as "La Belle Provencale." She was the widow of the Marquise
de Castellane when she married de Ganges, and having the
misfortune to excite the enmity of her new brothers-in-law,
was forced by them to take poison; and they finished her off
with pistol and dagger.--Ed.
"We must go," replied Villefort, offering his arm. The others, attracted
by curiosity, were already scattered in different parts of the house;
for they thought the visit would not be limited to the one room, and
that, at the same time, they would obtain a view of the rest of the
building, of which Monte Cristo had created a palace. Each one went out
by the open doors. Monte Cristo waited for the two who remained; then,
when they had passed, he brought up the rear, and on his face was a
smile, which, if they could have understood it, would have alarmed them
much more than a visit to the room they were about to enter. They began
by walking through the apartments, many of which were fitted up in
the Eastern style, with cushions and divans instead of beds, and pipes
instead of furniture. The drawing-rooms were decorated with the rarest
pictures by the old masters, the boudoirs hung with draperies from
China, of fanciful colors, fantastic design, and wonderful texture. At
length they arrived at the famous room. There was nothing particular
about it, excepting that, although daylight had disappeared, it was not
lighted, and everything in it was old-fashioned, while the rest of the
rooms had been redecorated. These two causes were enough to give it
a gloomy aspect. "Oh." cried Madame de Villefort, "it is really
frightful." Madame Danglars tried to utter a few words, but was not
heard. Many observations were made, the import of which was a unanimous
opinion that there was something sinister about the room. "Is it not
so?" asked Monte Cristo. "Look at that large clumsy bed, hung with such
gloomy, blood-colored drapery! And those two crayon portraits, that have
faded from the dampness; do they not seem to say, with their pale
lips and staring eyes, 'We have seen'?" Villefort became livid; Madame
Danglars fell into a long seat placed near the chimney. "Oh," said
Madame de Villefort, smiling, "are you courageous enough to sit down
upon the very seat perhaps upon which the crime was committed?" Madame
Danglars rose suddenly.
"And then," said Monte Cristo, "this is not all."
"What is there more?" said Debray, who had not failed to notice the
agitation of Madame Danglars.
"Ah, what else is there?" said Danglars; "for, at present, I cannot
say that I have seen anything extraordinary. What do you say, M.
Cavalcanti?"
"Ah," said he, "we have at Pisa, Ugolino's tower; at Ferrara, Tasso's
prison; at Rimini, the room of Francesca and Paolo."
"Yes, but you have not this little staircase," said Monte Cristo,
opening a door concealed by the drapery. "Look at it, and tell me what
you think of it."
"What a wicked-looking, crooked staircase," said Chateau-Renaud with a
smile.
"I do not know whether the wine of Chios produces melancholy, but
certainly everything appears to me black in this house," said Debray.
Ever since Valentine's dowry had been mentioned, Morrel had been silent
and sad. "Can you imagine," said Monte Cristo, "some Othello or Abbe de
Ganges, one stormy, dark night, descending these stairs step by step,
carrying a load, which he wishes to hide from the sight of man, if not
from God?" Madame Danglars half fainted on the arm of Villefort, who was
obliged to support himself against the wall. "Ah, madame," cried Debray,
"what is the matter with you? how pale you look!"
"It is very evident what is the matter with her," said Madame de
Villefort; "M. de Monte Cristo is relating horrible stories to us,
doubtless intending to frighten us to death."
"Yes," said Villefort, "really, count, you frighten the ladies."
"What is the matter?" asked Debray, in a whisper, of Madame Danglars.
"Nothing," she replied with a violent effort. "I want air, that is all."
"Will you come into the garden?" said Debray, advancing towards the back
staircase.
"No, no," she answered, "I would rather remain here."
"Are you really frightened, madame?" said Monte Cristo.
"Oh, no, sir," said Madame Danglars; "but you suppose scenes in a manner
which gives them the appearance of reality."
