alone that there was cause to fear."
"And what I have suffered," said the young girl, "you shall never know,
my lord." Monte Cristo smiled. "By my father's tomb," said he, extending
his hand over the head of the young girl, "I swear to you, Haidee, that
if any misfortune happens, it will not be to me."
"I believe you, my lord, as implicitly as if God had spoken to me," said
the young girl, presenting her forehead to him. Monte Cristo pressed on
that pure beautiful forehead a kiss which made two hearts throb at once,
the one violently, the other heavily. "Oh," murmured the count, "shall
I then be permitted to love again? Ask M. de Morcerf into the
drawing-room," said he to Baptistin, while he led the beautiful Greek
girl to a private staircase.
We must explain this visit, which although expected by Monte Cristo, is
unexpected to our readers. While Mercedes, as we have said, was making
a similar inventory of her property to Albert's, while she was arranging
her jewels, shutting her drawers, collecting her keys, to leave
everything in perfect order, she did not perceive a pale and sinister
face at a glass door which threw light into the passage, from which
everything could be both seen and heard. He who was thus looking,
without being heard or seen, probably heard and saw all that passed in
Madame de Morcerf's apartments. From that glass door the pale-faced
man went to the count's bedroom and raised with a constricted hand the
curtain of a window overlooking the court-yard. He remained there ten
minutes, motionless and dumb, listening to the beating of his own heart.
For him those ten minutes were very long. It was then Albert, returning
from his meeting with the count, perceived his father watching for his
arrival behind a curtain, and turned aside. The count's eye expanded; he
knew Albert had insulted the count dreadfully, and that in every country
in the world such an insult would lead to a deadly duel. Albert returned
safely--then the count was revenged.
An indescribable ray of joy illumined that wretched countenance like the
last ray of the sun before it disappears behind the clouds which bear
the aspect, not of a downy couch, but of a tomb. But as we have said, he
waited in vain for his son to come to his apartment with the account of
his triumph. He easily understood why his son did not come to see him
before he went to avenge his father's honor; but when that was done, why
did not his son come and throw himself into his arms?
It was then, when the count could not see Albert, that he sent for his
servant, who he knew was authorized not to conceal anything from him.
Ten minutes afterwards, General Morcerf was seen on the steps in a black
coat with a military collar, black pantaloons, and black gloves. He had
apparently given previous orders, for as he reached the bottom step his
carriage came from the coach-house ready for him. The valet threw into
the carriage his military cloak, in which two swords were wrapped, and,
shutting the door, he took his seat by the side of the coachman. The
coachman stooped down for his orders.
"To the Champs Elysees," said the general; "the Count of Monte Cristo's.
Hurry!" The horses bounded beneath the whip; and in five minutes they
stopped before the count's door. M. de Morcerf opened the door himself,
and as the carriage rolled away he passed up the walk, rang, and entered
the open door with his servant.
A moment afterwards, Baptistin announced the Count of Morcerf to Monte
Cristo, and the latter, leading Haidee aside, ordered that Morcerf be
asked into the drawing-room. The general was pacing the room the third
time when, in turning, he perceived Monte Cristo at the door. "Ah, it
is M. de Morcerf," said Monte Cristo quietly; "I thought I had not heard
aright."
"Yes, it is I," said the count, whom a frightful contraction of the lips
prevented from articulating freely.
"May I know the cause which procures me the pleasure of seeing M. de
Morcerf so early?"
"Had you not a meeting with my son this morning?" asked the general.
"I had," replied the count.
"And I know my son had good reasons to wish to fight with you, and to
endeavor to kill you."
"Yes, sir, he had very good ones; but you see that in spite of them he
has not killed me, and did not even fight."
"Yet he considered you the cause of his father's dishonor, the cause of
the fearful ruin which has fallen on my house."
"It is true, sir," said Monte Cristo with his dreadful calmness; "a
secondary cause, but not the principal."
