thirty-five francs." Albert then took a pen, and wrote:--
Frs.
Coupe, thirty-five francs.............................. 35.
From Chalons to Lyons you will go on by the steamboat.. 6.
From Lyons to Avignon (still by steamboat)............. 16.
From Avignon to Marseilles, seven francs............... 7.
Expenses on the road, about fifty francs............... 50.
Total................................................. 114 frs.
"Let us put down 120," added Albert, smiling. "You see I am generous, am
I not, mother?"
"But you, my poor child?"
"I? do you not see that I reserve eighty francs for myself? A young man
does not require luxuries; besides, I know what travelling is."
"With a post-chaise and valet de chambre?"
"Any way, mother."
"Well, be it so. But these 200 francs?"
"Here they are, and 200 more besides. See, I have sold my watch for
100 francs, and the guard and seals for 300. How fortunate that the
ornaments were worth more than the watch. Still the same story of
superfluities! Now I think we are rich, since instead of the 114 francs
we require for the journey we find ourselves in possession of 250."
"But we owe something in this house?"
"Thirty francs; but I pay that out of my 150 francs,--that is
understood,--and as I require only eighty francs for my journey, you see
I am overwhelmed with luxury. But that is not all. What do you say to
this, mother?"
And Albert took out of a little pocket-book with golden clasps, a
remnant of his old fancies, or perhaps a tender souvenir from one of
the mysterious and veiled ladies who used to knock at his little
door,--Albert took out of this pocket-book a note of 1,000 francs.
"What is this?" asked Mercedes.
"A thousand francs."
"But whence have you obtained them?"
"Listen to me, mother, and do not yield too much to agitation." And
Albert, rising, kissed his mother on both cheeks, then stood looking at
her. "You cannot imagine, mother, how beautiful I think you!" said the
young man, impressed with a profound feeling of filial love. "You are,
indeed, the most beautiful and most noble woman I ever saw!"
"Dear child!" said Mercedes, endeavoring in vain to restrain a tear
which glistened in the corner of her eye. "Indeed, you only wanted
misfortune to change my love for you to admiration. I am not unhappy
while I possess my son!"
"Ah, just so," said Albert; "here begins the trial. Do you know the
decision we have come to, mother?"
"Have we come to any?"
"Yes; it is decided that you are to live at Marseilles, and that I am to
leave for Africa, where I will earn for myself the right to use the name
I now bear, instead of the one I have thrown aside." Mercedes sighed.
"Well, mother, I yesterday engaged myself as substitute in the Spahis,"
[*] added the young man, lowering his eyes with a certain feeling of
shame, for even he was unconscious of the sublimity of his self-
abasement. "I thought my body was my own, and that I might sell it. I
yesterday took the place of another. I sold myself for more than I
thought I was worth," he added, attempting to smile; "I fetched 2,000
francs."
* The Spahis are French cavalry reserved for service in
Africa.
"Then these 1,000 francs"--said Mercedes, shuddering--
"Are the half of the sum, mother; the other will be paid in a year."
Mercedes raised her eyes to heaven with an expression it would be
impossible to describe, and tears, which had hitherto been restrained,
now yielded to her emotion, and ran down her cheeks.
"The price of his blood!" she murmured.
"Yes, if I am killed," said Albert, laughing. "But I assure you, mother,
I have a strong intention of defending my person, and I never felt half
so strong an inclination to live as I do now."
"Merciful heavens!"
"Besides, mother, why should you make up your mind that I am to be
killed? Has Lamoriciere, that Ney of the South, been killed? Has
Changarnier been killed? Has Bedeau been killed? Has Morrel, whom we
know, been killed? Think of your joy, mother, when you see me return
with an embroidered uniform! I declare, I expect to look magnificent
in it, and chose that regiment only from vanity." Mercedes sighed while
endeavoring to smile; the devoted mother felt that she ought not to
allow the whole weight of the sacrifice to fall upon her son. "Well,
now you understand, mother!" continued Albert; "here are more than 4,000
francs settled on you; upon these you can live at least two years."