"Ah, yes," said Monte Cristo smiling; "it is all a matter of
imagination. Why should we not imagine this the apartment of an honest
mother? And this bed with red hangings, a bed visited by the goddess
Lucina? And that mysterious staircase, the passage through which, not
to disturb their sleep, the doctor and nurse pass, or even the father
carrying the sleeping child?" Here Madame Danglars, instead of being
calmed by the soft picture, uttered a groan and fainted. "Madame
Danglars is ill," said Villefort; "it would be better to take her to her
carriage."
"Oh, mon Dieu," said Monte Cristo, "and I have forgotten my
smelling-bottle!"
"I have mine," said Madame de Villefort; and she passed over to
Monte Cristo a bottle full of the same kind of red liquid whose good
properties the count had tested on Edward.
"Ah," said Monte Cristo, taking it from her hand.
"Yes," she said, "at your advice I have made the trial."
"And have you succeeded?"
"I think so."
Madame Danglars was carried into the adjoining room; Monte Cristo
dropped a very small portion of the red liquid upon her lips; she
returned to consciousness. "Ah," she cried, "what a frightful dream!"
Villefort pressed her hand to let her know it was not a dream. They
looked for M. Danglars, but, as he was not especially interested in
poetical ideas, he had gone into the garden, and was talking with Major
Cavalcanti on the projected railway from Leghorn to Florence. Monte
Cristo seemed in despair. He took the arm of Madame Danglars, and
conducted her into the garden, where they found Danglars taking coffee
between the Cavalcanti. "Really, madame," he said, "did I alarm you
much?"
"Oh, no, sir," she answered; "but you know, things impress us
differently, according to the mood of our minds." Villefort forced
a laugh. "And then, you know," he said, "an idea, a supposition, is
sufficient."
"Well," said Monte Cristo, "you may believe me if you like, but it is my
opinion that a crime has been committed in this house."
"Take care," said Madame de Villefort, "the king's attorney is here."
"Ah," replied Monte Cristo, "since that is the case, I will take
advantage of his presence to make my declaration."
"Your declaration?" said Villefort.
"Yes, before witnesses."
"Oh, this is very interesting," said Debray; "if there really has been a
crime, we will investigate it."
"There has been a crime," said Monte Cristo. "Come this way, gentlemen;
come, M. Villefort, for a declaration to be available, should be made
before the competent authorities." He then took Villefort's arm, and, at
the same time, holding that of Madame Danglars under his own, he dragged
the procureur to the plantain-tree, where the shade was thickest. All
the other guests followed. "Stay," said Monte Cristo, "here, in this
very spot" (and he stamped upon the ground), "I had the earth dug up and
fresh mould put in, to refresh these old trees; well, my man, digging,
found a box, or rather, the iron-work of a box, in the midst of which
was the skeleton of a newly born infant." Monte Cristo felt the arm of
Madame Danglars stiffen, while that of Villefort trembled. "A newly born
infant," repeated Debray; "this affair becomes serious!"
"Well," said Chateau-Renaud, "I was not wrong just now then, when I
said that houses had souls and faces like men, and that their exteriors
carried the impress of their characters. This house was gloomy because
it was remorseful: it was remorseful because it concealed a crime."
"Who said it was a crime?" asked Villefort, with a last effort.
"How? is it not a crime to bury a living child in a garden?" cried Monte
Cristo. "And pray what do you call such an action?"
"But who said it was buried alive?"
"Why bury it there if it were dead? This garden has never been a
cemetery."
"What is done to infanticides in this country?" asked Major Cavalcanti
innocently.
"Oh, their heads are soon cut off," said Danglars.
"Ah, indeed?" said Cavalcanti.
"I think so; am I not right, M. de Villefort?" asked Monte Cristo.
"Yes, count," replied Villefort, in a voice now scarcely human.
Monte Cristo, seeing that the two persons for whom he had prepared this
scene could scarcely endure it, and not wishing to carry it too far,
said, "Come, gentlemen,--some coffee, we seem to have forgotten it," and
he conducted the guests back to the table on the lawn.
