the same time?"
"Precisely."
"But some official document was drawn up as to this affair, I suppose?"
inquired the Englishman.
"Yes, yes, the mortuary deposition. You understand, Dantes' relations,
if he had any, might have some interest in knowing if he were dead or
alive."
"So that now, if there were anything to inherit from him, they may do so
with easy conscience. He is dead, and no mistake about it."
"Oh, yes; and they may have the fact attested whenever they please."
"So be it," said the Englishman. "But to return to these registers."
"True, this story has diverted our attention from them. Excuse me."
"Excuse you for what? For the story? By no means; it really seems to me
very curious."
"Yes, indeed. So, sir, you wish to see all relating to the poor abbe,
who really was gentleness itself."
"Yes, you will much oblige me."
"Go into my study here, and I will show it to you." And they both
entered M. de Boville's study. Everything was here arranged in perfect
order; each register had its number, each file of papers its place. The
inspector begged the Englishman to seat himself in an arm-chair, and
placed before him the register and documents relative to the Chateau
d'If, giving him all the time he desired for the examination, while De
Boville seated himself in a corner, and began to read his newspaper. The
Englishman easily found the entries relative to the Abbe Faria; but it
seemed that the history which the inspector had related interested him
greatly, for after having perused the first documents he turned over the
leaves until he reached the deposition respecting Edmond Dantes. There
he found everything arranged in due order,--the accusation, examination,
Morrel's petition, M. de Villefort's marginal notes. He folded up
the accusation quietly, and put it as quietly in his pocket; read the
examination, and saw that the name of Noirtier was not mentioned in it;
perused, too, the application dated 10th April, 1815, in which Morrel,
by the deputy procureur's advice, exaggerated with the best intentions
(for Napoleon was then on the throne) the services Dantes had rendered
to the imperial cause--services which Villefort's certificates rendered
indispensable. Then he saw through the whole thing. This petition
to Napoleon, kept back by Villefort, had become, under the second
restoration, a terrible weapon against him in the hands of the king's
attorney. He was no longer astonished when he searched on to find in the
register this note, placed in a bracket against his name:--
Edmond Dantes.
An inveterate Bonapartist; took an active part in the return from the
Island of Elba.
To be kept in strict solitary confinement, and to be closely watched and
guarded.
Beneath these lines was written in another hand: "See note
above--nothing can be done." He compared the writing in the bracket with
the writing of the certificate placed beneath Morrel's petition, and
discovered that the note in the bracket was the same writing as the
certificate--that is to say, was in Villefort's handwriting. As to the
note which accompanied this, the Englishman understood that it might
have been added by some inspector who had taken a momentary interest in
Dantes' situation, but who had, from the remarks we have quoted, found
it impossible to give any effect to the interest he had felt.
As we have said, the inspector, from discretion, and that he might not
disturb the Abbe Faria's pupil in his researches, had seated himself
in a corner, and was reading Le Drapeau Blanc. He did not see the
Englishman fold up and place in his pocket the accusation written by
Danglars under the arbor of La Reserve, and which had the postmark,
"Marseilles, 27th Feb., delivery 6 o'clock, P.M." But it must be said
that if he had seen it, he attached so little importance to this scrap
of paper, and so much importance to his two hundred thousand francs,
that he would not have opposed whatever the Englishman might do, however
irregular it might be.
"Thanks," said the latter, closing the register with a slam, "I have
all I want; now it is for me to perform my promise. Give me a simple
assignment of your debt; acknowledge therein the receipt of the cash,
and I will hand you over the money." He rose, gave his seat to M. de
Boville, who took it without ceremony, and quickly drew up the required
assignment, while the Englishman counted out the bank-notes on the other
side of the desk.
Chapter 29. The House of Morrel & Son.
Any one who had quitted Marseilles a few years previously, well
acquainted with the interior of Morrel's warehouse, and had returned at
this date, would have found a great change. Instead of that air of life,
of comfort, and of happiness that permeates a flourishing and prosperous
business establishment--instead of merry faces at the windows, busy
clerks hurrying to and fro in the long corridors--instead of the court
filled with bales of goods, re-echoing with the cries and the jokes of
porters, one would have immediately perceived all aspect of sadness and
gloom. Out of all the numerous clerks that used to fill the deserted
corridor and the empty office, but two remained. One was a young man of
three or four and twenty, who was in love with M. Morrel's daughter, and
had remained with him in spite of the efforts of his friends to induce
him to withdraw; the other was an old one-eyed cashier, called "Cocles,"
or "Cock-eye," a nickname given him by the young men who used to throng
this vast now almost deserted bee-hive, and which had so completely
replaced his real name that he would not, in all probability, have
replied to any one who addressed him by it.
Cocles remained in M. Morrel's service, and a most singular change had
taken place in his position; he had at the same time risen to the rank
of cashier, and sunk to the rank of a servant. He was, however, the
same Cocles, good, patient, devoted, but inflexible on the subject of
arithmetic, the only point on which he would have stood firm against the
world, even against M. Morrel; and strong in the multiplication-table,
which he had at his fingers' ends, no matter what scheme or what trap
was laid to catch him. In the midst of the disasters that befell the
house, Cocles was the only one unmoved. But this did not arise from a
want of affection; on the contrary, from a firm conviction. Like the
rats that one by one forsake the doomed ship even before the vessel
weighs anchor, so all the numerous clerks had by degrees deserted the
office and the warehouse. Cocles had seen them go without thinking of
inquiring the cause of their departure. Everything was as we have said,
a question of arithmetic to Cocles, and during twenty years he had
always seen all payments made with such exactitude, that it seemed as
impossible to him that the house should stop payment, as it would to a
miller that the river that had so long turned his mill should cease to
flow.
