
remained no proof or trace of all these 
events, save the small yacht, seen 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 Vampa, in which the count had 
promised to obtain the release of the 
bandit Peppino, -- an engagement which, 
as our readers are aware, he most 
faithfully fulfilled. At last he 
arrived at the adventure of the 
preceding night, and the embarrassment 
in which he found himself placed by not 
having sufficient cash by six or seven 
hundred piastres to make up the sum 
required, and 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 
travelling, and, being rich, possesses 
a vessel of his own. Go but to 
Portsmouth or Southampton, and you will 
find the harbors crowded with the 
yachts belonging to such of the English 
as can afford the expense, and 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 
months, while you have manfully 
resisted its effects for as many years, 
-- and obtaining a bed on which it is 
possible to slumber, Monte Cristo has 
furnished for himself a temporary abode 
where you first found him; but, to 
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 
capital, he has wisely enough purchased 
the island, and taken its name. Just 
ask yourself, my good fellow, whether 
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 Franz, "the 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 Franz, "I 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 
laugh, "that no prophet is honored in 
his own country."

"Talking of countries," replied Franz, 
"of 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 Albert, "when, 
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 that, contrary to the usual 
state of affairs in discussions between 
the young men, the effective arguments 
were all on Albert's side.

"Well," said Franz with a sigh, "do 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 prize, given, as you are 
aware, to whoever shall be proved to 
have most materially advanced the 
interests of virtue and humanity. If my 
vote and interest can obtain it for 
him, I will readily give him the one 
and promise the other. And now, my dear 
Franz, let us talk of something else. 
Come, shall we take our luncheon, and 
then pay a last visit to St. Peter's?" 
Franz silently assented; and the 
following afternoon, at half-past five 
o'clock, the young men parted. Albert 
de Morcerf to return to Paris, and 
Franz d'Epinay to pass a fortnight at 
Venice. But, ere he entered his 
travelling carriage, Albert, fearing 
that his expected guest might forget 
the engagement he had entered into, 
placed in the care of a waiter at the 
hotel a card to be delivered to the 
Count of Monte Cristo, on which, 
beneath the name of Vicomte Albert de 
Morcerf, he had written in pencil -- 
"27, Rue du Helder, on the 21st May, 
half-past ten A.M." 

 Chapter 39 The Guests.

In the house in the Rue du Helder, 
where Albert had invited the Count of 
Monte Cristo, everything 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 
court, and directly opposite another 
building, in which were the servants' 
apartments. Two windows only of the 
pavilion faced the street; three other 
windows looked into the court, and two 
at the back into the garden. Between 
the court and the garden, built in the 
heavy style of the imperial 
architecture, was the large and 
fashionable dwelling of the Count and 
Countess of Morcerf. A high wall 
surrounded the whole of the hotel, 
surmounted at intervals by vases filled 
with flowers, and broken in the centre 
by a large gate of gilded iron, which 
served as the carriage entrance. A 
small door, close to the lodge of the 
concierge, gave 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 son, and yet aware that a 
young man of the viscount's age 
required the full exercise of his 
liberty, had chosen this habitation for 
Albert. There were not lacking, 
however, evidences of what we may call 
the intelligent egoism of a youth who 
is charmed with the indolent, careless 
life of an only son, and who lives as 
it were in a gilded cage. By means of 
the two windows looking into the 
street, Albert could see all that 
passed; the sight of what is going on 
is necessary to young men, who always 
want to see the world traverse their 
horizon, even if that horizon is only a 
public thoroughfare. Then, should 
anything appear to merit a more minute 
examination, Albert de Morcerf could 
follow up his researches by means of a 
small gate, similar to that close to 
the concierge's door, and which merits 
a particular description. It was a 
little entrance that seemed never to 
have been opened since the house was 
built, so 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 
concierge, from whose vigilance and 
jurisdiction it was free, and, like 
that famous portal in the "Arabian 
Nights," opening at the "Sesame" of Ali 
Baba, it 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 corridor, with which the 
door communicated, and which formed the 
ante-chamber, was, on the right, 
Albert's breakfast-room, looking into 
the court, and on the left the salon, 
looking into the garden. Shrubs and 
creeping plants covered the windows, 
and hid from the garden and court these 
two apartments, the only rooms into 
which, as they were on the 
ground-floor, the prying eyes of the 
curious could penetrate. On the floor 
above were similar rooms, with the 
addition of a third, formed out of the 
ante-chamber; these three rooms were a 
salon, a boudoir, and a bedroom. The 
salon down-stairs was only an Algerian 
divan, for 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 atelier, which had 
been increased in size by pulling down 
the partitions -- a pandemonium, in 
which the artist and the dandy strove 
for preeminence. There were collected 
and piled up all Albert's successive 
caprices, hunting-horns, bass-viols, 
flutes -- a whole orchestra, for Albert 
had had not a taste but a fancy for 
music; easels, palettes, brushes, 
pencils -- for music had been succeeded 
by painting; foils, boxing-gloves, 
broadswords, and single-sticks -- for, 
following the example of the 
fashionable young men of the time, 
Albert de Morcerf cultivated, with far 
more perseverance than music and 
drawing, the three arts that complete a 
dandy's education, i.e., fencing, 
boxing, and single-stick; and it was 
here that he received Grisier, Cook, 
and Charles Leboucher. The rest of the 
furniture of this privileged apartment 
consisted of old cabinets, filled with 
Chinese porcelain and Japanese vases, 
Lucca della Robbia faience, and Palissy 
platters; of old arm-chairs, in which 
perhaps had sat Henry IV. or Sully, 
Louis XIII. or Richelieu -- for two of 
these arm-chairs, adorned with a carved 
shield, on which were engraved the 
fleur-de-lis of France on an azure 
field evidently came from the Louvre, 
or, at least, some royal residence. 
Over these dark and sombre chairs were 
thrown splendid stuffs, dyed beneath 
Persia's sun, or woven by the fingers 
of the women of Calcutta or of 
Chandernagor. What these stuffs did 
there, it was impossible to say; they 
awaited, while gratifying the eyes, a 
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 rosewood, but holding the 
potentialities of an orchestra in its 
narrow and sonorous cavity, and 
groaning beneath the weight of the 
chefs-d'oeuvre of Beethoven, Weber, 
Mozart, Haydn, Gretry, and Porpora. On 
the walls, over the doors, on the 
ceiling, were swords, daggers, Malay 
creeses, maces, battle-axes; gilded, 
damasked, and inlaid suits of armor; 
dried plants, minerals, and stuffed 
birds, their flame-colored wings 
outspread in motionless flight, and 
their beaks forever open. This was 
Albert's favorite lounging place.

However, the morning of the 
appointment, the young man had 
established himself in the small salon 
down-stairs. There, on a table, 
surrounded at some distance by a large 
and luxurious divan, every species of 
tobacco known, -- from the yellow 
tobacco of Petersburg to the black of 
Sinai, and so on along the scale from 
Maryland and Porto-Rico, to Latakia, -- 
was exposed in pots of crackled 
earthenware of which the Dutch are so 
fond; beside them, in boxes of fragrant 
wood, were ranged, according to their 
size and quality, pueros, regalias, 
havanas, and manillas; and, in an open 
cabinet, a collection of German pipes, 
of chibouques, with their amber 
mouth-pieces ornamented with coral, and 
of narghiles, with their long tubes of 
morocco, awaiting the caprice or the 
sympathy of the smokers. Albert had 
himself presided at the arrangement, 
or, rather, the symmetrical 
derangement, which, after coffee, the 
guests at a breakfast of modern days 
love to contemplate through the vapor 
that escapes from their mouths, and 
ascends in long and fanciful wreaths to 
the ceiling. At a quarter to ten, a 
valet entered; he composed, with a 
little groom named John, and who only 
spoke English, all Albert's 
establishment, although the cook of the 
hotel was always at his service, and on 
great occasions the count's chasseur 
also. This valet, whose name was 
Germain, and who enjoyed the entire 
confidence of his young master, held in 
one hand a number of papers, and in the 
other a packet of letters, which he 
gave to Albert. Albert glanced 
carelessly at the different missives, 
selected two written in a small and 
delicate hand, and enclosed in scented 
envelopes, opened 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 divan, tore 
off the cover of two or three of the 
papers, looked at the theatre 
announcements, made a face seeing they 
gave an opera, and not a ballet; hunted 
vainly amongst the advertisements for a 
new tooth-powder of which he had heard, 
and threw down, one after the other, 
the three leading papers of Paris, 
muttering, "These papers become more 
and more stupid every day." A moment 
after, a carriage stopped before the 
door, and the servant announced M. 
Lucien Debray. A tall young man, with 
light hair, clear gray eyes, and thin 
and compressed lips, dressed in a blue 
coat with beautifully carved gold 
buttons, a white neckcloth, and a 
tortoiseshell eye-glass suspended by a 
silken thread, and which, by an effort 
of the superciliary and zygomatic 
muscles, he fixed in his eye, entered, 
with a half-official air, without 
smiling or speaking. "Good-morning, 
Lucien, good-morning," said Albert; 
"your punctuality really alarms me. 
What do I say? punctuality! You, whom I 
expected last, you arrive at five 
minutes to ten, when the time fixed was 
half-past! Has the ministry resigned?"

"No, my dear fellow," returned the 
young man, seating himself on the 
divan; "reassure yourself; we are 
tottering always, but we never fall, 
and I begin to believe that we shall 
pass into a state of immobility, and 
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 Debray, carelessly.

"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 
Albert, ringing the bell, while Lucien 
turned over, with his gold-mounted 
cane, the papers that lay on the table. 
"Germain, a glass of sherry and a 
biscuit. In the meantime. my dear 
Lucien, here are cigars -- contraband, 
of course -- try them, and 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 Albert, "you 
astonish me by the extent of your 
knowledge. Take a cigar."

"Really, my dear Albert," replied 
Lucien, lighting 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 Morcerf, with a 
slight degree of irony in his voice, 
"if 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 contempt, "do I ever 
read the papers?"

"Then you will dispute the more."

"M. Beauchamp," announced the servant. 
"Come in, come in," said Albert, rising 
and advancing to meet the young man. 
"Here is Debray, who detests you 
without reading you, so he says."

"He is quite right," returned 
Beauchamp; "for I criticise him without 
knowing what he does. Good-day, 
commander!"

"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 party, 
my 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 
you, for 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 
Beauchamp, "it 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 Debray, "do 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 
Beauchamp, laughing, "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 Beauchamp, "the 
minister quotes Beranger, what shall we 
come to next?"

"M. de Chateau-Renaud -- M. Maximilian 
Morrel," said the servant, announcing 
two fresh guests.

"Now, then, to breakfast," said 
Beauchamp; "for, if I remember, you 
told me you only expected two persons, 
Albert."

"Morrel," muttered Albert -- "Morrel -- 
who is he?" But before he had finished, 
M. de Chateau-Renaud, a handsome young 
man of thirty, gentleman all over, -- 
that is, with 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 Morrel, captain of Spahis, 
my friend; and what is more -- however 
the man speaks for himself ---my 
preserver. Salute my hero, viscount." 
And he stepped on one side to give 
place to a young man of refined and 
dignified bearing, with large and open 
brow, piercing eyes, and black 
mustache, whom our readers have already 
seen at Marseilles, under circumstances 
sufficiently dramatic not to be 
forgotten. A rich uniform, half French, 
half Oriental, set off his graceful and 
stalwart figure, and 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 courtesy, "the 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 that, if you 
should ever be in a similar 
predicament, he 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 
philosophical, on my word, Morrel. It 
is very well for you, who risk your 
life every day, but for me, who 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 Beauchamp, 
"Chateau-Renaud can tell us while we 
eat our breakfast."

