"Well, well," said Monte Cristo quietly, "I see you wish to quarrel with
me; but I would give you one piece of advice, which you will do well
to keep in mind. It is in poor taste to make a display of a challenge.
Display is not becoming to every one, M. de Morcerf."
At this name a murmur of astonishment passed around the group of
spectators of this scene. They had talked of no one but Morcerf the
whole day. Albert understood the allusion in a moment, and was about
to throw his glove at the count, when Morrel seized his hand, while
Beauchamp and Chateau-Renaud, fearing the scene would surpass the limits
of a challenge, held him back. But Monte Cristo, without rising, and
leaning forward in his chair, merely stretched out his arm and, taking
the damp, crushed glove from the clinched hand of the young man, "Sir,"
said he in a solemn tone, "I consider your glove thrown, and will return
it to you wrapped around a bullet. Now leave me or I will summon my
servants to throw you out at the door."
Wild, almost unconscious, and with eyes inflamed, Albert stepped back,
and Morrel closed the door. Monte Cristo took up his glass again as if
nothing had happened; his face was like marble, and his heart was like
bronze. Morrel whispered, "What have you done to him?"
"I? Nothing--at least personally," said Monte Cristo.
"But there must be some cause for this strange scene."
"The Count of Morcerf's adventure exasperates the young man."
"Have you anything to do with it?"
"It was through Haidee that the Chamber was informed of his father's
treason."
"Indeed?" said Morrel. "I had been told, but would not credit it, that
the Grecian slave I have seen with you here in this very box was the
daughter of Ali Pasha."
"It is true, nevertheless."
"Then," said Morrel, "I understand it all, and this scene was
premeditated."
"How so?"
"Yes. Albert wrote to request me to come to the opera, doubtless that I
might be a witness to the insult he meant to offer you."
"Probably," said Monte Cristo with his imperturbable tranquillity.
"But what shall you do with him?"
"With whom?"
"With Albert."
"What shall I do with Albert? As certainly, Maximilian, as I now press
your hand, I shall kill him before ten o'clock to-morrow morning."
Morrel, in his turn, took Monte Cristo's hand in both of his, and he
shuddered to feel how cold and steady it was.
"Ah, Count," said he, "his father loves him so much!"
"Do not speak to me of that," said Monte Cristo, with the first movement
of anger he had betrayed; "I will make him suffer." Morrel, amazed, let
fall Monte Cristo's hand. "Count, count!" said he.
"Dear Maximilian," interrupted the count, "listen how adorably Duprez is
singing that line,--
'O Mathilde! idole de mon ame!'
"I was the first to discover Duprez at Naples, and the first to
applaud him. Bravo, bravo!" Morrel saw it was useless to say more, and
refrained. The curtain, which had risen at the close of the scene with
Albert, again fell, and a rap was heard at the door.
"Come in," said Monte Cristo with a voice that betrayed not the
least emotion; and immediately Beauchamp appeared. "Good-evening, M.
Beauchamp," said Monte Cristo, as if this was the first time he had seen
the journalist that evening; "be seated."
Beauchamp bowed, and, sitting down, "Sir," said he, "I just now
accompanied M. de Morcerf, as you saw."
"And that means," replied Monte Cristo, laughing, "that you had,
probably, just dined together. I am happy to see, M. Beauchamp, that you
are more sober than he was."
"Sir," said M. Beauchamp, "Albert was wrong, I acknowledge, to betray
so much anger, and I come, on my own account, to apologize for him. And
having done so, entirely on my own account, be it understood, I would
add that I believe you too gentlemanly to refuse giving him some
explanation concerning your connection with Yanina. Then I will add
two words about the young Greek girl." Monte Cristo motioned him to be
silent. "Come," said he, laughing, "there are all my hopes about to be
destroyed."
"How so?" asked Beauchamp.
"Doubtless you wish to make me appear a very eccentric character. I am,
in your opinion, a Lara, a Manfred, a Lord Ruthven; then, just as I am
arriving at the climax, you defeat your own end, and seek to make an
ordinary man of me. You bring me down to your own level, and demand
explanations! Indeed, M. Beauchamp, it is quite laughable."
