Quesnel disappeared, presented himself at his house."
"Oh, the admirable police have found that out, have they? And what may
be that description?"
"Dark complexion; hair, eyebrows, and whiskers, black; blue frock-coat,
buttoned up to the chin; rosette of an officer of the Legion of Honor in
his button-hole; a hat with wide brim, and a cane."
"Ah, ha, that's it, is it?" said Noirtier; "and why, then, have they not
laid hands on him?"
"Because yesterday, or the day before, they lost sight of him at the
corner of the Rue Coq-Heron."
"Didn't I say that your police were good for nothing?"
"Yes; but they may catch him yet."
"True," said Noirtier, looking carelessly around him, "true, if this
person were not on his guard, as he is;" and he added with a smile, "He
will consequently make a few changes in his personal appearance." At
these words he rose, and put off his frock-coat and cravat, went towards
a table on which lay his son's toilet articles, lathered his face,
took a razor, and, with a firm hand, cut off the compromising whiskers.
Villefort watched him with alarm not devoid of admiration.
His whiskers cut off, Noirtier gave another turn to his hair; took,
instead of his black cravat, a colored neckerchief which lay at the top
of an open portmanteau; put on, in lieu of his blue and high-buttoned
frock-coat, a coat of Villefort's of dark brown, and cut away in front;
tried on before the glass a narrow-brimmed hat of his son's, which
appeared to fit him perfectly, and, leaving his cane in the corner where
he had deposited it, he took up a small bamboo switch, cut the air with
it once or twice, and walked about with that easy swagger which was one
of his principal characteristics.
"Well," he said, turning towards his wondering son, when this disguise
was completed, "well, do you think your police will recognize me now."
"No, father," stammered Villefort; "at least, I hope not."
"And now, my dear boy," continued Noirtier, "I rely on your prudence to
remove all the things which I leave in your care."
"Oh, rely on me," said Villefort.
"Yes, yes; and now I believe you are right, and that you have really
saved my life; be assured I will return the favor hereafter." Villefort
shook his head.
"You are not convinced yet?"
"I hope at least, that you may be mistaken."
"Shall you see the king again?"
"Perhaps."
"Would you pass in his eyes for a prophet?"
"Prophets of evil are not in favor at the court, father."
"True, but some day they do them justice; and supposing a second
restoration, you would then pass for a great man."
"Well, what should I say to the king?"
"Say this to him: 'Sire, you are deceived as to the feeling in France,
as to the opinions of the towns, and the prejudices of the army; he
whom in Paris you call the Corsican ogre, who at Nevers is styled
the usurper, is already saluted as Bonaparte at Lyons, and emperor at
Grenoble. You think he is tracked, pursued, captured; he is advancing
as rapidly as his own eagles. The soldiers you believe to be dying with
hunger, worn out with fatigue, ready to desert, gather like atoms of
snow about the rolling ball as it hastens onward. Sire, go, leave France
to its real master, to him who acquired it, not by purchase, but by
right of conquest; go, sire, not that you incur any risk, for your
adversary is powerful enough to show you mercy, but because it would be
humiliating for a grandson of Saint Louis to owe his life to the man of
Arcola, Marengo, Austerlitz.' Tell him this, Gerard; or, rather, tell
him nothing. Keep your journey a secret; do not boast of what you
have come to Paris to do, or have done; return with all speed; enter
Marseilles at night, and your house by the back-door, and there remain,
quiet, submissive, secret, and, above all, inoffensive; for this time, I
swear to you, we shall act like powerful men who know their enemies. Go,
my son--go, my dear Gerard, and by your obedience to my paternal orders,
or, if you prefer it, friendly counsels, we will keep you in your place.
This will be," added Noirtier, with a smile, "one means by which you
may a second time save me, if the political balance should some day take
another turn, and cast you aloft while hurling me down. Adieu, my dear
Gerard, and at your next journey alight at my door." Noirtier left the
room when he had finished, with the same calmness that had characterized
him during the whole of this remarkable and trying conversation.
