there was a beautiful lily, or a sweet rose, you had to search for it,
concealed in some corner behind a mother with a turban, or an aunt with
a bird of paradise.
At each moment, in the midst of the crowd, the buzzing, and the
laughter, the door-keeper's voice was heard announcing some name well
known in the financial department, respected in the army, or illustrious
in the literary world, and which was acknowledged by a slight movement
in the different groups. But for one whose privilege it was to agitate
that ocean of human waves, how many were received with a look of
indifference or a sneer of disdain! At the moment when the hand of the
massive time-piece, representing Endymion asleep, pointed to nine on its
golden face, and the hammer, the faithful type of mechanical thought,
struck nine times, the name of the Count of Monte Cristo resounded in
its turn, and as if by an electric shock all the assembly turned towards
the door.
The count was dressed in black and with his habitual simplicity; his
white waistcoat displayed his expansive noble chest and his black
stock was singularly noticeable because of its contrast with the deadly
paleness of his face. His only jewellery was a chain, so fine that the
slender gold thread was scarcely perceptible on his white waistcoat. A
circle was immediately formed around the door. The count perceived at
one glance Madame Danglars at one end of the drawing-room, M. Danglars
at the other, and Eugenie in front of him. He first advanced towards the
baroness, who was chatting with Madame de Villefort, who had come alone,
Valentine being still an invalid; and without turning aside, so clear
was the road left for him, he passed from the baroness to Eugenie, whom
he complimented in such rapid and measured terms, that the proud artist
was quite struck. Near her was Mademoiselle Louise d'Armilly, who
thanked the count for the letters of introduction he had so kindly given
her for Italy, which she intended immediately to make use of. On leaving
these ladies he found himself with Danglars, who had advanced to meet
him.
Having accomplished these three social duties, Monte Cristo stopped,
looking around him with that expression peculiar to a certain class,
which seems to say, "I have done my duty, now let others do theirs."
Andrea, who was in an adjoining room, had shared in the sensation caused
by the arrival of Monte Cristo, and now came forward to pay his respects
to the count. He found him completely surrounded; all were eager to
speak to him, as is always the case with those whose words are few
and weighty. The solicitors arrived at this moment and arranged their
scrawled papers on the velvet cloth embroidered with gold which covered
the table prepared for the signature; it was a gilt table supported on
lions' claws. One of the notaries sat down, the other remained standing.
They were about to proceed to the reading of the contract, which half
Paris assembled was to sign. All took their places, or rather the ladies
formed a circle, while the gentlemen (more indifferent to the restraints
of what Boileau calls the "energetic style") commented on the feverish
agitation of Andrea, on M. Danglars' riveted attention, Eugenie's
composure, and the light and sprightly manner in which the baroness
treated this important affair.
The contract was read during a profound silence. But as soon as it was
finished, the buzz was redoubled through all the drawing-rooms; the
brilliant sums, the rolling millions which were to be at the command
of the two young people, and which crowned the display of the wedding
presents and the young lady's diamonds, which had been made in a room
entirely appropriated for that purpose, had exercised to the full their
delusions over the envious assembly. Mademoiselle Danglars' charms were
heightened in the opinion of the young men, and for the moment seemed
to outvie the sun in splendor. As for the ladies, it is needless to say
that while they coveted the millions, they thought they did not need
them for themselves, as they were beautiful enough without them. Andrea,
surrounded by his friends, complimented, flattered, beginning to believe
in the reality of his dream, was almost bewildered. The notary solemnly
took the pen, flourished it above his head, and said, "Gentlemen, we are
about to sign the contract."
The baron was to sign first, then the representative of M. Cavalcanti,
senior, then the baroness, afterwards the "future couple," as they are
styled in the abominable phraseology of legal documents. The baron took
the pen and signed, then the representative. The baroness approached,
leaning on Madame de Villefort's arm. "My dear," said she, as she took
the pen, "is it not vexatious? An unexpected incident, in the affair of
murder and theft at the Count of Monte Cristo's, in which he nearly fell
a victim, deprives us of the pleasure of seeing M. de Villefort."