"Do you think so?" said Mercedes. These words were uttered in so
mournful a tone that their real meaning did not escape Albert; he felt
his heart beat, and taking his mother's hand within his own he said,
tenderly,--
"Yes, you will live!"
"I shall live!--then you will not leave me, Albert?"
"Mother, I must go," said Albert in a firm, calm voice; "you love me
too well to wish me to remain useless and idle with you; besides, I have
signed."
"You will obey your own wish and the will of heaven!"
"Not my own wish, mother, but reason--necessity. Are we not two
despairing creatures? What is life to you?--Nothing. What is life to
me?--Very little without you, mother; for believe me, but for you I
should have ceased to live on the day I doubted my father and renounced
his name. Well, I will live, if you promise me still to hope; and if
you grant me the care of your future prospects, you will redouble my
strength. Then I will go to the governor of Algeria; he has a royal
heart, and is essentially a soldier; I will tell him my gloomy story.
I will beg him to turn his eyes now and then towards me, and if he
keep his word and interest himself for me, in six months I shall be an
officer, or dead. If I am an officer, your fortune is certain, for I
shall have money enough for both, and, moreover, a name we shall both
be proud of, since it will be our own. If I am killed--well then mother,
you can also die, and there will be an end of our misfortunes."
"It is well," replied Mercedes, with her eloquent glance; "you are
right, my love; let us prove to those who are watching our actions that
we are worthy of compassion."
"But let us not yield to gloomy apprehensions," said the young man; "I
assure you we are, or rather we shall be, very happy. You are a woman at
once full of spirit and resignation; I have become simple in my tastes,
and am without passion, I hope. Once in service, I shall be rich--once
in M. Dantes' house, you will be at rest. Let us strive, I beseech
you,--let us strive to be cheerful."
"Yes, let us strive, for you ought to live, and to be happy, Albert."
"And so our division is made, mother," said the young man, affecting
ease of mind. "We can now part; come, I shall engage your passage."
"And you, my dear boy?"
"I shall stay here for a few days longer; we must accustom ourselves to
parting. I want recommendations and some information relative to Africa.
I will join you again at Marseilles."
"Well, be it so--let us part," said Mercedes, folding around her
shoulders the only shawl she had taken away, and which accidentally
happened to be a valuable black cashmere. Albert gathered up his papers
hastily, rang the bell to pay the thirty francs he owed to the landlord,
and offering his arm to his mother, they descended the stairs. Some one
was walking down before them, and this person, hearing the rustling of a
silk dress, turned around. "Debray!" muttered Albert.
"You, Morcerf?" replied the secretary, resting on the stairs. Curiosity
had vanquished the desire of preserving his incognito, and he was
recognized. It was, indeed, strange in this unknown spot to find the
young man whose misfortunes had made so much noise in Paris.
"Morcerf!" repeated Debray. Then noticing in the dim light the still
youthful and veiled figure of Madame de Morcerf:--"Pardon me," he added
with a smile, "I leave you, Albert." Albert understood his thoughts.
"Mother," he said, turning towards Mercedes, "this is M. Debray,
secretary of the minister for the interior, once a friend of mine."
"How once?" stammered Debray; "what do you mean?"
"I say so, M. Debray, because I have no friends now, and I ought not
to have any. I thank you for having recognized me, sir." Debray stepped
forward, and cordially pressed the hand of his interlocutor. "Believe
me, dear Albert," he said, with all the emotion he was capable of
feeling,--"believe me, I feel deeply for your misfortunes, and if in any
way I can serve you, I am yours."
