bed-chamber, and distressed by what he saw and guessed, stopped for one
moment at the door. As if the same idea had animated these two beings,
Mercedes was doing the same in her apartments that he had just done in
his. Everything was in order,--laces, dresses, jewels, linen, money, all
were arranged in the drawers, and the countess was carefully collecting
the keys. Albert saw all these preparations and understood them, and
exclaiming, "My mother!" he threw his arms around her neck.
The artist who could have depicted the expression of these two
countenances would certainly have made of them a beautiful picture. All
these proofs of an energetic resolution, which Albert did not fear on
his own account, alarmed him for his mother. "What are you doing?" asked
he.
"What were you doing?" replied she.
"Oh, my mother!" exclaimed Albert, so overcome he could scarcely speak;
"it is not the same with you and me--you cannot have made the same
resolution I have, for I have come to warn you that I bid adieu to your
house, and--and to you."
"I also," replied Mercedes, "am going, and I acknowledge I had depended
on your accompanying me; have I deceived myself?"
"Mother," said Albert with firmness. "I cannot make you share the fate
I have planned for myself. I must live henceforth without rank and
fortune, and to begin this hard apprenticeship I must borrow from a
friend the loaf I shall eat until I have earned one. So, my dear mother,
I am going at once to ask Franz to lend me the small sum I shall require
to supply my present wants."
"You, my poor child, suffer poverty and hunger? Oh, do not say so; it
will break my resolutions."
"But not mine, mother," replied Albert. "I am young and strong; I
believe I am courageous, and since yesterday I have learned the power
of will. Alas, my dear mother, some have suffered so much, and yet
live, and have raised a new fortune on the ruin of all the promises of
happiness which heaven had made them--on the fragments of all the hope
which God had given them! I have seen that, mother; I know that from the
gulf in which their enemies have plunged them they have risen with so
much vigor and glory that in their turn they have ruled their former
conquerors, and have punished them. No, mother; from this moment I have
done with the past, and accept nothing from it--not even a name, because
you can understand that your son cannot bear the name of a man who ought
to blush for it before another."
"Albert, my child," said Mercedes, "if I had a stronger heart, that is
the counsel I would have given you; your conscience has spoken when my
voice became too weak; listen to its dictates. You had friends, Albert;
break off their acquaintance. But do not despair; you have life before
you, my dear Albert, for you are yet scarcely twenty-two years old; and
as a pure heart like yours wants a spotless name, take my father's--it
was Herrera. I am sure, my dear Albert, whatever may be your career,
you will soon render that name illustrious. Then, my son, return to the
world still more brilliant because of your former sorrows; and if I am
wrong, still let me cherish these hopes, for I have no future to look
forward to. For me the grave opens when I pass the threshold of this
house."
"I will fulfil all your wishes, my dear mother," said the young man.
"Yes, I share your hopes; the anger of heaven will not pursue us, since
you are pure and I am innocent. But, since our resolution is formed,
let us act promptly. M. de Morcerf went out about half an hour ago; the
opportunity is favorable to avoid an explanation."
"I am ready, my son," said Mercedes. Albert ran to fetch a carriage. He
recollected that there was a small furnished house to let in the Rue de
Saints Peres, where his mother would find a humble but decent lodging,
and thither he intended conducting the countess. As the carriage stopped
at the door, and Albert was alighting, a man approached and gave him a
letter. Albert recognized the bearer. "From the count," said Bertuccio.
Albert took the letter, opened, and read it, then looked round for
Bertuccio, but he was gone. He returned to Mercedes with tears in his
eyes and heaving breast, and without uttering a word he gave her the
letter. Mercedes read:--
Albert,--While showing you that I have discovered your plans, I hope
also to convince you of my delicacy. You are free, you leave the count's
house, and you take your mother to your home; but reflect, Albert, you
owe her more than your poor noble heart can pay her. Keep the struggle
for yourself, bear all the suffering, but spare her the trial of poverty
which must accompany your first efforts; for she deserves not even
the shadow of the misfortune which has this day fallen on her, and
providence is not willing that the innocent should suffer for the
guilty. I know you are going to leave the Rue du Helder without taking
anything with you. Do not seek to know how I discovered it; I know
it--that is sufficient.