"Indeed?" said M. Danglars, in the same tone in which he would have
said, "Oh, well, what do I care?"
"As a matter of fact," said Monte Cristo, approaching, "I am much afraid
that I am the involuntary cause of his absence."
"What, you, count?" said Madame Danglars, signing; "if you are, take
care, for I shall never forgive you." Andrea pricked up his ears.
"But it is not my fault, as I shall endeavor to prove." Every one
listened eagerly; Monte Cristo who so rarely opened his lips, was about
to speak. "You remember," said the count, during the most profound
silence, "that the unhappy wretch who came to rob me died at my house;
the supposition is that he was stabbed by his accomplice, on attempting
to leave it."
"Yes," said Danglars.
"In order that his wounds might be examined he was undressed, and his
clothes were thrown into a corner, where the police picked them up, with
the exception of the waistcoat, which they overlooked." Andrea turned
pale, and drew towards the door; he saw a cloud rising in the horizon,
which appeared to forebode a coming storm.
"Well, this waistcoat was discovered to-day, covered with blood, and
with a hole over the heart." The ladies screamed, and two or three
prepared to faint. "It was brought to me. No one could guess what the
dirty rag could be; I alone suspected that it was the waistcoat of the
murdered man. My valet, in examining this mournful relic, felt a paper
in the pocket and drew it out; it was a letter addressed to you, baron."
"To me?" cried Danglars.
"Yes, indeed, to you; I succeeded in deciphering your name under the
blood with which the letter was stained," replied Monte Cristo, amid the
general outburst of amazement.
"But," asked Madame Danglars, looking at her husband with uneasiness,
"how could that prevent M. de Villefort"--
"In this simple way, madame," replied Monte Cristo; "the waistcoat and
the letter were both what is termed circumstantial evidence; I therefore
sent them to the king's attorney. You understand, my dear baron, that
legal methods are the safest in criminal cases; it was, perhaps,
some plot against you." Andrea looked steadily at Monte Cristo and
disappeared in the second drawing-room.
"Possibly," said Danglars; "was not this murdered man an old
galley-slave?"
"Yes," replied the count; "a felon named Caderousse." Danglars
turned slightly pale; Andrea reached the anteroom beyond the little
drawing-room.
"But go on signing," said Monte Cristo; "I perceive that my story has
caused a general emotion, and I beg to apologize to you, baroness, and
to Mademoiselle Danglars." The baroness, who had signed, returned
the pen to the notary. "Prince Cavalcanti," said the latter; "Prince
Cavalcanti, where are you?"
"Andrea, Andrea," repeated several young people, who were already on
sufficiently intimate terms with him to call him by his Christian name.
"Call the prince; inform him that it is his turn to sign," cried
Danglars to one of the floorkeepers.
But at the same instant the crowd of guests rushed in alarm into the
principal salon as if some frightful monster had entered the apartments,
quaerens quem devoret. There was, indeed, reason to retreat, to be
alarmed, and to scream. An officer was placing two soldiers at the door
of each drawing-room, and was advancing towards Danglars, preceded by a
commissary of police, girded with his scarf. Madame Danglars uttered a
scream and fainted. Danglars, who thought himself threatened (certain
consciences are never calm),--Danglars even before his guests showed a
countenance of abject terror.
"What is the matter, sir?" asked Monte Cristo, advancing to meet the
commissioner.
"Which of you gentlemen," asked the magistrate, without replying to the
count, "answers to the name of Andrea Cavalcanti?" A cry of astonishment
was heard from all parts of the room. They searched; they questioned.
"But who then is Andrea Cavalcanti?" asked Danglars in amazement.
"A galley-slave, escaped from confinement at Toulon."
"And what crime has he committed?"