"Gentlemen," said Morcerf, "it 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 seconds, whom I 
had chosen to arrange an affair, forced 
me to break the arm of one of my best 
friends, one whom you all know -- poor 
Franz d'Epinay."

"Ah, true," said Debray, "you 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 Debray, "you 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 foot, for my horse was 
dead. Six Arabs came up, full gallop, 
to cut off my head. I shot two with my 
double-barrelled gun, and two more with 
my pistols, but I was then disarmed, 
and two were still left; one seized me 
by the hair (that is why I now wear it 
so short, for no one knows what may 
happen), the other swung a yataghan, 
and I already felt the cold steel on my 
neck, when this gentleman whom you see 
here charged them, shot the one who 
held me by the hair, and 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 Morrel, smiling, "it 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 sword, he rescued me from the cold, 
not by sharing his cloak with me, like 
St. Martin, but 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 Morcerf, laughing.

"No, the sacrifice," returned 
Chateau-Renaud; "ask Debray if he would 
sacrifice his English steed for a 
stranger?"

"Not for a stranger," said Debray, "but 
for a friend I might, perhaps."

"I divined that you would become mine, 
count," replied Morrel; "besides, as I 
had the honor to tell you, heroism or 
not, sacrifice or not, that 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-Renaud, "is 
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 Debray, taking 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; "parbleu, 
do you think I cannot be saved as well 
as any one else, and that there are 
only Arabs who cut off heads? Our 
breakfast is a philanthropic one, and 
we shall have at table -- at least, I 
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 once, but so vaguely that I 
venture to put it a second time."

"Really," said Albert, "I 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 Debray, 
"confess 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 
Morcerf, "for 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 Cristo" 
said Debray.

"I do not think so," added 
Chateau-Renaud, with 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. "Well, he of 
whom I speak is the lord and master of 
this grain of sand, of 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 mad, or are you 
laughing at us?"

"And I also," said Morrel thoughtfully, 
"have heard something like this from an 
old sailor named Penelon."

"Ah," cried Albert, "it 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 Debray, "what 
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 Albert, "but 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 newspapers, here 
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 forehead, livid complexion, 
black beard, sharp and white teeth, 
politeness unexceptionable."

"Just so, Lucien," returned Morcerf; 
"you have described him feature for 
feature. Yes, keen and cutting 
politeness. This man has often made me 
shudder; and one day that we were 
viewing an execution, I thought I 
should faint, more from hearing the 
cold and calm manner in which he spoke 
of every description of torture, than 
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 Parisians, 
idlers on the Boulevard de Gand or the 
Bois de Boulogne, and think of this 
man, it 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 fellow, always 
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 striking, 
Albert."

"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 
announced, "His 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 street, or steps in the 
ante-chamber; the door had itself 
opened noiselessly. The count appeared, 
dressed with the greatest simplicity, 
but the most fastidious dandy could 
have found nothing to cavil at in his 
toilet. Every article of dress -- hat, 
coat, gloves, and 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 
advanced, smiling, into the centre of 
the room, and approached Albert, who 
hastened towards him holding out his 
hand in a ceremonial manner. 
"Punctuality," said Monte Cristo, "is 
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 Albert, "I 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 count, who had 
hitherto saluted every one with 
courtesy, but at the same time with 
coldness and formality, stepped a pace 
forward, and a slight tinge of red 
colored his pale cheeks. "You wear the 
uniform of the new French conquerors, 
monsieur," said he; "it is a handsome 
uniform." No one could have said what 
caused the count's voice to vibrate so 
deeply, and what made his eye flash, 
which was in general so clear, 
lustrous, and limpid when he pleased. 
"You have never seen our Africans, 
count?" said Albert. "Never," replied 
the count, who was by this time 
perfectly master of himself again.

"Well, beneath 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 Albert, "of 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 look, changing color, and 
slight trembling of the eyelid that 
show emotion. "Ah, you have a noble 
heart," said the count; "so much the 
better." This exclamation, which 
corresponded to the count's own thought 
rather than to what Albert was saying, 
surprised everybody, and especially 
Morrel, who looked at Monte Cristo with 
wonder. But, at the same time, the 
intonation was so soft that, however 
strange the speech might seem, it was 
impossible to be offended at it. "Why 
should he doubt it?" said Beauchamp to 
Chateau-Renaud.

"In reality," replied the latter, who, 
with his aristocratic glance and his 
knowledge of the world, had penetrated 
at once all that was penetrable in 
Monte Cristo, "Albert 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 Albert, "Germain 
informs me that breakfast is ready. My 
dear count, allow me to show you the 
way." They passed silently into the 
breakfast-room, and 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 stranger, and a stranger to such a 
degree, that this is the first time I 
have ever been at Paris. The French way 
of living is utterly unknown to me, and 
up to the present time I have followed 
the Eastern customs, which are entirely 
in contrast to the Parisian. I beg you, 
therefore, to excuse if you find 
anything in me too Turkish, too 
Italian, or too Arabian. Now, then, let 
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 
was, it may be remembered, a most 
temperate guest. Albert remarked this, 
expressing his fears lest, at the 
outset, the Parisian mode of life 
should displease the traveller in the 
most essential point. "My dear count," 
said he, "I fear one thing, and that 
is, that 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 point, and have 
had some dishes prepared expressly."

"Did you know me better," returned the 
count, smiling, "you 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 guests, "you 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 Nimes, so that I was 
somewhat late, and 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; "but, 
unfortunately, a recipe excellent for a 
man like myself would be very dangerous 
applied to an army, which 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 opium, which I fetched 
myself from Canton in order to have it 
pure, and the best hashish which grows 
in the East -- that is, between the 
Tigris and the Euphrates. These two 
ingredients are mixed in equal 
proportions, and formed into pills. Ten 
minutes after one is taken, the effect 
is produced. Ask Baron Franz d'Epinay; 
I think he tasted them one day."

"Yes," replied Morcerf, "he said 
something about it to me."

"But," said Beauchamp, who, as became a 
journalist, was very incredulous, "you 
always carry this drug about you?"

"Always."

"Would it be an indiscretion to ask to 
see those precious pills?" continued 
Beauchamp, hoping to take him at a 
disadvantage.

"No, monsieur," returned the count; and 
he drew from his pocket a marvellous 
casket, formed 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 emerald, which would 
contain about a dozen. The casket 
passed around the table, but 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 chemist, and prepare my pills 
myself."

"This is a magnificent emerald, and the 
largest I have ever seen," said 
Chateau-Renaud, "although my mother has 
some remarkable family jewels."

"I had three similar ones," returned 
Monte Cristo. "I gave one to the 
Sultan, who mounted it in his sabre; 
another to our holy father the Pope, 
who had it set in his tiara, opposite 
to one nearly as large, though not so 
fine, given by the Emperor Napoleon to 
his predecessor, Pius VII. I kept the 
third for myself, and I had it hollowed 
out, which reduced its value, but 
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 truth, or that 
he was mad. However, the 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 count, smiling.

"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 
truths, when these truths do not form a 
part of their daily existence. For 
example, here is Debray who reads, and 
Beauchamp who prints, every 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;' `ten, fifteen, or twenty 
thieves, have been arrested in a cafe 
on the Boulevard du Temple, or in the 
Thermes de Julien,' -- and yet these 
same men deny the existence of the 
bandits in the Maremma, the Campagna di 
Romana, or the Pontine Marshes. Tell 
them yourself that I was taken by 
bandits, and that without your generous 
intercession I should now have been 
sleeping in the Catacombs of St. 
Sebastian, instead 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 manner, and whom you have 
forgotten. Pray speak of it, for I 
shall not only, I trust, relate the 
little I do know, but also a great deal 
I do not know."

"It seems to me," returned the count, 
smiling, "that 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 Morcerf, "for 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 child, and only a shepherd, I 
gave him a few gold pieces for showing 
me my way, and he, in order to repay 
me, gave me a poniard, the hilt of 
which he had carved with his own hand, 
and which you may have seen in my 
collection of arms. In after years, 
whether he had forgotten this 
interchange of presents, which ought to 
have cemented our friendship, or 
whether he did not recollect me, he 
sought to take me, but, on the 
contrary, it was I who captured him and 
a dozen of his band. I might have 
handed him over to Roman justice, which 
is somewhat expeditious, and 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 Beauchamp, laughing. 
"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 you, who are socialists, and 
vaunt humanity and your duty to your 
neighbor, but I never seek to protect a 
society which does not protect me, and 
which I will even say, generally 
occupies itself about me only to injure 
me; and thus by giving them a low place 
in my esteem, and preserving a 
neutrality towards them, it 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. Bravo, 
count, 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 
Cristo, who could not help looking at 
Morrel with so much intensity, that two 
or three times the young man had been 
unable to sustain that clear and 
piercing glance.

"Why, it seems to me," replied Morrel, 
"that 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 Morcerf, "you 
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 
Cristo, "I 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 
disappointed, accustomed 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 
Mortmartre, our Himalaya is Mount 
Valerien, our Great Desert is the plain 
of Grenelle, where they are now boring 
an artesian well to water the caravans. 
We have plenty of thieves, though not 
so many as is said; but these thieves 
stand in far more dread of a policeman 
than a lord. France is so prosaic, and 
Paris so civilized a city, that you 
will not find in its eighty-five 
departments -- I say eighty-five, 
because I do not include Corsica -- you 
will not find, then, in these 
eighty-five departments a single hill 
on which there is not a telegraph, or a 
grotto in which the commissary of 
police has not put up a gaslamp. There 
is but one service I can render you, 
and for that I place myself entirely at 
your orders, that is, to present, or 
make my friends present, you 
everywhere; besides, you have no need 
of any one to introduce you -- with 
your name, and your fortune, and your 
talent" (Monte Cristo bowed with a 
somewhat ironical smile) "you can 
present yourself everywhere, and be 
well received. I can be useful in one 
way only -- if knowledge of Parisian 
habits, of the means of rendering 
yourself comfortable, or of the 
bazaars, can assist, you may depend 
upon me to find you a fitting dwelling 
here. I do not dare offer to share my 
apartments with you, as I shared yours 
at Rome -- I, who do not profess 
egotism, but am yet egotist par 
excellence; for, except myself, these 
rooms would not hold a shadow more, 
unless that shadow were feminine."

"Ah," said the count, "that 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 Morcerf, "my 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 me, is not her father Baron 
Danglars?"

"Yes," returned Morcerf, "a 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 Liberal, he 
negotiated a loan of six millions for 
Charles X., in 1829, who made him a 
baron and chevalier of the Legion of 
Honor; so that he wears the ribbon, 
not, as you would think, in his 
waistcoat-pocket, but at his 
button-hole."

"Ah," interrupted Morcerf, laughing, 
"Beauchamp, Beauchamp, keep that for 
the Corsaire or the Charivari, but 
spare my future father-in-law before 
me." Then, turning to Monte Cristo, 
"You 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 acquaintance, for I have a credit 
opened with him by the house of Richard 
& Blount, of London, Arstein & Eskeles 
of Vienna, and Thomson & French at 
Rome." As he pronounced the two last 
names, the count glanced at Maximilian 
Morrel. If the stranger expected to 
produce an effect on Morrel, he was not 
mistaken -- Maximilian started as if he 
had been electrified. "Thomson & 
French," said he; "do you know this 
house, monsieur?"

"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 Morcerf, "a 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 hotel, with a court 
and garden."

"Bah, Chateau-Renaud," returned Debray, 
"you 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 there, 
and 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 man, 
smiling; "on the contrary, I have one, 
but I expected the count would be 
tempted by one of the brilliant 
proposals made him, yet as he has not 
replied to any of them, I will venture 
to offer him a suite of apartments in a 
charming hotel, in the Pompadour style, 
that my sister has inhabited for a 
year, in 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 loved, who 
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 be, 
together with my brother-in-law 
Emmanuel, at the disposition of the 
Count, whenever he thinks fit to honor 
us."