Nothing had as yet occurred to shake Cocles' belief; the last month's
payment had been made with the most scrupulous exactitude; Cocles had
detected an overbalance of fourteen sous in his cash, and the same
evening he had brought them to M. Morrel, who, with a melancholy smile,
threw them into an almost empty drawer, saying:--
"Thanks, Cocles; you are the pearl of cashiers."
Cocles went away perfectly happy, for this eulogium of M. Morrel,
himself the pearl of the honest men of Marseilles, flattered him more
than a present of fifty crowns. But since the end of the month M. Morrel
had passed many an anxious hour. In order to meet the payments then due;
he had collected all his resources, and, fearing lest the report of his
distress should get bruited abroad at Marseilles when he was known to be
reduced to such an extremity, he went to the Beaucaire fair to sell his
wife's and daughter's jewels and a portion of his plate. By this means
the end of the month was passed, but his resources were now exhausted.
Credit, owing to the reports afloat, was no longer to be had; and to
meet the one hundred thousand francs due on the 10th of the present
month, and the one hundred thousand francs due on the 15th of the next
month to M. de Boville, M. Morrel had, in reality, no hope but the
return of the Pharaon, of whose departure he had learnt from a vessel
which had weighed anchor at the same time, and which had already arrived
in harbor. But this vessel which, like the Pharaon, came from Calcutta,
had been in for a fortnight, while no intelligence had been received of
the Pharaon.
Such was the state of affairs when, the day after his interview with M.
de Boville, the confidential clerk of the house of Thomson & French
of Rome, presented himself at M. Morrel's. Emmanuel received him; this
young man was alarmed by the appearance of every new face, for every new
face might be that of a new creditor, come in anxiety to question the
head of the house. The young man, wishing to spare his employer the pain
of this interview, questioned the new-comer; but the stranger declared
that he had nothing to say to M. Emmanuel, and that his business was
with M. Morrel in person. Emmanuel sighed, and summoned Cocles. Cocles
appeared, and the young man bade him conduct the stranger to M. Morrel's
apartment. Cocles went first, and the stranger followed him. On the
staircase they met a beautiful girl of sixteen or seventeen, who looked
with anxiety at the stranger.
"M. Morrel is in his room, is he not, Mademoiselle Julie?" said the
cashier.
"Yes; I think so, at least," said the young girl hesitatingly. "Go and
see, Cocles, and if my father is there, announce this gentleman."
"It will be useless to announce me, mademoiselle," returned the
Englishman. "M. Morrel does not know my name; this worthy gentleman has
only to announce the confidential clerk of the house of Thomson & French
of Rome, with whom your father does business."
The young girl turned pale and continued to descend, while the stranger
and Cocles continued to mount the staircase. She entered the office
where Emmanuel was, while Cocles, by the aid of a key he possessed,
opened a door in the corner of a landing-place on the second staircase,
conducted the stranger into an ante-chamber, opened a second door, which
he closed behind him, and after having left the clerk of the house of
Thomson & French alone, returned and signed to him that he could enter.
The Englishman entered, and found Morrel seated at a table, turning over
the formidable columns of his ledger, which contained the list of his
liabilities. At the sight of the stranger, M. Morrel closed the ledger,
arose, and offered a seat to the stranger; and when he had seen him
seated, resumed his own chair. Fourteen years had changed the worthy
merchant, who, in his thirty-sixth year at the opening of this history,
was now in his fiftieth; his hair had turned white, time and sorrow
had ploughed deep furrows on his brow, and his look, once so firm and
penetrating, was now irresolute and wandering, as if he feared being
forced to fix his attention on some particular thought or person. The
Englishman looked at him with an air of curiosity, evidently mingled
with interest. "Monsieur," said Morrel, whose uneasiness was increased
by this examination, "you wish to speak to me?"
"Yes, monsieur; you are aware from whom I come?"
"The house of Thomson & French; at least, so my cashier tells me."
"He has told you rightly. The house of Thomson & French had 300,000 or
400,000 francs to pay this month in France; and, knowing your strict
punctuality, have collected all the bills bearing your signature, and
charged me as they became due to present them, and to employ the money
otherwise." Morrel sighed deeply, and passed his hand over his forehead,
which was covered with perspiration.
"So then, sir," said Morrel, "you hold bills of mine?"
"Yes, and for a considerable sum."
"What is the amount?" asked Morrel with a voice he strove to render
firm.
"Here is," said the Englishman, taking a quantity of papers from his
pocket, "an assignment of 200,000 francs to our house by M. de Boville,
the inspector of prisons, to whom they are due. You acknowledge, of
course, that you owe this sum to him?"
"Yes; he placed the money in my hands at four and a half per cent nearly
five years ago."
"When are you to pay?"
"Half the 15th of this month, half the 15th of next."
"Just so; and now here are 32,500 francs payable shortly; they are all
signed by you, and assigned to our house by the holders."
"I recognize them," said Morrel, whose face was suffused, as he thought
that, for the first time in his life, he would be unable to honor his
own signature. "Is this all?"
"No, I have for the end of the month these bills which have been
assigned to us by the house of Pascal, and the house of Wild & Turner of
Marseilles, amounting to nearly 55,000. francs; in all, 287,500
francs." It is impossible to describe what Morrel suffered during
this enumeration. "Two hundred and eighty-seven thousand five hundred
francs," repeated he.
"Yes, sir," replied the Englishman. "I will not," continued he, after
a moment's silence, "conceal from you, that while your probity and
exactitude up to this moment are universally acknowledged, yet the
report is current in Marseilles that you are not able to meet your
liabilities." At this almost brutal speech Morrel turned deathly
pale. "Sir," said he, "up to this time--and it is now more than
four-and-twenty years since I received the direction of this house from
my father, who had himself conducted it for five and thirty years--never