Now, listen, Albert. Twenty-four years ago I returned, proud and joyful,
to my country. I had a betrothed, Albert, a lovely girl whom I adored,
and I was bringing to my betrothed a hundred and fifty louis, painfully
amassed by ceaseless toil. This money was for her; I destined it for
her, and, knowing the treachery of the sea I buried our treasure in
the little garden of the house my father lived in at Marseilles, on the
Allees de Meillan. Your mother, Albert, knows that poor house well. A
short time since I passed through Marseilles, and went to see the old
place, which revived so many painful recollections; and in the evening
I took a spade and dug in the corner of the garden where I had concealed
my treasure. The iron box was there--no one had touched it--under a
beautiful fig-tree my father had planted the day I was born, which
overshadowed the spot. Well, Albert, this money, which was formerly
designed to promote the comfort and tranquillity of the woman I adored,
may now, through strange and painful circumstances, be devoted to the
same purpose. Oh, feel for me, who could offer millions to that poor
woman, but who return her only the piece of black bread forgotten
under my poor roof since the day I was torn from her I loved. You are
a generous man, Albert, but perhaps you may be blinded by pride or
resentment; if you refuse me, if you ask another for what I have a right
to offer you, I will say it is ungenerous of you to refuse the life
of your mother at the hands of a man whose father was allowed by your
father to die in all the horrors of poverty and despair.
Albert stood pale and motionless to hear what his mother would decide
after she had finished reading this letter. Mercedes turned her eyes
with an ineffable look towards heaven. "I accept it," said she; "he has
a right to pay the dowry, which I shall take with me to some convent!"
Putting the letter in her bosom, she took her son's arm, and with a
firmer step than she even herself expected she went down-stairs.
Chapter 92. The Suicide.
Meanwhile Monte Cristo had also returned to town with Emmanuel and
Maximilian. Their return was cheerful. Emmanuel did not conceal his
joy at the peaceful termination of the affair, and was loud in his
expressions of delight. Morrel, in a corner of the carriage, allowed his
brother-in-law's gayety to expend itself in words, while he felt equal
inward joy, which, however, betrayed itself only in his countenance.
At the Barriere du Trone they met Bertuccio, who was waiting there,
motionless as a sentinel at his post. Monte Cristo put his head out
of the window, exchanged a few words with him in a low tone, and the
steward disappeared. "Count," said Emmanuel, when they were at the end
of the Place Royale, "put me down at my door, that my wife may not have
a single moment of needless anxiety on my account or yours."
"If it were not ridiculous to make a display of our triumph, I would
invite the count to our house; besides that, he doubtless has some
trembling heart to comfort. So we will take leave of our friend, and let
him hasten home."
"Stop a moment," said Monte Cristo; "do not let me lose both my
companions. Return, Emmanuel, to your charming wife, and present my
best compliments to her; and do you, Morrel, accompany me to the Champs
Elysees."
"Willingly," said Maximilian; "particularly as I have business in that
quarter."
"Shall we wait breakfast for you?" asked Emmanuel.
"No," replied the young man. The door was closed, and the carriage
proceeded. "See what good fortune I brought you!" said Morrel, when he
was alone with the count. "Have you not thought so?"
"Yes," said Monte Cristo; "for that reason I wished to keep you near
me."
"It is miraculous!" continued Morrel, answering his own thoughts.
"What?" said Monte Cristo.
"What has just happened."
"Yes," said the Count, "you are right--it is miraculous."
"For Albert is brave," resumed Morrel.
"Very brave," said Monte Cristo; "I have seen him sleep with a sword
suspended over his head."
