"Count," said Danglars, "are you speaking seriously?"
"I never joke with bankers," said Monte Cristo in a freezing manner,
which repelled impertinence; and he turned to the door, just as the
valet de chambre announced,--"M. de Boville, receiver-general of the
charities."
"Ma foi," said Monte Cristo; "I think I arrived just in time to obtain
your signatures, or they would have been disputed with me."
Danglars again became pale, and hastened to conduct the count out. Monte
Cristo exchanged a ceremonious bow with M. de Boville, who was standing
in the waiting-room, and who was introduced into Danglars' room as soon
as the count had left. The count's sad face was illumined by a faint
smile, as he noticed the portfolio which the receiver-general held in
his hand. At the door he found his carriage, and was immediately driven
to the bank. Meanwhile Danglars, repressing all emotion, advanced to
meet the receiver-general. We need not say that a smile of condescension
was stamped upon his lips. "Good-morning, creditor," said he; "for I
wager anything it is the creditor who visits me."
"You are right, baron," answered M. de Boville; "the charities present
themselves to you through me: the widows and orphans depute me to
receive alms to the amount of five millions from you."
"And yet they say orphans are to be pitied," said Danglars, wishing to
prolong the jest. "Poor things!"
"Here I am in their name," said M. de Boville; "but did you receive my
letter yesterday?"
"Yes."
"I have brought my receipt."
"My dear M. de Boville, your widows and orphans must oblige me by
waiting twenty-four hours, since M. de Monte Cristo whom you just saw
leaving here--you did see him, I think?"
"Yes; well?"
"Well, M. de Monte Cristo has just carried off their five millions."
"How so?"
"The count has an unlimited credit upon me; a credit opened by Thomson
& French, of Rome; he came to demand five millions at once, which I paid
him with checks on the bank. My funds are deposited there, and you
can understand that if I draw out ten millions on the same day it will
appear rather strange to the governor. Two days will be a different
thing," said Danglars, smiling.
"Come," said Boville, with a tone of entire incredulity, "five millions
to that gentleman who just left, and who bowed to me as though he knew
me?"
"Perhaps he knows you, though you do not know him; M. de Monte Cristo
knows everybody."
"Five millions!"
"Here is his receipt. Believe your own eyes." M. de Boville took the
paper Danglars presented him, and read:--
"Received of Baron Danglars the sum of five million one hundred thousand
francs, to be repaid on demand by the house of Thomson & French of
Rome."
"It is really true," said M. de Boville.
"Do you know the house of Thomson & French?"
"Yes, I once had business to transact with it to the amount of 200,000
francs; but since then I have not heard it mentioned."
"It is one of the best houses in Europe," said Danglars, carelessly
throwing down the receipt on his desk.
"And he had five millions in your hands alone! Why, this Count of Monte
Cristo must be a nabob?"
"Indeed I do not know what he is; he has three unlimited credits--one
on me, one on Rothschild, one on Lafitte; and, you see," he added
carelessly, "he has given me the preference, by leaving a balance
of 100,000 francs." M. de Boville manifested signs of extraordinary
admiration. "I must visit him," he said, "and obtain some pious grant
from him."
"Oh, you may make sure of him; his charities alone amount to 20,000
francs a month."
"It is magnificent! I will set before him the example of Madame de
Morcerf and her son."
"What example?"
"They gave all their fortune to the hospitals."
"What fortune?"
"Their own--M. de Morcerf's, who is deceased."
"For what reason?"
"Because they would not spend money so guiltily acquired."
"And what are they to live upon?"
"The mother retires into the country, and the son enters the army."
"Well, I must confess, these are scruples."
"I registered their deed of gift yesterday."
"And how much did they possess?"
"Oh, not much--from twelve to thirteen hundred thousand francs. But to
return to our millions."
"Certainly," said Danglars, in the most natural tone in the world. "Are
you then pressed for this money?"
"Yes; for the examination of our cash takes place to-morrow."