Villefort, pale and agitated, ran to the window, put aside the curtain,
and saw him pass, cool and collected, by two or three ill-looking men at
the corner of the street, who were there, perhaps, to arrest a man with
black whiskers, and a blue frock-coat, and hat with broad brim.
Villefort stood watching, breathless, until his father had disappeared
at the Rue Bussy. Then he turned to the various articles he had left
behind him, put the black cravat and blue frock-coat at the bottom of
the portmanteau, threw the hat into a dark closet, broke the cane into
small bits and flung it in the fire, put on his travelling-cap, and
calling his valet, checked with a look the thousand questions he was
ready to ask, paid his bill, sprang into his carriage, which was ready,
learned at Lyons that Bonaparte had entered Grenoble, and in the
midst of the tumult which prevailed along the road, at length reached
Marseilles, a prey to all the hopes and fears which enter into the heart
of man with ambition and its first successes.
Chapter 13. The Hundred Days.
M. Noirtier was a true prophet, and things progressed rapidly, as he had
predicted. Every one knows the history of the famous return from Elba,
a return which was unprecedented in the past, and will probably remain
without a counterpart in the future.
Louis XVIII. made but a faint attempt to parry this unexpected blow;
the monarchy he had scarcely reconstructed tottered on its precarious
foundation, and at a sign from the emperor the incongruous structure
of ancient prejudices and new ideas fell to the ground. Villefort,
therefore, gained nothing save the king's gratitude (which was rather
likely to injure him at the present time) and the cross of the Legion of
Honor, which he had the prudence not to wear, although M. de Blacas had
duly forwarded the brevet.
Napoleon would, doubtless, have deprived Villefort of his office had
it not been for Noirtier, who was all powerful at court, and thus the
Girondin of '93 and the Senator of 1806 protected him who so lately
had been his protector. All Villefort's influence barely enabled him to
stifle the secret Dantes had so nearly divulged. The king's procureur
alone was deprived of his office, being suspected of royalism.
However, scarcely was the imperial power established--that is, scarcely
had the emperor re-entered the Tuileries and begun to issue orders from
the closet into which we have introduced our readers,--he found on the
table there Louis XVIII.'s half-filled snuff-box,--scarcely had this
occurred when Marseilles began, in spite of the authorities, to rekindle
the flames of civil war, always smouldering in the south, and it
required but little to excite the populace to acts of far greater
violence than the shouts and insults with which they assailed the
royalists whenever they ventured abroad.
Owing to this change, the worthy shipowner became at that moment--we
will not say all powerful, because Morrel was a prudent and rather
a timid man, so much so, that many of the most zealous partisans of
Bonaparte accused him of "moderation"--but sufficiently influential to
make a demand in favor of Dantes.
Villefort retained his place, but his marriage was put off until a more
favorable opportunity. If the emperor remained on the throne, Gerard
required a different alliance to aid his career; if Louis XVIII.
returned, the influence of M. de Saint-Meran, like his own, could
be vastly increased, and the marriage be still more suitable. The
deputy-procureur was, therefore, the first magistrate of Marseilles,
when one morning his door opened, and M. Morrel was announced.
Any one else would have hastened to receive him; but Villefort was a man
of ability, and he knew this would be a sign of weakness. He made Morrel
wait in the ante-chamber, although he had no one with him, for the
simple reason that the king's procureur always makes every one wait, and
after passing a quarter of an hour in reading the papers, he ordered M.
Morrel to be admitted.
Morrel expected Villefort would be dejected; he found him as he had
found him six weeks before, calm, firm, and full of that glacial
politeness, that most insurmountable barrier which separates the
well-bred from the vulgar man.
He had entered Villefort's office expecting that the magistrate would
tremble at the sight of him; on the contrary, he felt a cold shudder all
over him when he saw Villefort sitting there with his elbow on his desk,
and his head leaning on his hand. He stopped at the door; Villefort
gazed at him as if he had some difficulty in recognizing him; then,
after a brief interval, during which the honest shipowner turned his hat
in his hands,--
"M. Morrel, I believe?" said Villefort.