"Doubtless you made, then, some apology or explanation?"
"I explained nothing, and it is he who apologized to me."
"But to what do you attribute this conduct?"
"To the conviction, probably, that there was one more guilty than I."
"And who was that?"
"His father."
"That may be," said the count, turning pale; "but you know the guilty do
not like to find themselves convicted."
"I know it, and I expected this result."
"You expected my son would be a coward?" cried the count.
"M. Albert de Morcerf is no coward!" said Monte Cristo.
"A man who holds a sword in his hand, and sees a mortal enemy within
reach of that sword, and does not fight, is a coward! Why is he not here
that I may tell him so?"
"Sir." replied Monte Cristo coldly, "I did not expect that you had come
here to relate to me your little family affairs. Go and tell M. Albert
that, and he may know what to answer you."
"Oh, no, no," said the general, smiling faintly, "I did not come for
that purpose; you are right. I came to tell you that I also look upon
you as my enemy. I came to tell you that I hate you instinctively; that
it seems as if I had always known you, and always hated you; and, in
short, since the young people of the present day will not fight, it
remains for us to do so. Do you think so, sir?"
"Certainly. And when I told you I had foreseen the result, it is the
honor of your visit I alluded to."
"So much the better. Are you prepared?"
"Yes, sir."
"You know that we shall fight till one of us is dead," said the general,
whose teeth were clinched with rage. "Until one of us dies," repeated
Monte Cristo, moving his head slightly up and down.
"Let us start, then; we need no witnesses."
"Very true," said Monte Cristo; "it is unnecessary, we know each other
so well!"
"On the contrary," said the count, "we know so little of each other."
"Indeed?" said Monte Cristo, with the same indomitable coolness; "let
us see. Are you not the soldier Fernand who deserted on the eve of the
battle of Waterloo? Are you not the Lieutenant Fernand who served as
guide and spy to the French army in Spain? Are you not the Captain
Fernand who betrayed, sold, and murdered his benefactor, Ali? And have
not all these Fernands, united, made Lieutenant-General, the Count of
Morcerf, peer of France?"
"Oh," cried the general, as if branded with a hot iron, "wretch,--to
reproach me with my shame when about, perhaps, to kill me! No, I did
not say I was a stranger to you. I know well, demon, that you have
penetrated into the darkness of the past, and that you have read, by the
light of what torch I know not, every page of my life; but perhaps I
may be more honorable in my shame than you under your pompous coverings.
No--no, I am aware you know me; but I know you only as an adventurer
sewn up in gold and jewellery. You call yourself in Paris the Count of
Monte Cristo; in Italy, Sinbad the Sailor; in Malta, I forget what. But
it is your real name I want to know, in the midst of your hundred names,
that I may pronounce it when we meet to fight, at the moment when I
plunge my sword through your heart."
The Count of Monte Cristo turned dreadfully pale; his eye seemed to
burn with a devouring fire. He leaped towards a dressing-room near his
bedroom, and in less than a moment, tearing off his cravat, his coat
and waistcoat, he put on a sailor's jacket and hat, from beneath which
rolled his long black hair. He returned thus, formidable and implacable,
advancing with his arms crossed on his breast, towards the general,
who could not understand why he had disappeared, but who on seeing him
again, and feeling his teeth chatter and his legs sink under him, drew
back, and only stopped when he found a table to support his clinched
hand. "Fernand," cried he, "of my hundred names I need only tell you
one, to overwhelm you! But you guess it now, do you not?--or, rather,
you remember it? For, notwithstanding all my sorrows and my tortures,
I show you to-day a face which the happiness of revenge makes young
again--a face you must often have seen in your dreams since your
marriage with Mercedes, my betrothed!"