"To-morrow? Why did you not tell me so before? Why, it is as good as a
century! At what hour does the examination take place?"
"At two o'clock."
"Send at twelve," said Danglars, smiling. M. de Boville said nothing,
but nodded his head, and took up the portfolio. "Now I think of it, you
can do better," said Danglars.
"How do you mean?"
"The receipt of M. de Monte Cristo is as good as money; take it to
Rothschild's or Lafitte's, and they will take it off your hands at
once."
"What, though payable at Rome?"
"Certainly; it will only cost you a discount of 5,000 or 6,000 francs."
The receiver started back. "Ma foi," he said, "I prefer waiting till
to-morrow. What a proposition!"
"I thought, perhaps," said Danglars with supreme impertinence, "that you
had a deficiency to make up?"
"Indeed," said the receiver.
"And if that were the case it would be worth while to make some
sacrifice."
"Thank you, no, sir."
"Then it will be to-morrow."
"Yes; but without fail."
"Ah, you are laughing at me; send to-morrow at twelve, and the bank
shall be notified."
"I will come myself."
"Better still, since it will afford me the pleasure of seeing you." They
shook hands. "By the way," said M. de Boville, "are you not going to the
funeral of poor Mademoiselle de Villefort, which I met on my road here?"
"No," said the banker; "I have appeared rather ridiculous since that
affair of Benedetto, so I remain in the background."
"Bah, you are wrong. How were you to blame in that affair?"
"Listen--when one bears an irreproachable name, as I do, one is rather
sensitive."
"Everybody pities you, sir; and, above all, Mademoiselle Danglars!"
"Poor Eugenie!" said Danglars; "do you know she is going to embrace a
religious life?"
"No."
"Alas, it is unhappily but too true. The day after the event, she
decided on leaving Paris with a nun of her acquaintance; they are gone
to seek a very strict convent in Italy or Spain."
"Oh, it is terrible!" and M. de Boville retired with this exclamation,
after expressing acute sympathy with the father. But he had scarcely
left before Danglars, with an energy of action those can alone
understand who have seen Robert Macaire represented by Frederic, [*]
exclaimed,--"Fool!" Then enclosing Monte Cristo's receipt in a little
pocket-book, he added:--"Yes, come at twelve o'clock; I shall then be
far away." Then he double-locked his door, emptied all his drawers,
collected about fifty thousand francs in bank-notes, burned several
papers, left others exposed to view, and then commenced writing a letter
which he addressed:
"To Madame la Baronne Danglars."
* Frederic Lemaitre--French actor (1800-1876). Robert
Macaire is the hero of two favorite melodramas--"Chien de
Montargis" and "Chien d'Aubry"--and the name is applied to
bold criminals as a term of derision.
"I will place it on her table myself to-night," he murmured. Then taking
a passport from his drawer he said,--"Good, it is available for two
months longer."
Chapter 105. The Cemetery of Pere-la-Chaise.
M. de Boville had indeed met the funeral procession which was taking
Valentine to her last home on earth. The weather was dull and stormy, a
cold wind shook the few remaining yellow leaves from the boughs of the
trees, and scattered them among the crowd which filled the boulevards.
M. de Villefort, a true Parisian, considered the cemetery of
Pere-la-Chaise alone worthy of receiving the mortal remains of a
Parisian family; there alone the corpses belonging to him would be
surrounded by worthy associates. He had therefore purchased a vault,
which was quickly occupied by members of his family. On the front of the
monument was inscribed: "The families of Saint-Meran and Villefort," for
such had been the last wish expressed by poor Renee, Valentine's mother.
The pompous procession therefore wended its way towards Pere-la-Chaise
from the Faubourg Saint-Honore. Having crossed Paris, it passed through
the Faubourg du Temple, then leaving the exterior boulevards, it reached
the cemetery. More than fifty private carriages followed the twenty
mourning-coaches, and behind them more than five hundred persons joined
in the procession on foot.