"Thank you, sir," said Albert, smiling. "In the midst of our
misfortunes, we are still rich enough not to require assistance from any
one. We are leaving Paris, and when our journey is paid, we shall have
5,000 francs left." The blood mounted to the temples of Debray, who held
a million in his pocket-book, and unimaginative as he was he could not
help reflecting that the same house had contained two women, one of
whom, justly dishonored, had left it poor with 1,500,000. francs under
her cloak, while the other, unjustly stricken, but sublime in her
misfortune, was yet rich with a few deniers. This parallel disturbed his
usual politeness, the philosophy he witnessed appalled him, he muttered
a few words of general civility and ran down-stairs.
That day the minister's clerks and the subordinates had a great deal to
put up with from his ill-humor. But that same night, he found himself
the possessor of a fine house, situated on the Boulevard de la
Madeleine, and an income of 50,000 livres. The next day, just as Debray
was signing the deed, that is about five o'clock in the afternoon,
Madame de Morcerf, after having affectionately embraced her son, entered
the coupe of the diligence, which closed upon her. A man was hidden in
Lafitte's banking-house, behind one of the little arched windows which
are placed above each desk; he saw Mercedes enter the diligence, and he
also saw Albert withdraw. Then he passed his hand across his forehead,
which was clouded with doubt. "Alas," he exclaimed, "how can I restore
the happiness I have taken away from these poor innocent creatures? God
help me!"
Chapter 107. The Lions' Den.
One division of La Force, in which the most dangerous and desperate
prisoners are confined, is called the court of Saint-Bernard. The
prisoners, in their expressive language, have named it the "Lions' Den,"
probably because the captives possess teeth which frequently gnaw the
bars, and sometimes the keepers also. It is a prison within a prison;
the walls are double the thickness of the rest. The gratings are every
day carefully examined by jailers, whose herculean proportions and cold
pitiless expression prove them to have been chosen to reign over their
subjects for their superior activity and intelligence. The court-yard of
this quarter is enclosed by enormous walls, over which the sun glances
obliquely, when it deigns to penetrate into this gulf of moral and
physical deformity. On this paved yard are to be seen,--pacing to and
fro from morning till night, pale, careworn, and haggard, like so
many shadows,--the men whom justice holds beneath the steel she is
sharpening. There, crouched against the side of the wall which attracts
and retains the most heat, they may be seen sometimes talking to one
another, but more frequently alone, watching the door, which sometimes
opens to call forth one from the gloomy assemblage, or to throw in
another outcast from society.
The court of Saint-Bernard has its own particular apartment for the
reception of guests; it is a long rectangle, divided by two upright
gratings placed at a distance of three feet from one another to prevent
a visitor from shaking hands with or passing anything to the prisoners.
It is a wretched, damp, nay, even horrible spot, more especially when we
consider the agonizing conferences which have taken place between those
iron bars. And yet, frightful though this spot may be, it is looked upon
as a kind of paradise by the men whose days are numbered; it is so rare
for them to leave the Lions' Den for any other place than the barrier
Saint-Jacques or the galleys!
In the court which we have attempted to describe, and from which a damp
vapor was rising, a young man with his hands in his pockets, who had
excited much curiosity among the inhabitants of the "Den," might be seen
walking. The cut of his clothes would have made him pass for an elegant
man, if those clothes had not been torn to shreds; still they did not
show signs of wear, and the fine cloth, beneath the careful hands of
the prisoner, soon recovered its gloss in the parts which were still
perfect, for the wearer tried his best to make it assume the appearance
of a new coat. He bestowed the same attention upon the cambric front of
a shirt, which had considerably changed in color since his entrance into
the prison, and he polished his varnished boots with the corner of a
handkerchief embroidered with initials surmounted by a coronet. Some
of the inmates of the "Lions' Den" were watching the operations of
the prisoner's toilet with considerable interest. "See, the prince is
pluming himself," said one of the thieves. "He's a fine looking fellow,"
said another; "if he had only a comb and hair-grease, he'd take the
shine off the gentlemen in white kids."
"His coat looks almost new, and his boots shine like a nigger's face.
It's pleasant to have such well-dressed comrades; but didn't those