"One minute," cried Albert, without 
giving Monte Cristo the time to reply. 
"Take care, you are going to immure a 
traveller, Sinbad the Sailor, a man who 
comes to see Paris; you are going to 
make a patriarch of him."

"Oh, no," said Morrel; "my sister is 
five and twenty, my brother-in-law is 
thirty, they are gay, young, and happy. 
Besides, the count will be in his own 
house, and 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 gentlemen, 
since my habitation is already 
prepared."

"What," cried Morcerf; "you are, then, 
going 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 Albert, in 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 house, and a 
mute to furnish it? -- he will do 
everything wrong."

"Undeceive yourself, monsieur," replied 
Monte Cristo; "I am quite sure, that, 
on the contrary, he will choose 
everything as I wish. He knows my 
tastes, my caprices, my wants. He has 
been here a week, with the instinct of 
a hound, hunting by himself. He will 
arrange everything for me. He knew, 
that 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.

"What, do 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 carriage, and 
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 playing, but every word he 
uttered had such an air of simplicity, 
that it was impossible to suppose what 
he said was false -- besides, why 
should he tell a falsehood? "We must 
content ourselves, then," said 
Beauchamp, "with 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 
Cristo, "my 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 count, "not 
more than another. I am sure he answers 
my purpose, knows no impossibility, and 
so I keep him."

"Then," continued Chateau-Renaud, 
"since 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 opera, 
the Vaudeville, or the Varietes; I 
purchased mine at Constantinople; it 
cost me more, but I have nothing to 
fear."

"But you forget," replied Debray, 
laughing, "that 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 
Beauchamp, "or 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 me, 
and when they leave me will no longer 
have any need of me or any one else; it 
is for that reason, perhaps, that they 
do not quit me." They had long since 
passed to dessert and cigars.

"My dear Albert," said Debray, rising, 
"it 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 room, Debray called out 
loudly, "My carriage."

"Bravo," said Beauchamp to Albert; "I 
shall not go to the Chamber, but I have 
something better to offer my readers 
than a speech of M. Danglars."

"For heaven's sake, Beauchamp," 
returned Morcerf, "do 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 coming, Morrel?"

"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-Renaud, leaving 
Monte Cristo alone with Morcerf. 

 Chapter 41 The Presentation.

When Albert found himself alone with 
Monte Cristo, "My dear count," said he, 
"allow 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 atelier, which was, as we have 
said, his favorite apartment. Monte 
Cristo quickly appreciated all that 
Albert had collected here -- old 
cabinets, Japanese porcelain, Oriental 
stuffs, Venetian glass, arms from all 
parts of the world -- everything was 
familiar to him; and at the first 
glance he recognized their date, their 
country, and their origin. Morcerf had 
expected he should be the guide; on the 
contrary, it was he who, under the 
count's guidance, followed a course of 
archaeology, mineralogy, and 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 trees, their lowing oxen 
and marvellous skies; Delacroix's 
Arabian cavaliers, with their long 
white burnouses, their shining belts, 
their damasked arms, their horses, who 
tore each other with their teeth while 
their riders contended fiercely with 
their maces; aquarelles of Boulanger, 
representing Notre Dame de Paris with 
that vigor that makes the artist the 
rival of the poet; there were paintings 
by Diaz, who makes his flowers more 
beautiful than flowers, his suns more 
brilliant than the sun; designs by 
Decamp, as vividly colored as those of 
Salvator Rosa, but more poetic; pastels 
by Giraud and Muller, representing 
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 
mistress, viscount," said the count in 
a perfectly calm tone; "and this 
costume -- a ball costume, doubtless -- 
becomes her admirably."

"Ah, monsieur," returned Albert, "I 
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 Albert, 
as if to seek a hidden meaning in his 
words, but it was evident the young man 
uttered them in the simplicity of his 
heart. "Now," said Albert, "that you 
have seen all my treasures, allow me to 
offer them to you, unworthy as they 
are. Consider yourself as in your own 
house, and to put yourself still more 
at your ease, pray accompany me to the 
apartments of M. de Morcerf, he whom I 
wrote from Rome an account of the 
services you rendered me, and 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 
know, and family scenes have not much 
effect on Sinbad the Sailor, who has 
seen so many others. However, accept 
what I propose to you as an initiation 
into Parisian life -- a life of 
politeness, visiting, and 
introductions." Monte Cristo bowed 
without making any answer; he accepted 
the offer without enthusiasm and 
without regret, as one of those 
conventions of society which every 
gentleman looks upon as a duty. Albert 
summoned his servant, and 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-chamber, above the door was 
visible a shield, which, by its rich 
ornaments and its harmony with the rest 
of the furniture, indicated the 
importance the owner attached to this 
blazon. Monte Cristo stopped and 
examined it attentively.

"Azure seven merlets, or, placed 
bender," said he. "These are, 
doubtless, your family arms? Except the 
knowledge of blazons, that enables me 
to decipher them, I am very ignorant of 
heraldry -- I, a count of a fresh 
creation, fabricated in Tuscany by the 
aid of a commandery of St. Stephen, and 
who would not have taken the trouble 
had I not been told that when you 
travel much it is necessary. Besides, 
you must have something on the panels 
of your carriage, to escape being 
searched by the custom-house officers. 
Excuse my putting such a question to 
you."

"It is not indiscreet," returned 
Morcerf, with the simplicity of 
conviction. "You have guessed rightly. 
These are our arms, that is, those of 
my father, but they are, as you see, 
joined to another shield, which has 
gules, a silver tower, which are my 
mother's. By her side I am Spanish, but 
the family of Morcerf is French, and, I 
have heard, one 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 
cross, in honor of their mission, or 
birds of passage, in sign of the long 
voyage they were about to undertake, 
and which they hoped to accomplish on 
the wings of faith. One of your 
ancestors had joined the Crusades, and 
supposing it to be only that of St. 
Louis, that makes you mount to the 
thirteenth century, which is tolerably 
ancient."

"It is possible," said Morcerf; "my 
father has in his study a genealogical 
tree which will tell you all that, and 
on which I made commentaries that would 
have greatly edified Hozier and 
Jaucourt. At present I no longer think 
of it, and 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 Morcerf, "you 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 words, apparently uttered with 
the greatest politeness. Morcerf 
thanked him with a smile, and pushed 
open the door above which were his 
arms, and which, as we have said, 
opened into the salon. In the most 
conspicuous part of the salon was 
another portrait. It was that of a man, 
from five to eight and thirty, in the 
uniform of a general officer, wearing 
the double epaulet of heavy bullion, 
that indicates superior rank, the 
ribbon of the Legion of Honor around 
his neck, which showed he was a 
commander, and on the right breast, the 
star of a grand officer of the order of 
the Saviour, and 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 Spain, or, what was just the 
same thing as regarded decorations, had 
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 other, when 
another door opened, and he found 
himself opposite to the Count of 
Morcerf in person. He was a man of 
forty to forty-five years, but he 
seemed at least fifty, and his black 
mustache and eyebrows contrasted 
strangely with his almost white hair, 
which was cut short, in the military 
fashion. He was dressed in plain 
clothes, and wore at his button-hole 
the ribbons of the different orders to 
which he belonged. He entered with a 
tolerably dignified step, and 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 ground, and his eyes 
on the Count of Morcerf. "Father," said 
the young man, "I 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 smile, "and monsieur has 
rendered our house, in preserving its 
only heir, a service which insures him 
our eternal gratitude." As he said 
these words, the count of Morcerf 
pointed to a chair, while he seated 
himself in another opposite the window.

Monte Cristo, in taking the seat 
Morcerf offered him, placed himself in 
such a manner as to remain concealed in 
the shadow of the large velvet 
curtains, and 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 
will, however, be in the salon in ten 
minutes."

"It is a great honor to me," returned 
Monte Cristo, "to 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 Morcerf, reddening 
slightly, "I 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 fortune, 
you have consented to gain your 
promotion as an obscure soldier, step 
by step -- this is uncommon; then 
become general, peer of France, 
commander of the Legion of Honor, you 
consent to again commence a second 
apprenticeship, without any other hope 
or any other desire than that of one 
day becoming useful to your 
fellow-creatures; this, indeed, is 
praiseworthy, -- nay, more, it 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 
species, and we pursue the same lines, 
and often the same uselessness, all our 
lives."

"But, monsieur," said the Count of 
Morcerf, "for 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 smile, 
"it 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 stranger, "I ever heard made 
concerning myself."

"You have been free to choose your 
career," observed the Count of Morcerf, 
with 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 manners, "I 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 
hastily, and saw Madame de Morcerf at 
the entrance of the salon, at the door 
opposite to that by which her husband 
had entered, pale and motionless; when 
Monte Cristo turned round, she let fall 
her arm, which for some unknown reason 
had been resting on the gilded 
door-post. She had been there some 
moments, and had heard the last words 
of the visitor. The latter rose and 
bowed to the countess, who inclined 
herself without speaking. "Ah, good 
heavens, madame," said the count, "are 
you ill, or is it the heat of the room 
that affects you?"

"Are you ill, mother?" cried the 
viscount, springing towards her.

She thanked them both with a smile. 
"No," returned she, "but I feel some 
emotion on seeing, for the first time, 
the 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 
son, and for this I bless you. Now, I 
thank you for the pleasure you give me 
in thus affording me the opportunity of 
thanking you as I have blessed you, 
from the bottom of my heart." The count 
bowed again, but 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 man, to spare a 
father's feelings, or a mother's 
sensibility, is not to do a good 
action, but a simple deed of humanity." 
At these words, uttered with the most 
exquisite sweetness and politeness, 
Madame de Morcerf replied. "It is very 
fortunate for my son, monsieur, that he 
found such a friend, and I thank God 
that things are thus." And Mercedes 
raised her fine eyes to heaven with so 
fervent an expression of gratitude, 
that 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 
him, and I pray you to do so also. The 
sitting commences at two; it is now 
three, and I am to speak."

"Go, then, and monsieur and I will 
strive our best to forget your 
absence," replied the countess, with 
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 answering, but the gesture 
might pass for assent. "I will not 
detain you, monsieur," continued the 
countess; "I would not have our 
gratitude become indiscreet or 
importunate."

"My dear Count," said Albert, "I 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 him, and 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 that, like Nero, he was in search 
of the impossible, and nothing 
astonished him, but wishing to judge 
with his own eyes how far the count's 
orders had been executed, he 
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-chamber, a footman, the 
same who at Rome had brought the 
count's card to the two young men, and 
announced his visit, sprang into the 
vestibule, and 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 had, 
to the knowledge of all the lions of 
Paris, refused on the previous day 
seven hundred guineas. "Monsieur," said 
the count to Albert, "I do not ask you 
to accompany me to my house, as I can 
only show you a habitation fitted up in 
a hurry, and I have, as you know, a 
reputation to keep up as regards not 
being taken by surprise. Give me, 
therefore, one 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 Cristo, putting his foot 
on the velvet-lined steps of his 
splendid carriage, "and that will be 
worth something to me among the 
ladies." As he spoke, he sprang into 
the vehicle, the door was closed, but 
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 mother, he found her in the 
boudoir reclining in a large velvet 
arm-chair, the whole room so obscure 
that only the shining spangle, fastened 
here and there to the drapery, and the 
angles of the gilded frames of the 
pictures, showed with some degree of 
brightness in the gloom. Albert could 
not see the face of the countess, as it 
was covered with a thin veil she had 
put on her head, and which fell over 
her features in misty folds, but it 
seemed to him as though her voice had 
altered. He could distinguish amid the 
perfumes of the roses and heliotropes 
in the flower-stands, the sharp and 
fragrant odor of volatile salts, and he 
noticed in one of the chased cups on 
the mantle-piece the countess's 
smelling-bottle, taken from its 
shagreen case, and exclaimed in a tone 
of uneasiness, as he entered, -- "My 
dear mother, have 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 Albert, 
putting his hand to the bell, "they 
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 entered, summoned 
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 
ensued, which lasted until all the 
flowers were removed. "What is this 
name of Monte Cristo?" inquired the 
countess, when the servant had taken 
away the last vase of flowers, "is 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 
countess, "at 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; 
then, after a slight hesitation, she 
resumed, -- "You have seen, my dear 
Albert -- I ask the question as a 
mother -- you have seen M. de Monte 
Cristo in his house, you are 
quicksighted, have much knowledge of 
the world, more tact than is usual at 
your age, do 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 countess, 
reflecting.

