nearer, still unperceived. The young man knelt down. The count, with
outstretched neck and glaring eyes, stood in an attitude ready to
pounce upon Morrel upon the first occasion. Morrel bent his head till
it touched the stone, then clutching the grating with both hands,
he murmured,--"Oh, Valentine!" The count's heart was pierced by the
utterance of these two words; he stepped forward, and touching the young
man's shoulder, said,--"I was looking for you, my friend." Monte Cristo
expected a burst of passion, but he was deceived, for Morrel turning
round, said calmly,--
"You see I was praying." The scrutinizing glance of the count searched
the young man from head to foot. He then seemed more easy.
"Shall I drive you back to Paris?" he asked.
"No, thank you."
"Do you wish anything?"
"Leave me to pray." The count withdrew without opposition, but it was
only to place himself in a situation where he could watch every movement
of Morrel, who at length arose, brushed the dust from his knees, and
turned towards Paris, without once looking back. He walked slowly down
the Rue de la Roquette. The count, dismissing his carriage, followed him
about a hundred paces behind. Maximilian crossed the canal and entered
the Rue Meslay by the boulevards. Five minutes after the door had been
closed on Morrel's entrance, it was again opened for the count. Julie
was at the entrance of the garden, where she was attentively watching
Penelon, who, entering with zeal into his profession of gardener, was
very busy grafting some Bengal roses. "Ah, count," she exclaimed, with
the delight manifested by every member of the family whenever he visited
the Rue Meslay.
"Maximilian has just returned, has he not, madame?" asked the count.
"Yes, I think I saw him pass; but pray, call Emmanuel."
"Excuse me, madame, but I must go up to Maximilian's room this instant,"
replied Monte Cristo, "I have something of the greatest importance to
tell him."
"Go, then," she said with a charming smile, which accompanied him until
he had disappeared. Monte Cristo soon ran up the staircase conducting
from the ground-floor to Maximilian's room; when he reached the landing
he listened attentively, but all was still. Like many old houses
occupied by a single family, the room door was panelled with glass; but
it was locked, Maximilian was shut in, and it was impossible to see
what was passing in the room, because a red curtain was drawn before the
glass. The count's anxiety was manifested by a bright color which seldom
appeared on the face of that imperturbable man.
"What shall I do!" he uttered, and reflected for a moment; "shall I
ring? No, the sound of a bell, announcing a visitor, will but accelerate
the resolution of one in Maximilian's situation, and then the bell would
be followed by a louder noise." Monte Cristo trembled from head to
foot and as if his determination had been taken with the rapidity of
lightning, he struck one of the panes of glass with his elbow; the glass
was shivered to atoms, then withdrawing the curtain he saw Morrel, who
had been writing at his desk, bound from his seat at the noise of the
broken window.
"I beg a thousand pardons," said the count, "there is nothing the
matter, but I slipped down and broke one of your panes of glass with
my elbow. Since it is opened, I will take advantage of it to enter your
room; do not disturb yourself--do not disturb yourself!" And passing
his hand through the broken glass, the count opened the door. Morrel,
evidently discomposed, came to meet Monte Cristo less with the intention
of receiving him than to exclude his entry. "Ma foi," said Monte Cristo,
rubbing his elbow, "it's all your servant's fault; your stairs are so
polished, it is like walking on glass."
"Are you hurt, sir?" coldly asked Morrel.
"I believe not. But what are you about there? You were writing."
"I?"
"Your fingers are stained with ink."
"Ah, true, I was writing. I do sometimes, soldier though I am."
Monte Cristo advanced into the room; Maximilian was obliged to let him
pass, but he followed him. "You were writing?" said Monte Cristo with a
searching look.
"I have already had the honor of telling you I was," said Morrel.
The count looked around him. "Your pistols are beside your desk," said
Monte Cristo, pointing with his finger to the pistols on the table.
"I am on the point of starting on a journey," replied Morrel
disdainfully.
"My friend," exclaimed Monte Cristo in a tone of exquisite sweetness.