"Yet," replied Beauchamp haughtily, "there are occasions when probity
commands"--
"M. Beauchamp," interposed this strange man, "the Count of Monte Cristo
bows to none but the Count of Monte Cristo himself. Say no more, I
entreat you. I do what I please, M. Beauchamp, and it is always well
done."
"Sir," replied the young man, "honest men are not to be paid with such
coin. I require honorable guaranties."
"I am, sir, a living guaranty," replied Monte Cristo, motionless, but
with a threatening look; "we have both blood in our veins which we wish
to shed--that is our mutual guaranty. Tell the viscount so, and that
to-morrow, before ten o'clock, I shall see what color his is."
"Then I have only to make arrangements for the duel," said Beauchamp.
"It is quite immaterial to me," said Monte Cristo, "and it was very
unnecessary to disturb me at the opera for such a trifle. In France
people fight with the sword or pistol, in the colonies with the carbine,
in Arabia with the dagger. Tell your client that, although I am the
insulted party, in order to carry out my eccentricity, I leave him the
choice of arms, and will accept without discussion, without dispute,
anything, even combat by drawing lots, which is always stupid, but with
me different from other people, as I am sure to gain."
"Sure to gain!" repeated Beauchamp, looking with amazement at the count.
"Certainly," said Monte Cristo, slightly shrugging his shoulders;
"otherwise I would not fight with M. de Morcerf. I shall kill him--I
cannot help it. Only by a single line this evening at my house let me
know the arms and the hour; I do not like to be kept waiting."
"Pistols, then, at eight o'clock, in the Bois de Vincennes," said
Beauchamp, quite disconcerted, not knowing if he was dealing with an
arrogant braggadocio or a supernatural being.
"Very well, sir," said Monte Cristo. "Now all that is settled, do let
me see the performance, and tell your friend Albert not to come any more
this evening; he will hurt himself with all his ill-chosen barbarisms:
let him go home and go to sleep." Beauchamp left the box, perfectly
amazed. "Now," said Monte Cristo, turning towards Morrel, "I may depend
upon you, may I not?"
"Certainly," said Morrel, "I am at your service, count; still"--
"What?"
"It is desirable I should know the real cause."
"That is to say, you would rather not?"
"No."
"The young man himself is acting blindfolded, and knows not the true
cause, which is known only to God and to me; but I give you my word,
Morrel, that God, who does know it, will be on our side."
"Enough," said Morrel; "who is your second witness?"
"I know no one in Paris, Morrel, on whom I could confer that honor
besides you and your brother Emmanuel. Do you think Emmanuel would
oblige me?"
"I will answer for him, count."
"Well? that is all I require. To-morrow morning, at seven o'clock, you
will be with me, will you not?"
"We will."
"Hush, the curtain is rising. Listen! I never lose a note of this opera
if I can avoid it; the music of William Tell is so sweet."
Chapter 89. A Nocturnal Interview.
Monte Cristo waited, according to his usual custom, until Duprez had
sung his famous "Suivez-moi;" then he rose and went out. Morrel took
leave of him at the door, renewing his promise to be with him the next
morning at seven o'clock, and to bring Emmanuel. Then he stepped into
his coupe, calm and smiling, and was at home in five minutes. No one who
knew the count could mistake his expression when, on entering, he said,
"Ali, bring me my pistols with the ivory cross."
Ali brought the box to his master, who examined the weapons with a
solicitude very natural to a man who is about to intrust his life to a
little powder and shot. These were pistols of an especial pattern, which
Monte Cristo had had made for target practice in his own room. A cap was
sufficient to drive out the bullet, and from the adjoining room no one
would have suspected that the count was, as sportsmen would say, keeping
his hand in. He was just taking one up and looking for the point to aim
at on a little iron plate which served him as a target, when his study
door opened, and Baptistin entered. Before he had spoken a word, the
count saw in the next room a veiled woman, who had followed closely
after Baptistin, and now, seeing the count with a pistol in his hand and
swords on the table, rushed in. Baptistin looked at his master, who made
a sign to him, and he went out, closing the door after him. "Who are
you, madame?" said the count to the veiled woman.