"Never mind," continued the young man, 
"smuggler 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 Mercedes, evidently 
attaching great importance to this 
question.

"Thirty-five or thirty-six, mother."

"So young, -- it is impossible," said 
Mercedes, replying 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 
head, as 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 you, Albert, 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 countess, 
"and 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; "nay, more, he 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 friends, and 
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 man, 
standing up before her, gazed upon her 
with that filial affection which is so 
tender and endearing with children 
whose mothers are still young and 
handsome. Then, after seeing her eyes 
closed, and hearing her breathe gently, 
he believed she had dropped asleep, and 
left the apartment on tiptoe, closing 
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 
here, and I measure his effect by an 
infallible thermometer. My mother has 
noticed him, and he must therefore, 
perforce, be remarkable." He went down 
to the stables, not without some slight 
annoyance, when 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 
equal, and 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 distance, but these six 
minutes were sufficient to induce 
twenty young men who knew the price of 
the equipage they had been unable to 
purchase themselves, to put their 
horses in a gallop in order to see the 
rich foreigner who could afford to give 
20,000 francs apiece for his horses. 
The house Ali had chosen, and which was 
to serve as a town residence to Monte 
Cristo, was situated on the right hand 
as you ascend the Champs Elysees. A 
thick clump of trees and shrubs rose in 
the centre, and masked a portion of the 
front; around this shrubbery two 
alleys, like two arms, extended right 
and left, and formed a carriage-drive 
from the iron gates to a double 
portico, on every step of which stood a 
porcelain vase. filled with flowers. 
This house, isolated from the rest, 
had, besides the main entrance, another 
in the Rue Ponthieu. Even before the 
coachman had hailed the concierge, the 
massy gates rolled on their hinges -- 
they had seen the Count coming, and at 
Paris, as everywhere else, he was 
served with the rapidity of lightning. 
The coachman entered and traversed the 
half-circle without slackening his 
speed, and the gates were closed ere 
the wheels had ceased to sound on the 
gravel. The carriage stopped at the 
left side of the portico, two men 
presented themselves at the 
carriage-window; the one was Ali, who, 
smiling with an expression of the most 
sincere joy, seemed 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 count, 
springing 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 
hat, cane, and gloves to the same 
French footman who had called his 
carriage at the Count of Morcerf's, and 
then he passed into the small salon, 
preceded by Bertuccio, who 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 said, the notary 
awaited him in the small salon. He was 
a simple-looking lawyer's clerk, 
elevated to the extraordinary dignity 
of a provincial scrivener. "You are the 
notary empowered to sell the country 
house that I wish to purchase, 
monsieur?" 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 
carelessly, addressing himself half to 
Bertuccio, half to the notary. The 
steward made a gesture that signified, 
"I do not know." The notary looked at 
the count with astonishment. "What!" 
said he, "does 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 situation, in 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 papers, and was tempted 
by the false title, `a country house.'"

"It is not yet too late," cried 
Bertuccio, eagerly; "and if your 
excellency will intrust me with the 
commission, I will find you a better at 
Enghien, at Fontenay-aux-Roses, or at 
Bellevue."

"Oh, no," returned Monte Cristo 
negligently; "since I have this, I will 
keep it."

"And you are quite right," said the 
notary, who feared to lose his fee. "It 
is a charming place, well supplied with 
spring-water and fine trees; a 
comfortable habitation, although 
abandoned for a long time, without 
reckoning the furniture, which, 
although old, is yet valuable, now 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 deed, if you please, Mr. Notary." 
And he signed it rapidly, after 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 step, and returned 
with a bundle of bank-notes, which 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 notary, which 
said, "I have no further need of you; 
you may go."

"But," observed the honest notary, "the 
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 backwards, and 
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 Fontaine, 
No. 28;' it is indeed the same," said 
he; "and now, am I to rely upon an 
avowal extorted by religious or 
physical terror? However, in an hour I 
shall know all. Bertuccio!" cried he, 
striking 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 
steward, with a sort of nervous 
trembling, which Monte Cristo, a 
connoisseur in all emotions, rightly 
attributed to great disquietude.

"It is unfortunate," returned he, "that 
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 Bertuccio, whose 
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 
master, and remained motionless, 
without making any answer. "Why, what 
has happened to you? -- are you going 
to make me ring a second time for the 
carriage?" asked Monte Cristo, in the 
same tone that Louis XIV. pronounced 
the famous, "I have been almost obliged 
to wait." Bertuccio made but one bound 
to the ante-chamber, and cried in a 
hoarse voice -- "His excellency's 
horses!" Monte Cristo wrote two or 
three notes, and, as he sealed the 
last, the steward appeared. "Your 
excellency's carriage is at the door," 
said he.

"Well, take your hat and gloves," 
returned Monte Cristo.

"Am I to accompany you, your 
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 
his, so the steward, without saying a 
word, followed his master, who got into 
the carriage, and signed to him to 
follow, which he did, taking his place 
respectfully on the front seat. 

 Chapter 43 The House at Auteuil.

Monte Cristo noticed, as they descended 
the staircase, that 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 carriage, 
muttered 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. Bertuccio, crouched in the 
corner of the carriage, began to 
examine with a feverish anxiety every 
house they passed. "Tell them to stop 
at Rue de la Fontaine, No. 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 Fontaine, 
No. 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 stopped, the footman sprang 
off the box, and opened the door. 
"Well," said the count, "you do not get 
out, M. Bertuccio -- you are going to 
stay in the carriage, then? What are 
you thinking of this evening?" 
Bertuccio sprang out, and offered his 
shoulder to the count, who, this time, 
leaned upon it as he descended the 
three steps of the carriage. "Knock," 
said the count, "and announce me." 
Bertuccio knocked, the door opened, and 
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 concierge, "I 
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 
concierge, "a 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 Bertuccio, who 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 Cristo, 
judging 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 pieces, which produced a 
torrent of thanks and blessings from 
the concierge. "Ah, monsieur," 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 see, 
from the manner in which the hand that 
held the light trembled, how much it 
cost him to obey. They went over a 
tolerably large ground-floor; a second 
floor consisted of a salon, a bathroom, 
and 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 
me, M. Bertuccio, and go first; we will 
see where it leads to."

"Monsieur," replied Bertuccio, "it 
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 sighed, and went on first; 
the stairs did, indeed, lead to the 
garden. At the outer door the steward 
paused. "Go on, Monsieur 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. "No, no," 
cried Bertuccio, setting down the 
lantern at the angle of the interior 
wall. "No, monsieur, it 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 Cristo, 
stopping suddenly, "what 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 lantern, and 
obeyed. The door, as it opened, 
disclosed a gloomy sky, in which the 
moon strove vainly to struggle through 
a sea of clouds that covered her with 
billows of vapor which she illumined 
for an instant, only to sink into 
obscurity. The steward wished to turn 
to the left. "No, no, monsieur," 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 brow, but obeyed; however, he 
continued to take the left hand. Monte 
Cristo, on the contrary, took the right 
hand; arrived near a clump of trees, he 
stopped. The steward could not restrain 
himself. "Move, monsieur -- move away, 
I entreat you; you are exactly in the 
spot!"

"What spot?"

"Where he fell."

"My dear Monsieur Bertuccio," said 
Monte Cristo, laughing, "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 
case, I warn you, I shall have you put 
in a lunatic asylum."

"Alas, excellency," returned Bertuccio, 
joining his hands, and shaking his head 
in a manner that would have excited the 
count's laughter, had not thoughts of a 
superior interest occupied him, and 
rendered him attentive to the least 
revelation of this timorous conscience. 
"Alas, excellency, the evil has 
arrived!"

"M. Bertuccio," said the count, "I 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 hands, 
and as, in all these evolutions, he did 
not let fall the lantern, the light 
showed his pale and altered 
countenance. Monte Cristo examined him 
with the same look that, at Rome, he 
had bent upon the execution of Andrea, 
and then, in a tone that made a shudder 
pass through the veins of the poor 
steward, -- "The Abbe Busoni, then told 
me an untruth," said he, "when, after 
his journey in France, in 1829, he sent 
you to me, with a letter of 
recommendation, in which he enumerated 
all your valuable qualities. Well, I 
shall write to the abbe; I shall hold 
him responsible for his protege's 
misconduct, and I shall soon know all 
about this assassination. Only I warn 
you, that when I reside in a country, I 
conform to all its code, and 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 
Bertuccio, in despair. "I have always 
been an honest man, and, as far as lay 
in my power, I 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 cheeks, 
and such fever in the hands of a man."

"But, your excellency," replied 
Bertuccio hesitatingly, "did 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 Bertuccio, 
casting himself at the count's feet, 
"it 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 
Cristo, seeming to yield to his 
reflections, "that you should find 
yourself without any preparation in a 
house where the event happened that 
causes you so much remorse."

"Monsieur," said the steward, "it 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 Bertuccio, shaking his head, 
"are only related under the seal of 
confession."

"Then," said the count, "I 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 threat, "if 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 
untruth, reflect 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 Cristo, "it 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 Bertuccio, "this 
man with this spotless reputation" --

"Well?"

"Was a villain."

"Bah," replied Monte Cristo, 
"impossible!"