These last consisted of all the young people whom Valentine's death had
struck like a thunderbolt, and who, notwithstanding the raw chilliness
of the season, could not refrain from paying a last tribute to the
memory of the beautiful, chaste, and adorable girl, thus cut off in the
flower of her youth. As they left Paris, an equipage with four horses,
at full speed, was seen to draw up suddenly; it contained Monte Cristo.
The count left the carriage and mingled in the crowd who followed on
foot. Chateau-Renaud perceived him and immediately alighting from his
coupe, joined him.
The count looked attentively through every opening in the crowd; he was
evidently watching for some one, but his search ended in disappointment.
"Where is Morrel?" he asked; "do either of these gentlemen know where he
is?"
"We have already asked that question," said Chateau-Renaud, "for none
of us has seen him." The count was silent, but continued to gaze around
him. At length they arrived at the cemetery. The piercing eye of Monte
Cristo glanced through clusters of bushes and trees, and was soon
relieved from all anxiety, for seeing a shadow glide between the
yew-trees, Monte Cristo recognized him whom he sought. One funeral is
generally very much like another in this magnificent metropolis. Black
figures are seen scattered over the long white avenues; the silence
of earth and heaven is alone broken by the noise made by the crackling
branches of hedges planted around the monuments; then follows the
melancholy chant of the priests, mingled now and then with a sob of
anguish, escaping from some woman concealed behind a mass of flowers.
The shadow Monte Cristo had noticed passed rapidly behind the tomb of
Abelard and Heloise, placed itself close to the heads of the horses
belonging to the hearse, and following the undertaker's men, arrived
with them at the spot appointed for the burial. Each person's attention
was occupied. Monte Cristo saw nothing but the shadow, which no one else
observed. Twice the count left the ranks to see whether the object of
his interest had any concealed weapon beneath his clothes. When the
procession stopped, this shadow was recognized as Morrel, who, with
his coat buttoned up to his throat, his face livid, and convulsively
crushing his hat between his fingers, leaned against a tree, situated
on an elevation commanding the mausoleum, so that none of the funeral
details could escape his observation. Everything was conducted in
the usual manner. A few men, the least impressed of all by the scene,
pronounced a discourse, some deploring this premature death, others
expatiating on the grief of the father, and one very ingenious person
quoting the fact that Valentine had solicited pardon of her father for
criminals on whom the arm of justice was ready to fall--until at length
they exhausted their stores of metaphor and mournful speeches.
Monte Cristo heard and saw nothing, or rather he only saw Morrel, whose
calmness had a frightful effect on those who knew what was passing in
his heart. "See," said Beauchamp, pointing out Morrel to Debray. "What
is he doing up there?" And they called Chateau-Renaud's attention to
him.
"How pale he is!" said Chateau-Renaud, shuddering.
"He is cold," said Debray.
"Not at all," said Chateau-Renaud, slowly; "I think he is violently
agitated. He is very susceptible."
"Bah," said Debray; "he scarcely knew Mademoiselle de Villefort; you
said so yourself."
"True. Still I remember he danced three times with her at Madame de
Morcerf's. Do you recollect that ball, count, where you produced such an
effect?"
"No, I do not," replied Monte Cristo, without even knowing of what or
to whom he was speaking, so much was he occupied in watching Morrel, who
was holding his breath with emotion. "The discourse is over; farewell,
gentlemen," said the count. And he disappeared without anyone seeing
whither he went. The funeral being over, the guests returned to Paris.
Chateau-Renaud looked for a moment for Morrel; but while they were
watching the departure of the count, Morrel had quitted his post, and
Chateau-Renaud, failing in his search, joined Debray and Beauchamp.
Monte Cristo concealed himself behind a large tomb and awaited the
arrival of Morrel, who by degrees approached the tomb now abandoned
by spectators and workmen. Morrel threw a glance around, but before it
reached the spot occupied by Monte Cristo the latter had advanced yet