"Sir?"
"My friend, my dear Maximilian, do not make a hasty resolution, I
entreat you."
"I make a hasty resolution?" said Morrel, shrugging his shoulders; "is
there anything extraordinary in a journey?"
"Maximilian," said the count, "let us both lay aside the mask we have
assumed. You no more deceive me with that false calmness than I impose
upon you with my frivolous solicitude. You can understand, can you not,
that to have acted as I have done, to have broken that glass, to have
intruded on the solitude of a friend--you can understand that, to have
done all this, I must have been actuated by real uneasiness, or rather
by a terrible conviction. Morrel, you are going to destroy yourself!"
"Indeed, count," said Morrel, shuddering; "what has put this into your
head?"
"I tell you that you are about to destroy yourself," continued the
count, "and here is proof of what I say;" and, approaching the desk, he
removed the sheet of paper which Morrel had placed over the letter he
had begun, and took the latter in his hands.
Morrel rushed forward to tear it from him, but Monte Cristo perceiving
his intention, seized his wrist with his iron grasp. "You wish to
destroy yourself," said the count; "you have written it."
"Well," said Morrel, changing his expression of calmness for one of
violence--"well, and if I do intend to turn this pistol against myself,
who shall prevent me--who will dare prevent me? All my hopes are
blighted, my heart is broken, my life a burden, everything around me is
sad and mournful; earth has become distasteful to me, and human voices
distract me. It is a mercy to let me die, for if I live I shall lose
my reason and become mad. When, sir, I tell you all this with tears of
heartfelt anguish, can you reply that I am wrong, can you prevent my
putting an end to my miserable existence? Tell me, sir, could you have
the courage to do so?"
"Yes, Morrel," said Monte Cristo, with a calmness which contrasted
strangely with the young man's excitement; "yes, I would do so."
"You?" exclaimed Morrel, with increasing anger and reproach--"you, who
have deceived me with false hopes, who have cheered and soothed me with
vain promises, when I might, if not have saved her, at least have seen
her die in my arms! You, who pretend to understand everything, even the
hidden sources of knowledge,--and who enact the part of a guardian angel
upon earth, and could not even find an antidote to a poison administered
to a young girl! Ah, sir, indeed you would inspire me with pity, were
you not hateful in my eyes."
"Morrel"--
"Yes; you tell me to lay aside the mask, and I will do so, be satisfied!
When you spoke to me at the cemetery, I answered you--my heart was
softened; when you arrived here, I allowed you to enter. But since
you abuse my confidence, since you have devised a new torture after
I thought I had exhausted them all, then, Count of Monte Cristo my
pretended benefactor--then, Count of Monte Cristo, the universal
guardian, be satisfied, you shall witness the death of your friend;" and
Morrel, with a maniacal laugh, again rushed towards the pistols.
"And I again repeat, you shall not commit suicide."
"Prevent me, then!" replied Morrel, with another struggle, which, like
the first, failed in releasing him from the count's iron grasp.
"I will prevent you."
"And who are you, then, that arrogate to yourself this tyrannical right
over free and rational beings?"
"Who am I?" repeated Monte Cristo. "Listen; I am the only man in the
world having the right to say to you, 'Morrel, your father's son shall
not die to-day;'" and Monte Cristo, with an expression of majesty
and sublimity, advanced with arms folded toward the young man, who,
involuntarily overcome by the commanding manner of this man, recoiled a
step.
"Why do you mention my father?" stammered he; "why do you mingle a
recollection of him with the affairs of today?"
"Because I am he who saved your father's life when he wished to destroy
himself, as you do to-day--because I am the man who sent the purse
to your young sister, and the Pharaon to old Morrel--because I am the
Edmond Dantes who nursed you, a child, on my knees." Morrel made another
step back, staggering, breathless, crushed; then all his strength
give way, and he fell prostrate at the feet of Monte Cristo. Then his
admirable nature underwent a complete and sudden revulsion; he arose,
rushed out of the room and to the stairs, exclaiming energetically,
"Julie, Julie--Emmanuel, Emmanuel!"