"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 count, "relate 
it to me, for it begins to interest 
me." And the count, humming an air from 
"Lucia," went to sit down on a bench, 
while Bertuccio followed him, 
collecting 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 
Cristo, "since 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 Cristo, "1815 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 mistaken, it 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 misfortune, and 
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 king, 
when, in their turn, they were in 
power, your brother would be to-day, in 
all probability, condemned to death. 
What has happened is quite natural, and 
in conformity with the law of 
reprisals.' -- `What,' cried I, `do 
you, a magistrate, speak thus to me?' 
-- `All these Corsicans are mad, on my 
honor,' replied M. de Villefort; `they 
fancy that their countryman is still 
emperor. You have mistaken the time, 
you should have told me this two months 
ago, it is too late now. Go now, at 
once, or 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 Cristo, "such 
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 Versailles, I went to Auteuil, and 
gained all the information I could. If 
I wished to surprise him, it was 
evident this was the spot to lie in 
wait for him. The house belonged, as 
the concierge informed your excellency, 
to M. de Saint-Meran, Villefort's 
father-in-law. M. de Saint-Meran lived 
at Marseilles, so that this country 
house was useless to him, and it was 
reported to be let to a young widow, 
known 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 count, "did 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 Bertuccio, "I 
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 moon, hidden momentarily by 
masses of dark clouds that were 
sweeping across the sky, whitened the 
gravel walks that led to the house, but 
were unable to pierce the obscurity of 
the thick shrubberies, in which a man 
could conceal himself without any fear 
of discovery. I hid myself in the one 
nearest to the path Villefort must 
take, and scarcely was I there when, 
amidst the gusts of wind, I fancied I 
heard groans; but you know, or rather 
you do not know, your excellency, that 
he who is about to commit an 
assassination fancies that he hears low 
cries perpetually ringing in his ears. 
Two hours passed thus, during which I 
imagined I heard moans repeatedly. 
Midnight struck. As the last stroke 
died away, I saw a faint light shine 
through the windows of the private 
staircase by which we have just 
descended. The door opened, and the man 
in the mantle reappeared. The terrible 
moment had come, but 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 it, and made 
ready to strike. The man in the mantle 
advanced towards me, but as he drew 
near I saw that he had a weapon in his 
hand. I was afraid, not of a struggle, 
but of a failure. When he was only a 
few paces from me, I 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 hands, when he stopped 
close to the thicket where I was, 
glanced round, and began to dig a hole 
in the earth. I then perceived that he 
was hiding something under his mantle, 
which he laid on the grass in order to 
dig more freely. Then, I confess, 
curiosity mingled with hatred; I wished 
to see what Villefort was going to do 
there, and I remained motionless, 
holding my breath. Then an idea crossed 
my mind, which was confirmed when I saw 
the procureur lift from under his 
mantle a box, two feet long, and six or 
eight inches deep. I let him place the 
box in the hole he had made, then, 
while he stamped with his feet to 
remove all traces of his occupation, I 
rushed on him and plunged my knife into 
his breast, exclaiming, -- `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 
not, for he fell without a cry. I felt 
his blood gush over my face, but I was 
intoxicated, I was delirious, and the 
blood refreshed, instead of burning me. 
In a second I had disinterred the box; 
then, that it might not be known I had 
done so, I filled up the hole, threw 
the spade over the wall, and rushed 
through the door, which 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 bowed, and 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 Cristo, "is less 
correct than your philosophy, -- it is 
only faith."

"Alas, your excellency is right," 
replied Bertuccio, "and 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 secret, which we had so carefully 
concealed from him; however, it was 
this answer, in which the child's whole 
character revealed itself, that almost 
terrified me, and my arm fell without 
touching him. The boy triumphed, and 
this victory rendered him so audacious, 
that all the money of Assunta, whose 
affection for him seemed to increase as 
he became more unworthy of it, was 
spent in caprices she knew not how to 
contend against, and 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 master, 
and everything went ill. When he was 
only eleven, he chose his companions 
from among the young men of eighteen or 
twenty, the worst characters in Bastia, 
or, indeed, in Corsica, and they had 
already, for some mischievous pranks, 
been several times threatened with a 
prosecution. I became alarmed, as any 
prosecution might be attended with 
serious consequences. I was compelled, 
at this period, to leave Corsica on an 
important expedition; I reflected for a 
long time, and with the hope of 
averting some impending misfortune, I 
resolved that Benedetto should 
accompany me. I hoped that the active 
and laborious life of a smuggler, with 
the severe discipline on board, would 
have a salutary effect on his 
character, which was now well-nigh, if 
not quite, corrupt. I spoke to 
Benedetto alone, and proposed to him to 
accompany me, endeavoring to tempt him 
by all the promises most likely to 
dazzle the imagination of a child of 
twelve. He heard me patiently, and when 
I had finished, burst 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 
Bertuccio, "or 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 hold, where 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 night, and 
to convey it into the town, by the help 
of the inn-keeper with whom we were 
connected. Whether success rendered us 
imprudent, or whether we were betrayed, 
I know not; but one evening, about five 
o'clock, our little cabin-boy came 
breathlessly, to inform us that he had 
seen a detachment of custom-house 
officers advancing in our direction. It 
was not their proximity that alarmed 
us, for detachments were constantly 
patrolling along the banks of the 
Rhone, but the care, according to the 
boy's account, that they took to avoid 
being seen. In an instant we were on 
the alert, but it was too late; our 
vessel was surrounded, and amongst the 
custom-house officers I observed 
several gendarmes, and, as terrified at 
the sight of their uniforms as I was 
brave at the sight of any other, I 
sprang into the hold, opened a port, 
and dropped into the river, dived, and 
only rose at intervals to breathe, 
until 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 safe, for I 
could swim along the ditch without 
being seen, and 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 had, seven or eight years before 
this period, sold his establishment to 
a tailor at Marseilles, who, having 
almost ruined himself in his old trade, 
wished to make his fortune in another. 
Of course, we 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 
count, who 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 patiently, not to overhear 
what they said, but because I could do 
nothing else; besides, the 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 fair, and 
who during the month the fair lasts, 
and during which there is so great an 
influx of merchants and customers from 
all parts of Europe, often have 
dealings to the amount of 100,000 to 
150,000 francs. Caderousse entered 
hastily. Then, seeing that the room 
was, as usual, empty, and only guarded 
by the dog, he called to his wife, 
`Hello, Carconte,' said he, `the worthy 
priest has not deceived us; the diamond 
is real.' An exclamation of joy was 
heard, and the staircase creaked 
beneath a feeble step. `What do you 
say?' asked his wife, pale 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 friend, 
in 1814 or 1815, of a sailor named 
Edmond Dantes. This poor fellow, whom 
Caderousse had forgotten, had not 
forgotten him, and 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?' -- `No, monsieur; but it 
appears that in prison he made the 
acquaintance of a rich Englishman, and 
as in prison he fell sick, and Dantes 
took the same care of him as if he had 
been his brother, the Englishman, when 
he was set free, gave this stone to 
Dantes, who, less fortunate, died, and, 
in his turn, left it to us, and charged 
the excellent abbe, who was here this 
morning, to deliver it.' -- `The same 
story,' muttered the jeweller; `and 
improbable as it seemed at first, it 
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 40,000 francs.' -- 
`Forty thousand,' cried La Carconte; 
`we will not part with it for that sum. 
The abbe told us it was worth 50,000 
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 case, which he 
turned over and over in his hand, did 
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 
diamond, he will inform against us, 
and, as he says, who knows if we shall 
ever again see the Abbe Busoni? -- in 
all probability we shall never see 
him.' -- `Well, then, so I will!' said 
Caderousse; `so you may have the 
diamond for 45,000 francs. But my wife 
wants a gold chain, and I want a pair 
of silver buckles.' The jeweller drew 
from his pocket a long flat box, which 
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 
louis, and 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 dark, and 
there may be some mistake.' In fact, 
night had come on during this 
conversation, and 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 jeweller, Caderousse, or 
La Carconte, absorbed 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 dream, and, as it always 
happens in a dream, I felt myself 
riveted to the spot. Caderousse counted 
and again counted the gold and the 
notes, then handed them to his wife, 
who counted and counted them again in 
her turn. During this time, the 
jeweller made the diamond play and 
sparkle in the lamplight, and 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 cupboard, and 
returned with an old leathern 
pocket-book and a bag. From the former 
she took some greasy letters, and put 
in their place the bank-notes, and from 
the bag took two or three crowns of six 
livres each, which, in all probability, 
formed the entire fortune of the 
miserable couple. `There,' said 
Caderousse; `and now, although you have 
wronged us of perhaps 10,000 francs, 
will you have your supper with us? I 
invite you with good-will.' -- `Thank 
you,' replied the jeweller, `it must be 
getting late, and I must return to 
Beaucaire -- my wife will be getting 
uneasy.' He drew out his watch, and 
exclaimed, `Morbleu, nearly nine 
o'clock -- why, I shall not get back to 
Beaucaire before midnight! Good-night, 
my friends. If the Abbe Busoni should 
by any accident return, think of me.' 
-- `In another week you will have left 
Beaucaire.' remarked Caderousse, `for 
the fair ends in a few days.' -- `True, 
but that makes no difference. Write to 
me at Paris, to M. Joannes, in the 
Palais Royal, arcade Pierre, No. 45. I 
will make the journey on purpose to see 
him, if it is worth while.' At this 
moment there was a tremendous clap of 
thunder, accompanied by a flash of 
lightning so vivid, that 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. `Well, then, a good journey to 
you,' said Caderousse. -- `Thanks,' 
replied the jeweller. He then took his 
cane, which he had placed against an 
old cupboard, and went out. At the 
moment when he opened the door, such a 
gust of wind came in that the lamp was 
nearly extinguished. `Oh,' said he, 
`this is very nice weather, and 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. So, once more, 
good-night.' Caderousse followed him 
slowly to the threshold. `I can see 
neither heaven nor earth,' said the 
jeweller, who 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 house, eh?' 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 moment, and in the midst 
of the terrifying silence which usually 
follows a clap of thunder, they heard a 
knocking at the door. Caderousse and 
his wife started and looked aghast at 
each other. `Who's there?' cried 
Caderousse, rising, and drawing up in a 
heap the gold and notes scattered over 
the table, and which he covered with 
his two hands. -- `It is I,' shouted a 
voice. -- `And who are you?' -- `Eh, 
pardieu, Joannes, the jeweller.' -- 
`Well, and you said I offended the good 
God,' said La Carconte with a horrid 
smile. `Why, the good God sends him 
back again.' Caderousse sank pale and 
breathless into his chair. La Carconte, 
on the contrary, rose, and going with a 
firm step towards the door, opened it, 
saying, as she did so -- `Come in, dear 
M. Joannes.' -- `Ma foi,' said the 
jeweller, drenched with rain, `I am not 
destined to return to Beaucaire 
to-night. The shortest follies are 
best, my dear Caderousse. You offered 
me hospitality, and I accept it, and 
have returned to sleep beneath your 
friendly roof.' Caderousse stammered 
out something, while 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 jeweller, meanwhile, was 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 
done, she next occupied herself in 
arranging his supper, by spreading a 
napkin at the end of the table, and 
placing on it the slender remains of 
their dinner, to which she added three 
or four fresh-laid eggs. Caderousse had 
once more parted with his treasure -- 
the banknotes were replaced in the 
pocket-book, the gold put back into the 
bag, and the whole carefully locked in 
the cupboard. He then began pacing the 
room with a pensive and gloomy air, 
glancing from time to time at the 
jeweller, who stood reeking with the 
steam from his wet clothes, and merely 
changing his place on the warm hearth, 
to 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 glances, but 
rapid as the lightning flash. The storm 
still continued. `There, there,' said 
La Carconte; `do you hear that? upon my 
word, you did well to come back.' -- 
`Nevertheless,' replied the jeweller, 
`if by the time I have finished my 
supper the tempest has at all abated, I 
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 jeweller, as he placed himself 
at table, `all I can say is, so 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 fury, but a brief space of time 
sufficed to assure him that, instead of 
diminishing, the violence of the rain 
and thunder momentarily increased; 
resigning himself, therefore, to what 
seemed inevitable, he bade his host 
good-night, and mounted the stairs. He 
passed over my head and I heard the 
flooring creak beneath his footsteps. 
The quick, eager glance of La Carconte 
followed him as he ascended, while 
Caderousse, on the contrary, turned his 
back, and 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 move, as though she were 
talking; but because she merely spoke 
in an undertone, or my senses were 
dulled by sleep, I did not catch a word 
she uttered. Confused sights and sounds 
seemed to float before me, and 
gradually I fell into a deep, heavy 
slumber. How long I had been in this 
unconscious state I know not, when I 
was suddenly aroused by the report of a 
pistol, followed by a fearful cry. Weak 
and tottering footsteps resounded 
across the chamber above me, and the 
next instant a dull, heavy weight 
seemed to fall powerless on the 
staircase. I had not yet fully 
recovered consciousness, when again I 
heard groans, mingled with half-stifled 
cries, as 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 arm, I looked around, but 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 fall, drop 
by drop, upon my forehead, and 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 
me, and I reproached myself with what 
had happened, as 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 dead, I determined to go to 
his relief, by way of atoning in some 
slight degree, not for the crime I had 
committed, but 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 
candle, I 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 throat, 
leaving two gaping wounds from which, 
as well as the mouth, the blood was 
pouring in floods. She was stone dead. 
I strode past her, and ascended to the 
sleeping chamber, which presented an 
appearance of the wildest disorder. The 
furniture had been knocked over in the 
deadly struggle that had taken place 
there, and the sheets, to which the 
unfortunate jeweller had doubtless 
clung, were dragged across the room. 
The murdered man lay on the floor, his 
head leaning against the wall, and 
about him was a pool of blood which 
poured forth from three large wounds in 
his breast; there was a fourth gash, in 
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 garments, I involuntarily 
surveyed myself, and 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-officer, who had lost sight of 
me near the tavern; feeling certain 
that I intended to pass the night 
there, he had returned to summon his 
comrades, who just arrived in time to 
hear the report of the pistol, and 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 me, that of beseeching 
the magistrate before whom I was taken 
to cause every inquiry to be made for 
the Abbe Busoni, who 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 Busoni, then, indeed, I was lost 
past redemption, or, at least, my 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 part, while 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 pursuit, 
and I had resigned myself to what 
seemed my inevitable fate. My trial was 
to come on at the approaching assizes; 
when, on the 8th of September -- that 
is to say, precisely three months and 
five days after the events which had 
perilled my life -- the Abbe Busoni, 
whom I never ventured to believe I 
should see, presented himself at the 
prison doors, saying he understood one 
of the prisoners wished to speak to 
him; he added, that having learned at 
Marseilles the particulars of my 
imprisonment, he hastened to comply 
with my desire. You may easily imagine 
with what eagerness I welcomed him, and 
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, but, to my 
inexpressible astonishment, he 
confirmed it in every particular, and 
to my equal surprise, he seemed to 
place entire belief in all I said. And 
then it was that, won by his mild 
charity, seeing that he was acquainted 
with all the habits and customs of my 
own country, and 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 kind, I besought him to receive my 
confession, under the seal of which I 
recounted the Auteuil affair in all its 
details, as 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 courage, and 
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 out, don'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 hand, 
and was about to pledge myself by any 
promise he would dictate, but 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. Here, take this,' 
continued he, after rapidly writing the 
few lines I brought to your excellency, 
and upon receipt of which you deigned 
to receive me into your service, and 
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 faithfully, Bertuccio; 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 struck, he 
entered with a swaggering air, attended 
by two of the most dissolute and 
reckless of his boon companions. She 
stretched out her arms to him, but they 
seized hold of her, and 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 
excellency, to whom it would have been 
folly to have mentioned Benedetto, 
since all trace of him seemed entirely 
lost; or of my sister, since 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. "Oh, 
those Villeforts are an accursed race!"