"Indeed, count," said Madame Danglars, "I am ashamed to own it, but all
your frightful stories have so upset me, that I must beg you to let me
sit down;" and she fell into a chair. Monte Cristo bowed, and went
to Madame de Villefort. "I think Madame Danglars again requires your
bottle," he said. But before Madame de Villefort could reach her friend
the procureur had found time to whisper to Madame Danglars, "I must
speak to you."
"When?"
"To-morrow."
"Where?"
"In my office, or in the court, if you like,--that is the surest place."
"I will be there."--At this moment Madame de Villefort approached.
"Thanks, my dear friend," said Madame Danglars, trying to smile; "it is
over now, and I am much better."
Chapter 64. The Beggar.
The evening passed on; Madame de Villefort expressed a desire to return
to Paris, which Madame Danglars had not dared to do, notwithstanding the
uneasiness she experienced. On his wife's request, M. de Villefort was
the first to give the signal of departure. He offered a seat in his
landau to Madame Danglars, that she might be under the care of his wife.
As for M. Danglars, absorbed in an interesting conversation with M.
Cavalcanti, he paid no attention to anything that was passing. While
Monte Cristo had begged the smelling-bottle of Madame de Villefort, he
had noticed the approach of Villefort to Madame Danglars, and he soon
guessed all that had passed between them, though the words had been
uttered in so low a voice as hardly to be heard by Madame Danglars.
Without opposing their arrangements, he allowed Morrel, Chateau-Renaud,
and Debray to leave on horseback, and the ladies in M. de Villefort's
carriage. Danglars, more and more delighted with Major Cavalcanti, had
offered him a seat in his carriage. Andrea Cavalcanti found his tilbury
waiting at the door; the groom, in every respect a caricature of the
English fashion, was standing on tiptoe to hold a large iron-gray horse.
Andrea had spoken very little during dinner; he was an intelligent
lad, and he feared to utter some absurdity before so many grand people,
amongst whom, with dilating eyes, he saw the king's attorney. Then
he had been seized upon by Danglars, who, with a rapid glance at the
stiff-necked old major and his modest son, and taking into consideration
the hospitality of the count, made up his mind that he was in the
society of some nabob come to Paris to finish the worldly education of
his heir. He contemplated with unspeakable delight the large diamond
which shone on the major's little finger; for the major, like a
prudent man, in case of any accident happening to his bank-notes, had
immediately converted them into an available asset. Then, after dinner,
on the pretext of business, he questioned the father and son upon their
mode of living; and the father and son, previously informed that it was
through Danglars the one was to receive his 48,000 francs and the other
50,000 livres annually, were so full of affability that they would
have shaken hands even with the banker's servants, so much did their
gratitude need an object to expend itself upon. One thing above all the
rest heightened the respect, nay almost the veneration, of Danglars
for Cavalcanti. The latter, faithful to the principle of Horace, nil
admirari, had contented himself with showing his knowledge by declaring
in what lake the best lampreys were caught. Then he had eaten some
without saying a word more; Danglars, therefore, concluded that such
luxuries were common at the table of the illustrious descendant of
the Cavalcanti, who most likely in Lucca fed upon trout brought from
Switzerland, and lobsters sent from England, by the same means used by
the count to bring the lampreys from Lake Fusaro, and the sterlet from
the Volga. Thus it was with much politeness of manner that he heard
Cavalcanti pronounce these words, "To-morrow, sir, I shall have the
honor of waiting upon you on business."
"And I, sir," said Danglars, "shall be most happy to receive you." Upon
which he offered to take Cavalcanti in his carriage to the Hotel des
Princes, if it would not be depriving him of the company of his son. To
this Cavalcanti replied by saying that for some time past his son had
lived independently of him, that he had his own horses and carriages,
and that not having come together, it would not be difficult for them
to leave separately. The major seated himself, therefore, by the side