Monte Cristo endeavored also to leave, but Maximilian would have died
rather than relax his hold of the handle of the door, which he closed
upon the count. Julie, Emmanuel, and some of the servants, ran up in
alarm on hearing the cries of Maximilian. Morrel seized their hands,
and opening the door exclaimed in a voice choked with sobs, "On your
knees--on your knees--he is our benefactor--the saviour of our father!
He is"--
He would have added "Edmond Dantes," but the count seized his arm and
prevented him. Julie threw herself into the arms of the count; Emmanuel
embraced him as a guardian angel; Morrel again fell on his knees, and
struck the ground with his forehead. Then the iron-hearted man felt his
heart swell in his breast; a flame seemed to rush from his throat to his
eyes, he bent his head and wept. For a while nothing was heard in the
room but a succession of sobs, while the incense from their grateful
hearts mounted to heaven. Julie had scarcely recovered from her deep
emotion when she rushed out of the room, descended to the next floor,
ran into the drawing-room with childlike joy and raised the crystal
globe which covered the purse given by the unknown of the Allees de
Meillan. Meanwhile, Emmanuel in a broken voice said to the count,
"Oh, count, how could you, hearing us so often speak of our unknown
benefactor, seeing us pay such homage of gratitude and adoration to his
memory,--how could you continue so long without discovering yourself to
us? Oh, it was cruel to us, and--dare I say it?--to you also."
"Listen, my friends," said the count--"I may call you so since we have
really been friends for the last eleven years--the discovery of this
secret has been occasioned by a great event which you must never know.
I wished to bury it during my whole life in my own bosom, but your brother
Maximilian wrested it from me by a violence he repents of now, I am
sure." Then turning around, and seeing that Morrel, still on his knees,
had thrown himself into an arm-chair, he added in a low voice, pressing
Emmanuel's hand significantly, "Watch over him."
"Why so?" asked the young man, surprised.
"I cannot explain myself; but watch over him." Emmanuel looked around
the room and caught sight of the pistols; his eyes rested on the
weapons, and he pointed to them. Monte Cristo bent his head. Emmanuel
went towards the pistols. "Leave them," said Monte Cristo. Then walking
towards Morrel, he took his hand; the tumultuous agitation of the young
man was succeeded by a profound stupor. Julie returned, holding the
silken purse in her hands, while tears of joy rolled down her cheeks,
like dewdrops on the rose.
"Here is the relic," she said; "do not think it will be less dear to us
now we are acquainted with our benefactor!"
"My child," said Monte Cristo, coloring, "allow me to take back that
purse? Since you now know my face, I wish to be remembered alone through
the affection I hope you will grant me.
"Oh," said Julie, pressing the purse to her heart, "no, no, I beseech
you do not take it, for some unhappy day you will leave us, will you
not?"
"You have guessed rightly, madame," replied Monte Cristo, smiling; "in a
week I shall have left this country, where so many persons who merit the
vengeance of heaven lived happily, while my father perished of hunger
and grief." While announcing his departure, the count fixed his eyes on
Morrel, and remarked that the words, "I shall have left this country,"
had failed to rouse him from his lethargy. He then saw that he must make
another struggle against the grief of his friend, and taking the hands
of Emmanuel and Julie, which he pressed within his own, he said with
the mild authority of a father, "My kind friends, leave me alone with
Maximilian." Julie saw the means offered of carrying off her precious
relic, which Monte Cristo had forgotten. She drew her husband to the
door. "Let us leave them," she said. The count was alone with Morrel,
who remained motionless as a statue.
"Come," said Monte-Cristo, touching his shoulder with his finger, "are
you a man again, Maximilian?"
"Yes; for I begin to suffer again."
The count frowned, apparently in gloomy hesitation.
"Maximilian, Maximilian," he said, "the ideas you yield to are unworthy
of a Christian."