"Truly they are," murmured the count in 
a lugubrious tone.

"And now," resumed Bertuccio, "your 
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 
Cristo, rising 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 history, as it will prevent my 
forming any erroneous opinions 
concerning you in future. As for that 
Benedetto, who so grossly belied his 
name, have you never made any effort to 
trace out whither he has gone, or 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 of, for God seems to 
have them under his special watch-care 
to make of them instruments of his 
vengeance."

"So be it," responded Bertuccio, "all I 
ask of heaven is that I may never see 
him again. And now, your excellency," 
he added, bowing his head, "you 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 words, while Monte Cristo fixed 
on him a look of inscrutable meaning. 
After a brief silence, rendered still 
more solemn by the time and place, the 
count said, in a tone of melancholy 
wholly unlike his usual manner, "In 
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 respectfully, and 
turned away, sighing heavily. Monte 
Cristo, left alone, took three or four 
steps onwards, and murmured, "Here, 
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 time, 
the count re-entered his carriage, 
while Bertuccio, who perceived the 
thoughtful expression of his master's 
features, took his seat beside the 
driver without uttering a word. The 
carriage proceeded rapidly towards 
Paris.

That same evening, upon reaching his 
abode in the Champs Elysees, the Count 
of Monte Cristo went over the whole 
building with the air of one long 
acquainted with each nook or corner. 
Nor, although preceding the party, did 
he once mistake one door for another, 
or 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 house, the Count, 
drawing out his watch, said to the 
attentive Nubian, "It 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 Greek, 
which were so effectually concealed by 
means of a tapestried entrance, that it 
would have puzzled the most curious to 
have divined their existence. Ali, 
having pointed to the apartments, held 
up three fingers of his right hand, and 
then, placing it beneath his head, shut 
his eyes, and 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." Ali, with 
considerable animation, made 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 opened, a carriage 
rolled down the avenue, and stopped at 
the steps. The count hastily descended, 
presented himself at the already opened 
carriage door, and held out his hand to 
a young woman, completely 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 
tenderness, while the count replied 
with an air of gentle gravity. Preceded 
by Ali, who carried a rose-colored 
flambeau in his hand, the new-comer, 
who was no other than the lovely Greek 
who had been Monte Cristo's companion 
in Italy, was conducted to her 
apartments, while the count retired to 
the pavilion reserved for himself. In 
another hour every light in the house 
was extinguished, and it might have 
been thought that all its inmates 
slept. 

 Chapter 46 Unlimited Credit.

About two o'clock the following day a 
calash, drawn by a pair of magnificent 
English horses, stopped at the door of 
Monte Cristo and a person, dressed in a 
blue coat, with buttons of a similar 
color, a white waistcoat, over which 
was displayed a massive gold chain, 
brown trousers, and 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 person, in 
a word, who, although evidently past 
fifty, desired to be taken for not more 
than forty, bent forwards from the 
carriage door, on the panels of which 
were emblazoned the armorial bearings 
of a baron, and directed his groom to 
inquire at the porter's lodge whether 
the Count of Monte Cristo resided 
there, and if he were within. While 
waiting, the occupant of the carriage 
surveyed the house, the garden as far 
as he could distinguish it, and the 
livery of servants who passed to and 
fro, with an attention so close as to 
be somewhat impertinent. His glance was 
keen but showed cunning rather than 
intelligence; his lips were straight, 
and so thin that, as they closed, they 
were drawn in over the teeth; his 
cheek-bones were broad and projecting, 
a never-failing proof of audacity and 
craftiness; while the flatness of his 
forehead, and the enlargement of the 
back of his skull, which rose much 
higher than his large and coarsely 
shaped ears, combined to form a 
physiognomy anything but prepossessing, 
save in the eyes of such as considered 
that the owner of so splendid an 
equipage must needs be all that was 
admirable and enviable, more especially 
when they gazed on the enormous diamond 
that glittered in his shirt, and the 
red ribbon that depended from his 
button-hole.

The groom, in obedience to his orders, 
tapped at the window of the porter's 
lodge, saying, "Pray, does not the 
Count of Monte Cristo live here?"

"His excellency does reside here," 
replied the concierge; "but" -- added 
he, glancing 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. However, it does not 
signify; he has a letter of credit on 
me, so I must see him when he requires 
his money."

Then, throwing himself back in his 
carriage, Danglars called out to his 
coachman, in a voice that might be 
heard across the road, "To the Chamber 
of Deputies."

Apprised in time of the visit paid him, 
Monte Cristo had, from behind the 
blinds of his pavilion, as minutely 
observed the baron, by means of an 
excellent lorgnette, as Danglars 
himself had scrutinized the house, 
garden, and servants. "That fellow has 
a decidedly bad countenance," said the 
count in a tone of disgust, as he shut 
up his glass into its ivory case. "How 
comes it that all do not retreat in 
aversion at sight of that flat, 
receding, serpent-like forehead, round, 
vulture-shaped head, and 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 frown, "that, 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 
displeasure, added to the angry tone in 
which the count spoke, Ali turned pale 
and held down his head. "It is not your 
fault, my 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 
Bertuccio, "that the horses you speak 
of were not to be sold when I purchased 
yours." Monte Cristo shrugged his 
shoulders. "It seems, sir 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 
horses, with completely new harness, 
may be at the door with my carriage." 
Bertuccio bowed, and was about to 
retire; but when he reached the door, 
he paused, and then said, "At 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 
manner, "for venturing to observe that 
it is already two o'clock."

"I am perfectly aware of that fact," 
answered Monte Cristo calmly. Then, 
turning towards Ali, he said, "Let 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 year, the 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 1,500 francs per 
annum for your services here -- more 
than many a brave subaltern, who 
continually risks his life for his 
country, obtains. You live in a manner 
far superior to many clerks who work 
ten times harder than you do for their 
money. Then, though yourself a servant, 
you have other servants to wait upon 
you, take care of your clothes, and see 
that your linen is duly prepared for 
you. Again, you make a profit upon each 
article you purchase for my toilet, 
amounting 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 bowed, and 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 me, and 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 address, delivered in the presence 
of Ali, who, not understanding one word 
of the language in which it was spoken, 
stood wholly unmoved, produced 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 things, and 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 words, then, kneeling on one 
knee, respectfully 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 
retire, and to Ali to follow to his 
study, where 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 given, two 
summoned Baptistin, and 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 mansion, and 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 certainly, and you 
have done well to purchase them, 
although 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 count, shrugging 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 terrace, from which a flight 
of stone steps led to the 
carriage-drive. As Bertuccio, with a 
respectful bow, was moving away, the 
count called him back. "I have another 
commission for you, M. Bertuccio," said 
he; "I am desirous of having an estate 
by the seaside in Normandy -- for 
instance, between 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 
harbor, creek, or bay, into 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 
description, and when you have met with 
an eligible spot, visit it, and if it 
possess the advantages desired, 
purchase it at once in your own name. 
The corvette must now, I think, be on 
her way to Fecamp, must 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 
satisfaction, descended the terrace 
steps, and sprang into his carriage, 
which 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 rose, and 
addressing his colleagues, who were 
members of one or the other Chamber, he 
said, -- "Gentlemen, pardon me for 
leaving you so abruptly; but a most 
ridiculous circumstance has occurred, 
which is this, -- Thomson & French, the 
Roman bankers, have sent to me a 
certain person calling himself the 
Count of Monte Cristo, and 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 transactions, and 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. But, would 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 inquiries, and found that the 
house in the Champs Elysees is his own 
property, and 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 intended, but 
the instigators of it little knew whom 
they had to deal with. `They laugh best 
who laugh last!'"

Having delivered himself of this 
pompous address, uttered with a degree 
of energy that left the baron almost 
out of breath, he bowed to the 
assembled party and withdrew to his 
drawing-room, whose 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 shown, with 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 which, 
mere copies as they were, seemed 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 head, 
Danglars signed to the count to be 
seated, pointing significantly to a 
gilded arm-chair, covered with white 
satin embroidered with gold. The count 
sat down. "I have the honor, I presume, 
of addressing M. de Monte Cristo."

The count bowed. "And I of speaking to 
Baron Danglars, chevalier of the Legion 
of Honor, and 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 trust, excuse 
me, monsieur, for 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 Cristo, 
"that while you call yourself baron you 
are not willing to call anybody else 
count."

"Upon my word, monsieur," said Danglars 
with affected carelessness, "I 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 Danglars, "not 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 
sort, and he therefore hastened to turn 
to subjects more congenial.

"Permit me to inform you, Count," said 
he, bowing, "that 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 Danglars, "but 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 Danglers, "in the letter -- 
I believe I have it about me" -- here 
he felt in his breast-pocket -- "yes, 
here it is. Well, this 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 count, 
assuming 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 think, baron, for I 
feel uneasy, I can assure you, having 
some considerable property in their 
hands."

"Thomson & French are perfectly 
solvent," replied Danglars, with an 
almost mocking smile: "but the word 
unlimited, in financial affairs, is 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 doubt, keep out.'"