The general, with his head thrown back, hands extended, gaze fixed,
looked silently at this dreadful apparition; then seeking the wall to
support him, he glided along close to it until he reached the door,
through which he went out backwards, uttering this single mournful,
lamentable, distressing cry,--"Edmond Dantes!" Then, with sighs which
were unlike any human sound, he dragged himself to the door, reeled
across the court-yard, and falling into the arms of his valet, he said
in a voice scarcely intelligible,--"Home, home." The fresh air and the
shame he felt at having exposed himself before his servants, partly
recalled his senses, but the ride was short, and as he drew near his
house all his wretchedness revived. He stopped at a short distance from
the house and alighted.
The door was wide open, a hackney-coach was standing in the middle of
the yard--a strange sight before so noble a mansion; the count looked
at it with terror, but without daring to inquire its meaning, he rushed
towards his apartment. Two persons were coming down the stairs; he had
only time to creep into an alcove to avoid them. It was Mercedes leaning
on her son's arm and leaving the house. They passed close by the unhappy
being, who, concealed behind the damask curtain, almost felt Mercedes
dress brush past him, and his son's warm breath, pronouncing these
words,--"Courage, mother! Come, this is no longer our home!" The words
died away, the steps were lost in the distance. The general drew himself
up, clinging to the curtain; he uttered the most dreadful sob which ever
escaped from the bosom of a father abandoned at the same time by
his wife and son. He soon heard the clatter of the iron step of the
hackney-coach, then the coachman's voice, and then the rolling of the
heavy vehicle shook the windows. He darted to his bedroom to see once
more all he had loved in the world; but the hackney-coach drove on and
the head of neither Mercedes nor her son appeared at the window to take
a last look at the house or the deserted father and husband. And at the
very moment when the wheels of that coach crossed the gateway a report
was heard, and a thick smoke escaped through one of the panes of the
window, which was broken by the explosion.
Chapter 93. Valentine.
We may easily conceive where Morrel's appointment was. On leaving Monte
Cristo he walked slowly towards Villefort's; we say slowly, for Morrel
had more than half an hour to spare to go five hundred steps, but he
had hastened to take leave of Monte Cristo because he wished to be alone
with his thoughts. He knew his time well--the hour when Valentine was
giving Noirtier his breakfast, and was sure not to be disturbed in the
performance of this pious duty. Noirtier and Valentine had given him
leave to go twice a week, and he was now availing himself of that
permission. He had arrived; Valentine was expecting him. Uneasy and
almost crazed, she seized his hand and led him to her grandfather. This
uneasiness, amounting almost to frenzy, arose from the report Morcerf's
adventure had made in the world, for the affair at the opera was
generally known. No one at Villefort's doubted that a duel would ensue
from it. Valentine, with her woman's instinct, guessed that Morrel would
be Monte Cristo's second, and from the young man's well-known courage
and his great affection for the count, she feared that he would not
content himself with the passive part assigned to him. We may easily
understand how eagerly the particulars were asked for, given, and
received; and Morrel could read an indescribable joy in the eyes of his
beloved, when she knew that the termination of this affair was as happy
as it was unexpected.
"Now," said Valentine, motioning to Morrel to sit down near her
grandfather, while she took her seat on his footstool,--"now let us talk
about our own affairs. You know, Maximilian, grandpapa once thought
of leaving this house, and taking an apartment away from M. de
Villefort's."
"Yes," said Maximilian, "I recollect the project, of which I highly
approved."
"Well," said Valentine, "you may approve again, for grandpapa is again
thinking of it."
"Bravo," said Maximilian.
"And do you know," said Valentine, "what reason grandpapa gives for
leaving this house." Noirtier looked at Valentine to impose silence,
but she did not notice him; her looks, her eyes, her smile, were all for
Morrel.
"Oh, whatever may be M. Noirtier's reason," answered Morrel, "I can
readily believe it to be a good one."
"An excellent one," said Valentine. "He pretends the air of the Faubourg
St. Honore is not good for me."
"Indeed?" said Morrel; "in that M. Noirtier may be right; you have not
seemed to be well for the last fortnight."