"Yes, sir."
"Come nearer," said the magistrate, with a patronizing wave of the hand,
"and tell me to what circumstance I owe the honor of this visit."
"Do you not guess, monsieur?" asked Morrel.
"Not in the least; but if I can serve you in any way I shall be
delighted."
"Everything depends on you."
"Explain yourself, pray."
"Monsieur," said Morrel, recovering his assurance as he proceeded, "do
you recollect that a few days before the landing of his majesty the
emperor, I came to intercede for a young man, the mate of my ship, who
was accused of being concerned in correspondence with the Island of
Elba? What was the other day a crime is to-day a title to favor. You
then served Louis XVIII., and you did not show any favor--it was your
duty; to-day you serve Napoleon, and you ought to protect him--it is
equally your duty; I come, therefore, to ask what has become of him?"
Villefort by a strong effort sought to control himself. "What is his
name?" said he. "Tell me his name."
"Edmond Dantes."
Villefort would probably have rather stood opposite the muzzle of a
pistol at five-and-twenty paces than have heard this name spoken; but he
did not blanch.
"Dantes," repeated he, "Edmond Dantes."
"Yes, monsieur." Villefort opened a large register, then went to a
table, from the table turned to his registers, and then, turning to
Morrel,--
"Are you quite sure you are not mistaken, monsieur?" said he, in the
most natural tone in the world.
Had Morrel been a more quick-sighted man, or better versed in these
matters, he would have been surprised at the king's procureur answering
him on such a subject, instead of referring him to the governors of the
prison or the prefect of the department. But Morrel, disappointed in
his expectations of exciting fear, was conscious only of the other's
condescension. Villefort had calculated rightly.
"No," said Morrel; "I am not mistaken. I have known him for ten years,
the last four of which he was in my service. Do not you recollect, I
came about six weeks ago to plead for clemency, as I come to-day to
plead for justice. You received me very coldly. Oh, the royalists were
very severe with the Bonapartists in those days."
"Monsieur," returned Villefort, "I was then a royalist, because I
believed the Bourbons not only the heirs to the throne, but the chosen
of the nation. The miraculous return of Napoleon has conquered me, the
legitimate monarch is he who is loved by his people."
"That's right!" cried Morrel. "I like to hear you speak thus, and I
augur well for Edmond from it."
"Wait a moment," said Villefort, turning over the leaves of a register;
"I have it--a sailor, who was about to marry a young Catalan girl. I
recollect now; it was a very serious charge."
"How so?"
"You know that when he left here he was taken to the Palais de Justice."
"Well?"
"I made my report to the authorities at Paris, and a week after he was
carried off."
"Carried off!" said Morrel. "What can they have done with him?"
"Oh, he has been taken to Fenestrelles, to Pignerol, or to the
Sainte-Marguerite islands. Some fine morning he will return to take
command of your vessel."
"Come when he will, it shall be kept for him. But how is it he is not
already returned? It seems to me the first care of government should be
to set at liberty those who have suffered for their adherence to it."
"Do not be too hasty, M. Morrel," replied Villefort. "The order of
imprisonment came from high authority, and the order for his liberation
must proceed from the same source; and, as Napoleon has scarcely been
reinstated a fortnight, the letters have not yet been forwarded."
"But," said Morrel, "is there no way of expediting all these
formalities--of releasing him from arrest?"
"There has been no arrest."
"How?"
"It is sometimes essential to government to cause a man's disappearance
without leaving any traces, so that no written forms or documents may
defeat their wishes."
"It might be so under the Bourbons, but at present"--
"It has always been so, my dear Morrel, since the reign of Louis XIV.
The emperor is more strict in prison discipline than even Louis himself,
and the number of prisoners whose names are not on the register is