"Meaning to say," rejoined Monte 
Cristo, "that 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 banker, drawing 
himself up with a haughty air, "the 
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 worsted, 
and this time on his own ground. His 
forced politeness sat awkwardly upon 
him, and approached almost to 
impertinence. Monte Cristo on the 
contrary, preserved a graceful suavity 
of demeanor, aided by a certain degree 
of simplicity he could assume at 
pleasure, and thus possessed the 
advantage.

"Well, sir," resumed Danglars, after a 
brief silence, "I 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 Cristo, 
determined not to lose an inch of the 
ground he had gained, "my 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-chair, 
he said, with 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 limited, are 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 Danglars, 
with the confidence of ignorance.

"But could I do with a million?" 
retorted the count. "My dear sir, if a 
trifle like that could suffice me, I 
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-cards, and drew forth two 
orders on the treasury for 500,000 
francs each, payable 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 eyes, as he gazed at 
Monte Cristo dilated horribly.

"Come, come," said Monte Cristo, 
"confess 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 home, and Danglars was 
entirely vanquished; with a trembling 
hand he took the two letters from the 
count, who held them carelessly between 
finger and thumb, and proceeded to 
scrutinize the signatures, with a 
minuteness that the count might have 
regarded as insulting, had it not 
suited his present purpose to mislead 
the banker. "Oh, sir," said Danglars, 
after he had convinced himself of the 
authenticity of the documents he held, 
and 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 mistrustful, but you 
must pardon me, my dear count, for 
confessing to some degree of 
astonishment."

"Nay," answered Monte Cristo, with 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 Cristo, "since 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 
Danglars, "I 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 
manner, "why, 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 gold, 
silver, or notes?"

"Half in gold, and the other half in 
bank-notes, if you please," said the 
count, rising from his seat.

"I must confess to you, count," said 
Danglars, "that 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 Cristo, "a 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 count, while 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 Danglars, 
"you 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 bowed, in 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 smile, "I 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 smile, acquainted as he 
was with the secrets of the banker's 
domestic life.

"Yes, my lord," replied the servant, 
"M. Debray is with madame." Danglars 
nodded his head; then, turning to Monte 
Cristo, said, "M. 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 ruins, and of his having 
had a miraculous escape? I forget how, 
but 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 servant, who 
had gone to inquire the pleasure of his 
mistress. "With your permission," said 
Danglars, bowing, "I will precede you, 
to show you the way."

"By all means," replied Monte Cristo; 
"I follow you." 

 Chapter 47 The Dappled Grays.

The baron, followed by the count, 
traversed a long series of apartments, 
in 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 
room, hung with pink satin, covered 
with white Indian muslin. The chairs 
were of ancient workmanship and 
materials; over the doors were painted 
sketches of shepherds and 
shepherdesses, after the style and 
manner of Boucher; and at each side 
pretty medallions in crayons, 
harmonizing well with the furnishings 
of this charming apartment, the only 
one throughout the great mansion in 
which any distinctive taste prevailed. 
The truth was, it had been entirely 
overlooked in the plan arranged and 
followed out by M. Danglars and his 
architect, who 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. Danglars, however, while 
possessing a great admiration for the 
antique, as it was understood during 
the time of the Directory, entertained 
the most sovereign contempt for the 
simple elegance of his wife's favorite 
sitting-room, where, by the way, he was 
never permitted to intrude, unless, 
indeed, he 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 introduced, than 
that of being the presenter of another, 
his reception being cordial or frigid, 
in proportion as the person who 
accompanied him chanced to please or 
displease the baroness.

Madame Danglars (who, although past the 
first bloom of youth, was still 
strikingly handsome) was now seated at 
the piano, a most elaborate piece of 
cabinet and inlaid work, while Lucien 
Debray, standing before a small 
work-table, was turning over the pages 
of an album. Lucien had found time, 
preparatory to the count's arrival, to 
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 feelings, he had never 
been able to shake off the powerful 
influence excited in his mind by the 
impressive look and manner of the 
count, consequently 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 Morcerf, it is no wonder 
that Madame Danglars eagerly listened 
to, and fully credited, all 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 count, in 
return for his gentlemanly bow, 
received a formal though graceful 
courtesy, while Lucien exchanged with 
the count a sort of distant 
recognition, and with Danglars a free 
and easy nod.

"Baroness," said Danglars, "give 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 address, Madame 
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 baroness, "it 
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 mistress, 
she spoke some words in an undertone. 
Madame Danglars turned very pale, then 
exclaimed, -- "I cannot believe it; the 
thing is impossible."

"I assure you, madame," replied the 
woman, "it is as I have said." Turning 
impatiently towards her husband, Madame 
Danglars demanded, "Is this true?"

"Is what true, madame?" inquired 
Danglars, visibly 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 baroness, 
"among 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 Danglars, "the 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 subject, because you are perfectly 
well aware that I have had for a month 
in my service the very best coachman in 
Paris. But, perhaps, you 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 contempt, while her 
husband, affecting not to observe this 
unconjugal gesture, turned towards 
Monte Cristo and said, -- "Upon my 
word, count, I am quite sorry not to 
have met you sooner. You are setting up 
an establishment, of 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-horses, 
and I do not think they were dear. 
There they are. Come, M. Debray, you 
are a connoisseur, I believe, let me 
have your opinion upon them." As Debray 
walked towards the window, Danglars 
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 fool, bent upon ruining 
himself as fast as he can, actually 
sent his steward to me to purchase them 
at any cost; and the fact is, I have 
gained 16,000 francs by the sale of 
them. Come, don't look so angry, and 
you shall have 4,000 francs of the 
money to do what you like with, and 
Eugenie shall have 2,000. There, what 
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 
baroness, springing 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 steward, and cost me -- well, 
somewhere about 30,000 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 
attention, in providing for the safety 
of the baroness by disposing of the 
horses, does not seem to have made the 
least impression on her. But so it is; 
a woman will often, from mere 
wilfulness, prefer that which is 
dangerous to that which is safe. 
Therefore, in my opinion, my dear 
baron, the best and easiest way is to 
leave them to their fancies, and allow 
them to act as they please, and then, 
if any mischief follows, why, at least, 
they have no one to blame but 
themselves." Danglars made no reply; he 
was occupied in anticipations of the 
coming scene between himself and the 
baroness, whose frowning brow, like 
that of Olympic Jove, predicted a 
storm. Debray, who perceived the 
gathering clouds, and felt no desire to 
witness the explosion of Madame 
Danglars' rage, suddenly recollected an 
appointment, which compelled him to 
take his leave; while Monte Cristo, 
unwilling by prolonging his stay to 
destroy the advantages he hoped to 
obtain, made a farewell bow and 
departed, leaving Danglars to endure 
the angry reproaches of his wife.

"Excellent," murmured Monte Cristo to 
himself, as he came away. "All his gone 
according to my wishes. The domestic 
peace of this family is henceforth in 
my hands. Now, then, to play another 
master-stroke, by which I shall gain 
the heart of both husband and wife -- 
delightful! Still," added he, "amid all 
this, I have not yet been presented to 
Mademoiselle Eugenie Danglars, whose 
acquaintance I should have been glad to 
make. But," he went on with his 
peculiar smile, "I am here in Paris, 
and 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 afterwards, 
Madame Danglars received a most 
flattering epistle from the count, in 
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 lasso, have you not?" Ali 
drew himself up proudly, and 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 
forwards, imitating 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; now, at the risk of 
your own life, you must manage to stop 
those horses before my door."

Ali descended to the street, and marked 
a straight line on the pavement 
immediately at the entrance of the 
house, and then pointed out the line he 
had traced to the count, who was 
watching him. The count patted him 
gently on the shoulder, his usual mode 
of praising Ali, who, pleased and 
gratified with the commission assigned 
him, walked calmly towards a projecting 
stone forming the angle of the street 
and house, and, seating himself 
thereon, began to smoke his chibouque, 
while Monte Cristo re-entered his 
dwelling, perfectly assured of the 
success of his plan. Still, as five 
o'clock approached, and the carriage 
was momentarily expected by the count, 
the 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 street, pacing the chamber with 
restless steps, stopping merely to 
listen from time to time for the sound 
of approaching wheels, then 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 heard, and 
almost immediately a carriage appeared, 
drawn by a pair of wild, ungovernable 
horses, while 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 
stones, and the slightest obstacle 
under the wheels would have caused 
disaster; but it kept on in the middle 
of the road, and those who saw it pass 
uttered cries of terror.

Ali suddenly cast aside his chibouque, 
drew the lasso from his pocket, threw 
it so skilfully as to catch the 
forelegs of the near horse in its 
triple fold, and suffered himself to be 
dragged on for a few steps by the 
violence of the shock, then the animal 
fell over on the pole, which snapped, 
and therefore prevented the other horse 
from pursuing its way. Gladly availing 
himself of this opportunity, the 
coachman leaped from his box; but Ali 
had promptly seized the nostrils of the 
second horse, and held them in his iron 
grasp, till the beast, snorting with 
pain, sunk beside his companion. All 
this was achieved in much less time 
than is occupied in the recital. The 
brief space had, however, been 
sufficient for a man, followed by a 
number of servants, to rush from the 
house before which the accident had 
occurred, and, as the coachman opened 
the door of the carriage, to take from 
it a lady who was convulsively grasping 
the cushions with one hand, while with 
the other she pressed to her bosom the 
young boy, who had lost consciousness.

Monte Cristo carried them both to the 
salon, and deposited them on a sofa. 
"Compose yourself, madame," said he; 
"all danger is over." The woman looked 
up at these words, and, with a glance 
far more expressive than any entreaties 
could have been, pointed to her child, 
who 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 hand, Monte Cristo signed to the 
distracted mother to lay aside her 
apprehensions; then, opening a casket 
that stood near, he drew forth a phial 
of Bohemian glass incrusted with gold, 
containing a liquid of the color of 
blood, of which he let fall a single 
drop on the child's lips. Scarcely had 
it reached them, ere the boy, though 
still pale as marble, opened his eyes, 
and eagerly gazed around him. At this, 
the 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 count, "you 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 horses, and 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 astonishment, "that 
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 Ali, either 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 slave, 
and in saving your life he was but 
discharging his duty to me."

"Nay," interposed Madame de Villefort, 
on whom the authoritative style adopted 
by the count made a deep impression, 
"nay, 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 who, from 
the first instant she saw him, had made 
so powerful an impression on her. 
During the evident preoccupation of 
Madame de Villefort, Monte 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 age, and unnaturally pale. A mass 
of straight black hair, defying all 
attempts to train or curl it, fell over 
his projecting forehead, and hung down 
to his shoulders, giving increased 
vivacity to eyes already sparkling with 
a youthful love of mischief and 
fondness for every forbidden enjoyment. 
His mouth was large, and the lips, 
which had not yet regained their color, 
were particularly thin; in fact, the 
deep and crafty look, giving a 
predominant expression to the child's 
face, belonged 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 mother, and to 
rush forward to the casket from whence 
the count had taken the phial of 
elixir; then, without asking permission 
of any one, he proceeded, in all the 
wilfulness of a spoiled child 
unaccustomed to restrain either whims 
or caprices, to 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 pale, 
and, seizing her son's arm, drew him 
anxiously toward her; but, once 
satisfied of his safety, she also cast 
a brief but expressive glance on the 
casket, which was not lost upon the 
count. At this moment Ali entered. At 
sight of him Madame de Villefort 
uttered an expression of pleasure, and, 
holding the child still closer towards 
her, she said, "Edward, 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 manner, saying, "He's too 
ugly."