The stranger cast one look around her, to be certain that they were
quite alone; then bending as if she would have knelt, and joining her
hands, she said with an accent of despair, "Edmond, you will not kill my
son?" The count retreated a step, uttered a slight exclamation, and let
fall the pistol he held. "What name did you pronounce then, Madame de
Morcerf?" said he. "Yours!" cried she, throwing back her veil,--"yours,
which I alone, perhaps, have not forgotten. Edmond, it is not Madame de
Morcerf who is come to you, it is Mercedes."
"Mercedes is dead, madame," said Monte Cristo; "I know no one now of
that name."
"Mercedes lives, sir, and she remembers, for she alone recognized
you when she saw you, and even before she saw you, by your voice,
Edmond,--by the simple sound of your voice; and from that moment she
has followed your steps, watched you, feared you, and she needs not to
inquire what hand has dealt the blow which now strikes M. de Morcerf."
"Fernand, do you mean?" replied Monte Cristo, with bitter irony; "since
we are recalling names, let us remember them all." Monte Cristo had
pronounced the name of Fernand with such an expression of hatred that
Mercedes felt a thrill of horror run through every vein. "You see,
Edmond, I am not mistaken, and have cause to say, 'Spare my son!'"
"And who told you, madame, that I have any hostile intentions against
your son?"
"No one, in truth; but a mother has twofold sight. I guessed all; I
followed him this evening to the opera, and, concealed in a parquet box,
have seen all."
"If you have seen all, madame, you know that the son of Fernand has
publicly insulted me," said Monte Cristo with awful calmness.
"Oh, for pity's sake!"
"You have seen that he would have thrown his glove in my face if Morrel,
one of my friends, had not stopped him."
"Listen to me, my son has also guessed who you are,--he attributes his
father's misfortunes to you."
"Madame, you are mistaken, they are not misfortunes,--it is a
punishment. It is not I who strike M. de Morcerf; it is providence which
punishes him."
"And why do you represent providence?" cried Mercedes. "Why do you
remember when it forgets? What are Yanina and its vizier to you, Edmond?
What injury his Fernand Mondego done you in betraying Ali Tepelini?"
"Ah, madame," replied Monte Cristo, "all this is an affair between the
French captain and the daughter of Vasiliki. It does not concern me,
you are right; and if I have sworn to revenge myself, it is not on the
French captain, or the Count of Morcerf, but on the fisherman Fernand,
the husband of Mercedes the Catalane."
"Ah, sir!" cried the countess, "how terrible a vengeance for a fault
which fatality made me commit!--for I am the only culprit, Edmond, and
if you owe revenge to any one, it is to me, who had not fortitude to
bear your absence and my solitude."
"But," exclaimed Monte Cristo, "why was I absent? And why were you
alone?"
"Because you had been arrested, Edmond, and were a prisoner."
"And why was I arrested? Why was I a prisoner?"
"I do not know," said Mercedes. "You do not, madame; at least, I hope
not. But I will tell you. I was arrested and became a prisoner because,
under the arbor of La Reserve, the day before I was to marry you, a man
named Danglars wrote this letter, which the fisherman Fernand himself
posted." Monte Cristo went to a secretary, opened a drawer by a spring,
from which he took a paper which had lost its original color, and the
ink of which had become of a rusty hue--this he placed in the hands
of Mercedes. It was Danglars' letter to the king's attorney, which the
Count of Monte Cristo, disguised as a clerk from the house of Thomson &
French, had taken from the file against Edmond Dantes, on the day he
had paid the two hundred thousand francs to M. de Boville. Mercedes read
with terror the following lines:--
"The king's attorney is informed by a friend to the throne and religion
that one Edmond Dantes, second in command on board the Pharaon, this day
arrived from Smyrna, after having touched at Naples and Porto-Ferrajo,