"He is accused," said the commissary with his inflexible voice, "of
having assassinated the man named Caderousse, his former companion in
prison, at the moment he was making his escape from the house of the
Count of Monte Cristo." Monte Cristo cast a rapid glance around him.
Andrea was gone.
Chapter 97. The Departure for Belgium.
A few minutes after the scene of confusion produced in the salons of M.
Danglars by the unexpected appearance of the brigade of soldiers, and by
the disclosure which had followed, the mansion was deserted with as
much rapidity as if a case of plague or of cholera morbus had broken out
among the guests. In a few minutes, through all the doors, down all the
staircases, by every exit, every one hastened to retire, or rather to
fly; for it was a situation where the ordinary condolences,--which even
the best friends are so eager to offer in great catastrophes,--were
seen to be utterly futile. There remained in the banker's house only
Danglars, closeted in his study, and making his statement to the officer
of gendarmes; Madame Danglars, terrified, in the boudoir with which we
are acquainted; and Eugenie, who with haughty air and disdainful lip had
retired to her room with her inseparable companion, Mademoiselle Louise
d'Armilly. As for the numerous servants (more numerous that evening than
usual, for their number was augmented by cooks and butlers from the Cafe
de Paris), venting on their employers their anger at what they termed
the insult to which they had been subjected, they collected in groups
in the hall, in the kitchens, or in their rooms, thinking very little of
their duty, which was thus naturally interrupted. Of all this household,
only two persons deserve our notice; these are Mademoiselle Eugenie
Danglars and Mademoiselle Louise d'Armilly.
The betrothed had retired, as we said, with haughty air, disdainful lip,
and the demeanor of an outraged queen, followed by her companion, who
was paler and more disturbed than herself. On reaching her room Eugenie
locked her door, while Louise fell on a chair. "Ah, what a dreadful
thing," said the young musician; "who would have suspected it? M. Andrea
Cavalcanti a murderer--a galley-slave escaped--a convict!" An ironical
smile curled the lip of Eugenie. "In truth I was fated," said she. "I
escaped the Morcerf only to fall into the Cavalcanti."
"Oh, do not confound the two, Eugenie."
"Hold your tongue! The men are all infamous, and I am happy to be able
now to do more than detest them--I despise them."
"What shall we do?" asked Louise.
"What shall we do?"
"Yes."
"Why, the same we had intended doing three days since--set off."
"What?--although you are not now going to be married, you intend
still"--
"Listen, Louise. I hate this life of the fashionable world, always
ordered, measured, ruled, like our music-paper. What I have always
wished for, desired, and coveted, is the life of an artist, free and
independent, relying only on my own resources, and accountable only to
myself. Remain here? What for?--that they may try, a month hence,
to marry me again; and to whom?--M. Debray, perhaps, as it was once
proposed. No, Louise, no! This evening's adventure will serve for my
excuse. I did not seek one, I did not ask for one. God sends me this,
and I hail it joyfully!"
"How strong and courageous you are!" said the fair, frail girl to her
brunette companion.
"Did you not yet know me? Come, Louise, let us talk of our affairs. The
post-chaise"--
"Was happily bought three days since."
"Have you had it sent where we are to go for it?"
"Yes."
"Our passport?"
"Here it is."
And Eugenie, with her usual precision, opened a printed paper, and
read,--
"M. Leon d'Armilly, twenty years of age; profession, artist; hair black,
eyes black; travelling with his sister."
"Capital! How did you get this passport?"
"When I went to ask M. de Monte Cristo for letters to the directors of
the theatres at Rome and Naples, I expressed my fears of travelling as
a woman; he perfectly understood them, and undertook to procure for me
a man's passport, and two days after I received this, to which I have
added with my own hand, 'travelling with his sister.'"
"Well," said Eugenie cheerfully, "we have then only to pack up our
trunks; we shall start the evening of the signing of the contract,
instead of the evening of the wedding--that is all."
"But consider the matter seriously, Eugenie!"
"Oh, I am done with considering! I am tired of hearing only of market