The count smiled as if the child bade 
fair to realize his hopes, while 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 refuses, 
saying you are too ugly." Ali turned 
his intelligent countenance towards the 
boy, on 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 leave, "whether 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 
fright, and are, no doubt, desirous of 
returning home. Anticipating your 
wishes, I have desired the same horses 
you came with to be put to one of my 
carriages, and Ali, he whom you think 
so very ugly," continued he, addressing 
the boy with a smiling air, "will have 
the honor of driving you home, while 
your coachman remains here to attend to 
the necessary repairs of your calash. 
As soon as that important business is 
concluded, I 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 Cristo, 
"that they will be as different as 
possible in the hands of Ali. With him 
they will be gentle and docile as 
lambs." Ali had, indeed, given proof of 
this; for, approaching the animals, who 
had been got upon their legs with 
considerable difficulty, he rubbed 
their foreheads and nostrils with a 
sponge soaked in aromatic vinegar, and 
wiped off the sweat and foam that 
covered their mouths. Then, commencing 
a loud whistling noise, he rubbed them 
well all over their bodies for several 
minutes; then, undisturbed by the noisy 
crowd collected round the broken 
carriage, Ali quietly harnessed the 
pacified animals to the count's 
chariot, took the reins in his hands, 
and mounted the box, when to the utter 
astonishment of those who had witnessed 
the ungovernable spirit and maddened 
speed of the same horses, he 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 
yourself, and 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 
dispised 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, "sir, the 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 come, 
therefore, to discharge this duty, and 
to express to you my overwhelming 
gratitude." And as he said this, the 
"eye severe" of the magistrate had lost 
nothing of its habitual arrogance. He 
spoke in a voice of the 
procureur-general, with 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 count, with a 
chilling air, "I 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." Villefort, astonished 
at this reply, which he by no means 
expected, started 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 turn, and seemed to 
fall easily on a topic. He saw the map 
which Monte Cristo had been examining 
when he entered, and said, "You 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 race, taken 
in the mass, what 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 down, sir, 
I beg of you."

Monte Cristo pointed to a chair, which 
the procureur was obliged to take the 
trouble to move forwards himself, while 
the count merely fell back into his 
own, on which he had been kneeling when 
M. Villefort entered. Thus the count 
was halfway turned towards his visitor, 
having his back towards the window, his 
elbow resting on the geographical chart 
which furnished the theme of 
conversation for the moment, -- a 
conversation which assumed, as in the 
case of the interviews with Danglars 
and Morcerf, a turn analogous to the 
persons, if not to the situation. "Ah, 
you philosophize," replied Villefort, 
after a moment's silence, during which, 
like a wrestler who encounters a 
powerful opponent, he took breath; 
"well, sir, really, if, like you, I had 
nothing else to do, I should seek a 
more amusing occupation."

"Why, in truth, sir," was Monte 
Cristo's reply, "man 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 strong, or rather, to say 
the truth more exactly, it was the 
first time he had ever heard of it. The 
procureur exerted himself to reply. 
"Sir," he responded, "you are a 
stranger, and I believe you say 
yourself that a portion of your life 
has been spent in Oriental countries, 
so you are not aware how human justice, 
so expeditions in barbarous countries, 
takes 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 procureur, "it 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 simple, and simplicity 
is always perfection."

"In the meanwhile," continued the 
magistrate, "our 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 Villefort, in 
astonishment. Monte Cristo smiled. 
"Really, sir," he observed, "I see that 
in spite of the reputation which you 
have acquired as a superior man, you 
look at everything from the material 
and vulgar view of society, beginning 
with man, and ending with man -- that 
is to say, in the most restricted, most 
narrow view which it is possible for 
human understanding to embrace."

"Pray, sir, explain yourself," said 
Villefort, more and more astonished, "I 
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 Villefort, more and more 
amazed, and really supposing he was 
speaking to a mystic or a madman, "you 
consider yourself as one of those 
extraordinary beings whom you have 
mentioned?"

"And why not?" said Monte Cristo coldly.

"Your pardon, sir," replied Villefort, 
quite astounded, "but 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 count, 
"have 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 Villefort, "upon 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 Villefort, smiling, "I 
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 
study, by all the means which are 
available, the men from whom I may have 
anything to hope or to fear, till I 
know them as well as, perhaps better 
than, they know themselves. It follows 
from this, that the king's attorney, be 
he who he may, with whom I should have 
to deal, would assuredly be more 
embarrassed than I should."

"That is to say," replied Villefort 
with hesitation, "that 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 impenetrable, that's all. 
But let us leave off this strain, sir, 
if 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 
Villefort, who 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 talk, 
we rise to dissertation. But you know 
how the theologians in their collegiate 
chairs, and philosophers in their 
controversies, occasionally say cruel 
truths; let us suppose for the moment 
that we are theologizing in a social 
way, or even philosophically, and I 
will say to you, rude as it may seem, 
`My brother, you sacrifice greatly to 
pride; you may be above others, but 
above you there is God.'"

"Above us all, sir," was Monte Cristo's 
response, in 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 God, who 
has taken me from nothing to make me 
what I am."

"Then, count, I admire you," said 
Villefort, who, for the first time in 
this strange conversation, used the 
aristocratic form to the unknown 
personage, whom, until now, he had only 
called monsieur. "Yes, and I say to 
you, if you are really strong, really 
superior, really pious, or 
impenetrable, which you were right in 
saying amounts to the same thing -- 
then be proud, sir, for 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 inquired, "have 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 Villefort, "there 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 
physician, and have, like my fellows, 
sought more than once for the soul in 
living and in dead matter; yet, like 
providence, it has remained invisible 
to my eyes, although present to my 
heart. A hundred writers since 
Socrates, Seneca, St. Augustine, and 
Gall, have made, in verse and prose, 
the comparison you have made, and yet I 
can well understand that a father's 
sufferings may effect great changes in 
the mind of a son. I will call on you, 
sir, since you bid me contemplate, for 
the advantage of my pride, this 
terrible spectacle, which 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 Villefort, 
"that 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 lips, 
uttered in the depths of his soul a 
groan which would have made Villefort 
fly had he but heard it. "Adieu, sir," 
said the magistrate, who had risen from 
his seat; "I leave you, bearing a 
remembrance of you -- a remembrance of 
esteem, which 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. Besides, 
you have made an eternal friend of 
Madame de Villefort." The count bowed, 
and contented himself with seeing 
Villefort to the door of his cabinet, 
the procureur being escorted to his 
carriage by two footmen, who, on a 
signal from their master, followed him 
with every mark of attention. When he 
had gone, Monte Cristo breathed a 
profound sigh, and said, -- "Enough of 
this poison, let me now seek the 
antidote." Then sounding his bell, he 
said to Ali, who entered, "I am going 
to madam's chamber -- have the carriage 
ready at one o'clock." 

 Chapter 49 Haidee.

It will be recollected that the new, or 
rather old, acquaintances of the Count 
of Monte Cristo, residing in the Rue 
Meslay, were no other than Maximilian, 
Julie, and Emmanuel. The very 
anticipations of delight to be enjoyed 
in his forthcoming visits -- the 
bright, pure gleam of heavenly 
happiness it diffused over the almost 
deadly warfare in which he had 
voluntarily engaged, illumined his 
whole countenance with a look of 
ineffable joy and calmness, as, 
immediately after Villefort's 
departure, his thoughts flew back to 
the cheering prospect before him, of 
tasting, at least, a brief respite from 
the fierce and stormy passions of his 
mind. Even Ali, who had hastened to 
obey the Count's summons, went forth 
from his master's presence in charmed 
amazement at the unusual animation and 
pleasure depicted on features 
ordinarily so stern and cold; while, as 
though dreading to put to flight the 
agreeable ideas hovering over his 
patron's meditations, whatever they 
were, the faithful Nubian walked on 
tiptoe towards the door, holding his 
breath, lest its faintest sound should 
dissipate his master's happy reverie.

It was noon, and Monte Cristo had set 
apart one hour to be passed in the 
apartments of Haidee, as though his 
oppressed spirit could not all at once 
admit the feeling of pure and unmixed 
joy, but required a gradual succession 
of calm and gentle emotions to prepare 
his mind to receive full and perfect 
happiness, in the same manner as 
ordinary natures demand to be inured by 
degrees to the reception of strong or 
violent sensations. The young Greek, as 
we have already said, occupied 
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 placed, with 
piles of soft and yielding cushions, 
that needed only to be arranged at the 
pleasure or convenience of such as 
sought repose. Haidee and three French 
maids, and one who was a Greek. The 
first three remained constantly in a 
small waiting-room, ready to obey the 
summons of a small golden bell, or to 
receive the orders of the Romaic slave, 
who 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 boudoir, circular, and lighted only 
from the roof, which consisted of 
rose-colored glass. Haidee was 
reclining upon soft downy cushions, 
covered with blue satin spotted with 
silver; her head, supported by one of 
her exquisitely moulded arms, rested on 
the divan immediately behind her, while 
the other was employed in adjusting to 
her lips the coral tube of a rich 
narghile, through whose flexible pipe 
she drew the smoke fragrant by its 
passage through perfumed water. Her 
attitude, though perfectly natural for 
an Eastern woman would, in a European, 
have been deemed too full of coquettish 
straining after effect. Her dress, 
which was that of the women of Epirus, 
consisted of a pair of white satin 
trousers, embroidered with pink roses, 
displaying feet so exquisitely formed 
and so delicately fair, that they might 
well have been taken for Parian marble, 
had 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 vest, with long open 
sleeves, trimmed with silver loops and 
buttons of pearls, and a sort of 
bodice, which, closing only from the 
centre to the waist, exhibited 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 scarfs, whose 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 silk, embroidered with 
pearls; while on the other a purple 
rose mingled its glowing colors with 
the luxuriant masses of her hair, of 
which the blackness was so intense that 
it was tinged with blue. The extreme 
beauty of the countenance, that shone 
forth in loveliness that mocked the 
vain attempts of dress to augment it, 
was peculiarly and purely Grecian; 
there were the large, dark, melting 
eyes, the finely formed nose, the coral 
lips, and pearly teeth, that belonged 
to her race and country. And, to 
complete the whole, Haidee was in the 
very springtide and fulness of youthful 
charms -- she had not yet numbered more 
than twenty summers.

Monte Cristo summoned the Greek 
attendant, and 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 
boudoir, the 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 
approached, she leaned upon the elbow 
of the arm that held the narghile, and 
extending to him her other hand, said, 
with a smile of captivating sweetness, 
in the sonorous language spoken by the 
women of Athens and Sparta, "Why 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? 
Oh, if 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 count, "you 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 Cristo, 
"that 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 here, 
and here," said she, touching her eyes 
and her heart. "And where am I?" 
inquired Monte Cristo laughingly.

"You?" cried she, with tones of 
thrilling tenderness, "you are 
everywhere!" Monte Cristo took the 
delicate hand of the young girl in his, 
and was about to raise it to his lips, 
when the simple child of nature hastily 
withdrew it, and presented her cheek. 
"You now understand, Haidee," said the 
count, "that from this moment you are 
absolutely free; that here you exercise 
unlimited sway, and are at liberty to 
lay aside or continue the costume of 
your country, as it may suit your 
inclination. Within this mansion you 
are absolute mistress of your actions, 
and may go abroad or remain in your 
apartments as may seem most agreeable 
to you. A carriage waits your orders, 
and 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 earnestness, 
"Whether 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 part, 
it will be no fault or wish of mine; 
the tree forsakes not the flower -- the 
flower falls from the tree."

"My lord," replied Haidee, "I 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 Count, with 
a smile of profound tenderness, 
extended his hand, and she carried it 
to her lips. Monte Cristo, thus attuned 
to the interview he proposed to hold 
with Morrel and his family, departed, 
murmuring as he went these lines of 
Pindar, "Youth 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 orders, and stepping 
lightly into it, the count drove off at 
his usual rapid pace. 