"And I know he has fought two duels," said Morrel. "How can you
reconcile that with his conduct this morning?"
"All owing to your influence," replied Monte Cristo, smiling.
"It is well for Albert he is not in the army," said Morrel.
"Why?"
"An apology on the ground!" said the young captain, shaking his head.
"Come," said the count mildly, "do not entertain the prejudices of
ordinary men, Morrel! Acknowledge, that if Albert is brave, he cannot
be a coward; he must then have had some reason for acting as he did this
morning, and confess that his conduct is more heroic than otherwise."
"Doubtless, doubtless," said Morrel; "but I shall say, like the
Spaniard, 'He has not been so brave to-day as he was yesterday.'"
"You will breakfast with me, will you not, Morrel?" said the count, to
turn the conversation.
"No; I must leave you at ten o'clock."
"Your engagement was for breakfast, then?" said the count.
Morrel smiled, and shook his head. "Still you must breakfast somewhere."
"But if I am not hungry?" said the young man.
"Oh," said the count, "I only know two things which destroy the
appetite,--grief--and as I am happy to see you very cheerful, it is not
that--and love. Now after what you told me this morning of your heart, I
may believe"--
"Well, count," replied Morrel gayly, "I will not dispute it."
"But you will not make me your confidant, Maximilian?" said the count,
in a tone which showed how gladly he would have been admitted to the
secret.
"I showed you this morning that I had a heart, did I not, count?" Monte
Cristo only answered by extending his hand to the young man. "Well,"
continued the latter, "since that heart is no longer with you in the
Bois de Vincennes, it is elsewhere, and I must go and find it."
"Go," said the count deliberately; "go, dear friend, but promise me if
you meet with any obstacle to remember that I have some power in this
world, that I am happy to use that power in the behalf of those I love,
and that I love you, Morrel."
"I will remember it," said the young man, "as selfish children recollect
their parents when they want their aid. When I need your assistance, and
the moment arrives, I will come to you, count."
"Well, I rely upon your promise. Good-by, then."
"Good-by, till we meet again." They had arrived in the Champs Elysees.
Monte Cristo opened the carriage-door, Morrel sprang out on the
pavement, Bertuccio was waiting on the steps. Morrel disappeared down
the Avenue de Marigny, and Monte Cristo hastened to join Bertuccio.
"Well?" asked he.
"She is going to leave her house," said the steward.
"And her son?"
"Florentin, his valet, thinks he is going to do the same."
"Come this way." Monte Cristo took Bertuccio into his study, wrote the
letter we have seen, and gave it to the steward. "Go," said he quickly.
"But first, let Haidee be informed that I have returned."
"Here I am," said the young girl, who at the sound of the carriage had
run down-stairs and whose face was radiant with joy at seeing the count
return safely. Bertuccio left. Every transport of a daughter finding a
father, all the delight of a mistress seeing an adored lover, were felt
by Haidee during the first moments of this meeting, which she had so
eagerly expected. Doubtless, although less evident, Monte Cristo's joy
was not less intense. Joy to hearts which have suffered long is like the
dew on the ground after a long drought; both the heart and the ground
absorb that beneficent moisture falling on them, and nothing is
outwardly apparent.
Monte Cristo was beginning to think, what he had not for a long time
dared to believe, that there were two Mercedes in the world, and he
might yet be happy. His eye, elate with happiness, was reading eagerly
the tearful gaze of Haidee, when suddenly the door opened. The count
knit his brow. "M. de Morcerf!" said Baptistin, as if that name sufficed
for his excuse. In fact, the count's face brightened.
"Which," asked he, "the viscount or the count?"
"The count."
"Oh," exclaimed Haidee, "is it not yet over?"
"I know not if it is finished, my beloved child," said Monte Cristo,
taking the young girl's hands; "but I do know you have nothing more to
fear."
"But it is the wretched"--
"That man cannot injure me, Haidee," said Monte Cristo; "it was his son
